Barceloneta Beach is younger than many of the people swimming off it. Until the city rebuilt its waterfront for the 1992 Olympics, this shore carried rail track, workshops and a line of beach restaurants built out over the water; breakwaters went in, and a bathing beach replaced a working one. The neighbourhood behind is far older: a grid of tight blocks laid out in the 1750s on silt that had banked up behind the harbour wall, to rehouse people whose district was demolished for the citadel. The buildings were kept shallow so every room could reach light and sea air.
Today it is one flat strip of pale sand, busiest in the middle of the day and loudest in high summer: volleyball, hand drums, vendors calling mojitos along the waterline, grilled-fish smoke off the terraces. A sail-shaped hotel closes the view to the southwest; the masts of the Olympic marina mark the far end. None of the sand is permanent — winter storms cut metres off the width in a night. Out of season the strip empties into a walkers' beach, wet sand and grey swell, with a few regulars still going in at dawn.