Happy place(s)

I think I mentioned a couple of posts ago that I have a bit of a thing about small Mediterranean ports, announcing that I regarded them as 'my happy place'. This being so, right now I should feeling utterly overjoyed. The twin Islands of Sant' Antioco and San Pietro proffer a 'happy place' bogof deal, the former's Calasetta facing the latter's Carloforte across a deep blue six kilometres wide channel.

Both small ports hit the happy place spot. Even better they are connected by an ancient rust bucket ferry, the type you see connecting Greek Islands  where only thing keeping it going are a clutch of icons dangling in the wheelhouse, though in the present case I guess it was 'Our Lady' keeping it afloat.

A section of the quayside parking had been dedicated to motorhomes. There are no services but you are welcome to stay overnight. The ferry service runs 24/7, but we slept through ok. It must be the sea air.

Sardinia, like Sicily has been ruled by many powers over the centuries yet still managed to maintain its unique culture and language. From fourteenth to the early eighteenth century the island was part of Spanish Kingdom of Aragon. Later, up until the Unification of Italy in 1870 Sardinia belonged to the House of Savoy. It was during this era, in the Eighteenth century, that the ports of Casaletta and Carloforte were built.

Architecturally the two places look quite different. Casaletta on the island of San Antioco does seem to reflect its Spanish heritage, not just its grid plan but in the plain style of the buildings. In part it looked Andalusian...

Oddly though some streets looked distinctly Portuguese.

Overlooking the town is a small Mortello style tower. Settlements on the Sardinian coast tend to be fortified. Up until the end of the Eighteenth Century places were prone to attack by Barbary pirates. 

Just to add to the Pan- Mediterranean influences the roofscape from the tower's terrace looked distinctly Greek. 

From the far side of the terrace there was a fabulous view across to Sardinia, crystal clear light, majestic thunderclouds towering above the mountains.

 We walked back down the steep streets towards the port.

The colours here were more Ligurian or Provencal, lots of pastel shades punctuated by a more startling, contemporary day-glo effects.

We'd passed a gelateria earlier, it claimed it reopened at four. We arrived on the dot. Two minutes later we were welcomed in. 

By the time we had ruminated over our flavours three more people had arrived. Italy is full of small pleasures, an espresso costing €2.00, a small cone with two delicious flavours costing little more, and all the free joyous stuff, like welcoming smiles, the graciousness of everyday life, it's very easy to feel happy here.

We arrived back at the harbour by the fishing port. Big tuna boats line the outer harbour. In the marina among the yachts and speedboats smaller traditional inshore fishing boats were moored. 

Beautiful old wooden ones with lanteen sails, they're ubiquitous throughout the Med, in Spain, Malta and in Greece. How long will the trade remain, working them must be hazardous and the returns uncertain - a tough life, and not a particularly attractive one to the TikTok generation.

On the way back to the van we called into the ticket kiosk to check the times of tomorrow's ferry. The boats are regular, we decided the 10.40am was the one We don't do perky mornings these days.

The girl in the kiosk had advised that it was best to turn up at least a quarter of an hour before the ferry was due to depart. We wondered why, but took her advice. It was good that we did, the ticket queue next morning was chaotic, the simplest transaction mysteriously protracted, each one involved a little skit.

Eventually, only ten minutes later than scheduled we departed, not everyone made it, one woman was left remonstrating on the dock as we sailed off.

The narrow straights that separate Calasetta from Carloforte are only six kilometres across, but it takes the ferry 35 minutes to cross them. It was surprisingly busy and people on upper deck seemed very jolly. The reason for this became apparent as soon as we landed. Carloforte's main street runs straight from the seafront. It was lined with food stalls. 

A big outdoor kitchen had been set up in Piazza Republica with rows of benches in front so people could watch cookery demonstrations. 

A woman in traditional Arab dress had attracted a considerable crowd to watch her demonstrate how to make authentic couscous dishes. Local food really, Tunisia is closer to Isola San Pietro than Sicily.

Trestle tables and benches ran all the way from here to the big parish church at the end of the street. A small notice advertised the menu for a communal lunch commencing at noon.

