By the time we reached the beach at Cala Luna, the water had once again become too tempting to resist. We  dropped our anchor and dove in once more. Floating next to our boat, looking back at the beach and down to the sandy bottom, we wondered why we hadn’t done more of this!The port at Cala Gonone was busy when we returned. We found Marco once again, who hopped in and accompanied us over to the fuel station. The total was around 16 euros–less than we’d expected.

In that wonderful, slightly salty, post-beach glow, we stopped by our hotel’s bar to order some Aperol Soda and Amaro, which we sipped on the balcony before showering and heading off for dinner.

Before we had left New York, Aron had gone to B&N to pick up a copy of DH Lawrence’s The Sea and Sardinia, and discovered a beautiful cookbook: Sweet Myrtle and Bitter Honeyfeatures Sardinian recipes and short anecdotes from the author’s, Efisio Farris’s childhood on the island. Aron wrote the author to tell him we were headed there on vacation and asked for tips–something that would have never occurred to me to do!–and got such a nice reply from his wife, Lori, with a list of suggestions. It turned out that their family has a restaurant just 30 minutes from Cala Gonone, in the town of Orosei.

So, for dinner, we hopped in the car and drove up, up, up the mountain on this tiny, windy road with incredible views (and incredibly close drop-offs) to visit Su Barchile.

 

Cala Luna–which you can actually trek to in around 2.5 hours–is especially striking for its beachside caves. We set up our towels in the shade of a cave and used it as a base until after lunch, when we decided to move to the main stretch of beach and soak up some sun. Behind the beach, out of view across a pond, was a small shack/restaurant, to which Aron made a few trips for bottles of wine over the course of the day.

It was hard to leave–especially knowing that we were ending our stay on the Golfo de Orosei.

We packed up the next morning and left town after breakfast, thinking that we’d head down the eastern coast and past Cagliari to the town of Chia for the night, but not sure if that would be overly ambitious. When we found that we’d only made it to Arbatax–home to the famous red rocks and terminus of the narrow-guage train, Il Trenino Verde–by 11am, we decided on the nearer goal of Costa Rei. (Those red rocks, by the way, were lovely and we could see why they grace many postcards and guidebook covers, but with all of the beautiful coastal scenery on the island I would say they’re a detour one could skip.)
          

The road to Abatax, however, was more noteworthy. After coming back through the tunnel that leads down to Cala Gonone, we made a left and began hugging the mountainside on a road that wound around the perimeter of a steep valley. The landscape appeared harsh. Aron recalled reading that most of the primary towns on Sardinia were positioned inland as a protection from invaders, who would arrive by sea. One could see that the central peaks and valleys would prove difficult to penetrate, but they would also–it would appear–be difficult to cultivate. We paused at pull-offs to take in the view, but it was hardly necessary as we rarely shared the road. Only occasionally did it seem that motorcyclists would zoom by.

Beyond the farm, and beyond Arbatax, we made quick progress down the coast toward the resort area of Villasimius on the Costa Rei. We first stopped short of town when the beach came into view (not knowing just how close we were to our new destination); the golden sand and beautiful water seemed a good setting for lunch. 

The restaurant wasn’t serving yet and we could see the kitchen staff still enjoying their meal, so we sampled some limoncello and a regional grappa-like throat-burner, “Filo e Feru,” and drove a bit further to a recommended restaurant (off the beach), L’Aragosta.

We hadn’t booked our rooms for the remainder of the trip (which is so unlike us). We had a couple of spots in mind–Stella D’Oro and Stella Maris. The latter was the more luxurious and I think we were hoping to happen upon it first, but when we found that Stella D’Oro had a room for 70 euro, a parking garage, a central location, and a lovely interior courtyard–we decided not to waste time weighing our options. The room was fairly bare-bones, but it was perfect for the single night.

We dropped off our things and drove down the main road in town to the first beach, La Spiaggia di Simius. The scene was much different than the one we’d left in Cala Gonone and we were a little disappointed at first, I have to admit: the water, while lovely, was quite rough and the beach is much wider, with resort after resort lining up chairs and umbrellas. We walked confidently over to one such set and laid out our towels (which nobody seemed to mind this late in the afternoon). The people-watching was pretty great and Aron and I strolled up and down the sand to take in our fill.

I think, in retrospect, a little more planning would have helped here. Villasimius has many, many beaches. Some, like Spiaggia di Simius are large, but there are others where we could have enjoyed a more off-the-beaten-path swim. In fact, the next day, after reading about all of the options, we chose La Spiaggia di Campu Longu as it was touted as being sheltered from the wind.

Still, we left happily salty from the sea-air, sand underfoot (only to quickly rinse off at the hotel) and headed out to explore the town. Once again we passed groups of chatty old men and wondered “What are they excitedly chatting about?” (Old men are not typically the most talkative demographic–in my experience.)
The town was clearly a vacation-destination for Italians. The downside of this is a high concentration of t-shirt and souvenir shops; the upside was that there were also lots of interesting shops showcasing regional specialties. We of course tended to linger in the epicurean variety, picking over jars of honey in search of the bitter kind, tasting torrone and inquiring after saba. There was Bottarga (Sardinian caviar) in its many forms, all kinds of almond cookies, and wine shops offering tastes of Cannonau and Mirto (a liqueur made from the myrtle berries typical to the region). We had photographed and brought along pages from Sweet Myrtle and Bitter Honey, that detailed for which specialties we should be on the lookout.

