The Pink of Passeggiare
If you’ve been wondering about the splash of pink across Passeggiare, here’s the story.
The inspiration comes straight from Italy’s most iconic newspaper: La Gazzetta dello Sport. I didn’t want this to look like just another blog — the choice of pink was deliberate, a nod to something uniquely, unmistakably Italian.
If you’ve been wondering about the splash of pink across Passeggiare, here’s the story.
The inspiration comes straight from Italy’s most iconic newspaper: La Gazzetta dello Sport. I didn’t want this to look like just another blog — the choice of pink was deliberate, a nod to something uniquely, unmistakably Italian.
My first memories of La Gazzetta go back to childhood, catching Football Italia on Channel 4. For many of us of a certain age in the UK, it was a cult show — Saturday mornings meant James Richardson in some sunlit piazza, tiny espresso at his side, holding up the latest Gazzetta to the camera. He’d translate the bold headline, sprinkle in some humour, and suddenly Italian football felt exotic, witty, and a little bit glamorous.
It was also my first memory of watching football outside of the UK — a window onto a different style, a different culture. In fact, Football Italia was probably my first real introduction to Italy (unless spag bol counts!). That early spark grew into an obsession in adulthood, and one of the gateways to why I’m even writing Passeggiare today. It helped form a curiosity that isn’t just about places, but about the finer details of life that reveal something deeper (such as knowing which tifosi and curve make up the boot).
James Richardson, doing his thing
Since then, whenever I’ve gone to Italy on holiday, it’s become a ritual: pick up a copy of La Gazzetta dello Sport, find a good piazza, and strike a James Richardson–style pose. A silly little tradition, maybe, but one that makes me smile every time. These days, after years of Italian lessons, I can actually read chunks of the paper — though I’ll admit, it’s still more prop than page-turner.
One of many photos of your author reliving the Football Italia dream
So yes, the pink of Passeggiare isn’t random. It’s a small tribute to those early memories, and to the quirks that drew me toward Italy and made me realise there’s a bigger, more colourful, more interesting world beyond these shores. And if it also gives me an excuse to keep striking the odd James Richardson–style piazza pose, well… I’ll happily take it.
Captain Teebs
Tony Soprano once said a nursing home was basically like a hotel in Cap d’Antibes. We put that line to the test with a day split between Cannes and Antibes — one felt like a film set, the other like a place you’d actually want to stay.
Who is Captain Teebs? Fans of The Sopranos might recall Tony arguing with his mum, Livia, about the Green Grove nursing home. Tony insists it’s a “retirement community,” while Livia stubbornly calls it a nursing home. In frustration, Tony badly paraphrases Dr Melfi, who claims places like Green Grove are “basically like a hotel in Cap d’Antibes.” Tony instead says “it’s more like a hotel at Captain Teebs!”.
That odd little line stuck with me — and it’s what came to mind when we found ourselves in that very corner of the Riviera. So, consider this post a slightly convoluted homage to Captain Teebs.
Cannes
We spent a morning in Cannes and, if I’m honest, I found it underwhelming. The wealth is impossible to miss — rows of designer shops, gleaming hotels, and marinas stuffed with yachts, all basking in the afterglow of the annual film festival.
But having just spent three days in Nice, Cannes felt bland. We walked for a while, then stopped for a coffee at an expensive beach bar. A bit too comfortable in the setting, we followed it up with a spritz each — €20 apiece. Nice enough, but a regretful cost. The place was full of apparent models, retired CEOs, and a bloke who could have stepped straight out of a Netflix documentary on an Albanian mafia fugitive.
We thought about heading up to the old town, but in the end, the place never clicked. So we bailed and caught the train down the coast.
Antibes
Almost immediately, Antibes felt different. Buzzier, warmer, more interesting. We strolled the old streets (just missing the market as it was packing up), then slid into full tourist mode and ordered croque monsieur/madame for lunch at a little café in the sun. Basic, yes — but exactly what we wanted.
The real highlight was the Picasso Museum, housed in the seaside Château Grimaldi. For six months in 1946, Picasso lived and worked here, and since 1966 it has displayed his art in the very rooms where he painted. I’ve always liked his work, and spending an hour in that space was the perfect balance of culture and atmosphere.
Yes, Antibes is touristy, but it gave me that rare instinctive feeling of a place you want to come back to. Cannes I could take or leave; Antibes I’d happily explore again in more depth.
If travel teaches anything, it’s to trust those gut reactions. And mine say I’d happily return to Antibes, suitcase in hand, to see if Captain Teebs has a room waiting.
Simple Pleasures
The warm morning sun is just rising above Saint-Jean Cap-Ferrat and is starting to glisten on the azure Mediterranean Sea. The bay, littered with yachts and fishing boats, looks perfectly still at this hour. With very few people around, I always find it the best time to take photographs, uninterrupted.
The narrow red and yellow hued streets of Villefranche-sur-Mer cling to the steep slopes heading down to the bay, providing a perfect setting for capturing some archetypal scenes of a town on the French Riviera.
The warm morning sun is just rising above Saint-Jean Cap-Ferrat and is starting to glisten on the azure Mediterranean Sea. The bay, littered with yachts and fishing boats, looks perfectly still at this hour. With very few people around, I always find it the best time to take photographs, uninterrupted.
The narrow red and yellow hued streets of Villefranche-sur-Mer cling to the steep slopes heading down to the bay, providing a perfect setting for capturing some archetypal scenes of a town on the French Riviera.
A calmness hangs in the air, and a sense of possibility for the day ahead lingers, along with the unmistakable aroma of baked goods coming from each boulangerie that is passed.
The church bells ring, and there’s a slight hubbub of activity down by the fishing boats. A small gang of locals, clutching café au lait, spectates from a nearby brasserie.
I finish my little circuit of the town and head back up the hill to our pink hotel, which wouldn’t look out of place in a Wes Anderson film, and feel grateful to have started the day with such simple pleasures.
A Welcome
“Passeggiare”. A perfect analogy, for why I’ve decided to do this blog.
“Passeggiare”. A perfect analogy, for why I’ve decided to do this blog.
The Italian verb “to walk”, but with no real purpose. A meander, if you will and a perfect summary for what this blog is. A need for exercising. In this case; creativity, expression and an offloading of the internal thoughts. Mainly of places visited and food eaten. But, following the intent of a passeggiata (noun), there’s no ultimate end goal, other than to enjoy the process and take each instance at face value.
Whilst it’s an Italian word and whilst anyone who knows me will know that I am bordering on obsessed with Italy, it won’t be an Italian blog.
Nor is the intent of this blog to be a travel, or a food guide. Other things shall be written of (football, music and being in the outdoors). Other people and places do a far more concise job than I’d manage. I hope to share my thoughts, views and ideas on a broad spectrum of topics that I know and live.
It’s a place of open and honest thoughts. Of expression. And sticking to the theme of honesty, an outlet for personal creativity, which may just be an oblique way of saying it’s a personal folly. However, even if a handful of people enjoy it from time-to-time, it shall be worth it.
For now, goodbye!
The omnipresent ‘passeggiata’ of Italian towns, in motion.