"The beauty of nature in its silent barrenness, how long will it remain? The destruction of the ecosystem is progressing, people-made. Locally, globally. One reason is easy to name: The desire for prosperity. And so, the two laws of ecology and economy dispute with each other, clash with force of arms. But there will be no winner in this fight, only battles with many losses. That is the explosive nature of all days." I set the last point. A small black circle finalizes two years of work on my book. Period. Without further ado, I drop the pen. Two days later, due to time constraints, I choose the worst climate option and buy a plane ticket to set out into the world once again. The content of my longing: summer, sun, and sea. Its name: Sardinia. Just three days later, I'm jetting south above the clouds.

Capital visit, obligatory. Winding streets, treeless, but civilly decorated with lavender flowerpots. The houses wear pretty facades, patinated, on these shutters, on these balconies. I stroll around and suddenly I see an orange tree. For lunch, fresh figs from the Mercado San Benedetto, plus a nectarine, juicy.

The very next day, early in the morning, I escape the urban concrete. I hop on the bus 129 – past pink flamingos, color blotted against a blue background, and through opulent oleander avenues – and go rattling along in an hour to the Costa del Sud. Here I miss the tourist exit and the bus driver refuses head-shaking to drop me off on the open road – what luck! A few minutes later, end of the line. Five plastic toy sellers leave the bus with me. Briefly unlocated, then I follow the flying traders inconspicuously in the direction of the dunes. Behind: a bay, not lonely, but predominantly native. Gladly I’ll join you. First, however, I let myself be introduced by a sympathetic Baywatch lifeguard with long hair and red swimming trunks to the science of sunshade rental, but: I decline a sunbed with an umbrella in the first row for 70 euros per day, I deny a sunbed with an umbrella in the second row for 60 euros per day, I dismiss a sunbed with an umbrella to put up by myself for 25 euros per day. Finally, I rent a green-and-white striped parasol for a tenner, dig it into the hot sand myself according to instructions, and unfold my blue towel, smiling. The next hours, nothing. My gaze lost in thoughts, straight on the sea, and above me a kite string flying, and behind me an Italian family chattering, homophonic to the sound of the sea, and next to me a young woman reading "The Bell Jar" by Sylvia Plath. I read it too, once. And again and again the sea, this crystal-clear blue in endlessness. Indescribably beautiful. Again, me in the sea – swaying between the waves, my body is weightless, my spirit enraptured. In addition, a spectacle: how the sun puts its light into the water, draws fine lines on the seabed. I feel the irrepressible desire to capture this kaleidoscope photographically. The last image, the wave breaks.

Back in Cagliari, I climb the marble steps of the Bastione Sen Remy and enjoy the view over the city in the sunset ambience. A slow disappearance, and finally away over all mountains, in seconds – 150 million kilometers away. Dear sun, good night! Heat-soaked days, slightly cooled their nights. But the thermometer continues to measure
27 degrees. My face glows red as I take a seat on a plastic chair at the side of the road and eat my first Pizza Margherita, accompanied by an ichnusa beer, non filtrata – on its bottle label: the Sardinian flag[1] with quattro mori on a white background and a red Saint George's cross. Delizioso!

Westcoast. Although I have informed myself in advance about the public transport on Sardinia, the second largest island of the Mediterranean, and considered it sufficient, the Internet now suggests me a travel route to the remote Porto Alabe, 150 kilometers away, by train and bus with a travel time of 13 hours, herein included several changes and endless waiting times. Alternatively, a six-hour walk from the nearest train station. Somewhat perplexed, I send an SOS signal to my future accommodation and kindly ask for help. One, two, three messages later, I have an appointment with Edoardo for the next day at noon at the station in Macomer. Wonderful! Afterwards: A 30-minute drive through the countryside, plain and yellow colored, exceptionally with gray-covered sky. A hay bale here, plus two cows, a donkey, and scattered cork oaks[2] on the horizon. A 30-minute drive and the first of many conversations with Edoardo, about the country and its people, nature and culture – about snow in the Sardinian winter and periods of drought in the summer, at the same time a water emergency is declared in northern Italy.
A 30-minute drive, while I fleetingly ponder how a car-reduced future is to succeed in places like these. A short-term solution for such big-city fantasies seems a long way off, and so I postpone my thoughts on climate policy.

Connotation of a moment. Only yesterday in the evening glow I felt surrounded by international lovebirds, these happily grimacing. Between them, I and all alone – I was accused, because I forgot to bring a partner after all. The significance to you, a lost romantic moment. And today, I and all alone, blissfully sitting on the edge of the sea in the sand with yellow, gray, white grains, and at sunset I holistically contemplate the color spectrum of nature: in the firmament a pinkish-red and tenderly veil the clouds, the horizon colored in royal blue, in front of it the endless water shimmering ice-blue, and against this background yellow the sun sets. Dear sun, good night!

