Dispatch from Sardinia

The first thing that comes to mind when I think about Sardinia is how far away it feels—especially when you are trying to get there as a family of nine.

First, there is the car to load, which is a challenge in itself. Then come seven to nine hours on a ferry, depending on the route, followed by another two hours of driving once we have reached the island. It is long, often tiring and never particularly straightforward.

And I have to admit, it may be the thing I like most about it.

For the children especially—our oldest is 16 and youngest is two and a half—the journey has become an important part of the holiday. Sardinia is not somewhere we suddenly arrive after a quick flight and a short taxi ride. It takes time. There is the excitement of boarding the ferry, finding our cabin, exploring the decks, trying to sleep and then waiting for the first sight of land. By the time we arrive, it feels as though we have genuinely travelled somewhere.

We have travelled by ferry both during the day and at night. In either case, booking at least one cabin is invaluable, even if not everybody sleeps in it. Having a private bathroom, somewhere for a small child to nap or a place to retreat with a baby can completely change the experience.

Flying remains a good alternative, particularly on the direct Florence–Olbia route, but taking the car gives us much more freedom once we arrive—and, perhaps more importantly, allows us to transport the small travelling circus that accompanies a family of nine.

After several years, I have also realized that spending a holiday on an island feels mentally different. It is not only a question of geographical distance. An island changes the way you experience time. You cannot return home quickly—apart from taking a plane—and you cannot change plans too easily. Everyday commitments begin to feel more remote, and the people left at home cannot simply appear without warning, which is often one of the great advantages of the whole arrangement.

We started spending the second half of July in Sardinia in 2020. At the time, we had “only” five children, and even our car was smaller. July has proved perfect for us. School and summer camps are over, but the wave of tourism that overwhelms Sardinia in August has not quite arrived. The island is certainly not empty, but it is still possible to find quieter places, make plans without booking everything weeks ahead and occasionally remember that people actually live there.

We usually rent a house, almost always a different one each year. By now, we know that our priorities are simple: an outdoor space where we can eat and relax in the evening, and a dishwasher. The second is non-negotiable.

We have always stayed on the eastern side of the island. Over the years, we have moved from San Teodoro to Golfo Aranci and, more recently, slightly farther south towards Budoni and Posada. 

The Costa Smeralda is beautiful, but far too crowded for us, with beaches that are objectively too small for all the people who want to use them. Moving even a little farther south was one of the best decisions we made. The beaches are larger, more relaxed, and full of Sardinian families. There is no better sign that you are in the right place.

Our family has grown along the way and so has the amount of equipment required for what is theoretically a simple day at the beach.

I wake up early, usually between 6 and 6:30, trying to maintain more or less the same routine I have at home. The beach is always supposed to have been chosen the evening before. In fact, deciding where to go the following day is often the main subject of conversation after dinner, usually over a gelato.

We discuss the distance, the parking, the possible crowds and whether there will be enough shade. Then, the following morning, we check the Windy app to see the direction and strength of the wind and almost invariably change our minds.

Once the destination has been renegotiated, I become something close to the drill sergeant in Full Metal Jacket. My objective is simple: everyone in the car by 9am. This is easier said than done.

For nine people, even travelling light somehow produces a considerable amount of luggage. For the holiday itself, my advice is to bring as little as possible. Life by the sea is simple, at least when it comes to clothes. Soft bags that can be pushed and adapted into the remaining spaces in the car are much more useful than rigid suitcases. The famous zipped IKEA storage bags are perfect. They are not Rimowa, certainly, but by the time you have fitted the ninth bag into the boot, nobody cares.

For the beach, however, we always bring too much and still manage to forget something. There are umbrellas, a large sun canopy, masks for looking underwater, towels, food, water, changes of clothes and various objects whose importance only becomes clear when they are left at home.

Our latest purchase was a folding beach cart in which we could theoretically carry everything. It was an excellent idea, except that its wheels do not really work on sand.

We normally reach the beach at around 10am and stay until seven in the evening. Lunch has two basic forms. The first is bread and various fillings bought on the way and assembled at the beach, usually while the children gather around us like increasingly aggressive seagulls. The second is cold rice salad prepared the night before. The choice between the two is determined almost entirely by how tired we were after dinner the previous evening.

We have learned that the older children, even more than the younger ones, need a purpose. If they know they will be allowed to go fishing by themselves in the evening, the entire day tends to be more pleasant—especially for their parents. The younger children require much less entertainment. Arguing with one another remains their most dependable pastime.

After nine hours at the beach, we return home exhausted. Dinner happens very late, followed almost immediately by bed. I have personally banned unnecessary evening strolls. After moving nine people, a tent, several umbrellas and a beach cart twice in one day, nobody needs a scenic walk around the village.

