Subtle Differences – Beach Edition

I’ve been dying to talk to you about the Italian beach scene. Our little town is 20 minutes from the Italian riviera, which I like to say because it sounds super fancy. It’s not far to the swanky spots like Monaco and Portofino, but luckily our closest beach is very much not flashy and very much better because of it. It’s just a beach where the locals go to sunbathe and swim and I go to watch people while pretending not to.

I’m not super keen on salt water swimming. I do it, but I’d choose a lake or a river over the sea anytime. So for me the beach is less about being in the water and more about looking at it. Beautiful as the water is though, it doesn’t hold a candle to the “creatures of the beach” as I like to think of them. If it’s August and the sun is out the beach is going to be packed. No one will think twice about putting their umbrella three feet from yours and plopping down right in front of you. Even if there is plenty of room somewhere else. I assume this is because they think if you’re already there then it must be a great spot but I don’t really know. It’s very different than the Pacific Northwest beaches where there are never crowds and people stay as far away from each other as possible so they don’t have to interact. Even though I’m not used to having my personal space encroached upon, I have loved getting to observe the beach creatures up close in their natural habitat and learn their rituals and proclivities.

Let’s talk swim wear. Do you know who has a bikini body in Italy? Every woman. Even you. Even me. Old, flabby, fat, saggy, it doesn’t matter. Every female wears a two piece suit. I’d guess out of the hundreds of people I saw, maybe three of them were wearing one pieces (one is pictured below) and I’d bet money they were foreigners. Through my very scientific work of subtly staring at people I’ve determined that if you are under age 30 there is about a 72% chance that your swimsuit shows your whole butt. After age 30 that number drops dramatically but there is an awful lot of bare ass on the beach.

As far as the men go, it’s not all tiny Speedos like you would imagine (that’s France, wink, wink). Most of the younger guys wear swim trunks. But I’ll tell you what. If a guy has a huge gut and skin that looks like it has been cooked in the microwave for the last 30 years I can guarantee you he is wearing a tiny swim suit. If he’s young and golden and muscular, trunks.

And then there is this guy. I fell in love with him and wanted a picture of him so badly. It was probably (definitely) wrong to pretend to take a selfie so I could capture him without his permission and even worse to share it here but he is amazing. I wish I could have asked him for the story of his life. Also the story of his Crocs.

On the other hand I do not feel bad about taking a picture of this guy. He was trying so hard to get people to notice him that I’m sure he wouldn’t mind. He had his white shorts, his strappy sandals, his shaved body, his tiny backpack purse, his ankle bracelets. He set up right in front of me and would go into the water for a moment and then come strutting out, shaking his long hair and flexing his muscles like he was on he cover of an 80’s romance novel.

Looking at this guy’s skin all I can think is SUN BLOCK. Huh? Eh? Wha? What’s sun block? Oh yeah, that stuff that non Italians rub on their white skin so they stay looking like the belly of a beluga whale. Why would you do that when you can just keep baking on the hot rocks for decades, until your skin turns to actual leather and then graduate from swim trunks to a Speedo?

When you are finally done frying yourself at the beach you will probably be hungry for something crispy, greasy and salty. I recommend stopping here before leaving the waterfront:

The name of this place translates as ‘We Are Fried Fry Restaurant’. Unfortunately I can’t say I’ve eaten there yet but you can bet your young, tan keister I will one of these days.