22 Marzo

As it has been awhile since my last blog, I have yet to capture a few other significant adventures in the month of February. Shortly after returning from our trip to Romania, we went with the

same crew plus a couple of other friends to Oristano, a couple of hours south of Palau, to see S’Artiglia, one of the many festivals of

Carnevale and tauted as one of the best.  On our way there, looking for a place for an afternoon amble, we stopped at the small town of Leonardo dei Siete Fuentes, so-called for the seven springs in the hillside above town, its name also reflecting the Spanish-Catalan influence in this part of Sardegna. We found a charming walkway starting from a 

centuries-old stone church and continuing along moss-covered rocks dripping with moisture through oak groves sheltering picnic areas built of giant slabs of granite, surely a welcome cool place of respite in the heat of the summer. We filled our water bottles before leaving, only to later find out that these springs are famous for their radioactive, diuretic water – we would, apparently, shortly be lighting our own way to the nearest restroom.We spent the night at the Agriturismo L’Orto in San Vero Milis; it was the best combination of local production and modern convenience we’ve found in Sardegna – heated rooms and hot water! amidst beautiful orange groves, the best-known product of this region. This provoked a lengthy discussion about starting a sort of agriturismo-style lodge in the U.S. upon return in order to live the country life and spend days making cheese and tending the garden.

The morning of the festival, we awoke to pouring rain and, over a lingering breakfast in the main house, imagined how miserable it would be to stand outside all day for the festival under these conditions. But, it soon began to clear, and by the time we arrived in Oristano, the sun had returned.  The festival began with the dressing of the lead rider in the town hall. The tradition goes that the virgins of the town bind his head in many cloths

and then affix bridal veils to his head beneath a carved wooden mask, a process that takes many hours due to the degree of ceremony.  He is then carried to his horse and placed upon it, as it is unlucky for his feet to touch the ground once he has been dressed. His mission is to spear a silver star hanging at the entrance of town with his sword while galloping through on his horse.  If he succeeds, he brings good luck to the town for thefollowing year. This is a tradition that apparently goes back 400 years and was originally a wedding celebration.

He is followed by many other riders who attempt to accomplish the same thing, all dressed fantastically in the Aragonese costumes complete with wooden masks and saddle blankets 

covered in elaborate ribboned rosettes of all colors. For the event, the streets had been covered in sand andgrandstands set up above the location of the star for ticketed spectators.  We, on the other hand,

took turns hoisting each other up or elbowing our way to the front of the crowd to catch a glimpse of the riders’ attempts. Apparently, this is followed by a series of horseback acrobatic displays, but, needing to return in time to help out with the evening’s Superbowl festivities on the base, we left before this part of the festival. Chad managed to stay up virtually all night to sadly watch the Patriots end a perfect season with their one final loss being the championship.

Back in Palau, the Carnevale festivities were much quieter this year with the absence of the Americans. We did manage to see the parade on Martedi Grasso (Fat Tuesday) with its many 

wildly-dressed teenagers and reveling onlookers. While last year, the party continued late into the evening, this year things were nearly wrapped up by 8 o’clock. The most humorous of the floats this year was a mini-submarine bearing an American flag and a tin cup on the back soliciting offerings for the poor remaining 

La Maddalenians. On the cup was written, “Lacrymi dei La Maddalenini” (tears of the La Maddalenians). There is much apprehension regarding what will happen with the economy here in the period following the base closure.

