And - MORE SNOW!

 

Just like at Goldbug hotsprings it is a good idea to start out early to get to Diamond Fork hotsprings: it is very popular, and the memory of a hundred people or more walking up last year when we were walking down was enough to have us decide on breakfast at the earliest time possible, which was 6:30 at this hotel. I was awake for a bit in the middle of the night and cautiously parted the curtains for a quick look outside. What? Snow again?? Maybe it wouldn't amount to much, maybe it would melt quickly: it was warm enough, after all. I went back to sleep.

We got a bit of a shock in the morning: there was much more snow than we had expected, probably about 15 cm at least. The plows had been out on Highway 6 leading out of Spanish Fork, so it was slushy but quite okay to drive. We saw one truck in the ditch; other than that nothing out of the ordinary. Everybody was going slow. When we turned onto Diamond Fork road it was a different matter, however: there was only one track, and it looked like it was leading out, not in. It seemed that Jay wasn't ahead of us. After only about a kilometre or so it became clear that it had indeed been someone going out to the highway: the tracks came out of a driveway, the last property for the next few miles and before the trailhead. It was still snowing, and it was very difficult to see anything in the monochrome landscape. Johann tried to stay in the middle of the road between the snow walls on both sides, which was a guessing game. The ten miles to the parking lot stretched endlessly. Repeated looks in the rearview mirror showed no sign of Jay. I had checked my email in the morning and didn't find any message from him, but maybe he had decided not to come after all. We must be crazy to do this! What if we got stuck? We didn't even have anybody to call - and who would drive here in these conditions? But suddenly there was a car coming from the direction we were headed. Where did it come from? After about a mile – now with tracks to follow – we arrived at the parking lot and found out: they must have spent the night in their car in the parking lot. No footsteps were leading away from the spot where the car had been parked. 

 We were pretty confident that we'd get out again in the afternoon if we had made it here now. It wasn't very cold, and the thin snow still falling probably wouldn't lead to any further accumulation. The hike up would be interesting, too, with snow over our boots – but the hotsprings were calling, and besides: it felt like we were in a fairytale with all the new, unblemished snow. The world was hushed and totally still; everything felt suspended, somehow, almost unreal. When would we ever have the chance to experience anything like this again?

The first couple of miles were still pavement, not that we could see that. Johann was a bit concerned we might not find the trailhead, but I had no such doubts: this was our fourth visit, and the picnic area and vault toilets at the trailhead would be difficult to miss. Indeed: after not quite an hour we had reached the start of the actual trail.

 We had seen a lot of mule deer – quite a bit smaller than the ones back home – on the hillsides driving up, and right after the turnoff from the highway several big dark birds were sitting in the branches of a cottonwood tree, wild turkeys, perhaps, or maybe vultures? Now, thanks to Dorothee's keen eye, we watched a couple of water ouzels dipping and diving in the creek. Those little guys must not feel the cold; again and again they went under water and hopped back on a rock or a log, flicking their upturned tails. In Germany, we learned, these birds are called Wasseramsel and have a white bib; these here are dark without markings: Cinclus cinclus, while the water ouzel is cinclus mexicanus. I had never seen one before, just knew they existed, so this was another treat on this remarkable morning.

The trail, while snowed in, was easily discernable, and we slowly hiked uphill. We had to duck under the snow-laden branches of the oaks and maples, but every once in awhile one or the other brushed against one anyway and was cooled off a little. From time to time, when I had to catch my breath, we stopped for a few moments to admire the bolders and tree trunks in and near the river with their stovepipe hats of snow. A Stellar's jay scolded us briefly but then pulled the whole register of his musical vocabulary as if he was trying to talk to us.

Where Fifth Water Creek and Sixth Water Creek meet there is a footbridge, and just while we were gazing at the scenery Jay caught up with us. By now we had given up on the thought of meeting him this time, so it was a really nice surprise. He had left his home at a quarter to seven and encountered chaotic traffic conditions in the city because of all the snow. Now we had a new trailbreaker, and he soon was out of sight. He'd be expecting us at the remote pool where we met him before, except for last year when the drought made that pool unusable because it was too hot.

