Stay Awhile in Lucca

Lucca was exactly what we needed. After months of running ourselves ragged with big-city itineraries and epic social gatherings (thanks and Happy Birthday, Linda!), this quiet, walled Tuscan town was the oasis of chill we were craving.

Compared to everywhere else we’ve been, Lucca is tiny. Its intact medieval walls circle a historic center with only about 8,000 residents. Sure, there are many more folks outside the walls, but since we rarely venture out, we’ve decided they don’t count. Inside the walls, it’s all cobblestones, charming piazzas, and an irresponsible number of excellent restaurants for a place you can walk across in ten minutes.

Truthfully, you could check off most of the sights in a day. Which, for us, was ideal.

Chiesa di San Michele in Foro

Why Lucca?

We picked Lucca for its proximity to the beach, reliable Wi-Fi, and because it hosts a summer music festival in July, with artists performing right in the piazza. We were a little worried there would be a storm of visitors once the festival started. Turns out, even the storm here is chill. Unless you were in front of the stage, you’d hardly know anything was happening.

Our grand plan was to have no grand plan. Work the now-familiar late hours to stay in sync with EST, hit a few shows, dive deeper into Italian cuisine, get a workout routine going. And every weekend? Head to the beach and do exactly nothing. Reading, lounging, Spritzing, and floating like human jellyfish in the absurdly buoyant Mediterranean.

And then

There we were—sweating our way up 2,000 feet of rocky terrain in 100-degree heat, questioning both our hydration strategy and our parenting skills. What happened, you might ask?

Sean happened

He arrived buzzing with ideas, enthusiasm, and a suspicious amount of energy. Next thing we knew, we were hiking the Cinque Terre (coming soon). Twice. It’s moments like this when the unintended consequences of raising outdoorsy kids come home to roost with a vengeance and a need for trekking poles.

airbnb Lucca

B.S. (Before Sean)

Before Sean’s high-octane arrival, we had time to settle into local life and our Airbnb. Not in a tower this time, but with a tower watching over us like a medieval protector. Tucked inside the city walls, the place was perfect: Two bedrooms, a private shaded courtyard, room to spread out. And, most importantly: A/C. The heat wave refused to quit, with most days 95+. Air conditioning is a survival item, not a luxury.

First impressions

On arrival, our first thought: How sweet. It’s genuinely touching how proud the Lucchesi are of their hometown. And, rightfully so. Lucca is authentic and full of charm, with just the right amount of inaccessibility to keep the crowds at bay. (especially with the fast train to Florence currently out of service). It’s friendly, self-contained, and perfectly picturesque.

Tweens

Our second thought? What is going on with all these tweens? Yes, school had just let out for summer, but the sheer volume of tweens flooding the streets was staggering.

We’ve long been obsessed with identically dressed friend groups who seem blissfully unaware they’re identically dressed. It’s like fashion by telepathy. Lucca proved this phenomenon is global.

Here, the tweens roamed in coordinated packs, dressed in the unofficial uniform of black, white, and denim. Every boy sported the same over-ear fade haircut, topped with glossy black curls; every girl wore tiny shorts with cheeks unapologetically out. It was as if they’d all just graduated from the same grooming academy or escaped from a cloning lab. Or more likely, as a girl mom wisely put it, it’s because no one at that age wants to stand out from the pack.

Doug, Charlotte, Sean

When Sean arrived, his coloring and locks (less the fade, plus the moustache) blended right in. He could’ve passed for a local without breaking a sweat. We took him to our gym and promptly lost him in a sea of lookalikes. Truly. It took us a full minute to find him. His Italian genes were definitely flexing.

biking through the countryside of Lucca

The workout

The gym we found just outside Lucca’s city walls felt more like a country club, complete with a pool, spa, sauna, steam room, and a full roster of fitness classes. We’d hop on our slightly run-down, secondhand bikes and ride out a few times a week.

Italians’ approach to fitness is… gentle.

The weight room was perfectly adequate, but the real draw for the Italians was the aqua-fit classes. These involved dozens of people gently bobbing in the pool, barely breaking a sweat. And thank God because this was often in peak 95-degree heat when the UV index hit 9. Three minutes in that sun would roast any fair-skinned human. But the Italians? Unbothered.

They’d follow up their workout with a dedicated sun sesh, bronzing for hours. To say we were jealous of their olive skin and ability to spend more than three minutes in the sun without turning beet red would be an understatement.

