Cagliari

Spent 6 days in paradise, a significant portion of each day at the beach, and visited 5 different beaches in total.



First day: arrived feeling so exhilarated and rejuvenated by the glorious sunshine that despite having stayed overnight at the Stansted airport to catch my 6 am flight, and taken a bus from the little city of Alghero in the north of the island to the larger, bustling city of Cagliari in the south, I felt wonderfully awake and brimming with delight.

The evening of my arrival, we headed to a stretch of beach with lots of bars and dropped in at a favourite, patronized by a lively young but not-too-young crowd, with an upbeat atmosphere and lots of lounge areas right on the beach, next to the dance floor. Spent a short while there relaxing, before going to a well-known pizzeria in town which opens till late, was extremely packed (lots of people waiting), amazingly cheap, with fantastic authentic local food and bursting with energy and enthusiasm. People know the place well and are so relaxed and down to earth.



The next day, we went to a beach called Chia, around half an hour from Cagliari by car, laden with freshly made panini with prosciutto and mozzarella. To get to the beach from the carpark, you've to walk along a wooden walkway for several minutes, next to an unfortunately stagnant and foul-smelling body of water, with pink flamingoes in the distance, standing on one leg and fishing. Upon reaching the beach, you’re confronted with a seascape with a gently curving shoreline, so that far away to the left and right are green rocky hills, and directly in front of you, are little islands of rock, some tens of metres out in the sea.

The beaches slope so gradually that you can wade out in the crystal-clear water, gaze at the golden or white sand full of rainbows of rippling light, and basically walk to those islands in the sea, carefully navigating areas that have greyish-yellow moss-covered rock instead of sand. The rocks are black, mostly, and quite jagged- the ones comprising those islands were incredibly layered, evidently formed by sedimentation, and eroded so that they looked exactly like wood. Didn’t take pictures of those rocks unfortunately as I didn’t want to risk getting my camera wet. When you stepped on the rock, you were treading on exposed layers of closely-spaced grills, quite sharply jagged in parts. Set up our umbrellas and beach towels directly in front of the islands and waded/swam out into pools created in the middle of those rocky outcrops, with liquid glass pooling over boulders and rhythmically pulsating underwater flora.

That first day, I neglected to cover some parts of my lower back with sunblock, and had the imprint of my hand (with fingers and thumb clearly delineated) by evening, as I’d covered those areas with sunblock but not others. Can hardly describe how exhilarating it felt, after months and months of swimming in the indoor pools in England, watching the sunlight rippling off the tiles below and imagining I was in an underwater paradise, to finally be in a place with physical sand, unyielding rocks and carpet-like moss, and saltwater, instead of chlorine.



On Tuesday, we drove over to a town called Ingelsias, an hour or so from Elmas, and headed to the fantastic beach of Calla Domestica. I think that beach was my favourite. It consisted of two sheltered bays, bordered by rocky cliffs (I’d estimate around 10 metres high), and slightly further out, arches of rock created magical doorways in the cliffs. We weren’t really exposed to the open sea, so unlike most of the other beaches we went to, the view in the periphery of one's vision consisted of nearby cliffs, rather than the horizon. We draped a large purple cloth over two umbrellas (over the following days, the procedure got more professional, efficient, and elaborate- we gradually added anchoring ropes and learnt to weight the umbrellas down with the food hamper, and took the wind direction and movement of the sun into consideration when planning the layout).

The rich visual stimulations overwhelmed my senses- blue, turquoise and gold waters, closely looming and thus readily observable rock formations. To top it all off, the waters were glimmering with all kinds of wildlife. After swimming across tens of metres of silken sand, gently carved like desert sands by water currents, and observing net-like interconnected lines of light looping across the floor, I hovered above boulders with yellow-coloured seaweed and green moss, and silver fish. Small sand-coloured yellow fishes with dark grey spots and stripes, perfectly matched to their environment, swam in little shoals along the sea bed. Everything was so close to the surface I didn’t need any special apparatus besides goggles- quite a number of people had snorkels but that was optional.

I swam from the beach in which we set up our encampment to the adjacent bay, and watched the shallow rockpool life in fascination. Saw little scuttling crabs, grey and mechanical-looking, scraping against the rocks they were perched on with their two large alternating claws, placing food into their mouths, one claw after another. It's the optimal environment if you want to practise holding your breath- the scene was so engrossing that I’d stay submerged for as long as possible before taking the next.



After a while I felt prickles at my arm and thought that it was the fish- upon inspection, it turned out that a little transparent shrimp, with grey internal organs and markings, was attacking me. Each time I tried to scoop it out of the water, the moment it felt its body break the surface, it’d shoot powerfully away and land back in the water. Incredible how much propulsive force such a tiny creature can have. It was only a few centimetres long. Within minutes of watching it, I soon realized that the rocks I was sprawled across were full of shrimp denizens, and they were all bent on extracting nutrition from my flesh. Reminded me of how my temporary resident hedgehog would follow the movements of my feet intently when it was hungry, round and round the kitchen. The faster I moved, the more ardently it would follow.

