The descent takes fifteen minutes, switchbacking down the cliff face through vegetation that scratches your calves—prickly pear, wild asparagus, thorny burnet that releases a cucumber scent when crushed. Halfway down, you'll pause to catch your breath and realize the entire beach is visible below, a narrow ribbon of grey-white stones cupped between rock walls. Perhaps two or three towels dot the shore. The water is the profound blue of lapis lazuli.
“The watchtower overhead has guarded this cove since the 1500s; you're swimming in a place pirates once feared to approach.”
Credit: UnsplashA bunch of umbrellas that are on a beach
Pebbles here are larger than at other beaches, some the size of your fist, making walking awkward until you reach the water's edge where they've been sorted smooth and small by wave action. The shore drops sharply; three steps in and you're swimming. Underwater, the stones continue, their pale surface creating an almost Caribbean luminosity in the shallows before the bottom falls away into navy darkness. Schools of damselfish drift in the rocks at either end of the cove.
Above you, Pollina clings to its mountaintop perch, a jumble of medieval stone backlit by afternoon sun. The only sounds are waves on stones and, occasionally, goat bells from the cliffs. By four o'clock, shadow creeps across the beach as the western headland blocks the sun. The water remains warm, though, heated all day in the shallows. Climbing back up, your legs burning, you'll pass wild fennel releasing its anise perfume in the heat.