At the end of the week, Meredith, a friend from Bowdoin, came to visit – our very last guest. We had a wonderful time taking Manny for long walks, punctuated by frequent bird-spottings by Meredith, and touring around Palau and La Maddalena. And, finally, at nearly our last opportunity, we headed south to tag the southernmost tip of Sardegna with a visit to Cagliari. The first afternoon, we stretched our legs with a walk in the Foresta dei Sette Fratelli; seven must be a lucky number, as these were the seven peaks and we had just been to 

the seven springs. It was a much lusher, boreal forest than in northern Sardegna and full of chirping birds to satisfy Mer. We spent the night in an agriturismo north of Cagliari which wound up being a bit further down a long, dark dirt road than we’d anticipated, but where we had a 

delicious meal including capretto (baby goat) and agnello (lamb) from their farm. The agriturismo was also an environmental education center that provided courses and excursions for students and there were many trails in the surrounding hills which we explored the next morning. Then, we headed into the big city. Cagliari had the feel of a mainland Italian city with its bustling streets and diverse population such that it was easy to forget we were in Sardegna. Chad left us on our own here and headed back to Palau. We were to return by train the next day.

We walked until we dropped that afternoon, exploring the walled Castello district with its many guard towers and narrow cobblestone streets, as well as hunting for the alleged Phoenician tunnels beneath the botanical gardens to no avail. The next morning, we took the bus out to the salt flats and lagoons near Poetto beach to hunt for flamingos and other migratory rarities. Unsure exactly of we were going, we got off at what looked like a likely spot and found the flats, but couldn’t manage to find a way across the dyke that separated the main road from them. However, just as we were feeling disappointed, Meredith spotted flamingos across the way with her expert binoculars and, afterwards, many other interesting marsh birds.  So, it was not a wash after all. A couple more hours of city exploring, some lunch and a gelato later (liquorice for me – a first), we got on the train, thus ending our southern tour. There was something romantic about riding through the Sardegnan countryside, looking out the window at rolling hills filled with sheep and shepherds’ houses while listening to opera on my ipod– perhaps an improvement on D.H. Lawrence’s experience.

Back in Palau, we prepared for the last shipment of our things to leave and, after a matter of just a couple of hours one morning, the house was nearly empty. Afterwards, we dug out our landlord’s furniture, bedding, and some basics to use in the kitchen to make it feel a little more homey. The chaos of moving is, I suppose, a good thing in terms of accepting leaving a place as it makes things feel enough different and enough less comfortable that it is easier to leave. With little left at home and things mostly reorganized for the moment, Meredith and I spent her last day in Sardegna in Santa Teresa, about a half hour from Palau, bird-watching and picnicking on the beach. It was a welcome reprieve from the sadness of our echoey house. 

 And then, she was off, and we were left in our place to enjoy the last weekend in Palau and to, delightedly, see the first of the spring wildflowers – purple crocus and yellow daffodils – poking up between the coastal rocks. Spring is a beautiful time in Sardegna and I am sad to leave with just a tease of its show. The final stretch of the weekend was spent cleaning out the house and packing up the car to transfer over to La Maddalena. We had gone back and forth about whether to stay in our house until the very end or move over to a temporary apartment in La Maddalena, and decided that, for simplicity, we would close up in Palau and move over along with the other few remaining Americans on the base. This, also, made it easier to leave, as it felt like, when we left Palau, life as we knew it in Sardegna was finished and it was time think of what was ahead in Maine. I couldn’t leave without a last early morning walk on the beach with Manny and one last dip in the Med after a run up the railroad tracks. On our way out, we also passed by Pietro and Lucia’s, the caretaker of our condo and his wife, to have a café and say goodbye with promises to come again when we return for vacation. And then, we waved goodbye to our home in Palau.

Now, the days left in Sardegna are dwindling and this will, as such, be the last blog from here. I am writing from our temporary apartment in La Maddalena. It feels strange to stay here, as it is the same apartment where we stayed when we first came to La Maddalena a year and half ago. The owners, Daniele and Pina, were wonderful hosts to us then, so we decided to stay with them again for the last stretch. Walking the streets around the apartment, I have been reminded of my early feelings upon arrival in La Maddalena - wonder at our luck to be coming to such a place and eagerness to get to know this small island community. Now, the shine has rubbed off a bit and we are able to find things to gripe about like the always-speeding cars on the very narrow streets, the stray dogs that follow me in a train when walking Manny, and the tap water, the color of weak beef broth, which has again taken its toll on my stomach despite my careful efforts not to ingest any of it. I realize, however, that I have generated most of these complaints in a subconscious effort to begin to distance myself, as it is much easier to leave a

