Lettera dalla Sardegna

Dear Dad, now that I have been in this land, which I cannot call mine, and which I am about to leave, and I have seen what you wanted me to see, I ask myself what the meaning of this journey I have made at your request is. And now I am writing about this, I am writing to you, father, because it is between you and me that this Sardinia of yours has always been, between us, dividing us. Now that the journey is over and I am going back on this train from another time towards the ship that will bring me to the mainland, I want to remember the places I have seen, this time for the first time, and your words when I was a child and you told me about it as if they were fairy tale lands. You talked about it with the passion of those who love, even if this love is unrequited, who love them because they feel part of it, not hiding the harshness of a tough land, where everything has to be earned through hard work. Yet you continued to keep in the heart this land of yours, and to intensify its scent. A fairy tale. But I did not think it was like this. And even now, I cannot understand what I think. I started my journey from Ingurtòsu, as you asked me to, from the village where our family comes from and where you were born. I remember your words well. You know, it was a large village. Thousands of people lived and worked there. Your grandfather, my father, rests there. He would say that the mine was a good thing, but I saw the miners descending into the pit before dawn and coming out of it when it was already night. It seemed to me a life sentence, and not a job. When the mines were quiet, the deer approached the village. I used to hide, in order to watch them. Their groan, sounded to me like a melodic song. I would think about their freedom and I wanted it for myself. I did not want to work in the mines. A red and poisonous water came out of the pits. They told us not even to touch it, because we could die. But then, I would think, if the mine is good, why should poison come out of it? And how can those poisons end up where nature is at its most beautiful? You should see that stretch of coastline. They are the dunes of Piscìnas, among the highest and largest in Europe. They are alive with Mastic trees, Junipers and flowers, and they are alive, because... they move, continuously shaped by the Mistral wind. I would wait for the sun to lower on the horizon, I would keep hiding, without making any noise. Then I would see the Deer, running softly on the sand. During the breeding period, the large males ran after the females among the dunes, ever on the watch for possible rivals to chase away. Sometimes a Fox would turn up, so timid that a Swallows flight was enough to scare it and to put it to flight. In that place, I used to feel, a complete sense of freedom and peace. If you go there, I am sure you will also feel that sense of freedom. I saw the things you said and I saw that, even if the mine is closed, its poisons are still flowing out to the sea. But this is not the point now. What did I feel? They are beautiful places, nobody could say the contrary. But I remember well what I used to feel when I was a child and you told me about them. I hated those places. I hated them so much that I still find it difficult not to feel this even today. How is it possible that you never understood? I used to feel such love for that land of yours in your words, that I thought you did not care at all about my mother and myself. What had that land given to you? Beauty is not something that you can eat, and finally you had to surrender and go to the mainland. So why were you still so attached to it, talking about it… yes... with so much love? You know which is the first place where I went after I left Ingurtòsu? To the Giara di Gèsturi, a vast volcanic plateau with extraordinary characteristics, a real island within the island. The rocky terrain is covered by thick cork oak woods, with many oaks shaped by the tempestuous Mistral wind. There, at the Giara – would you believe it? there are still wild horses. Probably they were taken to the island by the Phoenicians, or even before by the Nuraghi tribe. During the breeding period, the stallions are restless and ready to chase away intruders. And the winner of the contest, gets close to the female and does… what nature calls. The Giara is studded with "paùlis", large depressions where water gathers. In spring they are covered with white water-crowfoot, often so thick that they look like snow. The stallions compete not only for the females. Even the pastures are disputed. To win the best ones, the stallions guide their herd in spectacular water races. And when the herds get too close to each other, the stallions measure up against each other and square off with kicks and bites. Water pools are a source of life also for the animals reared by man. Cows and bulls go to the watering place and, as soon as their thirst is quenched, they lie on the fresh bed of the paùlis. The Hooded crows are only too willing for this moment, and you know why? Because it is easy for them to find good material to fill their nests with. Too much heat in the summer irritates everybody. Just like us, the horses bathe themselves, but they also do this to try and rid themselves of the parasites tormenting them. And if the water is not sufficient, they bathe in the dust. The Hooded crows also help to free them from their parasites: what is a nuisance for some, is fine food for others. You see, when you go there one day, you will feel the same emotion as I did. There I was aware of being part of nature, being at one with it. It is a marvellous feeling. The mind is freed from all thoughts, from any will. The only thing you wish, is that, is that this