#5 Visual Soundscapes: Spiaggia Libera Oncino

A Photography + Field Recording Series

Going to the beach always felt special to me. The sound of the sea, the salt on my skin, even the very moment when a wave would turn me upside down — it was the closest thing I had to an amusement park. We didn’t have much money at home, but the beach was free, wild, and magical.

There was always an old man selling pan de huevo (a semi-sweet bread often eaten at the seaside in Chile), fruit ripening too fast under the harsh sun, and those tomato sandwiches where the crunch came not from lettuce but from the sand — an unwanted seasoning that invaded everything.

After experiencing the Mediterranean, I must admit I now prefer rocky beaches to sandy ones. Sand sticks to everything. But nothing, absolutely nothing, is stickier than the sand from a beach close to a river— clever, sneaky, and impossibly persistent.

To reach the beach, my mom and I used to cross the river in a small boat steered by an old man. It cost 100 Chilean pesos — maybe 20 cents in today’s money. With the same coin, I could buy my favourite ice cream: Trululú. These days it costs almost a dollar and has shrunk to nearly half its size.

Almost all of these memories were shared with my mom alone. It was fun, but looking back, I realise it was also a little lonely. The beach stretched out till things faded on the horizon, and families kept their distance from one another. It’s curious how Chileans tend to have a more insular character compared to the rest of the continent. That beach was a clear example of our territorial nature — everyone claiming their little patch of sand.

Now, the story I’m about to share with you takes place on a very different kind of beach. Here, families share space, people from different generations converge naturally, and there’s a collective effort to keep the beach clean and welcoming. It feels more open, more communal, more alive.

Back home, the concept of a “free” or “public” beach never really existed. All beaches were public by default. But in Italy, you often have to search for the words spiaggia libera or spiaggia pubblica to find a beach where you can simply lay your towel down without paying a fee.

I invite you to experience this place with me — not just through words or images, but through sound. Listen carefully to the layers in the audio: the rhythm of the water, the murmur of voices, generations sharing stories, the subtle hiss of sand underfoot.

Let the sound carry you there and enjoy these images with a deeper context.

This recording was made in Torre Annunziata, a modest and charming coastal town near Naples, where people swim beside crumbling building facades, shout across balconies, and somehow always manage to make room for one more beach chair…

— In this case, one for me.

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