 place by focusing on its flaws, thereby further illuminating the place to which you will go. Just think - clothes dryers, potable water, and houses with heat! (although heat is a luxury of our temporary apartment and one which we greatly enjoyed during a recent cold snap that left brina (frost) on the plants outside our door). Daniele and Pina have made us feel welcome and looked once again after our final week here with little touches like a bowl of fruit and cookies awaiting us upon arrival and a recent gift of a bottle of Mirto for a dinner party we had last night.

I did, however, miss Palau immediately upon moving over to La Maddalena, and found myself back there several days this week. Andrea, our landlord, invited us over for dinner one evening and prepared a wonderful traditional feast complete with home-made wine and porceddu (roast suckling pig), a Sardegnan specialty we are sure to miss. We had tearful goodbyes and made promises to return as soon as is possible. On Friday, I went to the Palau market for the last time and made the rounds to visit many of the local vendors whom I had gotten to know over the last year and a half – the butcher, the fishmonger, the hairdresser, the wine shop proprietor, among others, exchanging addresses and best wishes along the way and trying not to feel too melancholic about our departure. I had lunch at Paola’s, a marine biologist whom I had befriended, and said another tearful goodbye when I finally headed home late in the afternoon. It is “dolce-amaro,” bitter sweet, to leave; I am grateful to be sad, as it makes me appreciate the people and experiences that made my time in Sardegna so special, but I still wish I had a little more time to enjoy them.

On Saturday morning, after several recent failed attempts due to windy weather, we were finally able to get out to the island of Spargi, the third biggest in the La Maddalena Archipelago, with our friend, Massimo, who is a guide for the park. Andrea, a friend of his

who caretakes a house on Spargi, came over to get us in his gommone (an inflatable rubber motor boat) and, after a bit of a struggle to get our scared pup into the boat, we skimmed across some of the most tranquil, flat water I’ve seen since living here, and in a short time arrived at Cala Corsara, the beach we could see from our house in Palau.  Once ashore, we began a 

beautiful hike up the ridge along old military roads to the lookout tower,

battling the thick macchia (scrubby dense vegetation) along the way.  Our legs are still recovering from the beating they got - through our pants. The view up top was spectacular and we documented it with a group picture captured by the self-timer on 

our carefully-balanced camera. On our descent, we saw old farmhouses and military barracks and watchtowers breaking through the dense green below, and also the white house where Andrea was working and towards which we were slowly battling in what we dubbed “La Guerra della Macchia” (The War Against the Macchia). And, finally we emerged at the beautiful oasis we’d seen from above and followed the rising smoke to find the fire that Andrea had started for our afternoon picnic. We dumped the rocks out of our shoes, picked spines from our socks, and stretched out in the sun while the sausages sizzled on the fire, smelling the sweet scents of burning juniper and elicriso. Fresh fruit and sliced fennel, bread and cheese, and a bit of homemade wine all accompanied our salsiccia for a delightful seaside picnic well-earned after our battle against the macchia. After lunch, we went on an easy walk along a well-cleared path (much to our relief) up to Punta Banditi, the site of another old military watch point. At lunch, Augosto, another caretaker of the house, bet me that I would find a bar at the top of the point to have a café, but I was skeptical.

I was happily proven wrong upon our arrival and enjoyed a hot café

 with a beautiful view in a small rifugio (a sort of camp) tucked in the 

 rocks that several of the guides had fashioned. Fueled by a dose of caffeine, we proceeded to Petraiaccia, a series of fortresses constructed during WWII which were completely hidden in the rocks in order to avoid detection from the air by enemy planes.

