Waking Up in Sardinia - Part 1
Without new experiences, something inside of us sleeps. The sleeper must awaken! -
This short glimpse of the fascinating island of Sardinia was first posted in March, 2022. It is Part 1 of 3 parts - a introduction to a place few of us have ever seen.
It is ten pm and I am standing in the doorway of a rather shabby bus station in Sardinia under a dim streetlight. The night sky is absolutely clear, the wind is howling around the corners like restless spirits. The sign above the door says MACOMER, and I have no idea where that is.
I am on my way to Nuoro in the east central mountains to work with teachers. I have been dropped off in this place by the Azienda bus out of Sassari. The driver assured me that a second bus would come along to take me the rest of the way. No one told me I would have to transfer buses — or possibly they had told me, and I just didn’t understand. My Italian is not that great — my Sardinian is non-existent. It is getting later and later, darker and darker, and I am beginning to feel just a little nervous.
Not many are out at this hour, except for a contingent of lonely derelicts who are bellied up to the station bar telling long stories that, no doubt, they have told each other hundreds of times.
They seem to be drinking substantial quantities of filu ‘e ferru, a scorchingly raw Sardinian grappa. Filu ‘e ferru, which literally means “iron wire”, is the traditional drink of Sardinia, an acquavite, clear as water. It has an alcohol content above 40% and is said to “facilitate digestion and cheer the spirit”. I’ll bet.
It also seems to induce sinuses to drain and eyelids to droop. This drink, I have learned, was used for centuries as a drug and as a remedy against all diseases. It was first introduced by Catholic monks who set up their stills in the richest vineyard areas. They knew what they were doing, I’d say.
The genial young man behind the station bar is rubbing spots from the beer glasses and re-filling the racks with ‘Croc and Roll’ potato chips and ‘I Love You’ potato chips. A woman with a rain coat and a bad cough sits bundled up at a corner table, a wool scarf is on her head. Upstairs, over the bar, a band with an accordion and a tuba begins to practice. It is the kind of music one would expect to hear in Bavaria during Oktoberfest. Oom-pah, oom-pah, oom-pah-pah. Seriously?
I bought a bottle of water and was able to find the bathroom, so that’s good, but I am not certain of exactly where I am. I don’t know when, or if, a connecting bus really will come and if it does, am I standing in the right place? What’ll I do if it doesn’t come? How will I know which bus is the right one, and who will meet me when I arrive in Nuoro at nearly midnight? My language deficiency makes it hard to get answers. My agitation is rising.
But that is the thing about travel. Invariably, as soon as I am on the brink of panic, things have a way of righting themselves, of falling into place. I stand here with my bag, listening to oddly mis-located polka music, watching the stars disappear as a foggy mist blows in. Suddenly a coach pulls up right in front of me with a yellow sign in the window — NUORO. The driver greets me like an old friend, welcoming me in a language I don’t understand. I give him my ticket, and step up into a near empty bus. He hands up my bag.
When traveling, so many things are often out of our control and we always need to remind ourselves that it is smart to just wait, to relax and let go. We can’t always be in charge and that’s half the fun. Right?
By midnight, I have safely arrived at my destination. I step into a steaming shower that miraculously does not send water up my nose, down the wall or over the curtain, but actually functions as it should, melting away the last traces of anxiety. I climb into a narrow, sagging cot, comfortable and clean, and fall asleep in minutes. That is the thing about foreign travel for a single woman ( especially for a woman who does not know the language) – often a pinch of insecurity, a small dash of fear, followed closely by a friendly face, a bath and a bed. And it is all good.
I will re-post Part 2 on Saturday. Please continue the journey with me!
You've got guts Sharron! Another wonderful travelogue and adventure. The photos complement the narrative beautifully. That part about not being in control and letting go, trusting that all will work out has been the foundation of my spiritual journey over the last twenty-one years. In fact, I have come to realize that any sense of being in control is just an illusion. When I get out of the way, I get what I need in that moment. In your case, it was the bus and a friendly and accommodating driver.
Thank you for taking me along for the ride. Love the detail and inclusion of locals…..