Sardinia, From Shore to Shore

We were in the San Benedetto market, and I had never seen such big hams. I’m not talking about the prosciutto hanging down from the ceiling amid the pepperoncini and the salami. I mean adult men and women shamelessly mugging for our camera.

Word had spread that an American couple was present and that we were shooting pictures of the pecorino cheese, the carciofi, the mandarini. And if the clerks just happened to be in the shot with the pecorino, the artichokes, the mandarin oranges. . . .

The San Benedetto market was one of the delights of Cagliari, the principal city (population 220,000) on the Italian island of Sardinia. My wife, Janice, and I spent the morning peeking into churches and threading through alleyways so narrow that we felt like gerbils in a Habitrail. We climbed long stairways, discovered that we were lost and climbed back down.

It was Saturday, and earlier, outside the 13th century Cathedral of Santa Maria, young men wore dark suits that probably fit once, perhaps back in high school. There was a wedding, and the guys in the crowded parking lot were helping late-arriving elderly family members move from cars to wheelchairs, up the stairs and through the old front doors that squeaked during the priest’s nuptial homily. There was a nice feeling of universality to the scene. It could have been your typical Saturday in suburban Pittsburgh.

But here we were on Sardinia’s southern shore for a five-day stay in November, eventually making our way to the northeast coast--the Costa Smeralda--and then back south through rustic hill country to enjoy small-town life and to see a type of prehistoric settlement not found anywhere else in the world.

The cathedral turned out not to be the highest point in Cagliari; you can look down on its cupola from the Tower of San Pancrazio. The climb up the tower is a nice way to orient oneself in the city’s ancient Castle District, which can be confusingly warren-like at ground level. To the south is the Gulf of Cagliari and the busy harbor. To the east are the pretty beaches of Poetto. To the north and west the city spreads out over modest hills, juxtaposing modern, utilitarian buildings and ruins of the Romans, who occupied the island after the Phoenicians and Carthaginians, but before the Vandals, Pisans and Genoese, among others.

San Pancrazio is open on one side, with platforms where travelers may stop, catch their collective breath and take each other’s pictures against the cityscape or harbor. The tower was built in 1305 by the ruling Pisans to defend against the Aragonese. Where tourists stand checking their f-stops, archers once readied their weapons. (Aragon won, and the city and the local language manifest vestiges of more than 300 years of Spanish domination.)

It was lunchtime, and we put together a picnic bit by bit from the specialized stalls in the market. Fresh Sardinian pecorino? Yes! Intensely perfumed tangerines? Yes! Live eels? Uh, no. Whole lamb’s head? Definitely no. Tiny, slipper-like loaves of ciabattina bread and sweet ricotta-filled pastries? Yes!

One vendor insisted I buy a huge raw shrimp. He relented only when I told him I had no kitchen. The muscular gent trimming celery wanted us to take his picture. When we did, he gave the celery to Janice, who saved it as a snack for the car trip the next day.

All of these conversations were in Italian, which shouldn’t have been remarkable, but it was. I had taken Italian lessons for six years and was eager to use them. But back on the mainland in Sorrento, our previous stop, locals would just smile and answer in English when I conversed in Italian.

I would try again, with the same result. Eventually I just nodded and said “Grazie,” to which they responded, “You’re welcome.”

Here, people not only replied in Italian, they also seemed amazed and pleased that an American could understand. I mixed up tenses, made masculines of feminines, used the wrong auxiliary verb, forgot the subjunctive. They didn’t correct me or criticize. “You speak Italian well,” they said in Italian.

The next day we set out in our rented Fiat Punto for a 190-mile trip north across the island to see the Costa Smeralda. It’s only 145 miles as the crow flies, but the crow doesn’t worry about the Gennargentu Mountains or the rugged Barbagia Hills.

We drove northwest to Oristano, then northeast to the Costa Smeralda on SS 131.

The hills became more like mountains. Near Nuoro the landscape was strewn with boulders, reminiscent of Ireland’s County Clare. Sheep dined picturesquely by the rocks, but I discovered a variation on Murphy’s Law: The highway pull-off is never where the sheep are, particularly if they’re being picturesque.

It was sunset by the time we reached the top of the island and Costa Smeralda.

As one might suspect, smeralda means “emerald,” and you probably would have to pawn a few gems to afford to live here. The coast was developed in large part by the Aga Khan, and the prevailing hotel rates seemed to assume that all visitors are his close buddies.

We suspended sightseeing in favor of locating an affordable hotel. We found one in Arzachena, about seven miles inland.

The Hotel Casa Mia turned out to house Arzachena’s most popular pizza joint. When we went downstairs to eat, the dining room was packed with locals eating pizza and watching TV news.

The next morning dawned sunny and bright, precisely what we needed for our coastal explorations. We drove up to Palau, near the extreme northeastern tip of the island. Wind gusts buffeted us, but the water was a deep blue--the kind I thought existed only in a big box of crayons.

Local roads were harder to navigate than SS 131. Almost invariably we made a wrong turn at unmarked intersections and got lost. We tried three times to find Roccia dell’Orso, a wind-eroded rock that supposedly looks like a bear. When we did find it, we decided it looks a little like a squirrel but mostly like a wind-eroded rock.

Our main destination was the Aga Khan’s Costa Smeralda. The view is priceless, and we viewed it nicely for free from the car. The coastal road wound up and down seaside cliffs, past villas and through fields of sea oats and the dense green macchia underbrush. We had to leave the coast, though, because time was running short, and we had yet to see the prehistoric settlement back south toward Cagliari.

