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  • Writer's pictureJeremy Brown

Riviera Rhapsody: Exploring the Charm and Beauty of the French Riviera

Updated: Jan 9





The morning unfurled another canvas of cloudless blue, pulling me from the lingering haze of yesterday's ride. As I emerged from my wine-induced contemplation, the day stretched ahead, brimming with the promise of discovery. At my makeshift kitchen table office, the keys of my laptop echoed through the slumbering apartment. The city stirred slowly, like a drowsy giant awakening to the rhythm of my typing.


The pivotal question of our departure time lingered, and soon, we found ourselves loading our bikes for a westward journey along the sea. Past the lively airport, we traced the coastline until we reached the walled city of Antibes, where time seemed to stand still. The Mediterranean waves caressed the city walls, and as we entered through the gates, we were transported to an era when every stone spoke of history.


Within Antibes, the morning market's vendors were folding up shop, and a sense of melancholy hung in the air. We discovered a bustling café, a stone's throw from the market, filled with a melange of tourists.


The air buzzed with conversations in myriad languages as we indulged in a leisurely meal and savored espresso.


The city pulsed with energy, a harmonious chaos that fueled our spirits. We ventured out of the gates, the city's mouth wide open, and cruised along the seaside toward Cannes—the illustrious city of cinema and festivals.


Skirting the grandeur of the cinematic town, we ascended into the hills, the hum of our engines harmonizing with the mountainous terrain. Grasse, the sanctuary of French perfume, beckoned. Riding a motorcycle is a marvel in itself, but riding through uncharted territories elevates the experience. In the South of France, the breathtaking scenery unfolded in a sensory symphony.


Grasse, perched atop a hill, greeted us with a winding road that gracefully stacked upon itself. The city, though small, boasted squares adorned with pastel-hued buildings. Pink umbrellas floated above narrow alleys, casting a gentle filter of light on the cobblestones below. Café-lined streets, shaded patios, and the aroma of spices and flowers mingling in the air—the essence of Grasse, the perfume capital of France.


After a contemplative espresso, we resumed our journey. Descending the hill's spine, we navigated the switchbacks, each curve revealing a new facet of the city. The bikes hummed in unison, a smooth dance of motion. St. Paul awaited on a sun-soaked hill, and as we slowed to a stop, the village unfolded like a freshly painted masterpiece.

Cafés, orchards, and enticing displays of chocolates and croissants surrounded us. The sun dipped below the hills, painting the sky in hues of orange, purple, and pink. Sipping our espressos, accompanied by the girls' local rosé, we savored the moment, entranced by the village's metamorphosis as dusk descended.


Returning to our bikes, the evening air retained its warmth. The engines rumbled as we descended through the canyon, reaching the now-black sea—a mystical abyss illuminated only by distant city lights. Navigating the familiar boulevard, we wove through night traffic, the sea to our right and the Riviera's hotels and apartments on our left.



Dancing through the night, we maneuvered seamlessly, passing our apartment gate and executing a U-turn. Three lanes of traffic were traversed with ease, a ballet of motorcycles in the blinding city lights. Safely reaching our gated parking lot, we idled our bikes, dismounted, and strolled into the apartment.


Showered and with a glass of wine in hand, laughter filled the air as we recounted the day's adventures on the patio. Vibrating hands, wind-chapped lips, and smiles etched on our faces, we ambled through the streets of Nice. The camera roll brimmed with memories, and as the day waned, the anticipation of tomorrow's adventure whispered its promises.


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