How to beach in… Rimini, Italy

Federico Fellini, born here in 1920, adored all this and his films reflected the theatrics he grew up around – the fairground, the circus, the music hall and the symbolism of the beach connecting them all. In one 1960s essay, My Home Town, he describes Rimini as “confused, frightening, tender, with that great breath of its own and its empty open sea.”

That great breath is still very much in evidence, as is a sense of nostalgia that permeates the seafront, in the smell of sun oil, the rows and rows of pistachio-striped umbrellas, the 1930s faded grandeur, and the memories of the Italians who still come here.

I get chatting to one seasoned beachgoer, perched on a pale-lemon sun lounger while her daughter plays nearby. “Italians talk about their first kiss in Rimini,” she says. “As a teen you’d be packed off to your grandparents while your mum and dad carried on working in the city. Everyone has a story.” Her father’s friend had her first holiday romance here decades ago, she tells me, with a young man from a local bar. Soon after the friend returned home, a letter arrived and her heart raced, only to open it and read, “Come near my husband again and I’ll stab you.” Very Rimini, she says.

As is the stratified status of where you sunbathe, I discover. On a warm Sunday morning, I thread my way through the hundreds of umbrellas divided meticulously into numbered beach clubs, bagni, from 1 to around 150. Each has its own name, like Tiki 26 or Dog No Problem 81. The lower the number, the more upmarket the beach club. Habit dictates that you hire the same one each year, so people know where you are if they want to drop by.

As my friend at Bagno 53 says, “That way you can see a friend from your village back home, as in ‘Meet me at 22 for lunch.’’’ As the numbers descend, “The bikinis get more sparkly, yes.”

I head for the glitter, counting down. Sure enough, around Bagno 11 the sand is more raked, the white sun loungers spaced more discreetly apart and there’s an immaculate row of baby palm trees that meander to the shore. This is the Grand Hotel Rimini private beach club where a sun lounger close to the water’s edge will cost around €130 a day. Built in 1908, the Grand is a gleaming art nouveau confection of marble, chandeliers and Venetian furniture. Outside there’s a circular bar and restaurant perfect for people-watching – a negroni and canapés (stuzzichini) at €25 is worth the price tag. Fellini would walk past here as a boy and dream of staying once he was rich enough. When he became a successful film director living in Rome, he booked a permanent room for whenever he came home.

I stay at the i-Suite, its polar opposite, a playful 70s-style space-age fantasy in white and lime that overlooks the beach and adds a whole new dimension to Rimini’s party reputation. There are mirrored walls, TV screens on the bedroom ceilings and a swimming pool that changes colour. Around a 20-minute walk away, the old town feels like another world again. The best way to explore is on two wheels, so I hire a bike, getting off at sites that take my fancy. There’s Piazza Cavour, the 16th-century square, Borgo San Giuliano with its winding cobbled streets and brightly painted fisherman cottages, also Malatestiano Temple, home to a fine 15th-century Piero della Francesca fresco. Beyond Rimini, the region of Emilia-Romagna has so much to offer too, including Ravenna, less than 90 minutes away by train, with its Byzantine mosaics in the Basilica of San Vitale and the mountainous microstate of San Marino with glorious panoramic views.

Back in town, I stop at Nud e Crud for a piadina flatbread filled with cream cheese and prosciutto, and fully revived, I cycle to the Fellini Museum five minutes away. In one room there’s a gigantic velvety Anita Ekberg doll lying on her side, doubling as a sofa. Visitors recline in Anita’s curves while watching scenes of her in La Dolce Vita projected on the opposite wall.

Afterwards, I cycle through pretty Alcide Cervi Park and back to Bagna 53. Sitting on the sand, I watch the horizon turn peach where it meets the silvery Adriatic. Even the palm trees are wrapped in blinking fairy lights. I’m reminded of the plush Anita sofa that Fellini would have loved, not unlike Rimini beach itself, extravagant and cinematic yet after all these years still irresistible.

Don’t forget to order: Zuppa inglese (trifle).

Details at: emiliaromagnaturismo.it; stay at i-Suite (i-suite.it); British Airways flies direct from London to Rimini.

Photograph by Bernhard Lang