Sardinia is famous for many things: the number of nuraghe that dot the island, the earthy red cannonau wine, lightning storms that hit a little too close, and of course la seada. The little town that I live in, we call it la seada, and each town throughout the island will have its own distinct name and pronunciation for this sweet must-try dessert.
It’s a fresh cheese-filled pastry that is lightly fried then drizzled with local honey, or sugar, honey is the better choice, and seems to be the most traditional way served.
I watched a seminar in a lovely little town called Lunamatrona, and I learned how to make this traditional treat. Just look at the detail and tools used to create this local pastry! Such detail and artistry.
Not every seada will look like the ones pictured. I was lucky enough to meet an extremely talented woman whose sole purpose is detail and deliciousness in preparing everything Sardinian. She had these wooden stamps specifically tailored to meet her needs. She made la seada pictured, mine were unworthy of photography, but I tried and had a great time.
I am humbled. Thank you, dear Sardinia.
Do you emerge yourself in the traditional food culture of a place you travel to? I’d love to hear about it in the comment section below.
There’s a program on TV called L’Eredità – Inheritance where seven players compete against each other in a number of trivia quizzes that test their knowledge on various topics. The last one standing wins the inheritance in a guillotine style final word game … that I’ve guessed correctly, just once.
There’s a gregarious host that is personable and oftentimes funny, and no Italian TV program would be without dancing girls (except … this year they have a male dancer, only took about ten years) that reveal answers to the word games.
There are a few things I dislike about living the island life in the Mediterranean, it can’t always be la dolce vita.
Those few things are, and in no particular order, and only two make my blood boil: raw tomatoes, dog owners not cleaning up their dog’s shit from my front porch, and having to enter any type of government or banking office.
It was mercato Monday morning in town, a place where all the local farmers come to sell their fruit, vegetables, honey, bootleg wine, handmade leather goods, candy and clothing. It’s honestly the highlight of my week, all this shopping!
I headed to the local atm machine to withdrawal the weekly funds and my card was blocked from even entering the ancient money machine. I tried again, and no luck. There was no choice, I could feel the anxiety creeping up on me knowing I had to enter this office, it’s always such a hassle, such a disaster!
In I go … and wait an hour before it’s my turn.
Good morning, the atm has blocked my card, it won’t go into the machine.
Good morning, okay, can I have your ID card? Oh, is this still your phone number?
No, Im sorry, that is no longer my number. I have just returned from Canada after two years and no longer have access to that phone number. Here is my new number …
Okay, thank you. Allow me to input your new phone number. Do you have your cellphone with you?
(a little chuckle) No, sorry, I didn’t bring my phone because I didn’t think I would need it this morning. I just wanted to use the atm. Why?
Because we will send you a verification code to your new phone number that you must use to approve this new change to your account.
Oh, okay, but I hadn’t planned on coming into the office today, otherwise …
*the teller beside spoke up and even pulled their mask down to scold me… You, you, you must always bring your cellphone with you when you enter an official office!!
This was repeated to me several times by a teller that wasn’t even helping me in the first place. They berated me so loudly and with such a tone that my blood boiled, my right fist clenched hidden in my winter jacket, my teeth clenched so tightly that my face turned to stone.
I had no idea that I was coming into this office, I’m sorry I don’t have my phone. May I close this account?
Yes, you can close …
The maskless teller … I don’t give a crap if you close your account.
What on earth just happened?!? I was so shocked at the tone and treatment of this teller that I just wanted to run away. Not only weren’t they directly helping me, they have no opinion on whether I close my account or not. They also made my business, the business of everyone else waiting in that office.
The verification code is valid for twenty-four hours. Once you’ve verified your card should work.
Have we finished here?
So, I didn’t even need my cellphone in the first place as the code is valid for twenty-four hours. Ugh. What ignorance! I turned on my heel and walked right out the door, and cried. (Well, far way from this office, so they couldn’t see me.) Yup, I freaking cried from the wrath of this person. It was more of a “shock” cry than a “poor me” cry. The audacity. I’m still reeling from this maskless scolding.
Has something similar happened to you while trying to peacefully do your business in Italy?
The Sardinian mountain sounds here are still the same and I wouldn’t change it for the world: goats bleating gleefully in the distant, the echo of donkey’s heehaw-ing as they chase each other under a twisted cork tree, farmers calling up the mountain to their cattle that it’s breakfast time, a solitary owl that makes its presence known in the wee hours of the morning, every morning perched atop the roof, and the distant sea that roars her mighty strength onto this island’s shore with dazzling drops of sea water.
Hello, Ciao. I’m finally back after a two year hiatus from Sardinia, Italy. The last two years have seen a dramatic change in the way we view the world, and it’s my hope that I can continue to inspire through this blog with tidbit’s on the culture, traditions and snapshots from this glorious island in the Mediterranean.
A new British reality program has hit the airwaves where eight people between the ages of fifty-five to ninety-three undergo extreme diet plans and exercise regimens. The program is filmed on an island full of centenarians, an island full of splendour, an island filled with mystery, and a longevity that is deeply planted at its roots. The island is the second largest island in the Mediterranean, the island is Sardinia, Italy. The goal of this television program is to look, a joint, 100 years younger in 21 days. Surely, that is not possible! I’ve lived here for ten years and I can see the age creep in, it’s inevitable. Coming to Sardinia will not make you look younger in twenty-one days, but she will definitely make you feel younger in twenty-one days. Read on and I’ll tell you how to easily live to 100 years of age.
There are some strict rules that go along with this absurd reality show: all contestants are placed on a strict diet that suits the individual best, they are put through a rigorous exercise program and they undertake radical anti-ageing treatments like a snail facial, cow urine shampoo and coffee enema. EEEEwwwwwwww!
It was an overcast day but not chilly when we decided to head up into the mountains for an afternoon walk with friends. We weren’t in search of anything, in particular, just the meeting of new people, dialogues, laughter and panoramic views that stretch as far as southern Corsica to Limbara and to the northwestern tip of Sardinia. Pure Sunday bliss in my books, a perfect Sunday spent between mountain and sea. Continue reading →
There is no better way to experience the ancient rituals and traditions from Sardinia, than at the highest town on the island,at Fonni. It is at 1000m above sea level where the mysterious customs of Urthos and Buttudos were born. They are gruesome characters that parade throughout the streets and take over balconies by jumping to the sound of golden bells held by a cloaked man. These rituals are played out during holidays and festivals and are acted out on the street for all to witness. Come face-to-face with their ancient rights, traditions and culture only here, only at Fonni.
A three-hour train ride from Sassari got me to the island’s capital of Cagliari; a city that I still struggle to pronounce. I pronounce it like the city in Canada, Calgary, with a soft g. It does look like this cag-li-ari, to the English mind, but alas that is not the case. The locals here pronounce it like cal-ra-re, where’s the g sound in that? So, after much pronunciation homework, I set off to explore this city by the sea to discover rooftop panoramas, hidden alleyways, and an immensely wide, soft sand beach with a sea so limpid a pebble would send it shivering.
When time permits, and when the weather is just right (like a strong mistral blowing through) I like to take long coastal walks to discover hidden coves, islets and even old lighthouses like at Porto Faro, Palau, Sardinia, Italy. This coastal walk is unlike any I’ve ever done, with its craggy coastline and many, many hidden and delicious beaches to be discovered. Continue reading →