You descend a narrow track through maquis that scratches your shins, and the sea appears in sections: first a wedge of turquoise, then the white foam line, finally the whole crescent of Punta di Spano tilting into the Mediterranean. There's no sand to speak of, only flat granite platforms where you lay your towel between crevices and lower yourself into water that holds the colour of backlit glass.
“This beach exists for the underwater view, not the shoreline; the rocks are the point, not an obstacle.”
Credit: UnsplashLong-tail boats moored in clear water
The seabed is a tumble of boulders colonized by algae, anemones, and darting schools of saupe. You swim out twenty metres and the rocks below you form caves and channels; octopuses hide in the shadows, and if you hold still, a curious grouper might inspect your mask. The shore offers no services, no shade beyond a few pine boughs, and no cell signal—just the slap of wavelets on stone and the occasional motorboat growling past toward Calvi.
Mid-September brings the best conditions: the August crowds have thinned, the water temperature peaks near twenty-four degrees, and afternoon sun lights the entire western face of the bay. You'll climb out over slippery rock, feet stinging from barnacles, and realize you've been swimming for two hours without noticing.
