Some driving around to different places to see if I could get this sensor swapped out on Pedro resulted in a negative. Language problems and general disinterest. Who could blame them, it was Monday morning.
The traffic was fluid and good fun…a bit like the dodgems.
Back at the hotel I bemoaned my plight to Luca at reception. He took all the details and did quite a lot of phoning around.
I went up past the old town to the belvedere where a glorious morning awaited me.
My ferry was still in dock.
The stones of Cagliari resplendent in the morning sun.
It was impressive that the local corporation had installed rather stylish glass lifts all over this part of town. The place was a Chris Bonnington heaven.
I went to the archaeological museum which was excavated from under a church.
All a bit boring but the way they had set a floating walkway all the way around over the original street was impressive.
Then a church high up on the hill. S Maria had some ornate crypts.
Another candle for the cat. I hoped it was working. It was costing me a small fortune. And also meant I never had any tipping spiccoli.
Coming down through the back streets I bought a little bit of postcard art from Fabrizio. Had a haircut and a coffee. No news yet said Luca so I headed to the beach.
I parked up in front of another cousin of Peds. I thought how hard can getting this part be? There were bazillion of these Pandas around. As I pondered a text came through from Luca. He had found the part. Now I just had to get it fitted.
On the strand the wind was blowing a force 8. The kite surfers were having a great time out in the bay. The first place I came to wanted €28 for a bed for 4 hours. Hmmm….not sure.
The next place said I could have a deckchair for nothing. I set one up and went to eat in their beach bar. Horse was on the menu. I plumped for the spaghetti alle vongole.
A spry man at the parts concession Luca had found sold me the bit I needed and gave me a discount for being English. €19 a lot less than Fiat’s €120.
Then he jumped in the car with me and took me to three mechanics. All very under the arches. One of them – the most world weary of the lot – accepted the task and said tomorrow morning at nine.
That afternoon I wandered around the marina. Some very lovely boats. One in particular was a beautiful sloop from Rhode Island. Blasts on the horn rocked the town as the Costa Firenze (what a dumb name) moved out from her berth.
How many souls aboard I couldn’t imagine. Thousands? What a terrible way to travel. I couldn’t understand it.
That night I went to a little bar and had a Campari Spritz. The waiter chatted away in perfect English. He had worked for 18 months in The Ivy, Chelsea.