You park under a tamarisk tree and cross the low dunes, sandals sinking in fine ivory-coloured grains that squeak underfoot. The bay curves in a gentle arc, sheltered by rocky points on either side, and the water gradates from pale mint at the shoreline to cobalt where swimmers bob beyond the sandbar. A wooden fishing boat rests on the beach, its blue paint blistered and faded, rope coiled in the bow.
“The shallow white sand bottom creates a luminous turquoise corridor that glows even on overcast days, a natural light show from geology.”
Credit: UnsplashA bunch of umbrellas that are on a beach
The seabed slopes so gradually that you can walk out thirty metres and still feel sand beneath your toes. Children build castles at the waterline, the wet sand packing smooth and firm, while their parents stretch out under striped canvas umbrellas, paperbacks splayed open on towels. The brightness of the water—almost artificial in its intensity—comes from the white sand reflecting sunlight back through the shallows, a trick of limestone sediment ground fine by centuries of current.
By late afternoon the wind picks up, ruffling the surface into tiny wavelets that slap gently against your knees. You spread your towel near the edge of the dunes where wild beach grasses provide a scrap of shade, and the smell of sun-warmed seaweed and flowering sea rocket drifts on the breeze. Across the bay, a couple walks the waterline, their footprints filling slowly behind them.
