An urgent need to distance myself from too many words, empty my mind of viral and human contagion, find the void.
I walk between the white and the blue of my favorite beach, Mari Ermi, in that stretch that runs along the pond to Portu S'Uedda.
I look at the crystal clear water where the wind moves the shades of blue and turquoise, which make this island famous in the world.
From afar, a girl walks towards me, occasionally pausing to take pictures; we are the only presences on this beach that seems to have no horizon. When she approaches, a smile and a few words are enough to understand that Enrica is a positive girl, who takes advantage of every break from work, to run away here, to breathe this freedom.
She gives me something > Here, I'll give this to you <
It looks like a tiny shell that vaguely resembles an eye.
> It's the Eye of Saint Lucia, it will bring you luck <
She also sends me, on her cell phone, a photo she took of me a little while ago, we say goodbye, maybe we'll meet tonight at a concert at the Link Café.
I remember well when I first came here by chance, it all began with that flight from the Mistral wind that raged on Is Arrutas.
Is Arrutas appears smaller and more modest than I remembered, two modern barakas face it imposingly; the Mistral has sent the scarce tourists and motorcyclists fleeing.
As I watch the waves I see in a flashback, Bageera swimming next to me to reach the nearby beach, empty of people. What harmony between us in those sea escapes, you magnificent beloved human mask dog.
Leaving Is Arrutas I take a dirt road. I ignore where it leads, but that's the beauty. I see that the coast continues north with a very high cliff and I hope to find a shelter from the wind.
To my right, endless fields of yellow daisies, poppies and stems flow. Crows play with the wind, swooping down to touch the corollas. Dear Vincent, I think of you, I look at these flights through your own eyes.
The road is rough, the potholes and the bumps shake my utility vehicle, I bless the very expensive "super relax" that allows me to risk the shock absorbers on dirt roads, because they are always the ones that lead to the most special places.
Suddenly, in fact, a dazzling strip appears on the horizon.
As I get closer, I focus on the expanse of a pond, behind which stretches an immense white sand dune.
In the water, some flamingos call and answer each other with sounds similar to those of seals; above their heads, beyond the dune, a kite twirls.
A lonely place with a wild charm that takes your breath away, I start taking pictures; not far from me, another photographer, much more equipped than my mobile phone, gives me a knowing look, even the woman who is with him smiles. We all three know that we ended up in a paradise and among beauty hunters we understand each other on the fly.
I continue to the end of the pond and go up towards the dune, from there you can see the two bodies of water separated by the strip of sand, two communities that live so close together.
The sea bubbling with waves rippled in white, on the beach, sitting calmly in the tense wind, a group of kites and wind surfers watch each other go out to face the sea.
When I leave, as I look for a place to
turn around, I find myself in the middle of the small surfer village, made of
mini caravans and vans equipped for traveling houses. I lean out of the window towards a girl passing by with beers in her hand > It's beautiful here! <
She replies in English and with a big smile invites me to have a beer with them. I follow her, even if the wind threatens to carry me away. They are all women, the brave who venture into the waves, a few words let me know that they come from northern Europe and have camped here for two weeks. Nothing else matters in this suspended world where you feel part of the universe.
Taking the dirt road again, it seems from the map that you can get to S'Arena Scoada, there, Renzo's excellent paranza of fresh fish awaits at the small Maestrale restaurant.
After passing expanses of yellow daisies, the road becomes increasingly hard, stones, deep holes and above all, it proceeds very close to the edges of the cliffs.
I have been going for a while, I should be in Su Tingiosu, which in Sardinian means Il Solitario; in fact I am completely alone, Google map has no coverage here and in some places I can see the overhang from the window, no way out, I have to continue.
The panorama is impressive, the rock shaped by the Mistral wind is at least 30 meters high, with horizontal stratifications of sandstone; it is a brittle coast and it does not make me feel safe to pass so close to the edge.
They told me that the village of Putzu Idu was built with this sandstone, the spectacle of its colors, those of the water and the flights of hundreds of cormorants that inhabit the cliffs, enchant me.
I return to this day in February.
The memory melts in the hot sun. I take off my shoes and wallow in this turquoise painting; the water is not cold at all.
Sand is a microcosm of quartz that looks like rice and tiny shells of all shapes. I am alone, happy and drunk with freedom.
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All Images and Original Text copyright Solo Moles - Travel One 2019