Articolo del 2007 del NY Times su Cagliari.
MANY of us imagine Sardinia as a Versace ad come to life: European playboys lounging on megayachts and Champagne flowing endlessly at clubs named, without irony, Billionaire. And it’s so — at least during the fashionable months of July and August, if you limit your visit on the island to the tiny, northeast jet-set enclave known as Costa Smeralda, or the Emerald Coast.
The rest of Sardinia, however, about the size of New Hampshire, happily stays out of the limelight. Down-to-earth and affordable, it offers excellent cuisine, raw landscapes and unpretentious locals whose preferred anti-aging method is to drink copious amounts of cannonau wine rather than get Botox injections.
And nowhere are the Naomi Campbell and Flavio Briatore types farther away than the ancient port city of Cagliari, on the island’s southernmost tip. Straddling a long bay between psychedelic blue waters and rolling ocher fields, Cagliari is a true emerald in the rough. Despite a few outlying traces of modernization — modern high-rises here, a cluster of harbor cranes there — Cagliari’s center hasn’t changed much since D. H. Lawrence visited in 1921. His description still holds true: “The city piles up lofty and almost miniature, and makes me think of Jerusalem: without trees, without cover, rising rather bare and proud, remote as if back in history, like a town in a monkish, illuminated missal.”
On a recent spring evening, after a delicious Sardinian feast of spaghetti with wild asparagus and grated bottarga (salted fish eggs) at a rustic restaurant named Dr. Ampex, my husband and I decided to follow Lawrence’s footsteps and explore Cagliari’s medieval district of Castello. Perched on a rounded hilltop still safeguarded by a limestone wall and 14th-century towers, Castello is reached via a steep cobblestone path or an elevator. We opted for the latter.
The elevator opened to a narrow metal landing that overlooked an ancient stone plaza buzzing with a cosmopolitan scene right out of New York or Rome. At the near end was a tent-shaped glass structure where well-dressed people in their 20s and 30s were sipping colorful cocktails and swaying to a Gnarls Barkley song.
We followed the music down a long flight of steps, past the shiny glass tent and into a cavelike bar that seemed to have been built into the limestone walls. Inside, the low-arched ceilings and exposed brick walls were illuminated by a red chandelier and a runway-shaped bar made of translucent stone. The Caffè degli Spiriti, as the place was called, felt like a secret nightclub tucked in the ruins of the Acropolis.
As we rubbed elbows with the international crowd and watched the D.J. spin hip-hop tracks, Lawrence’s Cagliari no longer felt like an unspoiled gem, but seemed to be well on its way to becoming a more laid-back, and perhaps cooler, alternative to the Emerald Coast.
After a drink, we continued our midnight stroll through the narrow streets of Castello, lined with 14th- and 15th-century palazzi and churches. Some were abandoned, their windows boarded shut. On one silent cobblestone street, we passed a tiny bar filled with black-and-white photographs and artsy types chatting over wine. A few moments later, we spotted the empty shell of an old mansion that glowed mysteriously like a green lantern. We peered inside a window and saw an oversize green Murano chandelier and newly whitewashed walls.
The mystery of the mansion was solved the next day when I returned to the Caffè degli Spiriti and met the owner, Alessio Raggio, a well-traveled developer from Cagliari. Since opening the bar three years ago — and attracting, he said, about 6,000 people on summer weekends — Mr. Raggio has fashioned himself as a kind of André Balazs of southern Sardinia.
His mini-empire includes the palazzo with the green chandelier, which he plans to turn into a gallery and cafe; the photo-filled De Candia Wine and Spirits bar around the corner; and a 200-year-old lighthouse near a stunning beach on the rugged Capo Spartivento, which he plans to turn into a luxury boutique hotel with six suites by next year.
