For Pier Paolo Pasolini, "the land of bandits" was Calabria. This is if we are to believe The Long Road of Sand, in which the writer recorded his tour of the Italian coastline aboard a Fiat 1100 in the summer of 1959. Our unfortunate incident occurred near the beach at Ostia where Pasolini was mysteriously murdered in 1975. While we were visiting Zion Beach, a seaside establishment cherished by alternative youth, the lock on our Fiat Dolce Vita was broken, and our suitcases were stolen. "Alas, this kind of theft is quite common around here! Not much chance of getting your stuff back" said the policeman at the nearby Fiumicino airport who took our statement.

The scene of the crime, some 30 kilometers from the heart of the capital, is the focus of all Roman contradictions. Along the beach that runs from Torvaianica to Ostia, a stretch of almost 15 kilometers, public figures and mafiosi, military personnel and nudists, transsexuals and environmentalists, nostalgic fascists and immigrants, film stars and tourists cross paths. In April 1953, the lifeless body of young Wilma Montesi was found there. This unresolved incident caused such a stir that the beach was deserted by Romans for many years. They only began to return in 1966, when the then president Giuseppe Saragat (1898-1988) restored a coastal part of the estate housing his summer residence at Castelporziano to the city of Rome. On the 6,000 hectares that still belong to the president, the umbrella pines have been decimated over the last 10 years by fearsome parasites. It is like an allegory of this coast, both blessed and disinherited.

Roman film director Saverio Costanzo knows it well. He sometimes plays tennis with the children of actor Ugo Tognazzi (1922-1990) at the vacation village built by this the iconic Italian actor opposite the presidential pinewood in the late 1960s. He also shot part of his fifth feature Finally Dawn (2023) on the very dunes where Montesi was murdered. "Fellini's La Dolce Vita [1960] was partly inspired by this murder, which symbolized, for post-war Italy, the loss of innocence," said the filmmaker. "Along this coastline, the two souls of Rome cohabitate: libertarian and libertine daring, on the one hand, and withdrawal, fear and crime, on the other."

'Leave politics at the door'

If you're looking for something daring, Capocotta is it. This beach is part of a nature reserve that opened in 1996. At its southern end, it is home to a popular nudist area. The signs are self-explanatory: no masturbating, copulating, taking photos or pitching camping tents. Legend has it that it all stems from the whims of a few stewardesses who stripped naked on the dunes between flights. "I don't believe it," said Veronica Ciotoli, who runs the oasis with her husband, Sandro Lauri. "The first people to really frequent Capocotta were the environmentalists and hippies, at the turn of the 1970s. They had mobilized to prevent the construction of a housing complex. That's when Sandro and I first met. He was nine, I was six. Our parents used to take us there all the time."

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