One of the great things about making friends with people from overseas is that they lead you to places not on your agenda.
A little history. When we owned our vineyard, we briefly employed a couple of 22/23-year-old Germans, Hannah and Lukas, in New Zealand on their one-year working visas. We all get on well, and while the kids are in Marlborough both sets of parents visit, and more friendships blossom. In 2017 we visit them in Germany. We have a lot of adventures, including a memorable day at the medieval festival at Landshut, which takes place every four years, attracting crowds from all over Europe. Read my blog about it here.
Covid scuppers our plans to return for Hannah and Lukas’s wedding in 2020. By 2024 we’re back in Europe (ironically to attend our Austrian friends’ wedding in Salzburg), so we also visit our “Cherman kinder”, who by then have a three-year-old, Noah. During that visit we agree to meet in Sardinia in 2026.
And here we all are. Along with a new nine-month-old, Kahlo, and Hannah’s parents, Jürgen and Barbara. We marvel at how a relationship formed almost ten years ago has survived changing lifestyles, marriages, children, a global pandemic and several thousand kilometres. Not bad for employing a couple to help in the vineyard for a couple of weeks.
Sardinia is, quite simply, stunning. Our first question is: why didn’t anyone tell us about this place? Or did they, and we just weren’t listening? We’re on the east coast in a lovely B&B with a beautiful swimming cove just 50 metres away. It’s a careful walk across a few rocks before stepping into a sandy-bottomed, warm sea. The water is the clearest, most crystalline ocean we’ve ever seen. When you’re used to virtually breaking the ice to swim back home, 24°+ water is positively tropical. We’re trying very hard not alienate friends suffering a Wellington winter back in New Zealand. The current European heatwave isn’t as severe here as on the mainland European continent, though the usual temperatures of 24° or 25° for this time of year are reaching 29 °- 31° and even the locals are drooping. It’s tiring to do anything other than swim, sleep, swim, eat, drink, swim, read, play cards, swim, chat and swim. I know. You’re not sorry for us. And soon enough we’ll be back in NZ commiserating about the winter.
One morning we charter a small boat for half-day snorkelling trip around the bays off Siniscola, and it turns out to be one of the highlights of our stay. Marty, our skipper who appears to be part fish, knows the coast inside out, along with its stories. Such as the wreck of a small French aircraft from World War II, lying quietly on the seabed. Apparently the pilot survived the crash, gave a Gallic shrug lit an Gauloise, and found his way home, failing to report the crash. The aircraft then spent decades minding its own business until local fishermen snagged something in their nets that they couldn’t pull aboard. With little choice, they towed the mystery catch into shallower water. Imagine their surprise when they discovered they’d caught an aeroplane. Best fishing story ever. Now resting in about five metres of water, the wreck is easy to spot from the surface and well worth a snorkel for a closer look. There’s not much left of the plane now, with souvenir-hunting tourists and winter storms taking their toll.
Our second week we plan to move to the western side of the island. As we’ll be flying out from Olbia we naively decide to hire a car from the airport. The Uber drops us at Arrivals, then we follow the signs to another area dedicated to lightening the pockets of unwary travellers. The rental car building is lined with about 15 rental desks, familiar and unfamiliar brands, each fronted by long queues snaking into the distance. Fortunately, our obscure little rental company isn’t part of the scrum. Unfortunately, that’s because it’s located somewhere beyond the known universe, requiring a route march to the furthest corner of the most remote car park. Fortunately, there’s no queue when we finally arrive. Unfortunately, it starts to rain. The keys are handed over after various improbable reasons are given for why we have to have another €230 worth of full insurance. These include, but are not limited to: not having an international driver’s license; not having an EU driver’s license (we hired a car in France with no such issue); and most ridiculously, the police confiscating the car if we get pulled up and don’t have said licenses. Somehow full insurance will mitigate that. It’s a no win situation and we’ve already pre paid the rental.
The drive from Olbia to Alghero is one of steep hills and rocky faces, interspersed dry fields, olive groves and a few vineyards. It stops raining and we enjoy the quiet roads and wide views. Every so often there’s a crumbling watchtower dating back centuries. There are paddocks of round hay bales everywhere, mostly on hillsides where they must be carefully dropped – or superglued in place – as none roll down to the bottom. We see no discernible signs of the animals they’ll feed. We pass through villages showing few signs of life, and decide to veer off on a side trip to the coastal hilltop town of Castelsardo. We take a back road, confidently ignoring the solo residenti sign on the basis that it probably doesn’t apply to us. It does. A large digger is dismantling our chosen short cut, leaving us with nowhere to go except back the way we’d come.
Over the course of our stay we’re discovering Sardinia’s three essential food groups: bread, seafood, and the deliciously crisp local white wine, Vermentino. Fortunately, they all go together nicely, and it’s no hardship to support the local economy. A leisurely lunch means another heroic effort on the seafood front, including two things we’ve never tried before: sea snails and razor clams. Happy to have tried them… not entirely convinced I need to order either again, though the clams were ok. I’ll happily stick with calamari and octopus, although ever since watching My Octopus Teacher, ordering the latter comes with a small side of guilt.
Our two weeks are limited to the north of Sardinia but I understand the south is equally as gorgeous. The main industry is tourism with a side of specialised agriculture and food processing. Little known fact, Sardinia produces roughly 80% of Italy’s cork. Which reminds me, there a bottle of Vermentino in the fridge and it’s calling my name.
