It wasn't a good beach day, as Italian beach days on the Adriatic Sea go. Unbearably hot and muggy, there was not a hint of a breeze. And despite my previous descriptions of the pristine beaches on the Adriatic, the water was disgusting.
It was an algae infestation, but it looked to me like sewage. Loudspeakers announced that the water was not safe. So when Diego and Giancarlo sauntered off to explore the sandy part of the beach, I got out my Big Girl Camera, which I had completely fallen in love with during the trip.
I watched and photographed a bit of a beach volleyball game.
I toyed with the juxtaposition of old and new.
I experimented with shots of the sea of matching umbrellas.
I captured moments of parents playing in the sand with their children.
And I managed to snap a beach vendor or two.
Then, oh my, what is this? Thanks to an excellent zoom lens, from a long distance, I spied a very sexually overconfident Italian man as he stood working on his tan and chatting with his two friends, a young woman and a young man.
He spoke with his hands as the Italians do.
And he punctuated his conversation with a strong, hearty grab at his goods.
a strong, hearty grab at his goods.
grab at his goods.
Ahem. Where was I? Oh yes, I was discussing the sexually overconfident Italian male and how inappropriate they are.
Thank goodness nobody would consider taking secret pictures of a scantily clad man on the beach as inappropriate.