I thread my way along a difficult path overhanging the headland. Few people know it. It is not easy, one needs to be an expert in extreme trekking. I cling to the gorse, but eventually I make it. I jump like an ibex on the large rocks at the extreme eastern tip of the beach and enjoy the spectacle of a kind of tiny bay all to myself.
Farther on are groups of families with their babies and umbrellas and food supplies. I like this genuine folklore, made in Ischia.
