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Cow bells tinkled in the clear mountain air, wild pigs and sheep grazed under the trees and the rich fragrance of the Mediterranean scrubland drifted on the slopes dotted with shepherds’ huts and pockets of ancient woodlands.
‘See this?’ said Ivan, ‘it’s juniper. It bends in the wind but it’s as strong as us Sardinians, you can’t uproot it.’

Ivan was right. Phoenicians, Carthaginians and Romans, Arabs, rival Italian states, Spaniards or Savoyards, the island faced myriad invasions before joining the newly united Italy in 1861 but its people are resilient. Strengthened by the Autonomous Statute granted in 1948, they cherish their age-old traditions, speak Sardo with family and friends and in a new prosperous age, welcome the latest invaders in search of sun, sand and sea.

Most of them head straight for the Costa Smeralda, beautiful, glamorous and with prices to match though if you buy local produce and dine in your villa, it’s much more affordable. In the 60s, the young but wealthy Aga Khan bought this north-eastern corner and turned it into an exclusive retreat for the rich and famous. He did well, keeping villas and hotels below the treetops, building with local material, even laying grass on the roofs. The Costa has changed hands but the prestige remains and in the lovely marina of Porto Cervo, yachts gleam at anchor, sometimes all spruced up for the next regatta, while the sun shines on an aquamarine sea and pure white sands.

With 35 miles of coves and bays, offshore islands, dive centres, watersports and golf with spectacular views, top of the range restaurants and designer boutiques, the Emerald Coast is a gem but, say the Sardinians, you need to go deeper to discover the true heart of their island, the second largest in the Med.

Have you heard of Ogliastra? It’s a good place to start. Named after wild olive groves and the great monolith rising above the sea, it’s a beautiful province stretching down the central east coast and for much of the year, one of the island’s best kept secrets. Half-way along this pristine shore, the pretty resort of Santa Maria Navarrese dozes among pines and mimosa, a mere sprinkling of villas around a quiet harbour. The surrounding hills are ablaze with golden gorse, crowned by dramatic rocks guarding the village like sentinels from the past.

To the north are precipitous cliffs and paradise beaches accessed only on foot or by boat, among them the stunning Cala Luna with its wild oleanders and mysterious caves. Turn south and you come to sweeping white sands framed by juniper and orange trees and flaming red rocks sculpted by the sea. Arbatax has a small fishing harbour and a fairytale station where you can board the narrow gauge Trenino Verde for a scenic ride into the hinterland.

Or you could trek, cycle or drive around the ever winding roads, or set off on horseback, but whatever you choose, the wild open spaces of Ogliastra and neighbouring Barbagia will take your breath away. Don’t miss the mighty Giradili cliff, one of the highest in Europe, or the ‘Grand Canyon’ of Gola Su Gorroppu where cliffs tower over 1600 feet. Above the village of Baunei and its pastel-coloured lanes, we explored the Golgo plateau, gazing at the gaping mouth of Europe’s deepest chasm, plunging 967 feet into the bowels of the earth, and the nearby bathing pools used for ritual cleansing by the Nuraghic people 4000 years ago. They left numerous burial places, eerie faces carved into the rocks and defensive circular towers scattered all over Ogliastra and beyond.

In this province of superlatives, deer and mouflons live undisturbed in the nature parks, crystalline springs gurgle through evergreen forest and in the shadow of rocky outcrops, villages cling to the slopes, here Villagrande, there Osini or Ulassai where vertiginous cliffs challenge the free climbers and the Su Marmuri caves claim to be among the best. The snowy peaks of Gennargentu, the 'Silver Door' mountains, rise in the distance, reflected in the blue waters of Lake Flumendosa. Horses, cattle and sheep roam freely in pastures awash with asphodels.
‘Remember Auntie Frederica?’ asked Ivan, ‘this is where she comes to gather rushes.’

