You park near the nature reserve boundary and walk in—no boardwalk, no admission booth, just a sandy track through coastal scrubland that smells of salt and wild fennel. The lagoon sits to your left, its still surface broken occasionally by diving birds or the ripple of mullet. Ahead, the beach emerges: a wide, gently sloping expanse of blonde sand scattered with driftwood and the occasional fishing net float, evidence of the Adriatic's workings.
“The lagoon ecosystem presses directly against the beach, creating a rare double shoreline where saltwater and brackish wetland meet within meters.”
Credit: UnsplashPalm trees framing a sunset shore
The sand here has texture—small shell fragments mixed in, tiny clams and razor shells worn smooth. You lay out your towel and notice the absence: no rows of loungers, no lifeguard tower, no beach club attendant raking the sand into submission. Just shore, sea, and the calls of black-winged stilts working the lagoon shallows behind you. The water arrives in low, lazy waves, warm and silty green from the nearby river outflow. Wade in and your feet sink slightly into the soft bottom.
By midday the sun is relentless—there's no shade unless you've brought your own. A few local families dot the strand, well-spaced, and a couple of fishermen wade chest-deep casting for sea bass. The lagoon habitat draws birders with binoculars and telephoto lenses, but most visitors simply come for what the beach offers plainly: sand, sun, water, solitude. As afternoon wears on, the light turns the lagoon molten, and you understand why this stretch remains gloriously underrated.
