The Beach
The beach was deserted as he walked from the parking area towards the surf where he would place his blanket on the smooth white sand near
the shore. It was the perfect late September day in Calabria. The air and Sea were both warm. As each wave approached, it carried a two-foot
high slice of nearly transparent water the color of a Coke bottle into shore. While watching the water from each wave dissolve into the sand, he
recalled the many days here this summer, swimming, walking the beach, and taking glorious catnaps in the sun. Never in his wildest dreams
had he imagined even a few years ago that at some time in his life he would be a beach person... aside from the solitude it felt good... Very
good indeed. Besides, he was making progress on his manuscript, which is what brought him here in the first place.
He had been living in the area since early spring and had entertained guests and family from time to time. When they and the summer tourists
had arrived in June, he was pleased that so many people were enjoying this, the most beautiful stretch of beach for miles. There were not so
many people as to make the beach overcrowded. This is after all, the Ionian Sea coast, which draws snowbirds and the like, but not nearly to the
extent of Croatia, Turkey or the cruise ships in the Adriatic or Greece. He would spend a few hours here today, swimming, walking the beach,
sunning bathing and reading. Now alone, his thoughts returned to the previous July when he would meet his Italian teacher at this same
beach. She had left too, to return to her home up north, and he was saddened by the memory of those afternoons at the beach.
Reflections
He allowed his memory to linger on those earlier days of the summer… Leaving his adopted village of Badolato, he would head north on the
106, past the lido and village of Isca and through the commercial area of Sant Andrea Marina with its open-air bars and “mille cose” shops
displaying beach toys and postcards. He had to slow down through town for the locals who came from their village and were crossing the
highway towards the beach with all sorts of umbrellas and paraphernalia. The lido to the east with its restaurant and bar would be crowded with
Italian, German, Austrian and British tourists who either walked from the village, or were dropped there by their tour buses from the local
resorts... Instead of driving to the lido, he continued north out of town to the bridge road where he took the sharp right and headed east to the
Sea and the rustic beach. The road is asphalt for the first mile or so and rises to give a panoramic view of the area as the overpass takes cars
out of the path of the much-anticipated high-speed trains that will someday use the tracks below... For now, only the local milk runs and two
evening trains north use them... From atop the overpass the straight lines of the lemon and lime orchards lay between the highway and the
beach are apparent whereas from the main road, a line of tall bamboo hides them and the tall pines that act as windbreaks.
The rest of the road was crudely built a full two meters above the orchards from dirt and sand, back when the land was leveled years ago. It
was now a series of “wash tub” ribs perpendicular to the traffic. It rattled the car, its occupants and the change in his glove box too. The
parking area was an extension of the pile of dirt that had made the road. Reaching it was always something of a disappointment. It was littered
with bags and refuse that the previous visitors had somehow not been able to deposit in the garbage containers left there by the local
commune. It was a dichotomy... to be at the same time surrounded with such incredible natural beauty and the carelessness of the people who
were privileged enough to experience it. He had come to know by now that this was not uncommon. Italians who are at the very core of style
and beauty seem to be challenged when it comes to respecting the cleanliness of common living areas. This lot clearly needed to be “adopted”
by the local boy scouts and cleaned.. but it was what it was.. This is part of the Italian experience that one must accept..
Settling in Solo
He gathered his things and made his way to the beach, taking a foot-path over a ridge of trees, bamboo and prickly ground cover, then crossing
twenty meters of sand dunes with scraggy brush before reaching the incredibly beautiful sandy beach. He found an open spot with sufficient
space around and set down his tote bag, then used his red plastic beach chair to smooth the spot where he would lay his towel. The sand was
pleasantly warm, but not hot. He planted his blue and white stripped umbrella in the sand to cover the top half of the towel and shade him and
the bottles of tea and mineral water that he brought for the day. This was serious beach life... and a trip meant packing the morning newspaper,
an Italian/English dictionary, and cigarettes in case the spirit moved him and plenty of liquids.
The first order of business after settling in was to head for the water. At twenty-six degrees Celsius, the water was inviting. He made a straight
line for the surf and dove into the next wave... The water was as clear as a swimming pool with the slightest tinge of green, and the sand as
smooth as the beaches in Rio. What a place... no parking fees... No selling or buying of anything... just him and the others like him who came to
this place to get away... They shared in the experience willingly; after all, the beach went on for miles in either direction. They were as close to
their neighbors as they wanted to be.
