The beach in front of the hotel is quiet before nine and loud by eleven — the shoreline fills fast in the warmer months, and the rows of striped umbrellas you've probably seen in photos are as full as they look. If you want the sand to yourself, mornings are the only real window.
By afternoon, the energy moves to the beach clubs further along the shore — the kind with music, spritz, and a very Italian disregard for anyone in a hurry. We can get you a table at the good ones without the wait, which is most of what a concierge is actually for.
But the real move is golden hour. Around eight, the light goes the color our hero photo is named for, the day-trippers thin out, and the water turns still enough to hear the waves properly for the first time since morning. Grab a spritz from the rooftop bar and take it down to the shore. It's the ninety seconds we always mean.
