The beach in Tuscany
Imagine an Italian beach. Do you think of turquoise-coloured water, white sand, a few fashionably overloaded sunglasses - and people lying motionless under parasols? Then you've either never spent a day between the Lido, gelato and nonna. Or you haven't looked.
Italians don't (just) go to the beach to sunbathe. They live there. How dolce vita by the sea really works:
1. you set up your living room.
An Italian beach day begins with logistical finesse. Folding chairs, cool bags, parasols, beach mats, a small stereo system, perhaps a folding table - everything is included. Some carry more luggage than on an Alpine crossing. And everything has its place.
2. you eat. A lot. And well.
While the tourist grabs a dry panino, the Italian family gets out the Tupperware. Pasta Fredda, parmigiana, melon with prosciutto. The whole beach smells like home for a moment. Children with tomato sauce on their faces included.
3. you discuss - with passion.
A football match on the mobile phone, a politician on the radio, the right order in a card game. Volume is not a side effect - it is a principle. If you don't listen, you don't understand Italy.
4. you are on the phone.
With the cousin, the neighbour, the colleague. Why? Because it works. And because the sound of the sea is a great background sound when you're explaining why Uncle Gino overreacted at the last birthday party.
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5. you see and let yourself be seen.
Fashion is important, even by the sea. Swimming trunks with a crease? Why not. The sunglasses have to be right. And if you don't go into the sea, you'll still look dazzling.
6. you go into the water. Briefly.
The discussion in front of it: "Is it too cold?" - "Is that a jellyfish?" - "Who goes first?" Then a quick dive - and straight back out again. Finally, an espresso awaits at the beach bar.
7. you stay until sunset.
Because the best is saved for last. The sun sinks into the sea, the light turns golden, the water still. One last look, one last smile - and then the dismantling begins.
