Pesaro, Italy

Every morning one of the first things I do is check the Timehop app because I love to look back on things I've done. It's why I take so many photos and why I started blogging (and why pre-Internet, I was an obsessive journal-writer and scrapbook-maker). One year ago yesterday, I got back from my first-ever European trip (to Italy) and I realized I've never really written a lot about it. When I returned I was so overwhelmed by the volume of photos I had taken and the insane amount of things I had seen that it took some time to process it all.

We ended our three-week trip in Pesaro, a beach town on the coast of the Adriatic that was unlike any of the other cities we had seen (Rome, Florence, Venice and Ravenna). We were there for the Rossini opera festival, which was lovely, but the beaches were completely unreal. Somehow I had in my head a vision of candy-colored, striped-umbrella-laden Italian beaches and Pesaro turned out to be that, and so much more.

Every beach had a different, charming name and a unique, brightly colored umbrella. I immediately became obsessed with all of the stripes and bright colors—everything from walkways to chairs was color-coded. Beach Wanda won the imaginary title of "Miss Beach" that my uncle and I invented, but they were all so wonderful it was hard to pick a favorite. Taken as a whole, the beaches were total sensory overload—not to mention the Italian bathing suits, or lack thereof—and I was constantly overwhelmed in the best possible way.

Away from the beaches, Pesaro was also architecturally different from the other places we'd been. The buildings felt more modern, but still had a decaying 70s vintage vibe. Compared to the ancient ruins and centuries-old churches we had grown used to seeing, the slightly abandoned, urban feel of Pesaro was a nice change of pace. With beach towns as charming as Pesaro, I finally understood why all the Italians were noticeably absent from the cities we had visited.