Viareggio

Lazy weekends

Each weekend, we’d bike, train, and bike again to Il Sole Beach Club in Viareggio. The Italians warned us off: “No, no! Not nice! Not a beautiful beach!” Sure, it’s not the turquoise coves of Liguria, but clearly they’ve never seen Long Island Sound or attempted the Pacific in July without a wetsuit.

To us, it was perfect. Warm, swimmable water. A rented sunbed and umbrella offering endless shade for our above-mentioned lily-white skin. And, an on-site restaurant serving fresh, healthy food, on actual plates, with an actual waiter. No fryer, no plastic fork. And yes, a bar ready to whip up a cocktail as the sun dipped low. Don’t get us wrong: the Pacific is stunning. But this? This was the Mediterranean vibe we needed.

Simple Minds rockin out

Lucca Summer Festival

On several evenings, we capped things off with a bike-train-bike dash back to Lucca, followed by a stroll into Piazza Napoleone for a live show at the Lucca Summer Festival. We caught Santana, 30 Seconds to Mars, Nile Rodgers & Chic, Pet Shop Boys, Alanis Morissette, and Simple Minds. If nostalgia is having a moment (and we’re pretty sure it is), this festival nailed it.

sinfully delicious lasagna

Things Italy absolutely crushes

There are some truly wonderful things about Italian culture. The food. Come on. It’s not just good, it’s impossibly, unfairly, eat-pasta-every-night good. Even in Lucca, which doesn’t lay claim to any major signature dishes, they execute everyone else’s to perfection.

Surprisingly, we have not gained weight (We think. Who has a scale?). All that pasta is offset by smaller portions, zero snacking, and walking everywhere.

Every meal, every espresso is taken sitting down, or at least standing still. This is not a grab-and-go culture, and we’re happily complying. We sip our cappuccinos from real cups, seated like civilized people, and we cut our pizza with a knife and fork, savoring each bite instead of folding our slice in half and inhaling it on the sidewalk.

La dolce vita, indeed

Then there’s the work-life balance: unhurried meals, long midday breaks, generous holidays, and the evening stroll through town, dressed like it’s fashion week. No one looks rushed, stressed, or tired.

They’ve figured out how to live simply and well. Confident there’s a safety net when they need it. While we, back in the States, are burning ourselves out chasing the idea of living well, in a system that offers no backup plan.

Tiny rants

But after a while, a few things about the local culture can start to get under your skin.

Like… why, in the year 2025, can they not filter their tap water? Not even a water fountain at the gym. Why must we live in a world powered by plastic bottles and mild dehydration?

And while we do love traditional food, must every meal be traditional? (In Lucca, the answer is yes. There’s a regulation that requires restaurants inside the city walls to serve only classic Tuscan fare at dinnertime.)

And must they allow smoking at outdoor restaurants? Nothing says ‘buon appetito’ like a cloud of cigarette smoke wafting towards your lasagna.

And Trenitalia. Oh, Trenitalia. Why must your train stations blast a constant stream of announcements about things no one understands and even fewer people care about? “Attenzione! Attenzione!” they cry, on loop, at glass-shattering decibel levels, as if the fate of the world hinges on a slightly delayed regional train to Pisa.

For the love of God, just let us sit in peace and eat our panini.

macchiato, not cappuccino

Perspective is a good thing

But while we’re here, we drink it in, blend in, and only half jokingly complain about these small things. Because if we actually said anything out loud, the Lucchesi would just look at us like, “Your country is falling apart.” Touché, Lucchesi.

Still, when minor inconveniences like midday shop closures and the quizzical looks if you order your cappuccino after noon start to make your eye twitch, it might be the signal we’re almost ready to head back to the States. Almost.

No matter how incredible this adventure has been (and it has), we still want to go home. Despite the full-on dumpster fire, home is home. It’s good to get away, take a break, see the world, reset.
And sometimes you need to leave to fully appreciate what you have. To remember why you chose the place you call home.

Love letter to CA

We owe a debt of gratitude to the U.S. and, especially, to California. It took us in, showed us what success could look like, and raised our kids into incredible outdoorsy, chill humans.

You can’t shake us that easily, California. We still love you, despite your high taxes, ever-present tip screens, constant threat of wildfires, and your habit of closing the kitchen at 8 pm. We are coming home soon!