More adventures far from Alghero

The thing about adventures is that you are never really sure what is going to happen, which of course makes them adventures.

So on Saturday we had set off in a rented car to explore part of the north west coast, and in the process we came across some delightful deserted beaches, got to see some pretty stunning countryside and ended up in a tiny harbour which might have been created for a film set.

Now the deserted beaches had been part of the plan and of course I knew we would see plenty of countryside but the tiny harbour and village were something else.

There were two harbours and looking out over the outer one was the bar.  It’s dozen or so tables were full of a mix of nationalities, many just passing through and a few who had chosen this tiny place to holiday.

Here along the main street were a mix of traditional houses, shops catering for local needs and few touristy places.  And amongst all of this were a collection of striking photographs of the men who fished the waters on the walls around the harbour and main street.  They may have been the result of local cultural grants or a bit of clever tourist hype, but either way they demonstrated a real sense of pride in the men who had provided a key industry for the village.

And they spanned at least half a century of endeavour.  Some were clearly from before the tourists had discovered the village while others might have been taken just a few years ago.  I liked them and I wondered how many of the passing people preoccupied with the sun, and interesting places armed with expensive cameras and traveling the roads in air conditioned cars gave much of a glance to them.  I have to say that no one glanced at them or like me went from one wall to another photographing each board.

But then perhaps I am being a tad over critical.  I was after all with my less expensive camera doing the tourist thing as well.

So enough of knocking the casual stranger and onto the adventure which by degree ended in another tiny little cove.  We were heading back when we saw it from the road and on a whim drove down to look it over. The enterprising owner of the bar, well aware of the secluded and remote location charged not only a € to use the shower but 50 cents for the lavatory.

This said it was the perfect place not just for what it had to offer but for the people who turned up while we were there.  There were two or three families, the woman with a walking stick and the couple.  They had come in a boat.  He was clearly older than her but not enough to excite speculation.  Now as a casual observer I found myself staring at them and wondered if I was not becoming a tad voyeuristic, so I took a picture and turned away to the people collecting coral at the water’s edge.

They were an interesting group.  The father sat reading a magazine while every so often his wife and two daughters dropped their coral finds into a plastic cup.  They were from Brindisi and were staying on the nearby air force base, which set me off on another round of speculation.  The daughters were middle aged, one married and one single.  I supposed that one of them must have connections with the air force but it was not something we pursued; some holiday conversations I concluded remain only half finished.

And in true holiday fashion the boys posed for a picture with the group, Simone took more pictures of them using their camera and then it was all over.  We had to get the car back and they having finished their coral hunt were themselves preparing to leave.

Not a bad end to the unplanned bit of the adventure.

Pictures; from the collection of Andrew Simpson