As Australians, you might think you know your beaches. But a trip to the Italian coast will prove you wrong, because true to form, Italy has found a way to bureaucratise the beach.
The iconic Italian lido describes anything from Puglia’s cheap-and-cheerful battalions of beach loungers occupying the only desirable stretches of sand, to bling prosecco-ice-bucket beach clubs in Capri that charge €200 per Panama-hatted head.
With 12,000 lidos doing a booming trade on Italy’s 8000 kilometres of coastline, the lido is an unavoidable fact of beach life, and it takes some navigating for those of us accustomed to our beaches, well, raw. So read on for our foolproof guide to lido life.
What to do at the lido
Get your Euro’s worth
However miffed you might be about forking out for something that is normally free (aka the sea), there’s value in buggering off to an unfamiliar beach without fretting about parking, shade, toilets, snacks and getting comfy on the sand. Lean into the lido’s offerings, and show up with little more than your togs, your towel, your book and (suck it up) your wallet. As a general rule, you’ll get two chairs/loungers and an umbrella for €30 a day. Let the lido do the work for you. You’re paying for it.
Arrive hungry
Yes, you’re normally permitted to bring your own snacks (just not allowed to eat them in the restaurant or bar), but lido menus don’t hike up the prices; expect to be stung upon entry, but not thereafter. Some of the family-friendly buffets are a bit of a bun fight; it’s much more fun to flag down a server and order drinks and meals direct to the lounger. There’s a classy trust system in place and you pay hours later, when you leave. The tiniest of tips will do; it’s understood the entrance fee has you covered.
Overdress
Thinking about sensibly taking off those gold earrings before hitting the beach? Keep them on! Worrying that it’s daft to bring both sandals and thongs? Toss them into your beach bag; many Italians wouldn’t dream of straying off-sand in flip-flops. Italians dress (and undress) to impress on the beach. Don’t stress about it, but if you’ve got that Missoni caftan or Loro Piana slides, we promise, they will never look out of place at the lido.
What not to do at the lido
Expect privacy and personal space
Standard Italian lidos function as exposure therapy for the world’s more prudish peoples. Expect mountains of tanned flesh, at perilously close quarters. Such is the Italian determination to pack as many bronzing bodies as possible into this prime real estate, you will be mere inches from your bikini- and Speedo-clad neighbours. Italian holidaymakers don’t care; they’re here as much for the social hubbub as they are for the sunshine and sea. The trick to enjoying a day at a lido is to embrace it, and people-watch from behind your oversized Gucci sunglasses while a waiter brings you Peroni after Peroni.
If you crave privacy, seek out rocky coves and small spiaggia pubblica, but be warned, the public beaches can be overcrowded and disappointing. In some parts of Italy, lidos occupy 70 per cent of the beach, and they’ve taken the best bits.
Settle for small talk
The Italian lido has been a piping-hot political potato since a recent EU directive pressed the Italian government to put long-held (and family-monopolised) beach concessions up for competitive bidding by 2027. If you detect a lull in energy as everyone slumps into a post-pasta stupor after lunch, we recommend casually asking your sunbathing neighbours what they think of the new lido leasing legislation.
Facciamo festa! Some Italians are absolutely furiosa about the loss of these decades-old, family-run lido businesses, who rent beach concessions from the government every year, a rolling lease that has until now been passed down within the family. Others feel estatico because these powerful families have capitalised on archaic leasing legislation for far too long; in 2020 the average annual fee for a concession owner was €7603 while the average turnover was €260,000. Either way, you’re guaranteed furious gesticulations and an emotionally charged atmosphere for the rest of the day.
Be the beach asino
That’s a donkey, by the way. Basic public pool rules apply at the Italian lido: balls can be chucked around when you’re in the water, but not on the sand. If you’re taking photos, make it clear they’re of yourself or
a cheesy sunset, and not some poor person towelling themselves. Don’t bring a speaker; many lidos will play their own music anyway. In these small but important ways, a lido is far superior to the public beaches where there is invariably some asino blaring reggaeton and tossing a ball about.
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