Wow, not having regular internet access means the posts pile up. Of course, you have to write them first.
Thursday, June 12 is a rainy one in Sardegna. It’s a day I need to do some legal work so while Dale and Paulette head out to see a grotto, I remain in town.
Later, after they pick up Francesco, we drive to his home town Bosa. It’s a little further south on the coast from Albergo with a picturesque harbor and bluff overlooking wonderful bays and coves. Francesco treats us to his personal favorites. Later we drop in on his parents, who graciously entertain us for dinner, apologizing all the while about the inadequacy of the meal. (Francesco gave them no notice that we were coming.) They are charming and I mumble through some Italian conversation with help from Dale and Francesco.
On Friday, we take care of business, enjoy some beach time near Sassari and head for the debarkation point of ferry back to the mainland., Olbia. Olbia is a very nice town, somewhat smaller than Sassari. After circling for a while, we find our hotel in the “centro storico” — the old town. A little walk brings us to the main street where all the bars have arranged outdoor flat screen TVs to watch the Italians in the European cup. No one is happy when the game ends in a draw. For dinner, we try Gallura, a MIchelin 1-star. I had made the reservation in Italian so when we were seated in the room “a destra” we soon discovered that we were in the Italian room. No American tourists, save us, were present and no one was speaking English. Dale and I got us through the particularly tough task of letting them know that he was a vegetarian. The restaurant featured seafood exclusively. It was wonderful, easily the best meal I’d had to date. The antipasti were elaborate creations of shell fish and other creatures, but the secondi was a classic Italian dish, a filet taken off the bone while we watched, and served unadorned on the plate.
Saturday I was up early and down to the harbor for my 8:00 departure. The ticket checker noticed my Italian name and told me in Italian that the boat was late. Five hours later, after the hundred-plus cars waited in the parking area, we departed. I had arranged to have lunch on the way back with one of my teachers who was vacationing with her extended family in a beach town just up the coast, Marina di Cecina. Clearly I wasn’t going to make it. The ride itself was uneventful. Large Italian ferries are like cruise ships with multiple lounges, restaurants and even a floor show during the 4 1/2 hour journey. But by the time I got to Piombino, it was a little too late to undertake the 3 – 4 hour drive to San Pietro a Monte, so I switched lunch to dinner and booked a room in Marina di Cecina. It was a cute town yet undiscovered by American tourists. The next day I awoke refreshed and had a nice drive back to Joan’s.