Mr. Raggio is not the only entrepreneur with eyes on Cagliari. Renato Soru, a billionaire businessman sometimes called the Bill Gates of Italy, and the current governor of Sardinia, has been commissioning world-class architects to add polish to this craggy gem. Attention-grabbing projects under way include a futuristic art center near the city’s main port designed by Zaha Hadid. Scheduled to be completed in five years, the building will evoke a crashing wave and cost an estimated 40 million euros. Herzog & de Meuron and Rem Koolhaas have also been in talks with Mr. Soru to build cultural landmarks in the same industrial area of Sant’Elia.
Mr. Soru hopes that the Zaha Hadid project will be the sort of icon for Cagliari that its opera house is for Sydney.
Development is nothing new to Cagliari. Originally settled by Phoenician mariners around 1000 B.C., the port city occupies a favorable position at the mouth of a sweeping bay that flows into an inner harbor. The city’s waterfront is surrounded by salt flats where thousands of pink flamingos still feed and flourish.
In Roman times, Cagliari was a lively and prosperous trading port. Its strategic location in the Mediterranean was the subject of numerous invasions over the centuries, with the Italians finally taking control in the mid-19th century and coming to build many of the city’s Art Nouveau structures. During World War II, Cagliari was heavily bombed by the Allies, also because of its strategic location. The rebuilt harbor is now Sardinia’s principal port.
While parts of Cagliari are still worn-down, in an elegant grande dame kind of way, signs of the city’s rebirth are everywhere. After wandering Castello’s alleyways and having them mostly to ourselves, we finally managed to tear ourselves away and explore the rest of the city. Easily explored over a weekend, Cagliari is a mix of grand avenues, narrower alleys that radiate out from Art Nouveau piazzas and, toward the harbor, modern boulevards lined with boutiques and cafes.
We spent a day window-shopping and drinking strong cappuccinos at old-fashioned cafes like Svizzero and the Antico Caffè. Many of the best shops were found along Cagliari’s two main avenues: the palm-lined Via Roma, which runs along the port, and Largo Carlo Felice, which runs inland toward Castello. My husband bought some Prada pants at Volonté, a sleek and airy boutique, and I went through the fashionable racks at Seventyfive, an intimate shop filled with slinky dresses and resort wear.
Later that evening, we dropped by a new enoteca called Fra Diavolo. Our plan for the next day was to drive out to Argiolas, one of the island’s most renowned vineyards, or Cantine di Dolianova, a top wine cooperative. As the small and friendly world of Cagliari would have it, Fra Diavolo’s owner was related to both winemakers. With a quick cellphone call on behalf of brand-new acquaintances, he managed to arrange a private tour of Cantine di Dolianova the next afternoon.
IT had been warm and sunny, and the day of the wine tour was no exception. Surrounded by lush green fields, the winery was housed in a sprawling pink complex. After a tour of the two-story steel vats and endless rows of oak barrels, we sat down for a tasting and understood why the wines enjoy a sparkling reputation. Their cannonau was dark and smoky, while their vermentino was fresh and intense with a hint of apple.
Afterward, we grabbed lunch at Il Nostro Mondo, a restaurant in town recommended by our wine guide. It looked like a rough Italian pub, with plastic chairs and peach-colored walls. But it was here that we were finally able to binge on the island’s famous lobster, prepared in a garlicky sauce with chopped tomato and celery. Along with a bottle of the cantina’s white, a vermentino blend, it was one of the most surprising and satisfying meals of the trip.
With our bellies full, we drove 45 minutes south toward Chia, a lovely bay reputed to have some of the island’s most beautiful beaches. The drive took us past rolling sand dunes, waist-high beach grass and glimpses of the bright turquoise water. The road eventually came to an end near a little beach shack at Capo Spartivento, the island’s southernmost tip. We parked the car and continued on foot for about 20 minutes, sweating our way up a dusty dirt road. There were several hidden coves, a small beach filled with young and attractive Italians and, finally, a rocky hill and future site of Mr. Raggio’s hotel.
There, in front of us, was the two-story lighthouse, perched on a steep dramatic cliff that looked out over the deep blue waters. The view was breathtaking and we had it all to ourselves. Not a super yacht or billionaire in sight. At least for now.
By GISELA WILLIAMS
Published: August 12, 2007
Fonte |
The New York Times
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