Swimming in the warm salty water was easy. Floating on his back like a Sea Otter, he closed his eyes and extended his arms away from his
sides to be engulfed by the Sea. Never in his wildest imagination had he ever thought that someday this would be his quest... to let the sea
surround him so. His world was finally in balance. Looking back towards land, he saw the sun drenched village of Sant Andrea perched near
the top of the mountain directly west. From his vantage point, trees to either side framed this picturesque vista that so perfectly describes the
beauty of the Italian coastline. “Che bella” he thought to himself. Calabria had given him a home, friends, the mountains and the sea.
Back on the beach, he positioned himself on his towel and under a portion of the umbrella to shield his face from the direct sun. This would allow
him to nap without getting too much sun on his face. His olive Italian skin gave him some relief from the sun’s rays, and he was a golden bronze
color, unlike the assorted white, pink and red skinned northern Europeans that had arrived in the past few days. “Those folks are going to hurt
something awful tonight,” he thought to himself. “Piano, Piano” “take it easy, a little at a time, or the Calabria sun will bake you like it bakes the
country side down along the coast.” A few weeks before, the sirocco winds blew the heat from Africa across the beaches and hillsides raising
temperatures to over 42 degrees Celsius… something like 114 Fahrenheit. Luckily, it was short lived and the weather had returned to the
perfect 33 and sunny with zero humidity… one day following just like the previous... Paradiso!
Sleeping on the beach is a wonderful experience. One is lulled into slumber by the sound of the water boiling into the surf and the warm
breezes across the sand. He slept peacefully, but not deeply, changing positions occasionally to ensure an even tan. The sand beneath him
was firm, yet comfortable and he enjoyed the closeness to the earth and the smell of the salt sea.
Her Arrival
She was late as usual. Not that he minded the solitude, but by her being there, they were a couple, like so many others that were enjoying the
day. He had driven north from a town to the south; she came about the same distance south from the town of Montepaione, which is just north
of Soverato where the Friday Mercato takes place. Being with someone was a more respectable thing than being solo. After all, people go to
the beach in two’s, threes, fours, whatever... but a single person at the beach is well, alone. They each had experienced the solitude and
feelings of separation from the other beach goers and they were both happy with this partnership arrangement, since each was without a
spouse or significant other.
After twenty minutes or so, he was waking up from a summer dream. Nothing serious, more daydream than anything does as he recalled,
mostly just peaceful and relaxing. His chin was resting on the back of his hands and he was staring across the ocean of sand between him and
the dunes that lie between him and the lemon grove. She was walking toward him. At first, he saw her only as a blue blur in the mirage just
above the sand, then increasing in size and clarity until she stood only a few feet away. She smiled as she greeted his gaze and then standing
erect raised her hand to shade her eyes as she surveyed the goings on of the other couples.
He stood and walked to greet her. They each extended both hands forward to grasp while greeting with a “double press” first right, then left with
a hint of a kiss on the cheek... that was more like a very dry Martini.. Really more of a gesture than anything. This age-old formality served to
welcome each other express their mutual pleasure at being together again... “What a wonderful way to break the ice” he thought. They
exchanged salutations and chatted briefly in Italian, as was their custom. “Mi dispache. Sono in ritardo perche ho avuto una chiamata con il mio
filia..” she explained. After a few minutes of this small-talk and satisfied that this would be another perfect day at the beach she set her bag
under the umbrella and carefully laid out her towel parallel but at a respectable distance to his.
He could not help but watch with boyish interest as she opened the top of her full-length summer dress that covered her two-piece swim wear
and with a slight movement of her hands dropped it to the sand. She bent at the knees to retrieve it and place her straw hat and dark
sunglasses neatly on the corner of her blanket. Standing upright to loosen her flowing dark curly hair and for a moment to be warmed by the
sun, she contemplated her first steps towards the water. What a perfectly natural thing to do.
The Lesson
He was by now ready to re-enter the water and did so a few steps behind her. She was heading out to deep water, as was her way to swim.
Being out and away from the shore meant that they would be riding the sea swells, and away from the sound and agitation of the surf. It also
allowed them privacy and the chance to talk. “Swimming makes one young” “yes, I believe it” she said. “Even it has done this for me!” Her
native Luxembourger and adopted Italian languages had a charming influence on her use of English. While he asked that she please correct
his Italian, he never felt the need to suggest any changes to her patterns of English or selection of words... He enjoyed listening to her far too
much to change anything. They swam together for thirty minutes or so, with casual breaks treading water and talking of the past day’s events,
mixed in with Italian language training for him. She had offered to help him with his Italian and each took the task seriously. He had many
questions and they often discussed language, spoke Italian and even German on occasion to compare and contrast word meanings and verb
usage of the three languages. She also was fluent in French, but his knowledge of that language was virtually non-existent.