The next morning, my most beautiful day begins. After a homemade breakfast, with espresso, freshly squeezed orange juice, scrambled eggs, homemade plum jam and the typical Sardinian Pane carasau[3], I walk off, with me:
an iced water bottle, my snorkel set and hiking tips from Edoardo – along the coast and then, between the dunes, up a small hill, with the best view over the turquoise sea and hidden underwater rocks. Further it goes through bushes, not higher than one meter – the sun burns meanwhile relentlessly – and no shade is in sight, but the wayside is nicely flower-adorned with graceful amaryllis plants in white, a.k.a. beach lilies. My destination comes closer with every step: the watchtower Torre de sa Columbargia[4], majestically enthroned on a rocky ledge and behind,
a hidden parallel world, into which I snorkel. Suddenly, I meet the first shoal of fish, five silvery shining figures with a black back stripe. Only one of them has instead a spot of the same color on its fin. I nod gently to them and cautiously swim past. Lo and behold, a laggard now hurries not to miss the connection and it is again a phenotypic variation, disguised as a zebra, wearing its stripes lengthwise. Further I follow the call of the fish, observe from next distance their meandering movements, carefully I also meander through the transparency, past them and suddenly
I see you. You beauty, alone on wide corridor with green scale dress and red-blue collar, in addition a black line along the back part. For what party have you dressed up? A dance in the Mediterranean Sea, sun-brightly illuminated the underground and above us the water blanket billowing, decked with dancing seaweed upside down.

The highlight in the evening. The in-house pizzeria // Here: Neapolitan style, intangible UNESCO World Heritage Site, elaborate and fully handmade. Yesterday: Pizza Margherita again – you got it, I love it – and with a bulging belly I'm floating in basil-mozzarella-tomato heaven. // is regularly closed on Mondays, so Edoardo asks me if I want to go out for dinner with him and his girlfriend Valentina, as well as Antonio and Guiseppe. Enthusiastically I agree. Together we drive to Bosa, a pretty little town with brightly painted houses and a traffic-calmed labyrinth of alleys, and we finish the evening cheerfully: chatting happily in a bilingual stream of languages. On your recommendation,
I eat an oyster, the first time, and praise its consistency, less disgusting than expected, and its taste – a reminiscence of the infinity of the sea. As I say goodbye, you thank me for my company, and I smile back a thousand times.

Eastcoast. Olbia with an airport, I feel two days too long here. My guidebook surprises in its radicalism, which certifies the place nothing worth seeing, except a basilica from the 12th century. In the hotel room, I am greeted by a timeless female person. Her anorak is pink and with blue-tinted ski glasses she looks at me, and does not look at me – static the picture, the dog in her arms wears a black and white hairstyle. Before, the farewell to Valentina and Edoardo was tearful. Sadly I remain, but also move on, always further, and now out of the vibration of the tourists crowd[5]. Once again with a train ticket from Trenitalia // Acknowledging I emphasize: five train rides, not a minute late. Edoardo would say this is worth a report in the local newspaper, possibly with a picture of a proud female train driver on page one. But the front page is currently occupied – Corona rages on: "Il Covid ruggisce ancora: boom die contagi" (July 2, 2022). // in hand, I make my way toward the coast – to the underwater fishing world. 

Summer, sun, sea – that's all I was looking for, but so much more I found. Sardinia is definitely worth a trip plus x.
In closing, let me share two thoughts with you: First, take a car (with you) and second, take your time, a lot more than a week. And now – Arrivederci, Sardegna!

Interesting!

Saffron, one of the most expensive spices in the world, is extracted from the three red pistil threads of a crocus plant, crocus sativus. At the time of the purple blossom, each year in October, industrious hands laboriously harvest the three-centimeter-long stigmas and, with great skill, obtain five to six grams of the red gold – per hour. Market value: "Depending on the quality, saffron today costs up to 15 euros per gram, just under half the price of gold."
60 percent of Italian saffron production comes from Sardinia and "the saffron from San Gavino is considered the best in Italy."
Stieglitz, Andreas: Sardinien. Ostfildern: DuMont Reiseverlag 2019 (2nd ed.), pp. 36 –38.

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[1] The flag of Sardinia shows the heads of four Moorish kings who "were defeated and beheaded by King Peter I of Aragon at the Battle of Alcoraz in 1096". From the end of the 13th century under Aragonese rule, the Sardinians used this symbolism to deter Saracen pirates who "raided the coasts murdering and pillaging and taking the inhabitants into slavery."
Cf.: https://www.flaggenlexikon.de/fsardin.htm, accessed 02.09.2022.

[2] The bark of Quercus suber can be peeled off and used for cork extraction about every ten years. "More than
15 billion cork stubbles are produced annually to supply the international wine market. This represents about
80 percent of the cork harvest. Other cork products, such as tiles, insulation, and products for industrial applications, are derived almost entirely from recycled material from cork stubble production." But with the change-over to plastic and twist-off closures as an alternative, cork forests are in jeopardy because they are losing their economic benefits. As a habitat for many plants and animal species, the biodiversity of our planet is also and again endangered.
Cf.: https://wwf.panda.org/wwf_news/?4802/2/Flaschen-bitte-nur-mit-Kork, accessed 03.09.2022.

[3] A paper-thin, crispy flatbread made from durum wheat semolina, yeast, water, and salt.

[4] Numerous towers like this one were built on the coasts of Sardinia in the Middle Ages to defend against Saracen piracy.

[5] About three million people visit Sardinia every year, the population is about one and a half million.

*Translated with www.DeepL.com/Translator (free version). Made some modifications.