It was a fantastical playground of caves and hidden staircases completely integrated into the wind-sculpted rocks. And,

 from there, we returned to the dock in time for a sunset return trip to La Maddalena. That night over dinner, we commented on “un giorno tremendo” (a splendid day), and then slept the heavy sleep made possible only by a day spent outdoors.

Sunday, we decided to have a small gathering of American friends at our apartment in La Madd to enjoy each others’ company before everyone’s departure. After preparing Zuppa Gallurese, a local specialty of layers of broth-soaked bread and cheese baked in the oven like lasagna, for Thanksgiving, a few friends here asked for a lesson on how to make it. I had gotten tips from many locals: the perfect soft sheep’s milk cheese to buy, to leave the bread out to become stale, and to make a broth from veal and sheep bones (the refuse of which made Manny very happy), and the proper mix of spices to add including surprising ingredients like star anise and cinnamon. Inspired by requests for a cooking lesson, we hosted a small gathering with loads of good food brought by all and finished off by tiramisu, another specialty I’ve learned to make while here, and Daniele’s home-made Mirto. It was a grand festa which concluded a fantastic final weekend here made magical by blue skies and sparkling Sardegnan sunshine.

One perk of living on La Maddalena has been the ability to hop on early-morning boat trips such as that to Spargi with Massimo. I had also been begging Pippo,

the husband of Liliana, who worksin Chad’s office, to go fishing with him sometime, and, finally, in our last week here, we arranged a trip. We left from Porto Massimo early enough to see the warm morning light on the horizon and took Pippo’s little fishing boat out to the island of Razzoli. As one who is alert to the idea of serendipitous or not-so-serendipitous events, it seemed perfectly fitting because I had just finished translating a story that Massimo wrote about the lighthouse on Razzoli and my curiosity about the island had been peaked.

Pippo is not only a fisherman, but an avid student of human and natural history in the Archipelago. On the way out, he showed me a piece of an amphora he had collected while diving on a sunken Roman military vessel off one of the islands, and taught me how to identify the elegant white birds fishing on the rocks.

We tied up the boat in a small cove and set off for a walking tour around the island with the dogs in tow – Manny and his two 6-month-old hunting dogs, Speedy and Gonzalez. The rosemary bushes were in purple bloom and the elicriso scented the air in the growing breeze. Razzoli, unlike Spargi, had been used for cattle grazing over the years, helping to clear some of the macchia, making trekking much less painful. We arrived at the lighthouse, which I learned was the first one in Sardegna, and inspected the abandoned building now held up by rusting scaffolding – one of the many projects begun and then forgotten by the Italian government, according to Pippo. Pippo told me about the lighthouse keepers’ families that once lived there - four families in all, each of which had their own garden plot and grazing area, the walls of which were still visible amidst the macchia.

From there, we looped around to a series of small beaches protected by the Catene (Chains) of Razzoli, a long peninsula creating the Cala Lunga at its base, and then back to the boat for a picnic in a spot sheltered from the wind. We had planned on fishing in the afternoon, but the wind had picked up and white water blew off the crests of the waves. Instead, we made a short tour of the surrounding islands and then returned to Lily and Pippo’s house for a café and some research on the birds we’d seen on our island tour. Pippo had mentioned a particular bird, the Beccaccia, which could be found in the springtime on Razzoli, where it stopped over on its migration from North Africa. He described this bird of the woods with its camouflaged coloring and furtive nature, but I couldn’t come up with the English name for it. Upon looking it up, I discovered that it is a woodcock, the strange bird that I saw do its mating dance in spring in Maine, flying high up into the air and then spinning, fluttering downwards to the ground. Yet another fitting but unexpected link between the present and our future in Maine.