We’d met the lady in Santa Maria, 81 years of age and still weaving traditional asphodel baskets. The glow of the open fire put a twinkle in her eyes and she worked the stems dexterously, as she had done every day of her life since she was nine. In the mountains or on the coast, ancient crafts continue to reflect the Sardinian identity, from lace and embroidery to pottery, jewellery, woodcarving or weaving blankets or rugs.

Then of course, there’s the local cuisine, tasty, varied and full of character, just like the islanders. Try culurgiones, home-made ravioli filled with cheesy mash, Sardinian caviar (mullet roe), tender spit roast, wild boar ham and the scrumptious sebadas dessert oozing with honey and melted ewe’s cheese. Add a glass or two of sweet Malvasia or a full-bodied Cannonau and you soon fall in love with all things Sardinian.

After the solitude of the east and the scenic drive south bypassing the popular Costa Rei, Cagliari, the capital, comes as a shock, grand palaces, bustling harbour, 21st-century entertainment and shopping precincts. Yet the capital is full of charm with its quaint orange trams snaking along shaded avenues and cosmopolitan crowds sipping fresh orange juice or cappucinos under the cool arcades of the Via Roma. Colourful restaurants nestle around the marina or hide in the alleyways, washing flaps on the balconies and on the hill, the old Castello looks down in wonder at the latest Italian fashion. There are churches galore, a cathedral with a crypt dug out of the rock and a vast museum complex which could keep you busy for days. The splendid Bastion of San Remy offers unrivalled views over the town and Gulf of Angels while out in Poetto, the city takes its ease on one of Italy’s longest beaches.

Sand dunes and lagoons, sleepy villages tucked in vine-covered hills or mirrored in the sea, wild horses, pink flamingoes taking off like a dream in the translucent light, the west of the island has its own delights and even the buzzing resort of Alghero keeps you spellbound. Set on the aptly named Coral Riviera, it’s the most Spanish of all Sardinian towns, complete with Catalonian names and architecture, a place to stroll on the battlements past ancient gates and towers, looking out to the dragon-like promontory of Capo Caccia and its famous Neptune cave, a wondrous sight for those who tackle the 700 steps down the cliff or join the boat ride. Meanwhile cobbled lanes meander through the old town and on the palm-fringed promenade, visitors and locals alike enjoy an evening walk and watch the sunset over the harbour.

On this stretch of coast, every place is worth a stop, Bosa, Santa Caterina, Cuglieri out on a hill, Oristano and its spectacular gulf. There, topped by one of many Spanish towers, the Sinis peninsula stretches a long finger of land between the foaming surf of the open sea and the calm waters of the bay and lagoons which draw thousands of birds. Up on the protected area of Capo San Marco, the air smells of rosemary and gorse and wild orchids mingle with lentisk, dwarf palms and swathes of golden daisies. Birds of prey circle over the Punic and Roman ruins of Tharros where green salamanders scurry on the hot stones. There’s a lonely chapel dating back to the early days of Christianity and you can look out to the Catalan Rock, the ‘Island of Bad Wind’ and the red roofs of Oristano glistening across the bay.

The provincial capital has its share of sights, not least the Sa Sartiglia carnival when masked riders show their prowess on horseback but most of the time, it feels like a village, always ready to stop for a break on the piazza or exchange the latest news on the cathedral steps. Council bicycles invite you to explore at a leisurely pace, just pick up a free permit from the townhall.

For every Sardinian, Oristano holds a special place. In the 14th century, having quelled unrest across much of the island, local ruler and judge Eleonora d’Arborea published the Carta de Logu, a common law constitution which remained in force, almost unchanged, for 400 years. It was written in Sardinian and is still regarded as a symbol of national pride.

Today on the elegant square bearing her name, Eleonora stands aloof on her pedestal, smiling over her beautiful island, its rugged mountains and idyllic beaches, forever swept by the breeze but as strong as the juniper growing on the slopes of Ogliastra.

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