Eucalyptus and oleanders

 

Old port, Marseille

Leaving Marseille proved more difficult than expected as because striking French workers meant our ferry was cancelled. Hours later, we were booked on a ferry from Genoa and had purchased train tickets for three of us to travel the more than 400 kms there. Needless to say, our time in Marseille was not spent sightseeing, but hunched over various devices. Fortunately, we had an apartment with a view over the old port marina, home to billions of dollars worth of boats. Where does this wealth come from, we wondered. From exploiting the poor, of course, we answered.

Des getting in some riding in Marseille

We landed in Porto Torres, Sardinia's north-west port, and immediately set off for Alghero to begin biking the island. Garis, Barb and Mick rode the 30 kms to the house - Des and I lucked out as drivers in the early morning warmth, ducking along the narrow main road occasionally festooned with abundant white, cream and pink oleanders. On the road to Villa Stella Maris (where we had chosen to stay) stands of eucalypts were everywhere - lining the roadside, acting as wind breaks and as clumps in the once productive farm paddocks, now mostly abandoned. The villa, situated on eleven acres, sported a small olive plantation and orchard, outhouses for milking and keeping animals, and a large and airy house surrounded by a generous verandah, which we were grateful for on the almost 40 degree days. Gery and his family from Budapest ran the show, welcoming us with Hungarian pastries and grappa, and cooking us dinner on the first night, a feast of local foods and vegies from their garden. Of course, we all fell in love with Rosie and Machiatto. Well, perhaps not Garis...

Spiagge Bombarde, Alghero

And so the riding began. We started small, opting to ride into Alghero to do a few messages. Funnily enough, we never really got bigger. Heat was the first factor, followed by busy narrow roads, then more heat. Instead we opted for scenic drives and swimming in the warm Mediterranean waters - superb. We were introduced to Nuraghi, three thousand plus year-old stone villages built on the principle of a castle-fort - small in stature, and surrounded by small stone houses. An ancient necropolis of more than fifty tombs, irregularly shaped, as situated not far from the Villa. But it was the beaches which drew us in the end - refreshing Mediterranean waters and lots to look at, respite from the heat and winds. Needless to say, our bike riding ground to a halt.

Barb needs those calves in her new role as hairdresser

Setting off further south we determined a route through reportedly flamingo-dense wetlands, on towards the coast, circumnavigating a couple of islands and finishing at Pula. Umm. Towering mountains, cruel peaks, narrow roads everywhere we looked. As Robbie Burns wisely penned, 'the best laid plans of mice and men oft gang astray'. The roads were not ridable. The hills were not rolling, coming in at more than ten per cent gradient. The wetlands were not wet and there wasn't a flamingo in sight.

We stayed in Oristano for a night and re-planned - onwards to the southern island, Sant'Antiocco, and some local rides there perhaps. A fisherman's cottage in Calasetta, a beach directly below our home, local shops, a harbour with shipping and fishing to observe, and at last, a couple of rides. Not long, but do-able. A great few days. However, by this stage we tended to question the wisdom of our Italian riding choices, pondering the words of several women we chanced upon in Oristano who wondered why we would come from 'bella' Australia to 'brutto' Sardinia to do anything, let alone ride bikes.

A night in Pula being entertained by the locals in the square, and an afternoon in Cagliari awaiting our ferry to Sicily rounded out Sardinia. Great flag, friendly and hospitable people, good food and wine. But not a place for us to ride bikes. But we did get to see flamingos.

Sardinian flag depicting four Catalan pirates

flamingo!

 

boat at Calasetta

 

 

Posted with Blogsy