We retired to a shady café in the main square to rethink our plans. We had identified a restaurant that specialised in piadina, flatbreads filled with enticing fillings - too delicious to be called a sandwich. Given Carloforte's specialist fishing fleet we had already decided to go for a tuna one. Now though, with the chance of participating in a communal Italian lunch we were faced with a dilemma. 

While we were mulling this over I noticed something peculiar. A number of the men nearby bore a striking resemblance to Stanley Tucci.

This phenomena temporarily derailed our culinary discussion and sent us down a different rabbit hole. Has Stanley Tucci based his look on an established stereotype of an Italian gourmet, or is 'Tucci style' - small, neat, sharp dressed guy with shaved head and vivid specs - now the go-to look for style conscious middle aged Italian men out for a Sunday lunch?

We decided to seek out the piadina place which was on a nearby street. The notice on the door said it was closed today 'for the festival'.

 

This should have made our choice simpler but in the meantime we had discovered a food truck doing tuna sandwiches and a stall specialising in Sicilian dishes offering aranchini and cannoli. We decided to take a tapas approach:

We shared a €15 plate from the communal kitchen - it's always delightful to join a group of Italians enjoying lunch.....

then moved onto the Sicilian food stall, bought two aranchini to eat immediately (an aubergine filled one and a ragu), and two canoli for later (carefully wrapped and bagged by the vendor).

We found a nearby bench and made short work of the aranchini. Desert was provided by the gelateria up a side street nearby.

The alleyways of Carloforte are colourful.

Some running parallel to the harbour...

Others stepped up the slope behind it.

They are beautifully maintained, clearly a source of local pride.

Information boards explain something of the town's history. Though technically part of the Kingdom of Savoy, along with the rest of Sardinia, Carloforte managed to maintain a measure of autonomy. It looks prosperous today, and judging by the impressive merchant's houses dating front the Eighteenth Century was wealthy in the past.

It was politically progressive too. In the 1790s it proclaimed itself an Independent Republic with a semi-democratic government, though this was short lived and became subsumed by Napoleon's broader imperial ambitions.

I mentioned in a previous post that a quarter of a century ago I had become slightly addicted to a webcam of a marina on either Isola San Antioco or here on San Pietro. Could I find it? I only remembered two things about it, there was a petrol station on the quayside and a number of flagpoles in front of the yachts. The harbour in Calasetta didn't look like this at all. However, as we walked along the quayside we passed a petrol station....

 then a series of flags flying on the quayside in front of the Coast Guard building...

Guess what was fixed to the wall half way up the building...?

One camera pointed straight at the flags, the other towards the petrol station. This had to be it. 

For some reason it pleased me inordinately that I had tracked my memory back to its source. I felt validated somehow, but why that should be the case I cannot explain at all.

We had decided to catch the 15.40 ferry back to Calasetta which gave us about forty minutes more to mooch about. We headed south, away from the historic centre to a more modern district next to a big salinas. There were blocks of modern flats with a play area beside them. A group of boys kicked a ball about. A black kid was the star, coolly dibbling past the others, then showing off his skills, controlling the ball in turn with his feet, knees and head. 

An old canal ran beside the salinas, inshore fishing boats moored along its banks. The bright noonday sun had faded into a cloudier afternoon, still, the silvery light was beautiful, and after weeks of technicolour days a reminder that grisaille has an understated charm of its own.

By the time we caught the ferry big clouds had gathered over the mountain of Sardinia. The forecast has been threatening thunder for days but so far it hadn't materialised. We stayed on the open deck even though there was the odd raindrop in the air. The narrow channel between San Pietro and Sant Antioco is very shallow, you could see the sand banks clearly just beneath us. Maybe that's why it takes forty minutes to travel just six kilometres. 

The ferry docked more or less next to where we had parked. Astonishingly the cannoli we had bought some hours previously were still in one piece - 

Great with a glass of chilled white wine ...

The couple of days we've spent on the islands have been great. However, there are no facilities here, we need a service point. There's a parking place at a restaurant called Jamaican Beach a few kilometres south of causeway. It has facilities according to 'Park for Nght', we'll head there next. Surely the kite surfing community that frequent the place can't be quite as 'up themselves' as the reviews imply. We shall see.