Emmental in Sardinian

The driving style of a people reveals a lot about their soul. This is particularly true for Filipinos in Manila, Dominicans on Saturday nights and Vietnamese on the way to funerals. And for Sardinians in general. The wildest mountain roads are relatively discreetly regulated. But as soon as they are wide, safe and well-built, the state slows you down to half of what would be normal in Germany. 50 kilometres at 50 km/h is the whip for the Sardinians!

Their speeding seems to be the last cry against foreign rule. If you are driving legally in Sardinia, all your attention should be focussed on the rear-view mirror. 25% above the speed limit is the absolute minimum in order not to be constantly chased. 50% over the speed limit is the standard, even for pensioners. Speeding is defined by the Sarde at least 75% over the limit.

We Germans still enjoy an excellent reputation as speeders in Sardinia and around the world – but I’ve been lagging behind for 1,100 kilometres for four days now, panting. The penalties are high and the checks at 50 kilometre intervals are very frequent. In Sardinia you don’t get points, you get points deducted. Perhaps the Sardinians are simply speeding ahead for their next holiday trip to Germany – then the points will even out again.

The cliffs of Arbatax glow red in the rising sun. The mountains of Barbagia and Supramonte are behind me, the east coast as far as Cagliari ahead. The suddenly emerging swarm of Sardinians washes me along the beautiful south-east coast of Sardinia through endless desolate suburbs and past the black street vendors at every traffic light into Cagliari. South of Cagliari there is some wind on the kiteable beach of La Maddalena. But at 12 knots, I just don’t get enough romance between the refinery, salt pans, wind turbines and oil harbour. I spend the whole afternoon touring the European Capital of Culture 2019 – a very good choice, there’s a lot to see.

My first destination the next morning is the Roman archaeological site of Nora. I’m not only too early in the year, but also in the time. Waiting two hours is too much. As good as the cappuccino is, I can’t wait more than three. I continue along the lonely south coast to the Grotta di Zuddas near Santadi. The sintered water flows so slowly here that the argonite crystals grow in all directions due to the capillary effect alone – unique in the world in this density.

The island of Santo Antioco in the south-west is connected to Sardinia via a saltworks dam. I circumnavigate it in the rising wind on the edge of its steep cliffs in search of a kiteable spot. There is sand to leeward and a 20 metre jump start to the south. Flamingos graze in the shallow salt flats on the way back. Another kiteable flat water spot in the south-west of Sardinia would be Porto Botte, there is even a small kite school.

For more than 3,000 years, every advanced civilisation has turned the mountains in and around Iglesias into Emmental cheese in search of metals. Today, the mountains consist of more air than stone. UNESCO thought this was so great that it declared Iglesias a World Heritage Site. Unfortunately, Iglesias doesn’t give a toss about the mines, whose last great heyday was a good 100 years ago. The mountain slopes full of decaying huge building complexes of the mines are impressive, but you can hardly get anywhere near them – let alone inside. I fail at many fences in front of six different mines. The only show mine, the Grotta di S. Barbara, is also closed. Of course I read the sign. But I don’t speak Italian, which the rushing guard buys…

Once again, my accommodation doesn’t have a navigable address. I get a pilot service from Zenturm. After three turns along country lanes on the slopes of a large old mine on the edge of town, it’s clear why. The best panorama knows neither streets nor house numbers. The sexually misguided peacock in the garden rattles in front of the hens like a dork on his feather bike. Travelling remains fun.