should last forever. How could you not understand, Dad, if even I, who was a child, could understand it? Life is not the wandering one that you had, looking for something that does not exist. The fathers of my friends did not run after their dreams. They had a job in the real world. Once, in school - I have never told you this - I had to write an essay: "My dad's work". I wrote that you were a wanderer, that you went here and there to do thousands of jobs but did not have a single trade. Shepherd, fisherman… You even worked as a stoker on this train, which was something outmoded already forty years ago. And what else? I cannot even remember... I remember it, I could barely walk, but I remember. Your grandfather took me there. I remember Vittorio Emanuele III, often called the "small king". who came to inaugurate the dam on the river Tirso, from which the Omodèo lake had its origin. It was a gargantuan work for those years. Sixteen thousand men worked at it, and for a long time it was the biggest artificial lake in Europe. When I went back to that place, I used to take a little boat and descended slowly down the lake. Around it there are plateaus and harsh mountains, a wild place covered by Mediterranean scrubland. Where the lake is more shallow, you can see the branches of trees submerged by water, making ideal perches for the Ospreys. There is no lack of prey, especially carp, large and abundant. In the morning, however, the first thing the Osprey does is to clean itself. After a nice bath, with its feathers in fine condition for flight, it can eventually start his fishing day. Other birds come here for the same reasons: to drink, to look for food, to wash themselves… The flattest areas around the lake are for the grazing of the sheep. You will tell me that there is nothing strange about the grazing sheep, but in fact there is. There are Cattle egrets, who lie on them as if they were African buffalos. But, the most beautiful thing I have seen on the rivers of lake Omodeo, has been another one, the courtship display of the Little Bustard. For the entire day, the males, between one peck and another, launch their call to attract the nearby females. At dusk, they exhibit themselves in the courting dance, jumping higher than the grass so as to be noticed by the females, who do not always accept their invitation. This train is so slow that I will be late for the ship. I would never have taken it, if it was not for the fact that you had worked on it as a driver. I thought a journey on it would have helped me understand. Everything is strange in your life, everything is out of time, like this train, which also seems to have come out from a fairy tale. I imagine you used to do the same actions that I see now: loading water, greasing pistons… I still cannot understand why you rejected a normal job and a normal life. Like the one I lead. Do you realize this? I feel the strange one because I have a job in a very normal office. There is also another thing that you must see. It is the Supramonte, a karstic, wild, extraordinary massif. The rock is a crumbly, soluble limestone. The nature has carved and excavated it with a cyclopic hand, giving origin to unique landscapes. Here there is Pischìna Urtàddala, an open cave so huge, that the human figure disappears inside it. But the most majestic show of the entire massif is the gorge of Gorròppu. Plunged in the heart of Sardinia, surrounded by thick, millennial Mediterranean woods, it is the most impressive canyon in Italy and Europe, one of the most enchanting and disconcerting symbols of Supramonte. Will you go there? You must promise that you will. You know, there are many stories told about this place. That it is inhabited by evil creatures: Sa Màma, Sos Drùllios, or by the devil himself, Sa Tentassione. You ought to be very careful about going there… Dad… sometimes I thought the child was you. The only dangers of descending the gorge, are slipping on a rock and hurting yourself. And maybe getting into danger those who come to your aid. Indeed this happened about twenty days ago. I was there and I saw it with my eyes. A hiker fell from a height of a few metres, but fortunately without very serious consequences. An emergency helicopter had to be called anyway, and it was only thanks to the skills of the pilot who, with a risky but perfect manoeuvre, managed to land in the narrow space of the gorge, and thanks to the help of some mountain guides, that that man is still alive. Maybe you really believed in sa Màma, sos Drùllios, sa Tentassiòne, and who knows in how many other fabulous creatures who live in the legends. What was wrong with the real world? Reality is reality, it cannot be chosen, you cannot pretend, as you did, that it does not exist. You escaped from the real world, this is what you did... Sorry, I am trying to follow you. I came where you asked me to come. I have seen all the places you told me to see. Do you think I do not understand how beautiful they are? Do you know what the air is? Have you ever seen the air? Have you ever thought what it really is? You must go to Mt. Gènis to know what the air is. Air is a force, it shapes granite, carves mountains, polishes the hardest of stones, draws in the rock. The air carves shapes. And... you must take into account the time the wind needs to act, that is not the one of men, only a short moment. Time, is something else, it is centuries, it is thousands of years it took to carve cracks, to draw arches, and to dig clefts. Do not you think it is a miracle that something so soft and fine like air can do all that? Also in the woods that surround this mountain, lives the Sardinian Deer. It is a shy, cautious animal, always careful to grasp even the minimal sign of danger. Where