Campervan Therapy

Santa Lucia, an unassuming village on the east coast of Sardinia, is a feast for the senses. Again, it’s a place that we say we’ll stay a night and end up staying five.

Sand and surf

The beach stretches five kilometres north to Posada, the neighbouring town. Each morning we join the locals who exercise on its silky sand. There’s the yoga sessions – the group like a collection of sphinxes in the morning sun. Seán scuttles past lest I suggest we join them.

More in his comfort zone are the people walking through the surf for their morning constitutional. The sea is warm. Posada gets closer and closer, the masts in the harbour,  houses hugging the hillside, mountain peaks and excursion boats off to visit the caves at Cala Gonone.

Maritime Pine Dreaming

We while away the afternoons under the huge maritime pine umbrellas backing the beach. Vivid green needles against blue sky is a tonic. Greater spotted woodpeckers swoop, yaffle and knock. One knocks on a dead branch just above my head. A  German toddler is so excited they say ‘specht, specht, specht’(woodpecker) to me. The child who’s not yet three is a budding ornithologist.

Woods and Inlets

An early evening stroll to the south of town and the coastline changes, the Maritime pines grow into fulsome woods, the dunes disappear and are replaced by rocky platforms where  cormorants dry their wings. The inlets’ beaches tell their geological story with multi-coloured pebbles, mica sparkling in some, others worn smooth as marble by the sea.

Murals and Harvest Moons

A Pisan tower guards the village, as it has done for centuries, thankfully no longer a lookout for pirates and marauders. Santa Lucia’s trattorias, cafés and houses are painted with murals, each one telling a story: the sea at sunset, storms at sea, a lighthouse, a fisherman in the sky – his wife below with her hand reaching out towards him.

The man reminds me of Seán’s father, John, who looked just like him, whiskers and beard and pensive, observant expression. It amazes me always how travel takes you to unfamiliar realms, but often triggers memories or sensations from your own life. It goes to show how inter-connected we all are.

The day’s end comes with a crisp prosecco in a beachside bar with the harvest moon rising, salmon coloured at first, then whiter and whiter, until it lights a path across the dark sea. My resident scientist explains why it changes colour but I only hear half of it because I’m lost in reveries about that silver path across the sea.

Pecorino

Our stay at Santa Lucia ends with a visit from a local farmer, who makes his own Pecorino cheese, from his own herd. His little refrigerated van holds a cornucopia of wheels of cheese and salami. The cheese is superb – a totally different being from the supermarket version. We choose the stronger one. He wraps it in paper, warning us never, ever to put it in the fridge, or else there’ll be certain ruin. We promise because how could we refuse such a cheese maestro?