July by the Italian coast
Czechia has no sea. Maybe that’s why even a short trip to the shore feels so special. It doesn’t have to be far — just far enough to smell salt in the air and hear the waves at night and rest by the sea.
We drove south for a few days and booked a small hotel right by the beach. The kind of place where sand gets everywhere, and no one really cares. Everything we needed was nearby: the water, a bakery, and plenty of places selling hot piadine straight from the grill.
Most days were simple — swimming, resting, and walking along the shore. The sea was calm, shimmering under the sun. We slipped easily into its quiet rhythm.
One afternoon, we rented one of those funny four-wheeled bikes with seats for two adults pedaling in the back, and the children up front on a bench. It was loud, slow, and absolutely delightful. We laughed more than we moved.
Evenings meant slow strolls along the promenade, like everyone else. We stopped for gelato, peeked into touristy little shops full of straw hats, lemon-patterned espresso cups, jars of pesto, and linen dresses. Most things were a bit much — but charming. We didn’t buy much, just enough to bring a small piece of Italy home with us.
And of course, we ate pizza. Often.
Before we left, we stocked up: semola and 00 flour, bottles of passata and pasta sauce, and enough dry pasta to get us through the next few months. Because some memories are best carried home through food.
On our last evening, a summer storm rolled in.
The sky darkened quickly. The air turned heavy, then wild. From the balcony, we watched lightning flashing far out at sea. The waves grew louder, the wind stronger. It was the first time I saw a storm at the beach — beautiful and a little unsettling. Nature doesn’t perform often, but when it does, it’s unforgettable.
Then it was time to head home — sun-kissed, rested, and a little more full of summer than before. The salt washed off, but the feeling stayed.
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