“What about “ing” words? He asked. “Like... Thank you for coming to the beach! “Come si dice in italiano?” How would one say that in Italian?”
Without hesitating, she replied. “Grazie, ma sto andando in spiaggia oggi.” “The verb “stare” is used in place of the verb “essere” “to be” and
the "-ando" gerund ending is applied to the root of andare. "Of course, one must remember that andare is an irregular verb ... io vado, tu vai,
ella/lui va in the singular. In the plural, it is andiamo, andate, vanno, and the past participal is andato as in "Sono andato in spiaggia ieri." He
was impressed as usual with her knowledge of Italian.
Being a Couple
Back on the shore, they continued their mix of pleasant conversation and study of practical Italian. They had once again blended into the sea of
couples inhabiting the beach, she applying sun lotion, and he digging into the bag for water and a book. They soon settled back to the serious
business of absorbing the rays of the sun. He was on his stomach with lower legs and feet extended onto the sand. It felt good to dig in his toes
and pull with his ankles to stretch his lower back. He was now ready for more sleep. She first made sure that she was adequately covered with
crème to protect her skin from the sun, positioned herself on her stomach as well, and then reached casually behind her back to unfasten the
straps of her top to avoid a white strap line. Several minutes passed in silence with each left to their own thoughts, but both nicely packaged as
a couple on the beach.
This scenario was played out on several afternoons with them meeting, sharing, and then parting to return to their own lives. A few times on
Saturday evening, the two had meet in Soverato along the lungo mare, where they exchanged greetings, strolled the wide boardwalk as the sun
set and talked about life in Italy and their respective families. Sharing a pizza along the way they would speak in Italian to the extent possible
and in this way continued the beach language classes. It was a very satisfying for him and he hoped for her too. They were each living here
alone, he without his family, and she away from her love, but for a few hours each had a companion to share the events of the day and to talk of
the future. He thought back on their meetings and was pleased that fate had brought them together and that for a brief time, they had each
other’s company.
Ciao!
©copyright 2009 Property of MJSturino,LLC
Any reproduction with-out the owners express written consent is strictly prohibited
The beach was deserted as he walked from the parking area towards the surf where he would place his blanket on the smooth white sand near
the shore. It was the perfect late September day in Calabria. The air and Sea were both warm. As each wave approached, it carried a two-foot
high slice of nearly transparent water the color of a Coke bottle into shore. While watching the water from each wave dissolve into the sand, he
recalled the many days here this summer, swimming, walking the beach, and taking glorious catnaps in the sun. Never in his wildest dreams
had he imagined even a few years ago that at some time in his life he would be a beach person... aside from the solitude it felt good... Very
good indeed. Besides, he was making progress on his manuscript, which is what brought him here in the first place.
He had been living in the area since early spring and had entertained guests and family from time to time. When they and the summer tourists
had arrived in June, he was pleased that so many people were enjoying this, the most beautiful stretch of beach for miles. There were not so
many people as to make the beach overcrowded. This is after all, the Ionian Sea coast, which draws snowbirds and the like, but not nearly to the
extent of Croatia, Turkey or the cruise ships in the Adriatic or Greece. He would spend a few hours here today, swimming, walking the beach,
sunning bathing and reading. Now alone, his thoughts returned to the previous July when he would meet his Italian teacher at this same
beach. She had left too, to return to her home up north, and he was saddened by the memory of those afternoons at the beach.
Reflections
He allowed his memory to linger on those earlier days of the summer… Leaving his adopted village of Badolato, he would head north on the
106, past the lido and village of Isca and through the commercial area of Sant Andrea Marina with its open-air bars and “mille cose” shops
displaying beach toys and postcards. He had to slow down through town for the locals who came from their village and were crossing the
highway towards the beach with all sorts of umbrellas and paraphernalia. The lido to the east with its restaurant and bar would be crowded with
Italian, German, Austrian and British tourists who either walked from the village, or were dropped there by their tour buses from the local
resorts... Instead of driving to the lido, he continued north out of town to the bridge road where he took the sharp right and headed east to the
Sea and the rustic beach. The road is asphalt for the first mile or so and rises to give a panoramic view of the area as the overpass takes cars
out of the path of the much-anticipated high-speed trains that will someday use the tracks below... For now, only the local milk runs and two
evening trains north use them... From atop the overpass the straight lines of the lemon and lime orchards lay between the highway and the
beach are apparent whereas from the main road, a line of tall bamboo hides them and the tall pines that act as windbreaks.
