Beachside Brews: When the Bar Comes to You

Il Carretto di Samuele, Castiglione della Pescaia, (GR)

"Il carretto passava e quell'uomo gridava gelati." "The cart was passing by, and that man was shouting, 'ice creams'." These lyrics from a 1972 song by Lucio Battisti, my favorite Italian singer in my youth, kept playing in my mind for a reason I’ll soon explain.

Just an 8-minute bike ride from my summer beach house in Castiglione della Pescaia, along the sandy path through the pineta (pine forest), I discovered a beach that was just my fit.  Dark golden sand, the kind that seems to shimmer under the hot Italian sun. The locals are sunbathing like it’s still the '70s, with women of all ages and shapes confidently flaunting their two-piece swimsuits. It’s as if time stands still here, with people lounging, soaking up the sun.

Swimmers? Well, they dip in, get wet, cool off, and then roast the other side. Italians love their sandy beaches and the scorching heat, even if they complain about it endlessly. But hey, complaining is practically a national pastime here.

It's a blistering 38 degrees Celsius, and this stretch of beach is wild and free—no rows of sunbeds and umbrellas crammed like sardines. Here, it’s peaceful, with the  ocean stretching out before you, waves crashing one after the other. But alas, no bars, no restaurants, no shops to quench my midday thirst. Or so I thought.

Settled in my lounge chair, anchored in the sand, I glanced up from my book. In the distance, I noticed a cart that looked like a street food vendor. It was too far away to discern what he was selling, but as he drew nearer, the beige canvas shading the rolling cart gave it away, it was indeed summer treats.

Il Carretto di Samuele (Samuele’s Cart)

A young boy, his skin tanned, effortlessly maneuvered the motorized cart with a joystick through the soft sand. Though he didn’t shout “Gelati,” the sign "Sammontana Gelati all’Italiana" was clearly visible. Could it be? I wondered. I put my book down, grabbed my sun hat, and approached him.

“Ciao! Sono contento di vederti. Che cosa hai di buono nel tuo carretto?” I greeted him, expressing my delight at his arrival and asking what he had in his cart. In a shy voice, the boy, responded, “Gelati, acqua e bibite. E c’è anche il caffè.” (Gelati, water, soft drinks, and I also have coffee).

Needless to say, I told him he had just made my day.

“Come ti chiami?” (What’s your name?) I asked. 

“Samuele,”

Suddenly, it struck me: Why not make this my next newsletter? What a brilliant idea... “Ma sono un genio!” (I’m a genius!)

“Samuele,” I continued, “Do you mind if I ask you a few questions? You see, I write a weekly newsletter where I share Italian experiences and stories, usually from a local coffee bar. But today, it seems the bar has come to me. So, can I take a few minutes of your time?”

He hesitated but then nodded. “Well, hmm, I guess so. But I’m just a vendor; I don’t own the cart, so I’m not sure how much I can help.”

I reassured him, “No worries, Samuele. It’s you and your cart that I’m interested in. How old are you, and is this your summer job?”

“I’m seventeen,” “I do this from mid-June until the end of August while I’m on school break.”

Curious, I asked, “What area do you cover?”

He pointed south and then north, describing his route. “About 2 kilometers of beach, from that rock wall over there to the very end of Roccamare.”

“And what do you enjoy most about your job?”

Samuele smiled, “The best part is that the cart is motorized, no effort needed to push it!” Then he pauses, looks at me in the eyes for the first time and with a chuckle he says: “la vista è bellissima, sia il mare che le ragazze sulla spiaggia”. (The view is beautiful, both the sea and the girls on the beach). I smiled back at him, with a little wink.

 “So, what’s your best-seller?”

“Ice creams, definitely,”

I decided to bring up a bit of nostalgia. “Do you know the singer Lucio Battisti and the song ‘I Giardini di Marzo’?”

Samuele looked thoughtful. “I’ve heard of Battisti, but not that song.”

“You with this cart remind me of that song,” I mused. “I was your age when it was popular, so I’m not surprised you wouldn’t know it but trust me you fit very well the image”

Switching gears, I asked, “What’s your coffee like?”

“It’s made with capsules,” he admitted, “but people say it’s good. Would you like one?”

“Yes, please! And I’ll have one of your gelatos too—pistacchio, if you have it.”

“Mi dispiace, ho solo amarena e al caffè.” (Sorry, I only have black cherry and coffee flavors),

“Then I’ll take the coffee flavor please”

He skillfully operated the coffee machine and handed me an espresso in a paper cup. Espresso in a paper cup would be a crime in this country, however it will be just fine for today, and you know what? I was pleasantly surprised, it was rich and creamy, with just the right amount of bitterness, leaving a delightful aftertaste. Just when I thought I might miss out on my daily espresso, Samuele came to the rescue. I slowly make my way back to my spot under the umbrella and watch Samuele and his cart slowly disappearing at far.

Looking out at the Tyrrhenian Sea before me, I couldn’t help but think that I was the kind of person who couldn’t sit still on a beach for more than thirty minutes. But it seems the local lifestyle is rubbing off on me, as I begin to embrace the 'dolce far niente'—the sweet art of doing nothing. With my nose in my present reading, a book of Tirziano Terzani: L’Ultimo Giro di Giostra, the constant hum of the waves, the meditative feeling of afternoon laziness, and the tranquil evening sunsets—all of these combined into one perfect day at the beach.

Arrivederci until next Saturday—always observing, always sharing, always sipping, always a tale from an Italian coffee bar and beyond.

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