I arrive in Rimini, not for its own sake, but as a means to an end, since it is the nearest Italian city to the Republic of San Marino.
I decide that this is not a good reason to visit Rimini, so I don my walking shoes and head into the city to discover its hidden jewels.
I learn that Rimini is the guilty pleasure of many Italians, who flock to the city’s famous beach.
I walk along the canal, curious about the different boats, wondering what it would be like to live on the water.
I take my supper at a seedy-looking joint near the canal and discover to my delight that the proprietor speaks only Italian, that he is very friendly, and that the food is excellent.
When I arrive at the beach on the Adriatic Sea, I notice that it is quite pebbly, so not the most pristine of beaches, but it is vast.
Standing at one end, I cannot see the other end, which is more than ten kilometres distant.
Looking out to sea, I notice only a few small boats in the distance.
The sea is calm and the beach is busy in the off season, with thousands of people strolling along the hard-packed sand near the shore, many families, and many couples holding hands.
Some sit on portable chairs staring out at the Adriatic, and others sit on the western slope of the long sandy levee, soaking in the last of the day’s sunshine.
It’s getting dark when I wander into Old Town, which is packed with people walking up and down roads lined with shops and restaurants.
In a concrete plaza, children play soccer, not worrying about kicking a ball into a passing pedestrian.
Their laughter is enough to make passersby smile.
Parents sit on nearby benches chatting and smoking cigarettes.
I take photos of stone arches and other architecture that pleases me, though I know not their history.
I share a bench with a man who stares into a pond by an ancient wall.
The bench moves slightly as he rocks back and forth in silence.
I decide that I like this small Italian city on the Adriatic, its calmness, its normality, and that I could live here happily, as many others do.