I only glanced inside some of the many shops selling woven rugs, as we certainly weren’t in the market for a rug–but I regret not bringing back more images. I took one photo: there was a small example hung from the wall of our hotel. In general, I found the color combinations and relief patterns to be really pleasing and striking.

Aron and I agreed that we we were in the mood to try some pizza and inquired in a bookstore as to the shop owner’s favorite spot. Hotel Acquarius’ outdoor courtyard was filled to the brim and people were stopping by to pick-up takeout. (Good signs!) Aron ordered an appetizer of Bottarga over cheese–the mullet roe came salted and pressed into long, flat, orange pieces as well as grated. He thought it had the flavor of a mild caviar, but the texture of salumi. I thought the pizza would be considered excellent by most standards, but I have to be honest: I’ve had better in New York! That opinion–which we shared–of course did not prevent us from polishing off the entire pie.

After dinner, we strolled and appreciated the warm night, stopping before long to eat again when we split a nutella crepe.  

The next morning was cloudy; it was the first day we woke to anything but sunshine but I would be lying if I said I didn’t whine even a little bit. Still, the weather was more than comfortable enough for a day at the beach, and the wind had dissipated, so we packed up everything except our beach gear and deposited our things with the hotel. They offered us seats for breakfast and we had some croissants and cappucinos before heading for the water.

On our way out of town to find Campu Longu, we passed by a weekend market and decided we had to pull over. The very first stand was a cheese and sausage vendor–with some stacks of pane carasau and bottarga, too, of course. Aron spotted a sign with the words “Casa Marzu” followed by some small print that seemed to say something about its sale being impermissible.  We weren’t exactly sure what it said, but we recognized the name immediately.

Casa Marzu is the infamous Sardinian rotten cheese, perhaps colloquially known as “maggot cheese.” The sheep’s milk cheese is allowed to decompose with the aid of cheese flies who deposit larvae (maggots) in the cheese. They digest the cheese, breaking it down and making it very soft. Ewwwh! Our friend had told us about it before we left and Aron–the intrepid eater–figured he would have to try it if it crossed his path. The cheese has been outlawed, though we had been told that most cheese purveyors would probably have a wheel behind the counter. We hadn’t, however, actively sought out the cheese. But this sign seemed as much an advertisement as a notice of prohibited sale.

We pointed to the sign and asked the woman behind the counter if she sold the cheese. In true black market fashion, she gave a sideways head nod to her coworker and went to tell him–we assume–that there were two people asking about the Casa Marzu. He came over, pulled out a plastic bin, leaned back from it (to avoid the stench? or the exiting flies?), and lifted its lid. Out he pulled a wheel with a disintegrated center–just as we’d seen in pictures. He offered us the whole wheel, but Aron requested his smallest slice.

Not sure exactly what we were in for, we left with a double-wrapped, plastic takeaway container of something resembling cheese–staying just a while longer at the market to admire the cork plates for sale.

Finding Campu Longu beach required some sleuthing. We drove along the coast, by the harbour where we thought we’d find the sand, and found ourselves a bit lost within a campsite. Back out on the road, we were finding that most roads out to the sea were marked private. But then there was the one public road that lead to one small public lot and a tiny alley fringed with bougainvillea leading to the sea. What we found at its end was a beautiful, small bay overlooked by the very hotel we had first gone in search of!

We paid a small fee to rent two chairs from the hotel and headed straight to the water for some snorkeling. The water, as before, was cool at first, but felt lovely with a little time. There wasn’t too much to see–but a few schools of fish took interest in us, and we took our time looking around one large outcropping that sat in the shallow bay.

Back at our chairs, Aron pulled out the Casa Marzu and some bread. The smell of the cheese seemed to hit him first. I held up the camera to catch his reaction, which seemed to contain a mix of disbelief and laughter. There were, indeed, lots of tiny wriggling white maggots in the cheese. (Blech!) Apparently, if the larvae are alive, the cheese is good; but eating the larvae themselves poses some risks to your intestine.

Working carefully, with pursed lips, Aron pushed aside the little buggers and cobbled together, I’d guess, about a teaspoon. Down the hatch! He noted that he did a lot of chewing in case he’d missed any.

I loved the series of expressions that followed. His verdict: rotten cheese. Like, really rotten, stinky cheese. I tried about a tenth of what he had and I can confirm: not terrible, but still rotten and stinky, ammonia-tinged cheese. Where was that wine?

We felt a little bad throwing the rest away in the hotel’s trash, but there was no way this stuff was coming back to the car.

The streets were crowded, even as shops were just reopening from the afternoon siesta. I admired some shoes, but we still spent most of our time exploring local delicacies. A favorite spot was Bottega Sarda on Via Baylle. They offered us samples of everything that interested us, and we were drawn to their beautiful packaging. I brought back some delicious lemon-peel/almond confections to share with colleagues, and we picked out some additional bottles of wine to carry home. I had already chosen a bar of Torrone for myself, but the boxes here were so pretty that it was hard to resist another.