With all avenues having been explored at the Tortoli site on the Sardinian east coast, in other words a short, hot walk along the road as far as it goes and back again- we up sticks once more and ready the van for another hop north, this time towards Siniscola. There’s a site at Santa Lucia, a small seaside village. I look at the map. The road is ominously wiggly, heralding more mountain road terrors.
You’d have thought I’d be getting used to staring dizzy drops and horrific hairpins by this time, but rather than finding it all thrilling [as, admittedly. does Husband] I continue to perspire and grimace. But I’ve perfected the art of taking long, slow breaths as we approach bends or vehicles career towards us. This time, the journey is not aided by the scores of motor bikers who roar up behind us and swerve away at breakneck speed, sometimes enhancing the thrill by zig-zagging across the road. It’s clearly a favourite for motor cycles, also the one and only road where we spot three- yes, three British vehicles- all in one day; and having not spotted a single Brit during the entire trip to this date.
On this route, though there are some short stretches of respite, semi-tunnels where the outside edge is guarded by columns, and by the time we’re dropping down towards Santa Lucia it’s all become much more sensible. A search for a suitable place to stop for lunch gets tied in with supermarket shopping then we’re good to go to the site.
While we’ve been in Sardinia, our own, home, UK news has been full of the Queen’s death- a momentous event for many in our home country. And while any death is sad for those involved and close family of course I can’t help feeling relieved not to be saturated in the details and outpourings all day every day.
We pull up at the gates to our site. The woman in reception is pleasant and welcoming. ‘But you don’t want to watch the funeral?’ she asks me. For a moment I’m not sure what she means. ‘We’re showing it in the bar’ she tells me. I thank her, but say no, thanks, we didn’t know the Queen. [We still haven’t watched any of the ceremony/pomp/footage in spite of it’s remaining on YouTube], which the woman appears to find amusing.
The site is large and wooded with beach access via a woodland path. Getting into pitches is a little tricky, the first we choose being hampered by a gargantuan, Italian motorhome protruding into the access lane. The occupant makes a sudden appearance as Husband begins to manoeuvre into the space, gesticulating and waving like a banshee on speed. As I’m the other side of our van undertaking my own, usual, time-honoured signals, I find this frantic takeover annoying, as does Husband, so we roll across to the next space, away from the hyperactive, oversized-motorhome-owning Italian and his panicky signals.
Again, the site is ideal for beach lovers. This time, we can walk along the road into Santa Lucia, although it is tiny and while it’s attractive and has a relaxing, seaside holiday feel it has nothing of particular interest.
It’s on again, then- this time only a shortish hop north and to the Costa Smeralda, Sardinia’s famous millionaire playboy playground which was developed in the 60s by the Aga Khan, who poured milions into the area. Lucky for us it still has campsites!…
Grace is also known as the novelist, Jane Deans. Her new novel, The Conways at Earthsend is available from Amazon, Waterstones, Goodreads, W H Smith, Pegasus Publishing and many more sites. Visit my website: janedeans.com or my author page on Facebook: (1) Jane Deans, Novelist, Short Fiction and Blog | Facebook.