Sardinia - Part I
Arrival
A
long few days of travel had ended while another phase was
just beginning. Without fanfare, its completion
had been heralded by modest puffs of smoke as still wheels rapidly spun-up on contact
with the runway’s tarmac. What lay ahead
in this reportedly primordial world would all be new to us for we’d arrived in a
totally unfamiliar part of Italy, the raw pristine island of Sardegna (Sardinia). To its
west lay the Sea of Sardinia, while washing its eastern shore,
all the way to the coast of the Italian boot, rolled the Tyrrhenian Sea, both constituents of the greater
Mediterranean Sea. If
you drew a line from Lake Como, close to the origin of my bloodline, due south,
it would pass first through Corsica and then Sardinia, a rock of a place bordered
by world-class sandy beaches. I wondered what else we’d find at the end of this line
upon our arrival.
A quick scan on Internet uncovered some interesting information 1. First off, after Sicily and before Cyprus, it
is the second largest island in the Mediterranean. Like so much of Italy, it has seen its share
of occupiers. Phoenician merchants
followed the arrival, centuries earlier, of “sea peoples” who first populated
the island from present day France to the north as well as the Italian
peninsula. At various points in
time, it has been home to
colonization, invasion, foreign occupation, plagues and revolutions, seemingly
a steady diet for early Italy. Among the
earliest occupiers were the
Carthaginians and then the Romans who dominated the island for 694 years.
In contrast to mainland Italy, it is surprisingly earthquake-proof with terrain characterized
by granite mountain ranges and plateaus separated by wide valleys and flatlands
edged by generally high, rocky outcroppings, particularly in the north.
This geography makes it ideal for raising
sheep to the point that today it hosts nearly four million sheep, giving the
island one of the highest density of sheep in the world. The “baa, baas” easily outnumber the number
of “ciaos”. I’m so glad Maria Elena and I
like lamb, even mutton. And there are additional
bonuses. With millions of sheep, in
addition to all the flavorful meat, just imagine the amount of pecorino cheese! Italian word pecora, from which the name derives, means sheep! Along with the meat and cheese, we only need add
the vino, of which there is reportedly
no shortage.
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| Italian Cork Oak |
Additionally, while anchored in the past, Sardinia continues its advance into the 21st
century. The Sardinia based aerospace
manufacturer Vitrociset is involved in the production of the U.S Air Force’s new
F-35 “Lightning” stealth fighter. Back
on earth, construction is underway of a Sardinian factory for fabrication of the
“AIRPod”, a vehicle fueled surprisingly by compressed air. Forget about the “Tesla”! Be the first in your neighborhood to have one,
for as we understand, advanced sales are already underway. We’d definitely arrived on a busy island that
should prove interesting as the days ahead unfolded.
On the cusp of hurricane Jose sliding up the east coast, it was decidedly fair the
next day as our troupe arrived at JFK Airport.
We’d not been there since the days when the TWA potato-chip like terminal
with its tube-shaped departure-arrival
corridors
was still in use. In the intervening years, we’d relied instead
on Boston’s Logan Airport. While the terminal has since been declared a historic landmark, we thankfully remain
without such a designation. With TWA
long gone, our intrepid group would board a Meridiana Airlines flight direct to
Naples. There didn’t seem to be any
hurry, however. Boarding was delayed
well past its scheduled time with the takeoff slipping over an hour. Maybe this was routine at JFK but it only
added to the nine-hour flight time.
Outside the providence of man, we’d have to hope for a tailwind, a
strong one at that. This general disregard
for time buffered a gradual shift to an Italian mindset. There was no hurry, the sparkling seashores dotted with crescent-shaped bays with beaches lapped by the bluest blue seas would wait
for us. They had waited centuries and
would be waiting still, no matter the conga-line of
seven aircraft ahead of us on
the ramp for takeoff. We needed to slow
down regardless of a tailwind. Our acclimation
to Italy began to seep-in shortly after takeoff when Italian wine was served. Even the bagged chips were labeled “Made with
100% olive oil”! Lifestyle adjustments
were already underway as we headed off to the Olbia Costa Smeralda
Aeroporto. Interestingly, it had the distinction of being the home base to Meridiana Airlines founded by British business magnate,
Aga Khan IV, one of the world's ten richest royals. His millions aside, our magic number was ten,
ten days of relaxation, exploration, and hopefully mutton,
cheese, and some rebellious wine.
We
had two hiccups in the departure terminal. One was on my part for not taking my laptop
computer out of my backpack before it was scanned. This faux pas highlighted my satchel for
additional scrutiny, which took time. Mare’s gaffe was more comical and hardly
caused the delay mine had. She was
trying to scan her boarding pass at a security checkpoint without success. Watching her repeatedly try, I realized that she
was scanning the bar code of our luggage receipt, not the correct code on the
opposite side of her ticket. Though
interested in seeing what she would eventually do, I was in too much of a hurry
to get through the maze of security checks not to interfere. Nevertheless, if either hadn’t happened, we’d
not have gotten to Sardinia a second earlier.
It
was while waiting for our luggage, following our landing,
that the bus from Olbia to Palau departed.
We were going from one island to another in what is referred to as the Arcipelago de La Maddalena, a series of
seven major islands within a grouping of 62 all total, off the northern coast
of
Sardinia. In the ensuing two-hour
interim, we had lunch in the terminal along with our first Aperol Spritz’ in
celebration of our arrival. There had
been an elderly gentleman in the Naples Capodichino terminal that Jack had
helped out when our departure gate changed. He hadn’t realized there’d been a change,
which resulted in a long walk to another gate.
While it seemed an alphabet away, it was only from the “C” to the “A”
concourse. Following our arrival in
Sardinia, I recognized him when he arrived at the bus stop. Luckily, like us, he was also going to
Palau
to catch the ferry to the island of La
Maddalena. He lived in Maddalena now and had worked for the
Italian consulate system and, small world, had once been assigned to the Boston
Consulate, which recalled memories of endless days involved with our Italian passport
application. All we needed was to stick
close to him and we’d get there. His
name was Franco. Once arrived in Palau,
Franco told us which ferry to take. He
already had his ticket, no doubt a resident pass of some sort. We, however, needed to get ours. We hustled to the ticket office, but although
Franco delayed the crew for us enough to keep the loading ramp down, foolish me
purchased tickets for a different ferry.
Emerging from the ticket office the realization dawned on me and with a
negative shake of my head, the ramp pulled up, the ship departed, and that was
the last time we saw our guardian angel, Franco.
But
it seems that when one angel disappears, another soon
arrives.
-
To be Continued -
From That Rogue Tourist (while on the road)
Paolo
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