I had no idea where Sardinia actually was. Somewhere in Eastern Europe, maybe. However, the pictures of the deckchairs on the beach had me sold. Let's holiday in Sardinia!
The cheap plane tickets and reasonable hotel rates aided our plan. The allure of sun and sea was the anticipated reward.
For this we could face the queues at the Italian embassy for a Schengan visa and a 3.30am wake-up to get to Stansted airport on time. This was followed by Ryanair's Lego-like seats (the old non-bendy Lego).
Lying on a beach lounger that afternoon, listening to the demure Mediterranean waves, I was watching a solitary windsurfer weaving across the sea when it dawned on me that I'd arrived.
What peace. While families strolled along the beach in their anoraks and hats, we stretched out in our board shorts and bikinis and slept like overworked Londoners and tensed happily against the chilly breeze.
The Sardinians and visitors alike were in two minds over whether it was the end of spring or the beginning of summer. Mothers in either Armani tracksuits or sequinned swimwear brought their children to play in the rock pools, either bundled up or wearing the good
old-fashioned swimming costumes that kids wore before the sun-safe swimsuits now favoured in the southern hemisphere.
We saw young women wading through the shallow water wearing g-string bikini bottoms with cardigans and scarves. Handsome families shook their heads at our naked pasty skins, while elderly Italian men walked together, smoking cigars, wearing nothing but little Speedos under their large tummies.
The Italians like their tiny beach apparel; oblivious to the Australian joke about budgie smugglers.
The Italians also like pasta. The traditional Sardinian ravioli is filled with potato, onions, cheese and mint. We had sensational spaghetti and seafood in Alghero, a few kilometres from our hotel.
This would take place with lots of cheap wine and baskets of bread, sometime around midnight after evenings wandering around the old town.
The narrow cobbled alleyways and arches, the cathedral, pillars and spires, the intricate lampposts and washing hanging outside the windows - this is what dreams are made of. We took photos like the gob smacked happy tourists that we were and ate incredible ice cream in joyous gulps while walking around the fort walls watching the sunset, seagulls and yachts in the quay.
Palm tree silhouettes provided a backdrop to old women gossiping and children playing soccer. The largest dogs I've ever seen were walked by their stunning, stilettoed owners on the promenade past seashell shops and
competing gelaterias. Jet trails criss-crossed the sky like pick-up sticks.
What a gorgeous holiday. Shameless travellers, we frequently called out "Ciao! Ciao!" to each other and "Sharp right, wide left" to our designated driver.
The locals drive like maniacs and hardly noticed the six of us squashed in our vehicle, negotiating the wrong side of the road - one foreign driver and five back seat drivers. Thankfully, the island is small and was manageable without a map.
Very few Sardinians spoke any English, and there were surprisingly few other visitors - what a pleasure. The nights were peaceful and the days were lazy. Our accommodation, surrounded by sea and forest overlooked the sea and Alghero across the bay.
The water was calm and, er, very refreshing. Those of us who dared a dip would know that it was best followed by a hot shower and a stiff drink from the friendly, heavy-handed barman.
We breakfasted on croissants, chocolate spread and ridiculously strong coffee. In Sardinia we discovered that pizza is not a lunch time meal no matter how much you want it.
We learnt that liquorice is surprisingly popular (even as an ice-cream flavour), cheeses and olive oil are staple foods and sardines (take note) are not. We discovered that the locals are sociable and the hotel staff are not. The roads are narrow, the parking spaces are few. People do actually say "Ciao! Ciao!"
Oh, and Sardinia is an island, west of Italy's mainland; north-west of Sicily. And it's sublime.
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