Shortly after our arrival we look to the terrace to snack on fresh fruit and enjoy the view: beyond the patio railing bright blue and orange umbrellas scattered a pebbly seaside below us, bronzed locals of every age lounged beneath them. Cafes and pizzerias lined the seashore just steps away from the water, and old women could be spotted hanging laundry out of the windows above the storefronts. There was no thought of work- no stress, no rushing from place to place, no sense of urgency- the only objective of the day was to enjoy it.
Up at the house we New Yorkers quickly got intune with Italian Riviera lifestyle by swimming and napping in the summer sun. While the rest of the crew lazed off their jetlag, my parents and I decided to locate the old pathway down to the beach that the caretaker, Mario, had told us about. A creaky gateway at the edge of the property led to an overgrown dirt path. Interrupted by bursts of wildflowers and crooked tree trunks it fringed behind houses and snaked its way down the hillside. As we neared the ocean and passed more gateways to various properties, the walkway became wider, it became clear this trail had been well worn from generations of use. We passed locals walking dogs and little kids carrying floats to the calm marine.
Bikini clad locals whizzed by on mopeds as we crossed the street onto the seashore. We bought gelato from a cart on the beach and ate as we explored the town past it. Around each cove a new seashore lay laden with tanners and beachfront pizzerias.