Articles > Land of the Wild Olive Trees

Half-way between Europe and Africa, part of Italy since 1861 yet enjoying a semi-autonomous status, Sardinia is proud of its identity. Waves of invaders have left their mark through the centuries, but the island remains its own continent with a colourful patchwork of strongly individual regions.

Ogliastra is no exception. Tucked at the heart of the east coast, this is the ‘land of the wild olive trees’, a spectacular ribbon of pristine beaches and mountains just waiting to be discovered. Here the air smells of juniper and gorse and the lapping of waves mingles with the distant echo of cow bells and babbling springs.

‘Come,’ said Ivan, ‘I’ll show you the Voragine Su Sterru, it’s the deepest chasm in Europe.’ Up on the Golgo plateau, the dark gaping hole plunged 290 metres into the bowels of the earth, an awesome place where only the most experienced potholers would venture. We gazed in wonder, slightly uneasy, watched from afar by a giant Nuragic face carved out of the rock. The indigenous Nuragic civilisation flourished roughly from 1800 to 500BC, reaching unprecedented levels in sculpture and architecture, witnessed all over the island by the remains of their circular towers and burial places. A few steps away from the ravine, we came across the lovely Nuragic pools, once used for ritual bathing, their shimmering reflections untroubled by the wild pigs foraging around the olive trees.

In these vast open spaces, golden eagles and falcons circle and glide above rustic shepherd’s huts and the little church of St Pietro standing all alone in the pastures, waiting to open its gate for the next annual pilgrimage. Meanwhile seasoned walkers and climbers head for Gola Su Gorroppu, the ‘Grand Canyon of Europe’, where a crystalline river tumbles over pebbles and rocks, hemmed in by 500 metre high cliffs. For a superb panorama of mountains and gorge, follow, if you dare, the vertiginous 125 road climbing up to the pass. Then, when you leave the ancient ‘leccio’ woodlands to return to the coast, the hillside village of Baunei greets you with a jumble of pastel roofs and enchanted views over the Gulf of Arbatax. It feels almost like a dream.

Far below in the shadow of towering rocks, the sleepy resort of Santa Maria Navarrese nestles under the pines on the edge of a glistening sea. Lanes draped in wisteria lead to a small harbour where the odd fisherman mends his net and a couple of divers sort out their gear. A 1000 year old olive tree stands by the church and at the end of the beach, the Spanish tower which long kept the Saracens at bay turns honey-coloured in the setting sun. Now and then a yacht sails past the monolith of Agugliastra and Giradili, one of Europe’s highest sea cliffs, casts a lengthening shadow over this forgotten land. This must surely be the time when prehistoric remains send shivers down your spine, from the Giants’ Tombs of Triei, discovered by a shepherd 15 years ago, to the Domus de Janas, the Fairies’ Houses scattered in the flower-strewn meadows.

Dawn brings its own magic as the golden sun peeps over the Tyrrhenian Sea and the islands sprinkled in the bay. North of Santa Maria is a string of beautiful beaches accessed only on foot or by boat. Sail up the coast and you can explore one of the wildest parts of Sardinia, with crystal waters and idyllic coves, rocks and cliffs home to crested cormorants and Corsican gulls. Here is the blinding white beach of Goloritze framed by a natural arch, there Cala Mariolu and the Fico Cave where monk seals have been seen, the romantic Cala Sisine, the Grotto del Bue Marino and its network of mysterious caves.

‘This one is Cala Luna,’ pointed Ivan as we prepared to step ashore, ‘it’s a little paradise.’ Glancing at the pink oleanders mirrored in the lagoon, the six grottos and the everchanging colours of the water, I could only agree.

To the south, the beaches are easier to reach but at the end of the lanes fringed with mimosa and orange trees, the shore is equally stunning, fine sweeping sands, headlands covered in Mediterranean scrub, golden gorse and eucalyptus shedding their fragrance in the breeze. Porphyry rocks rise flaming red from the blue sea while in the busy port of Arbatax, the last fishing boats bob at anchor and the narrow gauge ‘Trenino Verde’ prepares to take its cargo of wide-eyed visitors into the scenic hinterland.

Up there you enter another world where the ‘Silver Doors’ mountains, the Gennargentu, gather around Punta la Marmora, at 1834 metres the island’s highest peak, snow-capped for much of the year. Horses, cattle and goats roam freely on the banks of Lake Flumendosa and in the Nature Parks dotted with orchids and peonies, Sardinian deer and mouflons graze undisturbed. This is the land of the ‘tacchi’, the dramatic limestone rocks etched into the sky, bristling above villages and forests of evergreen oaks like sentinels from the past.

Here villages perch high on the slopes, their gaily-coloured houses almost surreal, like a Cubist painting dwarfed by dark precipitous cliffs. But wander through the streets and you’ll find a surprise or two, a luminous Sardinian mural in Villagrande, a hundred goats taking over the streets, Upper Osini looking down on an old village haunted only by ghosts, the Su Marmuri Caves tucked away in Ulassai, the incredibly narrow lanes of Jerzu meandering above vineyards and mandarin groves. Mountain folks still wear the traditional dress, speak Sardo rather than Italian and keep alive the ancient crafts, from embroidery and lace to woodcarving, weaving blankets and rugs or asphodel baskets.

‘Tomorrow, we’ll have a picnic,’ said Ivan, ‘it will be lovely and cool under the trees.’ So we feasted on wild boar ham and ewe’s cheese, crisp shepherd’s bread and pastries oozing with local honey while a freshwater spring gurgled out of the nearby rock. A sudden gust of wind rustled through the olive trees and between mountains and sea, the secret land of Ogliastra cast a lasting spell.

Further information: www.turismogliastra.com

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