The beach begins where Sawata ends, separated by nothing more than a subtle shift in the shoreline's curve. But the crowds thin dramatically here, deterred perhaps by the extra five-minute walk or the lack of facilities. You'll find driftwood logs bleached silver by salt and sun, resting at odd angles where storms deposited them. The sand is coarser than its southern neighbor, mixed with small stones that click underfoot near the waterline.
“This northern extension offers the same bay water and sand as busier Sawata Beach, but with near-guaranteed solitude just a short walk away.”
Credit: UnsplashTropical island lagoon from above
Morning belongs to fishermen who wade into the shallows with hand lines, casting for perch and flounder. By noon they've usually departed, and the beach empties to just the wind and the rhythmic collapse of small waves. You can walk the entire length without encountering another person, watching oystercatchers probe the wet sand and crabs scuttle sideways into their burrows. The water temperature matches the main beach, but the lack of lifeguards means you swim at your own discretion.
Behind the beach, the land rises gently into terraced rice paddies that step upward toward the hills. Farmers drive small tractors along narrow paths, and the smell of earth and growing things mixes with salt air. There's no shop, no shower, no umbrella rental. What you carry in, you carry out. The absence of infrastructure feels intentional, as if the beach prefers to remain overlooked.