When I took a break from the underwater movie, I lay face up on the sand or floated on my back, eyeing the rock formations on all sides, and felt as if I was in Thailand or some place with rising jagged cliffs and patches of greenery. Nothing could feel more luxurious and glamorous- the lapping waves, mind-saturating view, and pure communion with nature, in gloriously safe and comfortable surroundings.

Next, we hired a paddle boat and took it to a rocky outcrop just beyond the beach where I’d gazed at the grazing fauna. We parked temporarily at a section of cliff where smoothed tooth-shaped boulders emerged from the water and offered many firm, jagged hand and footholds for climbing. A German family was already enjoying the spot, scrambling up the rocks and diving off into the deep waters on the opposite side of the rocks from the sea, into a sheltered cove. We clambered after them.

That was the first time, I think, that I’ve jumped off rocks into the sea. It was about 3 or 4 metres in height, but felt like much more- I was quite nerve-wracked as I stood up on the tip of my rock, but it was perfectly safe and an ideal place for a beginner- no rocks to clear with a running start, firm flat surfaces to stand on before takeoff, little chance of slipping, and deep waters to land in. I knew I'd to just throw myself off without thinking too much. I screamed all the way down, then repeated the performance. The boulders lining the sides of the pool were smooth and relatively far down- in the gaps between the rocks, I couldn’t see the bottom.



I was so impressed by the German family. The children were young, probably aged five and up, they'd swum a substantial distance to get to those rocks, and were encouraged to be adventurous and free while being guided closely but sensibly by their parents. As we pedaled back, we saw them swimming tenaciously and energetically along, each with a flotation device of some sort.

Forgot to mention that the section of road we traversed on the way to the beach was simply stunning- winding along the mountains with nestled abandoned mining buildings, one overlapping hill after another, and flashes of the coast in between. On the return drive, I managed to take photos of the vista, with rocky outcrops jutting out from turquoise shimmering waters and spreading sea floor of molten gold, from a relatively high vantage point, when we stopped briefly at a loop in the road. Amazing how the mind analyses depth and appreciates the complexity of multilayered depth. We perceive the sea as being a 'deep, deep blue' when it's rich in various overlapping colours, but is put through a blue filter.



That evening, we returned to the pizzeria where we’d gone the first evening, and this time ordered a wonderfully tender slab of horse meat, quite rare. My previous and only experience with horse meat had been in a restaurant in Venice, where the slices had been thin and very tough in comparison, so I was (quite idiotically, perhaps) surprised by the tenderness of the steak.

On Wednesday morning, we climbed a historic tower (restored but with apparently untreated wooden beams that were starting to fragment at places) for a 360-degree view of the surrounding city. From there, we could see old buildings such as the university of medicine and human anatomy, and in the distance, petrol refineries and industrial complexes.

Cagliari has a gallery of notable landscape features all lying adjacent to each other- there’s a huge lagoon that’s carved into the land mass and is stocked with flamingoes and rushes, including low-lying reed beds that are vividly yellow and look as though they’ve been stained by saffron- there are salt pans where white plains stretch across gigantic fields and the bacteria that feed on the salt glow pink. There are lines of beautiful wind turbines, framed against a backdrop of mountains and thus, in my mind, slightly dwarfed. Next to the lines of working turbines, you could see columns of turbines, missing the blades and rotors, still in the process of installation.



That afternoon, we went to a beach called Marie Pintau- it means ‘painted sea’- ‘mare’ is 'sea' in Italian, and ‘depinto’ means 'painted.' We parked along the mountain overlooking the beach, as the road below was quite crowded. The sea was incredibly calm and we had more hours of amazing swimming and relaxing, though slightly less than the previous days. Many of the popular beaches have a kiosk with simple sandwiches and refreshments- towards the end, as the crowds on the beach dwindled and the light began to fade, we had ice cream while lounging in front of the sinking sun. On the way home, we stopped at a supermarket to pick up fresh tomatoes and fish for dinner, which we baked on a layer of potatoes and dressed with salad and bread with terrific gorgonzola cheese.

The next day, Thursday, we took the Ducati to the further-away beach of Santa Re- a perfect route for a motorbike as it winds through mountain roads with steeply varying terrain, and a motorbike is much more responsive and maneuverable. An experience out of this world. We glided through terrain with great green mountains, flanking valleys with bushes of oleander threading like pink ribbons through the bottom- scenes that almost rivaled the most stunning mountainscapes I’ve encountered in China. I say ‘almost’ because I have seen absolutely incredible sights in China, but these came close, especially considering how small the island is compared with the vast Chinese countryside.

