Segways, Drag Queens, and Reiki: Our Unforgettable Girlfriends’ Getaway in Nice
Four women. One week in Nice. No wild nights, no drama — just a carefully orchestrated blend of croissants, chaos, and cherished chats. If you thought the French Riviera was all beaches and cocktails, think again. We brought our brand of adventure: Segways, drag queens, Reiki, and a boat skipper suspiciously like Johnny Depp. Spoiler alert: I’m the planner, and yes, they let me keep that title.
If you’d told me four women — well past the “let’s paint the town red” phase — would descend on the French Riviera for a week of sightseeing, laughter, and sisterhood, I’d have replied, “Sure, but pack your comfiest shoes and a PhD in patience.” What happened? Picture this: Segways that felt more like mechanical bucking broncos, drag queens lighting up the streets like a glitter bomb, a Reiki session that turned into a nap fest, a day trip to Monaco. A boat skipper who looked like Johnny Depp’s long-lost twin. Plus enough memories to last a lifetime (and then some).
Our story begins with four friends who’ve known each other for many years — enough time to accumulate inside jokes thick enough to fill a novel, and a camaraderie that only comes with surviving life’s ups, downs, and questionable fashion choices together. There’s me, the detail-obsessed planner — because someone has to herd this chaos. Then Soshi, our resident meditation and Reiki queen, forever chasing zen (and occasionally getting hilariously distracted by plants, trees, flowers, or the occasional good-looking man — because priorities, right?). Cori, a tall British blonde with a dry wit so sharp it could cut a baguette, and Jo, perpetually good-humoured, as long as the sun hasn’t risen before she has.
Mornings usually began with Jo and me embarking on our daily pilgrimage to the local boulangerie — croissants in hand, mission accomplished. The others? Slowly emerging from their cocoons, bleary-eyed and wondering how anyone could function this early without coffee being administered intravenously.
One highlight — our very first Segway excursion. Those stand-up scooters look innocent enough, but trust me, they’re sneaky little beasts. After a crash course that felt like mastering the art of tightrope walking in roller skates, we set off wobbling through crowds, dodging selfie sticks like secret agents, and desperately praying not to spill someone’s espresso. The result? Equal parts chaos, comedy, and sheer exhilaration. We looked ridiculous. We loved every second.
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Midweek, we hopped on a train for a day trip to Monaco, where glitz and glam collided hilariously with our slightly dishevelled, real-world antics. Think luxury yachts, fancy casinos, and us trying not to look like total tourists while we gawked at the Rolls-Royce.
On a different day, Jo arranged a boat trip that turned out to be one of the highlights. Our skipper — a dead ringer for Johnny Depp, tousled hair and all — had everyone captivated with his roguish charm and nautical stories. Soshi, usually the calm and collected meditation queen, suddenly morphed into a starry-eyed sailor, peppering him with questions like a meditative pirate-in-training.
Then came the night Nice threw us a curveball — an impromptu drag queen show right in the street. We squeezed into the crowd and soaked up the glitter, sass, and charisma as if it were our new favourite cocktail. Jo’s wide-eyed shock at her first drag show was pure gold, making the whole scene even more delightful. While Jo gasped and giggled, Cori shared a wild tale about a too-enthusiastic Italian suitor from her language trip days. Soshi added stories from her recent Turkish adventure — a free-spirited gathering that was… let’s say, definitely unique. We laughed so hard, I swear the locals started tuning in.
Back at the flat, Soshi offered Cori a Reiki session. Jo and I valiantly tried to stay awake amid the soft candlelight and calming vibes. Spoiler: we failed spectacularly and nodded off — only to be abruptly woken by Soshi’s thunderous clap on Cori’s bum. Jo and I exchanged amused looks and pretended to be wide awake because, honestly, nothing says “spiritual awakening” like a surprise wake-up call.
We also treated ourselves to a food and sightseeing excursion, savouring the flavours of Nice as much as its charming streets — because what’s a trip without a little indulgence?
By the time we packed to leave, the chaos of Nice had softened into something tender and familiar. The city’s imperfections mirrored our own — messy, unpredictable, but full of heart. We promised this would be our new annual tradition: more laughter, more stories, and maybe, just maybe, fewer suitcases (and perhaps a bit more patience for our charmingly imperfect French — plus Cori’s heavily accented Italian she ‘picked up’ on that infamous language trip to Italy, cough cough).
So, here’s to friendship, imperfect cities, and the kind of trips that remind you: the best souvenirs aren’t the photos — they’re the stories you’ll laugh about forever, preferably over flaky croissants and a cheeky glass of rosé.
If you would like more stories that intertwine humour with life’s serious twists — touching on culture, life, marriage, and work — I have plenty more tangled tales on the way.