the rock bursts out of the vegetation, the reign of the Mouflons begins. They are extraordinarily agile, with a few jumps they climb upon large stones without any apparent effort. But, as the deer, they are also always on the watch, ready to defend their territory. If a foreign specimen gets closer, the males start studying its moves, ready to prevent it from exceeding the boundaries. But I did not finish telling you about the air. If you stand on the ridge, as I did many times, you will be able to see it, soaked with humidity coming from the sea, and to hear its sound. Because the air has a sound, actually it has thousands of sounds, from the faintest rustle, to the rumble of the storm readying itself from afar. And it has a smell, which is different from any other, and which remains inside you. Do you feel it? Do you feel the scent of the air? You were right, the air has a nice scent. You know Dad, even if the train is slow, I do not care any longer if I am late. Maybe this is what you wanted me to understand? The sense of time, which is different here. I would have liked to have taken this journey with you. But perhaps it is better like this, because I would never have decided where to go, as every small corner of this land of mine, merits, merits being seen and talked about. But... I was talking about the air. And so, there is another place to go to. They say that God, at the ending of Creation, found a stone in his hands, and not knowing what to do with it, threw it in the middle of the sea… He created a wonderful island, the island of San Pietro. Crystal clear water brushes against the craggy coast and the salty sea air mixes with the fresh scents of the Mediterranean scrubland. It is all volcano rock, but the quality and hardness of the rock differs from point to point. Wind and water have eroded places where it was softer, and dented and rounded the areas where it was more solid. In the more inaccessible parts of the cliff, Eleonora’s Falcon makes its nest. They arrive here from far far away, from Madagascar, flying more than six thousand kilometres. From the month of May, you can hear their voices and see their courting flights and their dives down, down towards the sea. The joy and sense of freedom they transmit, has no equal. Look with their eyes, look at the craggy rocks from up there with no sound but those of the wind and the sea. Later in the summer, when the eggs hatch and there is a need to feed the young ones, then their flight becomes a hunt. Sometimes it is a large dragonfly which gets caught. As the small ones grow, and they need to grow rapidly in order to affront the return flight in Autumn, they need to find larger prey. And so, in the claws of the Eleonora's Falcon, small birds who take advantage of the winds to migrate often end up. That is all we needed, the sheep on the tracks… But you know what? I do not care at all. Actually it is better like this. I will take the ferry tomorrow. My mind recalls all the smells of the city where I live, and they are not pleasant. Cars, confusion, people rushing around… Yes, I will take the ferry tomorrow. There is another thing you must see. Cagliari is the joining link between contemporary Sardinia and one of the last wild corners of the Mediterranean. Look at the flamingos, look at them while they fly. Their colonies are not the largest in Europe, but they are those with the most extraordinary characteristics. Look at the flamingos, in the light of dawn. At that time there is the return of the adults who have been looking for food in other basins in Sardinia. They are here to replace those who have to stayed to look after the young ones. There are houses around, but forget about them. The flamingos take no notice of them. Only here can one see them in flocks between the buildings of a city. To protect the young, they gather them together as though they were children at nursery school. The adults keep an eye on them because, even if things seem peaceful, there are always dangers. The seagulls profit from every opportunity they have to attack the youngest nestlings, and their parents are not always able to protect them. I have seen it. I saw the seagulls capture healthy small flamingos, and kill them. I know that it is a natural law, but it is such a pain, a cruel picture. And a nestling with a broken foot, who because of this seemed more protected than others, managed to survive. They are two extremes, and I saw them so close together that they helped me to understand. Yes... I think I understood. Maybe you were right, maybe I was wrong not to search well being. Children expect their parents to leave them something in inheritance. I... can only leave you a journey to my... to our land. It is up to you to judge its worth. I understood you Dad. I have understood that spending an hour sitting in the woods or on a reef, watching the world around and tasting at every moment of wind on my skin, is an emotion that every human should allow himself. What you really wanted to say to me, is that this land is real, authentic, even in its harshness, in its cruelty. And this truth is the value you held in your heart. As a child I could not understand it, and even later I did not understand why you so wanted to bring me here. Now I realise that I should have come here before. Now the meaning of this journey is clear, it is not only to see magical landscapes. I feel now that this place is also mine, because my roots are here. And this feeling of belonging to a place, to its nature, to its history, has made me feel calm for the first time, without rancour, close to you as never before. Only now, now that you have flew away, I realise the great richness that you have left me. I will make sure not to lose it!