The beach at Parghelia
by Loredana Di Bello
by Loredana Di Bello
I had just arrived in Parghelia, a small town on the Tyrrhenian Sea, near Tropea, one of the most famous Calabrian tourist spots. Because it was
hot that afternoon, as soon as I had secured my luggage in my room, I decided to go for a refreshing dip in the sea. My resort was only a few
hundred meters from the beach so I walked to the beach in silence, listening as I went to the lazy song of the crickets and smelling the lovely
scent of the wild flowers along the path.
Deep breaths filled my lungs with the tranquility and fresh sea salt air breezes. An old stone walkway of some width carried me to the sea
meandering like a snake between a cane forest and the fringe of the green hillside, that lowered gently until it reached the sand dune just
before the sea. Having just arrived, I paused to view the beach and absorb all of the particulars of the beautiful scene: the sea was an intense
blue and I was forced to blink against the flickers of light on the waves that shimmered like precious stones, and the whitest sand beach.
To reach the sea I had to cross the full extent of a large sun baked beach. I saw other people that were, calmly walking on them and it looked
rather easy. The children were even able to navigate the stones on the run! Anyone who did allow their feet to touch the hot sand flew across it
like gulls crossing the sky.. With great difficulty and embarrassment, after several falls and many curses of “Oh god! ”, I finally put my nearly
blistered feet into the water and quickly plunged head first into the waves. Finally, looking back to the beach. What I saw looked like a village of
small churches on the sand . “ Am I still in Calabria? or some strange corner of the world? “But those are huts!” I exclaimed.
The small beach was scattered with small houses, of cubical shape, covered with canes. They were of several dimensions and types, large and
small, but all bristling with people and voices and each seemed to resounded with songs and the smell of cooking pasta. My curiosity made me
inquire of a small boy who had entered the water from one of them, “What are those strange rooms?” I asked. He looked at me for a while, then
with a smile on his beautiful tanned face, said that those strange rooms, were the families huts.
He then raised his arm and proudly pointed to a large pyramid shaped hut. “That one is mine. Do you like it? Our family can build one in a few
hours” “Built? Why? And by whose permission? What about the law? Nobody can construct buildings on the beach! ” I said. The boy watched
my expression and began to laugh.
He explained that building permissions were not necessary because the huts were made of canes and belonged to all those who wanted to use
them. Large beach umbrellas were not practical to carry up and down for the long stone walk and therefore the locals were invented a more
practical and colorful way to enjoy the coolness and in enjoy sea side. The huts are cheap, almost free, and easy to build. They are are
constructed with the canes that are found on the hillsides adjacent to the beach, which are mounted on a simple scaffolding made from a pair of
wooden poles and they are tied together with wire. Single rows of cane become walls which are added to create individual private “suites” for
the groups of numerous friends.
You will find everything in the huts. A broken table for serving lunches and cards, old chairs for the grandfathers with bad backs and towels
spread on the sand to sleep on. Even places for small children with fingers in their mouths. The huts also store essentials like guitars, and
even leftover mortadella…
Also during the night, the huts continue to be used he said. The last vestiges of a fire close by made me think of a recent bonfire under stars.
But not just for bonfires! It seems that sweethearts also come to the shore to exchange kisses and lovers promises within these huts. The
melodious rhythm of the surf illuminated by the August moon.
And when the summer ends? “Then what happens to the huts?” The boy replied that largest and “most elegant” are dismantled and the poles
stacked in a secluded section of the beach. They will be used again for sure next year. The less sophisticated in design and construction are
left. The waves of the winter sea will take them apart and disperse the sticks and straw like they are leaves being tossed by the winds. Nothing
will remain of those small huts.. And dear lady, as the next beautiful season is upon us next year, “New summer, new huts, and ahh, that sweet
Calabrian new life…!
Ciao!
©copyright 2009 Property of MJSturino,LLC
Any reproduction with-out the owners express written consent is strictly prohibited
hot that afternoon, as soon as I had secured my luggage in my room, I decided to go for a refreshing dip in the sea. My resort was only a few
hundred meters from the beach so I walked to the beach in silence, listening as I went to the lazy song of the crickets and smelling the lovely
scent of the wild flowers along the path.
Deep breaths filled my lungs with the tranquility and fresh sea salt air breezes. An old stone walkway of some width carried me to the sea
meandering like a snake between a cane forest and the fringe of the green hillside, that lowered gently until it reached the sand dune just
before the sea. Having just arrived, I paused to view the beach and absorb all of the particulars of the beautiful scene: the sea was an intense
blue and I was forced to blink against the flickers of light on the waves that shimmered like precious stones, and the whitest sand beach.
To reach the sea I had to cross the full extent of a large sun baked beach. I saw other people that were, calmly walking on them and it looked
rather easy. The children were even able to navigate the stones on the run! Anyone who did allow their feet to touch the hot sand flew across it
like gulls crossing the sky.. With great difficulty and embarrassment, after several falls and many curses of “Oh god! ”, I finally put my nearly
blistered feet into the water and quickly plunged head first into the waves. Finally, looking back to the beach. What I saw looked like a village of
small churches on the sand . “ Am I still in Calabria? or some strange corner of the world? “But those are huts!” I exclaimed.
The small beach was scattered with small houses, of cubical shape, covered with canes. They were of several dimensions and types, large and
small, but all bristling with people and voices and each seemed to resounded with songs and the smell of cooking pasta. My curiosity made me
inquire of a small boy who had entered the water from one of them, “What are those strange rooms?” I asked. He looked at me for a while, then
with a smile on his beautiful tanned face, said that those strange rooms, were the families huts.
He then raised his arm and proudly pointed to a large pyramid shaped hut. “That one is mine. Do you like it? Our family can build one in a few
hours” “Built? Why? And by whose permission? What about the law? Nobody can construct buildings on the beach! ” I said. The boy watched
my expression and began to laugh.
He explained that building permissions were not necessary because the huts were made of canes and belonged to all those who wanted to use
them. Large beach umbrellas were not practical to carry up and down for the long stone walk and therefore the locals were invented a more
practical and colorful way to enjoy the coolness and in enjoy sea side. The huts are cheap, almost free, and easy to build. They are are
constructed with the canes that are found on the hillsides adjacent to the beach, which are mounted on a simple scaffolding made from a pair of
wooden poles and they are tied together with wire. Single rows of cane become walls which are added to create individual private “suites” for
the groups of numerous friends.
You will find everything in the huts. A broken table for serving lunches and cards, old chairs for the grandfathers with bad backs and towels
spread on the sand to sleep on. Even places for small children with fingers in their mouths. The huts also store essentials like guitars, and
even leftover mortadella…
Also during the night, the huts continue to be used he said. The last vestiges of a fire close by made me think of a recent bonfire under stars.
But not just for bonfires! It seems that sweethearts also come to the shore to exchange kisses and lovers promises within these huts. The
melodious rhythm of the surf illuminated by the August moon.
And when the summer ends? “Then what happens to the huts?” The boy replied that largest and “most elegant” are dismantled and the poles
stacked in a secluded section of the beach. They will be used again for sure next year. The less sophisticated in design and construction are
left. The waves of the winter sea will take them apart and disperse the sticks and straw like they are leaves being tossed by the winds. Nothing
will remain of those small huts.. And dear lady, as the next beautiful season is upon us next year, “New summer, new huts, and ahh, that sweet
Calabrian new life…!
Ciao!
©copyright 2009 Property of MJSturino,LLC
Any reproduction with-out the owners express written consent is strictly prohibited
