Nice – We Hadn’t Even Unpacked Yet

Nice – We Hadn’t Even Unpacked Yet

Or: How a Long Weekend Quietly Turned Into a Whole Week

Prologue – A Small Escape

I hardly dare say it, considering we’ve only been back home for a month.

But we miss California.

Not just the sunshine. Not just the ease of it all. Also that feeling that everyday life had suddenly drifted farther away than expected.

While I am still trying to be sensible, Reinhold does what he loves most:

He plans.

A few days on the Côte d’Azur will do us good.

And we haven’t seen the grandchildren in almost a year.

What begins as a long weekend quietly grows into a full week.

There are worse developments.

When I tell my friend Inge, she asks:

“What, already in April? Have you even unpacked yet?”

I laugh.

Maybe not.

Maybe we only paused for a moment.

Chapter 1 – Before It Begins, It Already Begins

Before we leave for Nice, there is one more FaceTime call with the family.

One more hello, a few final details, a shared sense of anticipation.

Then I ask what seems like a harmless question:

“Should we bring anything from Germany?”

Arya answers without hesitation:

“Yes! A wallet.”

“What color?” I ask.

“Silver.”

Reinhold looks at me.

“Well, that’s your problem now. Try finding a silver wallet for a five-year-old little girl from the South of France in Ascheberg.”

In the end, Amazon saved us.

Made in China – ceremoniously imported from Germany.

Chapter 2 – One Hour and Forty Minutes to Another World

It is always a little fascinating: one hour and forty minutes of flying time with a tailwind – and suddenly you are in another world.

French flair. Palm trees. Different colors. Different voices.

And that light which, the moment you step outside, behaves as if everyday life had only been a misunderstanding.

This time we are staying at the Petit Palais.

In the Cimiez district, it sits among winding streets and quiet corners climbing gently uphill.

Surrounded by villas and Belle Époque houses, everything feels a little like a movie set with better weather.

The Petit Palais is one of those hotels that keeps its secrets carefully guarded.

In 1924, a certain Madame Thomas had the villa built.

Who she was, hardly anyone knows today.

Perhaps that is part of its charm.

Chapter 3 – Denada

The young woman at reception is called Denada.

Her cheerful manner makes it easy to arrive. Before we have even properly checked in, we already feel welcome.

“Yes,” she says, “you can walk beautifully into the Old Town. It’s all downhill.”

A sentence that first sounds like a gift.

That we will later have to walk back uphill again, she mentions only in passing, with professional elegance.

Later, Reinhold asks whether she knows what her name means in Spanish.

She laughs, rolls her eyes, and says:

“Monsieur, I swear, my mother doesn’t understand one word of Spanish – and now I have to suffer for it.

De nada = you’re welcome.”

By then, we have completely taken her to heart.

Chapter 4 – You Can Spot Tourists at Noon

We make an honest effort not to be recognized as tourists immediately.

Upright posture. Casual glance. Acting as if we have owned a second home with a sea view here for years.

In Nice, that illusion lasts exactly until noon.

Because every day at twelve sharp, the legendary cannon shot sounds from Castle Hill. An old tradition that only tourists still find surprising.

While the locals do not even blink, I jump every single time – together with the entire easily identifiable tourist population.

By then, everything is settled.

Chapter 5 – Between Market, Sea, and Mocktail

Family or not – we also make time for ourselves.

We drink a mocktail in a bar by the sea, look out over the water, and spend a while doing absolutely nothing productive.

An underrated talent.

We wander through the market, moving between flowers, spices, soaps, cheese, and voices from all over the world.

Every time, it feels like a small performance. More fragrant, louder, and lovelier than any supermarket on earth.

Later, we walk through the city. Past facades that know stories, balconies overflowing with flowers, and cafés where people sit as if they have never done anything else.

And somewhere in between lies that pleasant feeling of not having to do very much.

Just be there.

And Then, Tourists After All

And then we do something we had never done in more than thirty years of coming to Nice:

We get on a hop-on hop-off bus.

At that very moment, every attempt not to look like tourists officially fails.

From the top deck we ride toward Villefranche – with views of the sea, past villas in prime locations, and along a coastline that looks as if someone painted it with an easy hand.

Sometimes it takes decades to finally do the obvious.

Chapter 6 – Family, but in Full Motion

But we would not be in Nice if family were not here too.

“Don’t forget, we’re over seventy,” Reinhold tells Vanessa as a precaution.

He is not wrong.

After a few hours with the South-of-France branch of the family, we are pleasantly exhausted.

Of course it is wonderful. Lively. Full of activity. And about as restful as an afternoon at an amusement park.

With Arya, we do magic tricks, sing, and dance.

Isaiah is dealing with teething – and with the larger question of how exactly this life is supposed to work.

By the end of the day, everyone is worn out.

The children for good reason. We for biological reasons.

Later, we sit outside the little traditional restaurant Pasta Basta in the Old Town.

The woman serving us asks which language she should bring the menu in.

German, English, French – in our family, everyone speaks differently with everyone else anyway.

Our attempt at an explanation is waved away with a smile.

“I speak Arabic, I’m from Morocco,” she says, laughing.

Wonderful. What could possibly go wrong now?

And as if Nice were not lively enough already, a group of Hare Krishna followers passes in the background singing, drumming, and making music.

We sit there with our pasta and think:

Yes. This is exactly why we travel.

After days like this, we no longer make it back up the hill to the hotel on foot.

Vanessa orders an Uber.

We sink into the back seat like two people who gave it everything they had.

Chapter 7 – Lost in Translation

Over the years, we have often had breakfast at this café by the market. Very typically French, just the way we love it when we are in Nice.

This time, something is different. Apparently, the owner has changed. Where croissants and café crème once ruled, pancakes and bagels now smile from the menu.

Nothing against bagels. We like bagels.

Just more in California.

Reinhold speaks good French. As for me, there is still plenty of room for improvement. Shame on me.

With English, you can get by almost anywhere. But not always.

So ordering breakfast takes a little longer than usual.

On the menu are eggs, bacon, bagel, and honey.

We order politely: baguette instead of bagel, please.

“And bagel?” asks the young man. Apparently, he had understood bacon.

We explain again. German, English, French – all in cheerful rotation.

Then suddenly he nods with relief:

“Aha! Bacon, bagels, and baguette.”

As it turns out, it is his first day on the job. And he is not from France.

Pas de problème.

In the end, we receive two fried eggs and a few slices of baguette.

The drinks seem to have disappeared somewhere along the way.

And honey – who really needs honey?

Epilogue – Back Home Again

One week passes quickly. Faster than you think.

We laughed, ate, talked, played, and in between tried to keep up with the pace of a young family.

That can be done with effort – but not without consequences.

Of course everyone is happy when we come.

And we are even happier to be there.

But life here keeps moving.

With work, preschool, appointments, groceries, tiredness, and everything else everyday life brings with it.

For a while, we are a lovely part of it.

Maybe that is enough.

We take warm hours with us, children’s laughter, sea air, and that special light of the Côte d’Azur.

Then it is time to go home again.

With suitcases. And beautiful memories.

For more France moments, personal travel stories, and southern longing, visit our France page too:

France – Between Lavender Fields, Coastal Magic, and Joie de Vivre.

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