Weave and flow – extracts from a Sardinian holiday #2

“It should be just up here,” said Stefano, as we bounced along yet another dusty, isolated track at the base of Monte Nieddu.

As before, there was no signage to indicate if indeed, this was the right way to the swimming hole. All we had to go on from the beginning was word of mouth and the name of the nearest village. That, and some directions from an elderly woman who appeared to be the only resident in town on this particular day.

In the back, the children could barely keep their eyes open while Veronica and her sister leaned their heads wearily against the window like two convicts in cross-country transit.

Suddenly, a red estate appeared from the opposite direction. The driver stopped and exchanged words with Stefano. It turned out they were also looking for the elusive river and had information on its whereabouts. Stefano swung the car round at the nearest layby and headed back down the hill. By the side of the road, the driver and his son waved us down and pointed to a pathway heading through the pine woods.

With renewed vigour, we piled out of the car and followed them down a thin track. Before long, the trees petered out and we were surrounded by sun-bleached granite formations that seemed to weave  and flow almost like a river. The path began to descend into a blind gorge and then we were presented with that most precious of resources – water.

Despite the midsummer heat, a steady stream made its way between the rock and collected in a pool just right for jumping into. On the far side, the water continued its journey off the lip of a ravine and plummeted into another gorge where a group of climbers were following its course deeper into the landscape.

 

 

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Of sand and sea salt

I don’t normally write about personal things on here, but I feel that this place deserves a mention for a few reasons.

Treen (or Pednevounder in Cornish) is a majestic, granite carved beach tucked away in the farthest reaches of West Cornwall. I started going there before I was born, carried in my mother’s womb as she and my dad chanced on the place during a hike around the Southwest coast path. From then on I’ve visited almost every year of my life, drawn by the raw power of the landscape and the spirited Atlantic ocean.

Even if he didn’t tell us his wish to be scattered there, we probably would have done it anyway. So last weekend, we took the long road down to Treen and gave my dad up to the sea from the tops of the cliffs.

I hope you enjoy the views as much as he does.