The rest of the road was crudely built a full two meters above the orchards from dirt and sand, back when the land was leveled years ago. It
was now a series of “wash tub” ribs perpendicular to the traffic. It rattled the car, its occupants and the change in his glove box too. The
parking area was an extension of the pile of dirt that had made the road. Reaching it was always something of a disappointment. It was littered
with bags and refuse that the previous visitors had somehow not been able to deposit in the garbage containers left there by the local
commune. It was a dichotomy... to be at the same time surrounded with such incredible natural beauty and the carelessness of the people who
were privileged enough to experience it. He had come to know by now that this was not uncommon. Italians who are at the very core of style
and beauty seem to be challenged when it comes to respecting the cleanliness of common living areas. This lot clearly needed to be “adopted”
by the local boy scouts and cleaned.. but it was what it was.. This is part of the Italian experience that one must accept..
Settling in Solo
He gathered his things and made his way to the beach, taking a foot-path over a ridge of trees, bamboo and prickly ground cover, then crossing
twenty meters of sand dunes with scraggy brush before reaching the incredibly beautiful sandy beach. He found an open spot with sufficient
space around and set down his tote bag, then used his red plastic beach chair to smooth the spot where he would lay his towel. The sand was
pleasantly warm, but not hot. He planted his blue and white stripped umbrella in the sand to cover the top half of the towel and shade him and
the bottles of tea and mineral water that he brought for the day. This was serious beach life... and a trip meant packing the morning newspaper,
an Italian/English dictionary, and cigarettes in case the spirit moved him and plenty of liquids.
The first order of business after settling in was to head for the water. At twenty-six degrees Celsius, the water was inviting. He made a straight
line for the surf and dove into the next wave... The water was as clear as a swimming pool with the slightest tinge of green, and the sand as
smooth as the beaches in Rio. What a place... no parking fees... No selling or buying of anything... just him and the others like him who came to
this place to get away... They shared in the experience willingly; after all, the beach went on for miles in either direction. They were as close to
their neighbors as they wanted to be.
Swimming in the warm salty water was easy. Floating on his back like a Sea Otter, he closed his eyes and extended his arms away from his
sides to be engulfed by the Sea. Never in his wildest imagination had he ever thought that someday this would be his quest... to let the sea
surround him so. His world was finally in balance. Looking back towards land, he saw the sun drenched village of Sant Andrea perched near
the top of the mountain directly west. From his vantage point, trees to either side framed this picturesque vista that so perfectly describes the
beauty of the Italian coastline. “Che bella” he thought to himself. Calabria had given him a home, friends, the mountains and the sea.
Back on the beach, he positioned himself on his towel and under a portion of the umbrella to shield his face from the direct sun. This would allow
him to nap without getting too much sun on his face. His olive Italian skin gave him some relief from the sun’s rays, and he was a golden bronze
color, unlike the assorted white, pink and red skinned northern Europeans that had arrived in the past few days. “Those folks are going to hurt
something awful tonight,” he thought to himself. “Piano, Piano” “take it easy, a little at a time, or the Calabria sun will bake you like it bakes the
country side down along the coast.” A few weeks before, the sirocco winds blew the heat from Africa across the beaches and hillsides raising
temperatures to over 42 degrees Celsius… something like 114 Fahrenheit. Luckily, it was short lived and the weather had returned to the
perfect 33 and sunny with zero humidity… one day following just like the previous... Paradiso!
Sleeping on the beach is a wonderful experience. One is lulled into slumber by the sound of the water boiling into the surf and the warm
breezes across the sand. He slept peacefully, but not deeply, changing positions occasionally to ensure an even tan. The sand beneath him
was firm, yet comfortable and he enjoyed the closeness to the earth and the smell of the salt sea.
Her Arrival
She was late as usual. Not that he minded the solitude, but by her being there, they were a couple, like so many others that were enjoying the
day. He had driven north from a town to the south; she came about the same distance south from the town of Montepaione, which is just north
of Soverato where the Friday Mercato takes place. Being with someone was a more respectable thing than being solo. After all, people go to
the beach in two’s, threes, fours, whatever... but a single person at the beach is well, alone. They each had experienced the solitude and
feelings of separation from the other beach goers and they were both happy with this partnership arrangement, since each was without a
spouse or significant other.
