The Truman Show – Day 42, 43 & 44

I went to a garage to get my brakes looked at but they couldn’t fit me in until Monday morning.  So that decided me to stay in Alghero.  

A delightful place to be marooned. At times I was all alone on the lungomare.

It was as if it had been created just for me. I wondered if I ran down an alley, an alarm would wake a dozing computer designer to create a street in front of me.

By day I walked i bastioni, the giant walls left over from the Catalan control of the city.   

By evening there was a small buzz and I would stroll the battlements and sit out overlooking the sea at one of the hole in the wall bars that the locals frequent with their dogs. Both the dogs and their owners wrapped up for the weather. It was still in the mid twenties but the wind was picking up and there were white horses on the harbour approaches. The cardinal bouy, which must have been six foot high, sometimes hidden by the waves and we were at least 50 feet up.

In the distance the promontary of Fertilia in the shape of a man lying on his back.  The lighthouse at the far end flashing a signature single light every four seconds.

The next morning there was quite a lot of damage from the wind in the night. I’d slept with all the windows open. The pendant lamp swinging shadows across the room from the street light outside. 

Waiters were retrieving tables and chairs and quite a few ambulances were rushing around  making that oh-lah-di-dah,  oh-lah-di-dah sound.

Keeping an eye out for dog muck I found some cash on the ground.  When I counted it later it turned out to be €260! I handed it to a passing policeman.

I visited a couple of churches and by this time it was getting on for lunch.

Then a lot of horn honking and a parade of scooters went past with the bride on the back of the lead Vespa laughing.

I found a man guarding them later outside the cathedral.

Meanwhile in Rome, Giorgia Meloni had just been sworn in as prime minister at the Quirinale. Her far-right party – the first since WWII – had formed a coalition with Salvoni’s anti-immigration lot and Berlusconi’s bunch in what had been the one of the lowest voter turnouts ever.

That night I tucked into Zuppa di Cozze…there were mussels in abundance here and I’d been eating them off and on since Greece. Then I followed up with Porcchetta…or suckling pig. I’d passed this restaurant several times and almost got to know the owner Franco. I’d tried for a table at lunch but they were just closing.  

‘Stasera?’ I asked. 

‘Dicianove’ he replied.

So I turned up at 7pm and was looking around.  The waiter deferential. 

Franco emerged from nowhere and berated the waiter. The gist of it was. ‘ This bloke’s been past four times. Get him seated right now!’

It was real old skool Italian. Like Guido’s that Ni and I used to frequent. But much better food. 

I’d tried hard to not eat on these past days and was feeling better for it. But the days were long. This would keep me going for a week or so. I made a note to try the mussels like this at home with a mildly spiced tomato sauce. They’d be in season when I got back. But they seemed to be in season here in the Med all summer long.

Then on leaving I heard Franco talking to a young chap sitting on the harbour wall,  who looked like a chef, that the mussels were from Spain. So, perhaps flown out from Scotland yesterday? 

Next day Pedders and I took a trip through the hills to Bosa down the coast. The weather beautiful and cool on the tops. We took the Strada Mala ignoring all the warning signs. It wasn’t a bad road by Sardinian standards and I’d seen worse in downtown Palermo.

The country round here was all bosky low growing oak and sheer limestone outcrops. Over Monte Minerva on to Montresta. Everything really quiet on Sunday morning.  Then down into Bosa on the coast.

Afterwards, a spectacular coastal drive home. Fabulous views of the limestone cliffs being slowly eroded by the waves like licking an ice cream. All along the roadside buttercups and daisies on verdant verges and bright greens tempered by the grey sage of the mimosa.

Everything was coming into blossom including some of the trees. It was like a second spring with the cooling of the summer. I got out to stretch my legs and a mass of butterflies on the ground made me careful where to place my feet.  Swallowtails and Brimstones. Very pretty and warming their wings. Just hatched I imagined.  

The road was beautiful.  Well I mean the views were. The road itself was full of holes. Someone had helpfully pointed them out with yellow spray paint, but that didn’t make them any less lethal.  Plus cyclists and Sunday bikers on their cafe racers. I just kept up a steady pace and turned the rear view mirror to one side.

A final night. A valedictory Campari spritz from Santa Theresa. 

And an early bed. Perfect.