In the 1950s, as Italy was trying to leave behind the deep wounds of war and rediscover the joy of living, Florentines too began organizing their summer holidays. August—when most businesses closed—became the ideal month for a bit of leisure and relaxation, and for many, the preferred destination was the seaside.

Viareggio, with its wide beach, soon became one of the most sought-after vacation spots. For many families, that journey to the coast wasn’t just a getaway—it was a victory. Until then, the sea had largely been a luxury for the wealthy. Now, it was finally becoming an experience accessible to all.

The length of the stay depended on financial means: those with steady jobs could afford to stay fifteen or even twenty days, while others had to make do with a week or just a few days. Some, determined to see the sea at all costs, organized day trips—quick visits there and back. It took so little to make the children happy, who would finally see in real life that endless horizon they had so often imagined.

There were the SITA buses that ran the Florence–Seaside highway, but for most families, the trip was made by train. On summer Sundays, Santa Maria Novella Station would come alive with entire families loaded down with bags, baskets, and “sporte” (tote bags). Inside, there was everything needed for a day at the beach: towels, food, tableware, and even rain umbrellas, which were turned into makeshift parasols once they reached the sand. At that time, most beaches were still free and accessible to everyone.

Unforgettable was the arrival at Viareggio station. As soon as the children set foot on the ground, they would be swept away by excitement, eager to reach the shoreline. Once they crossed through the pine forest, they would catch a glimpse of the sea—and off they’d run toward the waves.

On the beach, parents and grandparents took care of setting everything up: towels were laid out on the sand, food baskets were arranged, and everyone got ready to enjoy the day. At noon, as always, it was time to eat. On the classic checkered tablecloth appeared pots and pans filled with homemade dishes—often still warm.

Clothing was simple and practical. Men wore undershirts or went shirtless, maybe with their pants rolled up to avoid getting them wet. Women showed off light robes. Swimsuits were made of wool—dark and modest—while the children ran around freely wearing just white briefs and little hats to protect them from the sun.

At the end of the day, after one last dip in the sea, everyone made their way back to the station. By then, their sun-reddened skin said it all: sunburns were almost inevitable, as sunscreen was still an unheard-of luxury. The little ones especially returned home with purple-red skin, bound to sting for days before returning to normal.