France Banned Pouches and Made Me a Criminal, So I Chose Italy

Last night felt like the old Madrid.

A terrace near Manuel Becerra. Wine, tea, Spanish food. Jonah and Stella flew in from Italy for a few days. Jonah is a close friend. We’ve known each other for five years. He left a career in M&A consulting. Stella left her life here. Together they packed up and moved to Italy. They were learning Italian. Making new friends. Starting over.

Prince. ABBA. Ocean Vuong.

I hadn’t taken a real holiday in over a year and a half. I was thinking Genoa.

Jonah asked why not Nice. I’d been there last year on my way to Stockholm. I loved it. The pace of life. The way you forget what day it is by the second afternoon. The contrast with my daily life in Madrid.

So I told him.

France banned nicotine pouches. Possession is now punishable by up to five years in prison and a fine of up to €375,000. I’m not going back to cigarettes. And I’m not going to jail for carrying a tin in my pocket. So France is off the table.

It was the first time Jonah had heard the details. He’d heard about the ban. But hearing the numbers out loud is different. Five years. €375,000. For a pouch. He looked at me and said that was insane. Stella said it was unfair. We all agreed it was both.

So Genoa it is. Liguria. The Italian Riviera. Same coastline. No handcuffs.

I’ve never been to Genoa. But it feels like the right place to go. The food. The light. The sea. I didn’t tell them the other reason. My parents met in Italy. It was always just a name. Now it isn’t.

France knew what Sweden did. It chose differently. It banned pouches. Possession. Use. Even carrying one through customs.

So I’m going to Genoa.

France will be there when it comes to its senses.