October 24th, 2007
Big is beautiful
I’ve a thing for islands. The best holidays I’ve ever been on have been on islands. And, to make matters more complicated, I prefer an island starting with the letter “S”. Sicily was a brilliant find, like southern Italy with the volume turned up and the flavours more intense. Sri Lanka with a new boyfriend was magical; exotic; life- changing (the boyfriend became husband). Symi - the best Greek island of them all, deliciously tricky to get to, unbelievably difficult to leave. Hiring a boat to phut- phut around the rocky coast looking for a cove to skinny-dip and sip Amethystos rose.
Then there was Shelter Island, a ferry-ride on from the rest of the Hamptons, and the dernier cri in East Coast posh - think Ralph Lauren, bagels and very, very dry martinis. Scotland’s Summer Isles - OK, they were just a day trip from the spectacular Summer Isles hotel in Achiltibuie in the Western Highlands, but still…
Er, then there was Singapore - does that count? I’m not sure, since you can drive to Malaysia. It was a bit of an Asian theme park, so squeaky clean was the atmosphere, but the street food was the best I’ve ever had. (Other islands of different alphabetical persuasions that I have known and loved include Grenada, Clare Island, Ponza, Ustica, Diu and Cozumel. I wonder if there’s a support group for recidivist isle-hoppers?)
So, a trip to Sardinia seemed logical. Little did I realise when I booked the holiday that I was heading off to this year’s grooviest European destination. This summer I haven’t been able to pick up a glossy magazine without some celebrity spouting off about how much they love the jewel in the Med. Naomi Campbell, Sarah Ferguson, Eddie Irvine, the Rothschild family, Princess Caroline of Monaco, Rod Stewart, Tara Palmer-Tomkinson, King Juan Carlos of Spain, Gwyneth Paltrow, Jon Bon Jovi and Tom Cruise are all fans. And, of course, the England squad may well have happier memories of their Italian training venue than of Euro2004 itself.
Certainly Sardinia is gorgeous. It’s big, one of the Med’s giants, and has more than its fair share of white sand beaches and craggy scenery. But most of the island is like the supermodel Gisele Bundchen without her make-up on - naturally pretty but no show stopper.
The coast is where it’s at; more specifically the Costa Smeralda, the area in the north-east of the island that was “invented” as a playboy’s paradise by the Aga Khan in the 1950s. I’m not a millionaire, so I didn’t book into one of the area’s ritzy hotels. Instead I took my family to nearby Cannigione, a fishing port just round the corner. The island has clusters of attractive towns and beaches, but the north-east is the part that attracted us - not only because of its proximity to the glitterati, but also for its white sand beaches, nearby sports facilities and the delicious-sounding restaurants. Choosing a holiday destination for a pair of gadabouts who’ve recently adopted two lively children is quite a task. Sardinia ticked all the boxes because of its mix of the groovy and the child friendly. But would it live up to the stardust-sprinkled advance publicity?
When we arrived at the villa we were renting, the first signs were not great. Two dead baby birds were splayed on the terrace in a tiny pool of blood. We averted the five-year-old’s eyes. Is it a Sardinian mafia warning? Have a good time, or else…? Any worries are swept aside by the frankly fabulous apartment - three big bedrooms, two bathrooms, a well- equipped kitchen and the aforementioned terrace - complete with big squashy sofas and a built-in barbecue. We had barely any reason to stray, apart from occasional dips at the affiliated hotel next door in the cleanest, freshest pool I’ve been in for years. Unheated, naturally, since Sardinia has long hot summers, but, a little earlier in the season, it was rather bracing. That doesn’t stop children, of course, so I had rather more of a chilly work-out than I’d planned.
Cannigione is a pleasing destination, a clean, clear bay with a bustling port and - the sign of a well-to-do resort - chic ceramic shops, a boutique selling pricey bambino clothes, and, overlooking the sea, a restaurant with lobster in a tank. Now there’s fancy. We go there on the first night and discover that the fabled Italian love of children stretches as far as making off-menu pasta pomodoro. But it doesn’t stop them charging EUR20 for it. Mental note: start using the local market…
And what a market. In the delightful tradition of southern Italy, the produce stalls are piled high with plump tomatoes, pungent garlic and a huge variety of salad leaves. We fill our bags and stop off at the supermercato on the way back to buy Sardinian sausages and some superb local fish.
Next morning, there’s a frog in the pool. Everyone has to cool off somewhere, but I don’t fancy sharing my sun lounger with an amphibian, so it’s off to the beach. The nearest patch of sand is lovely but there’s a busy road close behind, so into the hire car, round the bottom of the bay and up to Baia Sardinia, a classic seaside town, Italian-style - creamy gelatos every 100 yards, lots of caffe lungo action and a spectacular beach. White, white powder sand, crystal clear turqouise sea - did the hire car transport us to the Caribbean instead? I’ve never seen such an idyllic beach in Europe (and remember, I’ve been to a few islands in my time).