After twenty minutes or so, he was waking up from a summer dream. Nothing serious, more daydream than anything does as he recalled,
mostly just peaceful and relaxing. His chin was resting on the back of his hands and he was staring across the ocean of sand between him and
the dunes that lie between him and the lemon grove. She was walking toward him. At first, he saw her only as a blue blur in the mirage just
above the sand, then increasing in size and clarity until she stood only a few feet away. She smiled as she greeted his gaze and then standing
erect raised her hand to shade her eyes as she surveyed the goings on of the other couples.
He stood and walked to greet her. They each extended both hands forward to grasp while greeting with a “double press” first right, then left with
a hint of a kiss on the cheek... that was more like a very dry Martini.. Really more of a gesture than anything. This age-old formality served to
welcome each other express their mutual pleasure at being together again... “What a wonderful way to break the ice” he thought. They
exchanged salutations and chatted briefly in Italian, as was their custom. “Mi dispache. Sono in ritardo perche ho avuto una chiamata con il mio
filia..” she explained. After a few minutes of this small-talk and satisfied that this would be another perfect day at the beach she set her bag
under the umbrella and carefully laid out her towel parallel but at a respectable distance to his.
He could not help but watch with boyish interest as she opened the top of her full-length summer dress that covered her two-piece swim wear
and with a slight movement of her hands dropped it to the sand. She bent at the knees to retrieve it and place her straw hat and dark
sunglasses neatly on the corner of her blanket. Standing upright to loosen her flowing dark curly hair and for a moment to be warmed by the
sun, she contemplated her first steps towards the water. What a perfectly natural thing to do.
The Lesson
He was by now ready to re-enter the water and did so a few steps behind her. She was heading out to deep water, as was her way to swim.
Being out and away from the shore meant that they would be riding the sea swells, and away from the sound and agitation of the surf. It also
allowed them privacy and the chance to talk. “Swimming makes one young” “yes, I believe it” she said. “Even it has done this for me!” Her
native Luxembourger and adopted Italian languages had a charming influence on her use of English. While he asked that she please correct
his Italian, he never felt the need to suggest any changes to her patterns of English or selection of words... He enjoyed listening to her far too
much to change anything. They swam together for thirty minutes or so, with casual breaks treading water and talking of the past day’s events,
mixed in with Italian language training for him. She had offered to help him with his Italian and each took the task seriously. He had many
questions and they often discussed language, spoke Italian and even German on occasion to compare and contrast word meanings and verb
usage of the three languages. She also was fluent in French, but his knowledge of that language was virtually non-existent.
“What about “ing” words? He asked. “Like... Thank you for coming to the beach! “Come si dice in italiano?” How would one say that in Italian?”
Without hesitating, she replied. “Grazie, ma sto andando in spiaggia oggi.” “The verb “stare” is used in place of the verb “essere” “to be” and
the "-ando" gerund ending is applied to the root of andare. "Of course, one must remember that andare is an irregular verb ... io vado, tu vai,
ella/lui va in the singular. In the plural, it is andiamo, andate, vanno, and the past participal is andato as in "Sono andato in spiaggia ieri." He
was impressed as usual with her knowledge of Italian.
Being a Couple
Back on the shore, they continued their mix of pleasant conversation and study of practical Italian. They had once again blended into the sea of
couples inhabiting the beach, she applying sun lotion, and he digging into the bag for water and a book. They soon settled back to the serious
business of absorbing the rays of the sun. He was on his stomach with lower legs and feet extended onto the sand. It felt good to dig in his toes
and pull with his ankles to stretch his lower back. He was now ready for more sleep. She first made sure that she was adequately covered with
crème to protect her skin from the sun, positioned herself on her stomach as well, and then reached casually behind her back to unfasten the
straps of her top to avoid a white strap line. Several minutes passed in silence with each left to their own thoughts, but both nicely packaged as
a couple on the beach.
This scenario was played out on several afternoons with them meeting, sharing, and then parting to return to their own lives. A few times on
Saturday evening, the two had meet in Soverato along the lungo mare, where they exchanged greetings, strolled the wide boardwalk as the sun
set and talked about life in Italy and their respective families. Sharing a pizza along the way they would speak in Italian to the extent possible
and in this way continued the beach language classes. It was a very satisfying for him and he hoped for her too. They were each living here
alone, he without his family, and she away from her love, but for a few hours each had a companion to share the events of the day and to talk of
the future. He thought back on their meetings and was pleased that fate had brought them together and that for a brief time, they had each
other’s company.
Ciao!
©copyright 2009 Property of MJSturino,LLC
Any reproduction with-out the owners express written consent is strictly prohibited
Italian Lessons
by Marty Sturino
by Marty Sturino
