Sunday 27th November 2011
We were picked up by a young Italian boy, Pietro, in a battered old Ford fiesta. The hotel had dispatched one of the waiters to get us from a bus stop in the next village. After cramming one of our oversized ruck sacks into the boot of the car & the other on the back seat, we started the 12 kilometre journey.
We were in the middle of a months tour of the beautiful island of Sardinia & had decided to treat ourselves to a few days rest & relaxation by the coast. Pietro didn’t speak much English, which was fine by us so my wife & I sat back & enjoyed the incredible views. We zig zagged down the mountain, through the deserted mining town to the coast below, listen all the while to Eros Ramazzotti.
The hotel was predictable called Le Dune, boasting the highest dunes in Europe. Being the end of the season the hotel was half full which gave the two dozen guests even more space to explore the surroundings without bumping into each other.
Supper was served in the dinning room at 8.00, relatively early for us but when in Rome & all that. Now I’m not keen on pork, as a rule. I find it too dry & too lean for me. I tend to be drawn towards the fattier part like the belly or leg. So the whole pig they were roasting at the end of the dinning hall was right up my alley. Crispy & dripping in grease. It was the first time I’d ever seen a hog roast & it filled the room with the sweet smell of pork fat on a real wood fire.
We ate like kings that night.