It was dark as we neared the village of Isili, where we planned to stay the night. Our hotel, Albergo Il Pioppo, was small, and its heating system seemed to be inoperative on this unusually cool evening, but the restaurant was warm and its pizza was delicious. The only other customers were a local welder and his pal. They asked us what else we had seen in Italy.

“Sorrento,” I responded.

“Sorrento!” the welder scoffed. “Why do Americans always prefer Sorrento?”

“Maybe because Sardinia has no famous song,” I suggested.

We talked at length--in Italian--about life in America and Italy. The woman who ran the place brought us plates of sweet ricotta dumplings in lightly fried batter, drizzled with lemon-scented honey, a specialty of the house, no charge. The welder dared me to drink the local aquavit, and when I did, he bought a glass of pale yellow limoncello liqueur for Janice.

The pizza chef appeared, and we applauded him. “You are a maestro,” I said.

The welder agreed. “Numero uno.”

It was a numero uno evening. Later Janice and I didn’t even mind the nonfunctioning radiator as the two of us cuddled under several layers of blankets. We were warmed by each other’s body heat and the memories of a genuine evening of international friendship. The aquavit helped too.

In the daylight of the morning, Isili turned out to be a pretty little community where farmers drive tractors into town and shopkeepers treated us like dignitaries.

We decided to drive through the rambling hills a bit before getting serious with the archeological stuff. The roads were all up and down and around and--aaack! Look out for the sheep! We traversed small villages where schoolkids in blue smocks played at recess. We stopped to take pictures of the rolling countryside and to hear dozens of sheep bells, which sounded like a giant walking through a wind-chime store. We ate a picnic lunch at the side of a dammed-up lake, Lago Mulargia, and we seemed to be the only two people on Earth.

In a country where the ancient is routine and ruins are as common as cafes, the stone fortresses called nuraghi are impressive nonetheless.

The towers may be found throughout Sardinia, but the biggest and best-preserved nuraghic village is at Barumini, about an hour’s drive north of Cagliari. (A one-hour tour costs about $4; some guides speak English.)

We made our way to the site, Su Nuraxi, which some experts date to 1500 BC. Today the remains include not only the 46-foot-tall central conical tower and four subsidiary towers but also the stone houses of villagers, complete with ovens and, significantly, water basins. Researchers believe water was important in the religious rituals of these people, about whom little else is known.

These Bronze Age construction engineers used three-ton basalt boulders the size of truck engines to construct impressive fortresses without mortar. The towers are uniquely Sardinian. There are none on the mainland of Italy or on Corsica, the island next door. As we squeezed through passageways that were three millenniums old and entered the courtyards, we wondered how these people constructed the fortresses so precisely.

It was another dimension to contemplate. There were so many Sardinias in Sardinia: the outrageous beauty of Costa Smeralda, the small-town charm of Isili, the commerce and camaraderie of Cagliari. They all said to us, “Guarda!”--demanding that we look. And thus we did. Grazie.

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GUIDEBOOK

Island Hopping Across Sardinia

Getting there: Alitalia offers connecting service (change of planes) from LAX to Cagliari on Sardinia. Travelers also can fly Alitalia to Milan or Rome and take a connecting flight to Cagliari on Meridiana. Restricted round-trip fares start at $1,122. From Rome, round-trip air fare to Cagliari (several carriers) starts around $100.

Ferry service also is available from multiple mainland ports, including Naples. Fares start about $35 one way for passengers, $70 for cars. The trip takes eight or more hours. Express ferries, which are more expensive, can take less than four hours. Operators include Tirrenia, telephone 011-39-081-317- 2999 or 011-39-070-654-664, Internet https://www.tirrenia.it; and Corsica and Sardinia Ferries, tel. 011-33-495-329-595, https://www.corsicaferries.com.

Where to stay: In Cagliari, we stayed at Hotel Calamosca, which has a pleasant view of the bay. It’s outside the city center, but bus service is available. Doubles run about $65 per night, including breakfast. 50 Viale Calamosca, Cagliari 09126; tel. 011-39-070-371-628, fax 011-39-070-370-346, https://web.tin.it/stn/hote/cmosca/index_it.htm.

Near the Costa Smeralda, we stayed at Hotel Casa Mia. Doubles are $50 to $100 per night, with breakfast. (Lodgings in Porto Cervo, the unofficial capital of the region, start at $120 to $300, depending on time of year.) Viale Costa Smeralda, Arzachena I-07021; tel. 011-39-078-982-790, fax 011-39-078-983-291, e-mail h.casamia@tiscalinet.it.

In Isili, we chose the inexpensive Albergo Il Pioppo, which had an inviting restaurant. Doubles are about $35. 78 Corso V. Emanuele, Isili 08033; tel. 011-39-078-280-2117, fax 011-39-078-280-3091.

Where to eat: In Cagliari, get the makings for a picnic lunch from the San Benedetto market, at Via Ottone Bacaredda and Via Sant’ Alenixedda.

Il Gatto, off the Piazza del Carmine, is popular with locals. Try the thin carasau bread and the local wine. Dinner, about $20 per person. 15 Viale Trieste; local tel. 070-663-596.

Al Poetto by the beach served our favorite pizza, with a thin, slightly chewy crust and exquisite local pecorino. Meal for two with wine, salad and tip, $11.1 Via Ischia; tel. 070-380-208.

Near the Costa Smeralda, comfortable Lupo di Mare specializes in seafood. Dinner for two without wine, $20. 93 Via Liberta, Golfo Aranci; tel. 078-946-224.

For more information: Italian Government Tourist Board, 12400 Wilshire Blvd., Suite 550, Los Angeles, CA 90025; tel. (310) 820-1898, fax (310) 820-6357, https://www.italiantourism.com.