“We All Share the Same Sea, Eh?”
We weren’t even supposed to be there yesterday. We did a spontaneous detour, a short walk by the sea, getting to know the town before buying groceries. (Which we ended up buying today.)
We were looking for a recommended focaccia place nearby, in clear need of directions. There he was — Davide. Slim, with parchment-dark skin from decades of sun. Early 60s, maybe. The poet would say, a face carved by time, sea, and probably a fair amount of espresso. And a few glasses of grappa. ;)
He was working outside a beach bar, repairing straw umbrellas. “For my nephew,” he said. “The wind broke three last week. If we don’t fix them, the tourists will roast.”
He didn’t look annoyed. Just matter-of-fact-y, like someone who’s used to the fact that nature is stronger than us.
We stood and talked. Davide was clearly in the mood for some company.
Stein asked what kind of thread he uses. My son asked if they have strong winds in the fall. Davide answered both questions, shared stories, talked about floods in the fall.
He had lived in Australia once. “Twenty years. Sydney, then Brisbane. Was a sailor for a bit, too…”
“Why’d you come back?” I asked.
He went silent for a few seconds.
“I got tired,” he nodded his head. “Money. Career. Material stuff. Never got to have a wife, a family. Here, by the sea, I already have enough. And I have a girlfriend, a good woman,” — he smiled, nodding at a curly, voluptuous woman with huge eyes and a kind smile, sweeping the front of the place.
Then it happened — quick, just as how bad things happen in life. He pulled the thread too hard, and it sliced right across his hand.
“Ah!” he hissed, waving it in the air like that would make it better.
Without thinking, I opened my bag (the black hole of preparedness). Found hand sanitizer, makeup cotton pads, a few band aids. He held out his hand — reluctant, but curious.
“Are you a doctor?”
“No,” I smiled. “I just like to be prepared.”
He laughed, and after I was done “doctoring”, he reached into a flower pot behind him and handed me a daisy.
“For your kindness,” he said. “And your farmacia.”
We hugged. People hug here. Apparently, strangers, too. Normale.
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My son held the umbrella while Davide finished the repair, his palm covered in band aids.
We chatted a little more. About soccer. How Norway beat Italy a few days ago. How Stein shouldn’t brag about it out loud in front of Italian soccer fans. Talked about summers. About Monaco — there was a billboard advertising some event there.
“We’re going next week,” Stein told him. “For the guide. You know, Maggie wants more recent photos. And for comparison. She writes, you know.”
Davide nodded, wiped a drop of sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, and looked out at the water.
Then at me.
“We all share the same sea, eh?”
It wasn’t a question. But this kind of unassuming sentence stays long in your chest. Gives answers to questions you didn’t ask out loud. Changes perspective.
What can I say? He was right.
You can go to Monaco for research, to admire the gleam, to sip something fizzy near a superyacht, but in places like our town, you remember what matters without ever needing to prove anything.
That’s what this part of the Riviera offers. Not just scenic beauty, but the real life, the real connections. Accidental friendships. And daisies from men who’ve already figured out what really matters.
So, here is my little Wednesday story. Not all articles should be about real estate or relocation, or business. Some share things about everyday life. Umbrellas. Daisies. The sea and sun, the same for us all. And about people who remind us that life doesn’t have to be glitzy to be good.
P.S. Many articles of mine start with a quote. Some end with a quote, and some with more musings.
“I wonder what it would be like to live in a world where it was always June.”
-L. M. Montgomery, Anne of the Island
That’s pretty close to the kind of life one lives at the Riviera. This life started for us 17 years ago, with a dream many believed was impossible to achieve — the dream of a location-independent life and financial freedom.
I don’t share this to gloat. I want to share it because someone needs to hear it:
If fear is holding you back, remember that amazing things can unfold against all odds. Just keep going. Start small. Stay consistent. Surround yourself with good people. Believe in yourself. Allow for help. Don’t be afraid of success.
If you’re drawn to this kind of life, you’re not alone. We built it from scratch. You can, too. Not overnight and certainly not without trade-offs. But yes, it’s possible.
And if you’re ready to stop Googling and start actually doing, you know where to find me.
Originally published at https://rivieradiaries.substack.com.
