The pebbles slope steeply here, disappearing into water so deeply saturated it appears lit from within—lapis lazuli close to shore, darkening to sapphire where the seabed drops. The Faraglioni stand offshore like ancient sentinels: three limestone towers weathered into arches and spires, their surfaces white in full sun, honey-colored at dawn. You'll swim toward them, though they're farther than they appear, the current stronger than expected.
“The only beach where you swim in the direct shadow of Capri's most famous natural monuments.”
Credit: FlickrMarina Piccola — photo by ell brown
Two beach clubs divide the cove—La Fontanina and Il Faro—their wooden platforms built directly over rocks, blue-striped lettini arranged at angles to maximize the view. Staff in crisp whites deliver platters of mozzarella and tomatoes, bottles of Greco di Tufo sweating in silver buckets. The crowd skews international and affluent: Roman weekenders, German couples on anniversary trips, the occasional yacht owner shuttled in by tender. Everyone is here for the same reason: those three rocks, rising from the Tyrrhenian like a Renaissance painting's background.
By afternoon, the bay fills with gozzo boats—traditional wooden launches circling the Faraglioni, their passengers leaning overboard to photograph the natural arch. You'll hear four languages in as many minutes. The scene is unabashedly glamorous, Capri's essential self on full display: beautiful people in beautiful settings, charging beautiful prices for the privilege.