There is one evening tradition for which we are always willing to make an exception: dinner at Sa Crescia Ezza, a fixed-menu agriturismo in Berchiddeddu. There is no need to spend too much time studying the menu or negotiating between nine different opinions. You sit down and eat what is served, which after a full day at the beach is exactly the kind of decision-making we appreciate. The meal usually begins with traditional antipasti such as ricotta with honey, baked aubergines and a zucchini-and-mint flan. Then comes zuppa gallurese, a layered dish of bread, pecorino cheese and broth, almost like a Sardinian lasagna. That alone is worth the price of dinner. The main course is porceddu, the classic Sardinian roast suckling pig, served with roast potatoes. dessert is inevitably seadas, fried pastries filled with cheese and served with honey, followed by homemade mirto and a glass of grappa—which I recommend drinking only if somebody else is driving home.

We try to return every summer, and over the years it has become one of those places that feels inseparable from the holiday itself.

One of my favorite things to do in Sardinia is discover a new beach every year. We prefer places that are not too crowded, which can seem like an impossible request on the island in July. But, as with every fashion, people tend to go to the same places simply because everyone else goes there. Often, all you need to do is choose somewhere else.

There are, however, a few places we try to revisit every year.

Cala Moresca sits opposite the small island of Figarolo, near Golfo Aranci. Reaching it involves a fairly long walk under the sun, particularly when carrying enough equipment to establish a temporary village, but it is worth the effort. The beach feels enclosed by nature, and it is not unusual to spot wild boar and other animals in the surrounding area. The trail continues above the beach and makes a beautiful walk of around an hour.

Cala Sabina is known locally as the railway workers’ beach. An old railway line passes nearby, and the story is that railway employees once stopped there to swim during their breaks. The beach has an extraordinary pale seabed, and after swimming for about five minutes you can reach a smaller neighboring cove that is even more beautiful.

Bring your own water. Half a liter at the beach bar can cost approximately the same as a cocktail in New York.

Sos Aranzos, particularly when approached from the Terrata side, remains one of my favorites. It is popular with camper vans, but it is possible to find free parking and, on a good day, leave the car with a direct view of the sea. Beach bars in Sardinia often have some very good surprises, and at Sos Aranzos it is not unusual to find sandwiches filled with freshly grilled octopus. this is yet another reason why it remains my favorite beach. There is also a surprisingly fancy beach bar, should your idea of escaping the crowds still include a proper drink.

Porto Istana is popular with Sardinians, often breezy and has a beautiful view across to the island of Tavolara. Be very careful where you leave the car. The local police are not known for interpreting parking regulations creatively.

Costa Corallina was a pleasant discovery for us this year. It is a small beach close to the harbour, quiet, easy to manage and well served. Most importantly for a family with small children, it has several areas of natural shade where it is possible to eat lunch or put someone down for a nap away from the sun.

Cala Girgolu is a tiny and exceptionally beautiful cove surrounded by smooth granite rocks. It is also known as Turtle Beach because of a nearby rock formation resembling the animal. It is one of those places where the landscape feels almost designed, although its small size means that arriving early is essential.

Capo Coda Cavallo is sheltered but still spacious, with remarkably clear water. Every time we return, I am surprised by how far you can see beneath the surface. Its only real disadvantage is that many other people have noticed the same thing.

Lu Impostu has nothing to envy of the much more famous—and much more overexposed—Cala Brandinchi, a few hundred meters farther north. Entry must also be booked, but the system does make the beach noticeably more livable.

A small bridge has recently been built across the channel leading to the beach. I clearly remember crossing that same channel a few years ago with a pushchair balanced on my shoulders, so I am personally very grateful for this particular piece of infrastructure.

La Cinta is an institution for teenagers and groups of young people holidaying in Sardinia. It is packed with people of every possible age and type, and it is certainly not ideal for anyone seeking silence. It is also too beautiful to avoid completely.

The children love it because the water remains shallow for what feels like almost a hundred metres. For adults, it is an excellent place for people-watching from the edge of the sea.

Sa Petra Ruja is a good choice for anyone who enjoys spending part of the day beneath the pine trees rather than directly on the beach. We often went there when the younger children still needed to sleep after lunch. The pine forest is large, cool and perfect for hanging a hammock, which can be far more valuable than any beach club reservation.

Capo Comino was our favorite discovery of 2026. The seabed is beautiful and the beach has enough room for us to put up our three-by-three-meter canopy. Yes, we have now reached the point where normal beach umbrellas are no longer sufficient.

The southern section, known as the beach of the dunes, is even more beautiful and has a wilder atmosphere. It is also popular with naturists, something worth knowing before setting up camp with seven children—although children, unlike adults, rarely find these things particularly interesting.

After several summers, we have learned that the perfect beach is not necessarily the most famous one. It is the beach that works on that particular day: the one protected from the wind, with enough space for the tent, somewhere for a small child to sleep and water shallow enough for everyone to remain happy. It is also the beach that justifies all the effort required to reach it.

At the end of the holiday, we load the car again. The same bags that fitted perfectly on the way out appear to have expanded, now joined by shells, stones, fishing equipment, damp towels and several kilograms of sand.

Then we begin the long drive to the port, board the ferry and slowly return to the mainland. The journey home is just as long, but somehow that seems right. Sardinia should not be too easy to leave, either.

Every year, once we are home, we print a small photo book with our favorite pictures from the trip. It has become another family tradition—and perhaps the final part of the journey.

As soon as I finish writing these lines, I will start putting together the 2026 edition.