We parked a short walking distance from the beach and strolled along paths flanked with green bushes. When I saw the sea through the bushes, solid and gleaming deep blue, I was reminded of a similar wooden walkway in the Parc La Ereta in Alicante, which scrapes the side of Mount Benacantil overlooking the beach, and appeared to lead off into the air and water. I think of it as an 'infinity walkway,' akin to an infinity pool. Same with a path and stairway I’d seen in Lanzarote, where the walls of two brilliantly white houses, and the path between them, framed the ocean in stark mesmerizing contrast.



The beach itself was as terrific as the others- each of them was unique and incredible in its own way. Behind us were low-lying but still dramatic sand dunes, fine and light brown, partially secured by clumps of lush green vegetation. Once again, there were stunning rocky outcrops just off the sandy shore, reachable by a short wade or swim. These rocks were a little more spread out horizontally and angled lower, and the slabs were much more continuous and flat. We noticed that the lighter-coloured rocks were quite a bit cooler to the touch.



The waters flanking the left of our position were partially cordoned off by buoys, and parts of the beach were exclusively for the use of people staying in resorts nearby, so I swam up and down a little in the waters in directly in front of our setup, to the left of the rocks, then decided to move to the beach and bay on the right, just round the corner. This stretch was ideal for the crawl as the waters were quite calm but not completely, and the beach was sheltered but still had a view of the open ocean. The breaststroke's better suited for landscapes that offer visually stunning stimuli at close range and where you don’t need to cover much distance to see a lot.



That evening, we prepared pasta with cherry tomatoes and flavoured with fish roe. After dinner, probably around 1 am, we decided to visit the historic city centre and survey the town at night- we went to visit the Saint Remy Bastione, a monumental edifice with dramatically designed architecture fit for a palace. It has multiple series of great angled staircases, that lead from one terrace and grand arcade to another, one beautiful intimate courtyard to another sprawling one. It’s been excellently restored and updated, with chic modern restaurants and bars on the top terraces, and landscaping with palm trees and atmospheric lighting.



On Friday, we visited a beach called Solanus. Behind us were low hills of sand, rock and reeds, and while exploring the area, I passed a dry river bed full of vegetation. To the left side of the beach were dramatic piles of rocks, zigzagging along the coastline, so you couldn’t see around the next bend and had to reach the corner to find out what came next. First, I went some way up the sand dunes, to get a higher vantagepoint, but the sand was searing hot and I didn’t have sandals on, so soon slid my way back down, and headed for the rocks. As I climbed from one sun-warmed stone to another, the waves crashed against the bottom, swirled around in sandy pools, and created endless patterns of froth.

The sea was rougher and the wind relatively strong, so my swimming was more frenzied and defensive, especially initially before I warmed up. We got out the beach ball and played around on the beach and in the water, and got some great action shots.



That evening, we took the motor to the centre of town, and met friends at the Libarium. After drinks, we strolled around the old streets that were thronging with beautiful young people, all looking very well-groomed, professional and happy.

On the last day, we prepared our usual prosciutto and mozzarella sandwiches, and headed back to Chia, the first beach we’d visited, on Monday. In the distance on the left, a faraway tower perched on a hill above the cliffs, built by the Romans who are famed for their system of communication using signaling towers. I studied the communities of low-lying houses on the hill slopes with my binocs, admired ships and sailboats far out on the ocean, and enjoyed everything more than ever.

Soon after, we went climbing over the rocks, encountering sea urchin gatherers along the way. They had bundles of the animals in nets, and used a knife or a special cutter to chop the shells open, scoop out the five or six pieces of papaya-flesh-coloured meat, and dropped the precious, tiny quantities into a jar. Tasted like mussel- raw, strong and delicious.



After more clambering about on the rocks, we suddenly spotted baleen whales (We thought they were dolphins) in the distance, not too far away!! Could hardly believe our good fortune. They looked like long loops with dorsal fins, arching through the water and disappearing and reappearing in a distant, unpredictable location. Little wonder that seamen conjectured that they belonged to the coil of sea monsters, with multiple loops of the body- unless you know what kind of animal or formation created those curving, sleekly moving loops, you’d be bewildered by the sight.

We were so excited, and spent a while scanning the water, trying to discern their general direction, as we wanted to swim out to meet them. They were originally quite far out in the open sea, to the left of the landscape, and moved across towards the bay on our right, and entered our bay. It seemed as if they were getting further away, but we jumped hopefully into the water anyway and headed in the direction we’d last seen them. Unfortunately, we spotted them no more, but it was thrilling nonetheless.

We spent the last half hour kayaking across the bay and reached the cliffs opposite, passing by some yachts on the way. Finally, we all headed to beautiful Lo Zodiaco, a restaurant in the centre of town, and had dinner in the central courtyard, with excellent top-quality food- I had an octopus salad and sampled some flavourful squid spaghetti.

Too incredible, and too many good memories. Incidentally, while buying my breakfast crossaint at the Alghero airport the next morning, I saw the local headlines, reporting that three baleen whales had been sighted off the coast of Porto Torres, and there was an accompanying photo depicting exactly what we'd seen. Pure magic..