Largely neglected by the Italian government for decades, the result is that some parts of Basilicata still show traces of old Europe. They won’t last much longer. Sadly, this beautiful landscape dotted with ancient hill towns is being depopulated. Perhaps the young people who are departing will be replaced by immigrants, who would bring much-needed life back to the deserted places, even if altering them into something Italy hasn’t seen before. As the world turns.

Some communities are valiantly trying hard to stay intact. Around the religious holiday of Saint Anthony the Abbot, several of them host traditional festivals based on ancient pagan winter rites mixed with Christian celebrations. Strange costumes, parades in the dark, and a high mass offer the means for the entire town to come together.

Two short flights from Nice put me there, in a vastly contrasting environment to my usual. What a happy place it is for me. Friendly people, savory and healthy food, great local wine, clean air and a photographer’s delight. I hope to make one more trip a year from now.

Despite a painful, inoperative upper left limb, I moved in mid-September with a little help from my friends. I like my new neighborhood of L’Éveché, not just for the conveniences, but for the Gallic liveliness. It is much less touristy than Fleurs/Gambetta where I lived before, which incidentally has been labeled “Little America” by some recent arrivals.

Despite the many gorgeous old buildings in my new part of town, it is a bit less posh and inhabited by more regular folks, a mix of middle and working class, and students. The cafes, restaurants and shops on the main street, always bustling with locals, make for a vibrant atmosphere. Some old brasseries, rapidly disappearing in central Nice, are still thriving as local haunts with cut rate prices and classic menus. A big daily market at the Place Charles De Gaulle and a one of those plush-seat movie theaters are an eight minute walk from me and closer there is everything else: supermarkets, pharmacies (in France there’s one every block), banks, a couple of post offices, butchers, cheesemongers, hardware stores, tradespeople, “ambulanciers” (ambulance drivers), nurse offices (to call when requiring a home visit). 

Where I live is in a sub-neighborhood tucked between two boulevards known for its private late -19th century villas. Some of these have been converted into apartments but some remain family homes with large gardens. From my fifth floor vantage point, I look over their red tiled roofs.

My balcony has a “vue dégagée” with no tall buildings directly in front, where I can see the sun rise over Mont Boron. I particularly like the framed view from the bathroom window.

It is a residential area with no businesses for a few blocks around so it is quiet for a big city. Of course, there are bland modern structures too, and I live in one. No more the Belle Epoque charm of my prior dwelling. But I am decorating it in a colorful, non-stuffy spirit to make it my happy place. It starts with a reupholstered sofa in a bright coral hue, dubbed “the dopamine couch” by my daughter.

The downside of the area for most expats is its distance from the sea. Seven stops on the tram is a real deterrent. That also means you get more for your money up here. After years of being a short walk from the Promenade, I was ready to trade the proximity to the Med for a more fully French experience.  

The other week I went for an evening drink with friends, passing by a packed nearby café where people were sitting outdoors watching — with great enthusiasm —a soccer game playing on a large screen. I know where I’ll be enjoying the next World Cup. 

I am in Edinburgh for the long summer. This is my first year sampling an annual “evasion” here, the thing to evade being the tropical southern France heat. How different it feels to spend the season full of outdoor activity without a thought to possibly passing out from the high temps and humidity. 

And there’s more than enough to do and discover in this pretty city of gardens, cobbled streets, neighborhood pubs and art. I’ve joined a couple of photo clubs which do a good job of motivating me to leave the couch, and I signed up for a weekly French class to prevent language rustiness. In between there are multiple arts festival events and short trips to outlying coastal villages, market towns or a Gothic church. Edinburgh might be an ideal spot.

As an art lover, I find the exhibitions very satisfying. Recently, the Modern Art museum show of photographs from decades of labor, the suffragists, anti-war and civil rights protests included some cracking good ones. What courage and sacrifice.

The display of Scottish colorists at the Dovecot Studios was a happy find. In a few weeks a grand retrospective on Andy Goldsworthy opens. The collections at the major museums are always worth repeat visits. 

And there’s walking. Walking for hours to get to know the various neighborhoods, to take the long way there to fall on happy discoveries. To see adverts for pipe band championships, Highland Games and hyper local celebrations.

Of course I miss my social life. As it turns out, some friends from Nice are passing through Edinburgh and it will be an added treat to see them. 

Poor France. It is the fastest warming European country. How I’d love to spend these months getting to know the country more profoundly. But it is burning red hot except for slivers along the Brittany and Normandy coastline. I’m not the only one with a summer “coolcation” strategy. I might be able to enjoy my Nice friends here more and more often. 

Ah, there I go. There’s something good to talk about. Because one does not find it very often of late. And why should we? The world is undergoing dangerous tectonic shifts everywhere we look. France, and not only France, is worried.

My Easter (pissaladière, pâté, gigot d’agneau, pommes de terre dauphinois, fromage, Ile Flottante and champagne) was spent in the company of four native and well-informed French, who were not sparing in their expression of shock, horror and disgust at the willful demise of the U.S. They were all fluent in English (we spoke French however), and have spent long stretches all over the U.S. They despair as much as I do. Those Americans in power have opened the gate to the barbarians while no one was forcing them.

Where to go for some relief from the pressure? For me, spending time in nature is a sure antidote. There are a lot of natural spaces to enjoy not far from Nice, but without a car, forget it. However, recently I discovered Le Train des Pignes, a little train operating from its own small station that goes into the mountains, stopping at a smattering of Haute Provence small towns along the way, offering views of forests, fields and the snow-capped Alps. The terminus is Digne Les Bains, a town famous for its thermal baths. Bonus: the weekly market where we picked up some local products at bargain prices. 

From Digne, there are numerous trails with spectacular views, including a ten-day walk through a Geopark studded with earthworks created by major artists, like Andy Goldworthy, a Badlands of Jurassic dunes and other sites of geologic importance. It is enough to alter one’s mood for the better. A great escape.

I didn’t make it much out of the baths this time around, but when a dose of wide open green spaces beckons, I now know where to go.