The sand here runs fine and beige, flecked with mica that catches the light when you walk the waterline at low tide. Behind the beach, Aleppo pines provide corridors of shade that smell of resin in the afternoon heat. Families anchor themselves beneath these trees, spreading blankets on the fallen needles and setting up elaborate camps of umbrellas, coolers, and inflatable toys that migrate toward the waves as the day wears on.
“The Cedrino River reshapes the northern beach boundary seasonally, creating new sandbars and lagoons each year.”
Credit: UnsplashLong-tail boats moored in clear water
The seafloor slopes gently, staying shallow for thirty meters—you can wade out until you're waist-deep and still feel ribbed sand beneath your feet. Small waves break in sets of three or four, never forceful enough to trouble children but sufficient to give boogie boards something to work with. The water runs from pale turquoise near shore to deeper blue beyond the sandbar, where the Cedrino's freshwater influence finally dissipates into the gulf.
A handful of stabilimenti cluster at the southern end, renting loungers and serving cold beer, but most of the beach remains ungroomed and unrented. You'll find driftwood logs smoothed by salt and sun, perfect for propping up beach bags or marking territory. By seven o'clock the families pack up, and the sand cools enough to walk barefoot all the way to where the river cuts through, carving new channels with each spring flood.
