We’re still basking in the afterglow of our fantastic holiday in Sardegna a couple of weeks ago. It was our first time there and my first time swimming in a sea so completely clear that it made crystals look opaque. Even far far out (and we did some ambitious swims) you could see all the way to the sandy bottom, and also, luckily, every jellyfish blobbing around in our vicinity.
Jason tells me the clear water isn’t necessarily a good sign. (He has a way of puncturing romantic notions about the sea.) Apparently the Mediterranean is actually one of the most nutrient-poor seas in the world – and the consequent lack of life further up the food chain is the main reason for the clarity of the water. Personally I don’t get it – there seemed some perfectly delicious looking seaweed around in reasonable abundance, so I don’t know why the grill or whatever those bitty fish things are called are so choosy.
Sardegnans, we were told by Guido and Claudia, have a history of being terrified of the sea. The Sardegnan people, in contrast to most islanders, are typically shepherds rather than fishermen – and the island famously has more sheep than people. Everywhere you go inland, you hear the pastoral tinkling of a passing goat or sheep and some of the finest food finds like their potato, mint and pecorino filled pasta called culurgiones have nothing to do with seafood. Most people still live in towns perched on hilltops inland and the courage to set up shop on the coast is a very recent phenomenon, inspired mainly by the need to service tourists.
We were lucky enough to be there with friends who have a sailing boat, so we had some gorgeous trips up and down the coast exploring hard to reach beaches and coves. Four children under the age of five in a space as confined as a prison cell meant the joy when we could anchor down and swim out was unbridled on all our parts.
Sardegna is one of the very most fragrant places I’ve ever been. Everywhere are amazing smells – of juniper, rosemary, mint and the local herb called ‘mirto’ (which I suppose is myrtle) growing in huge wild bushes. In great Italian (and maybe world) tradition, mirto is most used culinarily to make the delicious post prandial headache-inducer of the same name. It’s evilly good.
If you are thinking of going there, I’d recommend the less-trammelled parts on the South and east of the island rather than the Prada-store filled North (where Berlusconi and cronies hang out). But of course it depends what you’re looking for. Luckily, you can get mirto wherever you go. So that’s alright.
