Pescara in the Raw: A Freelance Photographer's Frosty Day

i just got off the train in pescara with a backpack full of lenses and a head full of static, the sky a low-hanging blanket of damp cold. the thermometer on the station wall said 7.3°c, feels like 4, humidity 88% - the kind of chill that seeps through wool and makes you want to hide in a cafe until spring. i pulled my scarf tighter and scanned the station wall, half expecting a sign that said 'welcome to the middle of nowhere'. instead there was a faded sticker that read 3172730 in marker, and below it someone had scrawled 1380908377 like it was a secret code or a broken phone number. neat. i made a mental note: if i ever needed a weird combination for a safe, i'd have it.

i pulled out my phone to get my bearings, and after a quick search i tossed this map into my notes:

. pescara spreads out along the adriatic coast, all low-rise buildings, a promenade that's practically a runway for pigeons, and a river that cuts the city in half. i started walking north along the lungomare, the cold wind whipping my hair into a mess that even my models would cringe at. the sky was the colour of a wet t-shirt, heavy and featureless. perfect for dramatic street portraits, if you're into that sort of gloom.

i kept my iso low for once, went for deep depth of field, shot mostly 35mm on my old nikkor f/1.8. the light was flat, but the reflections off the wet cobblestones made up for it. an old man shuffled past, his coat flapping, and i caught him against a wall of peeling posters. that's the kind of shot that gets you a 'like' on instagram but not a client. still, it felt honest. the architecture here is a hodgepodge of fascist-era blocks and medieval bones. one building caught my eye - a 1960s concrete slab with rows of tiny balconies, each with a different coloured shutter. it looked like a giant barcode.

i ducked into the centro storico, the old town that's basically a grid of alleys so narrow you have to turn sideways to avoid knocking over a trash can. the streets smelled of fried dough and diesel. i stopped at a tiny bar called bar della pescheria, where the espresso was strong enough to strip enamel off a spoon. someone told me that the best focaccia in town is at a bakery called 'pane e sollievo', but the locals warned me that the owner only sells until noon and then disappears for a nap. i didn't get to try it; i was too busy chasing a stray cat that had decided my camera strap was a toy. i usually rely on tripadvisor for quick recs, and they have a solid list of attractions: tripadvisor pescara attractions. for the best coffee spots, yelp never lies: yelp coffee in pescara. and there's a local forum called pescara today that posts about happenings: pescara today events. if you're into the history bit, the wikipedia page gives a decent overview.

after a couple of hours i made it to the beach. off season it was deserted, just a few gulls and a loner fishing from the rocks. the sand was damp, dotted with broken shells and seaweed. i found a couple of perfectly grey sea shells, their surfaces smooth from the tide. i lined them up for a macro shot:

. the adriatic looked like a sheet of lead, no sparkle, just a flat expanse that bled into the horizon. i thought about swimming but the air was too sharp; the wind cut through my layers. instead i set my camera on a rock and did a long exposure, hoping to blur the water into something dreamy. the result is always a gamble with this light.

i heard from a local that the beach at night gets a bit sketchy; apparently a group of teenagers gather around a bonfire near the pine forest and sometimes the police show up to break it up. i didn't stick around to find out. better safe than sorry. near the end of the promenade i spotted a white van parked on the sand, its paint chipped, tires half-buried in the soft ground. it looked like it had been there for years, a silent witness to countless summers. i framed it with the grey sky behind:

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the barometric pressure was hanging at 1008 mb, which is low for this latitude, and it explained the dull headache i carried all afternoon. i chewed on a ginger candy i bought from a corner shop, the kind that’s so strong it makes your eyes water. i kept checking my phone: it's still around 7°c with that damp feel that makes your nose run. but it's the kind of weather that makes you appreciate a warm drink and a good shot. speaking of numbers, the code 3172730 turned out to be the number of steps a local street artist claimed to have taken from his studio to the sea. he said 1380908377 was the frequency of a pirate radio station that played experimental noise at 2am. i didn't verify, but it sounded cool as hell.

if i got bored of this quiet coast i could easily jump on a train to bologna in under three hours, where the food scene is insane, or head north to rimini for a dose of italian riviera glitz. both are just a short ride away, and both will leave your wallet lighter. as the afternoon faded into a steel-grey dusk, i packed up my gear, my fingers numb from the cold, and hailed a taxi back to my guesthouse. i still have those shells in my pocket, and the images i captured are a mix of gloom and grace - exactly what i hoped for in a place that doesn’t try to be pretty. i’ll be back, maybe when it’s warmer, but for now pescara’s raw edge has my attention. i just checked and it's still that kind of cold; hope you like that kind of thing.

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