After a blustery afternoon on Razzoli, a café and a short nap to refuel, and a hot shower to warm up, we headed over to Palau to have one final dinner with the remaining other Americans from the base at Robertino’s, a favorite for local seafood. It was a fantastic final spread with good company and we barely wrapped things up in time for the 1030 ferry, feeling strange to be rushing to catch a ferry to La Maddalena in the evening rather than from it. The next morning, we met the same crew for café at Circolo, the Italian Officer’s Club, where the American officers regularly meet each morning.  There were many goodbyes, but also promises to see each other soon, as a few friends from La Maddalena will be on the east coast and within visiting distance. One of the challenges of military life is that you are always meeting new people and then, all too quickly, telling them goodbye. This time, we are lucky to have friends who will still be living relatively nearby back in the US.

Later that day, we were all packed up and loading our things into a taxi to leave the island. In a kind of farewell gesture, the sun broke through the clouds after a rainy, gray morning and provided the perfect setting for our last ferry ride across to Palau, which we celebrated with an Ichnusa (the local Sardinian beer) on the upper deck.  On the other side, we were greeted by Giovanna and Giovanni, our landlord's daughter and her boyfriend,

who were the farewell emissaries for their family and waved us goodbye as we pulled away from the port. We passed by the entrance to Faraglione, our condo complex, and along Acapulco Beach, both of which we had not visited since moving out the previous week. It was probably best given the emotions of leaving and seemed right to see them again only in passing on our final drive out. From there, all of our travels went remarkably smoothly. Meridiana, the airline from Olbia to Rome, let us virtually walk Manny onto the plane at the last moment of boarding, much to our surprise and Manny’s delight. That night, we stayed in Fiumicino, not far from the airport, at the same hotel where we had stayed on our way here a couple of summers ago. With Manny in tow, we sought out a place for dinner where we could eat outside and managed to convince the proprietor at a small pizzeria to set one of the empty plastic tables on the patio for us, despite his protestations that it was far too cold (it was at least 50˚F). After some gelato and a good night’s sleep, I took Manny for a romp on the beach to wear him out before the long flight and was taken aback by a neon pink sunrise at the end of the beach – a final send-off from Italy.

At the Rome airport, despite being told that Manny would not be able to fly into Boston because the temperature there was too cold, a very helpful attendant hesitantly stuck the check-in sticker on his crate to get him through Atlanta and on the plane to Boston. After 11 hours in flight to arrive in Atlanta, we were greeted in the customs area by a quick viewing of our pup, still wagging his tail, but we had to leave him shortly to catch our flight north. At the gate, we watched in anticipation to assure that his crate was loaded onto the plane and, after every single other bag was loaded, up bumped Manny’s crate and we, much relieved, boarded the plane. Finally, somewhere around 3am Sardinia time, we emerged into the baggage area at Logan Airport to find Chad’s dad’s smiling face and open arms, a most welcome sight! We could also hear Manny barking from down the corridor – a welcome sound after nearly 18 hours in his crate. I rescued him and ran across the traffic lanes in the pick-up area to find a patch of green grass – a little piece of heaven for poor Manny. The physiology of dogs is truly remarkable!

That brings us mostly up to the present. Aside from the wonders of such things as magical machines that you can put your clothes into and they come out dry, and water running out of the tap that is clear and drinkable, not to mention how many people here speak English, I am happy to say that it just feels good to be back in New England. Our first morning, we sat on the couch with steaming mugs of coffee in front of a fire and watched snow come down over the Piscataqua River while catching up with Chad’s parents. Being amongst the familiar and good friends and family is an indescribably comfortable feeling and, at least for now, overwhelms homesickness for Sardegna.

We had a short trip up to Portland, as well, to see the house that Chad’s parents scouted out for us and to get a feel for the city again (and to have a much-craved sushi lunch), and left reinvigorated and confident about our decision to live there.  Then, I headed to St. Louis to 

 family and Chad went to Rhode Island to go through the formalities of leaving the Navy. Now, we have returned to await the arrival of our many shipments of things by air, mail and ship, and prepare to start anew in Maine. For now, we continue in the Leap Year state of things, being neither fully here nor there in both location and mind, and are just trying to digest it all in the transition and to prepare to reshape our lives as Americans once again.