When we arrived at the lower pools we saw that Jay had walked down several of the accesses before making his way up the hill to the last pool: with no other tracks around it would be logical for later hikers to follow our tracks all the way up. Most people stay in the lower pools by the waterfall, and it is nice to be undisturbed by the crowds. Jay came down the hill to guide us the last part of the way. With the pool now right below us he welcomed us as if into his house, and really, it felt like coming home. These visits to the hotsprings on our way south and especially the visit with this friend whom we see once a year at most have become very dear to us. 

Soaking in the perfectly tempered water – Jay has a 'sophisticated' system of regulating the water temperature – we caught up with each other's news and enjoyed Jay's recounting of his experiences in the wild, be it hiking in the mountains or guiding a raft down the Colorado through the Grand Canyon, something he has done often over the years.

After about three hours it was time to think about going back. Jay left ahead of us, and we followed after enjoying a snack of crackers and chocolate before leaving the warm water somewhat reluctantly. By now a few people had arrived and were enjoying the lower pools. The waterfall, just the thinnest of trickles last year, was running in a narrow stream over the lip of the slickrock as if poured from a huge kettle. It is a huge relief that the drought finally seems to be easing. Snowfall has been at record levels for this area, as for many others, this winter. What will happen when this all melts is a different story; there certainly will be some flooding, but hopefully the benefit will be greater than the damage. 

It was much easier hiking down on the now wider and firmer trail. It took me a while until I realized that this remarkable difference was due to the fact that some of the hikers must have come up with snow shoes. Our crampons, which we hadn't put on on the way up with all the snow covering icy sections of the trail, now became very necessary: we felt a lot more secure wearing them especially on the steeper downhill sections.

We left just in time: the lower we got the more people were hiking up, and while it was still nowhere near last year's hordes the quiet beauty of the place would soon be much livelier, likely filled not only with voices but also with music blasting. The road was now plowed all the way to the parking lot, the pavement glistening black in the afternoon light. We had definitely made the right choice braving the elements in the morning!

 

 On the way back to the highway we got another special treat: wild turkeys were feeding right beside the road. Their beautiful speckled plumage and light blue patch at the  nape of their necks distracts from their rather unattractive naked faces. They weren't overly scared, and we were able to take a few photos before they goose-stepped (or should I say turkey-stepped?) away into the shelter of the pinion pines.

SNOW!

 

Will we yet be able to shake it during this trip? Sometimes I wonder ...

The hillside with graduation dates visible in the morning

When I wrote from Arco two days ago, sun shining in my window, I was expecting a leisurely day of travel to Spanish Fork, about an hour south of Salt Lake City, with a stop either for a shorter hike around Salt Lake or a visit to Temple Square. What I hadn't expected was the hair-raising drive that awaited us before we reached I-15 near Blackfoot.

While having a huge breakfast – my favourite meal of the day when we are travelling – at 'Pickle's Place', in short walking distance from our motel, people came trickling in, and we caught shreds of conversation that made it quite clear that it would not be a great idea to go to Salmon that morning, with all the new snow and now wind starting up again, too. It didn't occur to us that the same might be true for the road east which we were taking to get to I-15.

It was much worse than this!

As soon as we had left Arco behind it became clear that this was not going to be a relaxing drive. In this flat country, not interrupted even by fences for cattle, let alone snow fences, the strong southerly winds had free reign. Veils of snow whipped off the peaks of already high drifts on the side of the road made it impossible to see any further than a few metres, and Dorothee, who had volunteered to take the first leg of the drive, needed all her concentration to stay the course. After a few miles flashing lights ahead alerted to a snowplow – what a welcome sight! We followed slowly, keeping enough distance to stay out of the now even denser cloud of snowy mist, yet able to be guided by the lights and not veer off the road. Even with the snowplow being only maybe a couple of hundred metres ahead the freshly plowed track was drifting in again already.

Yet through all this the sun was shining from the deep blue sky, and the strange rounded mound resembling a loaf of bread – because of its shape the most notable of the hills rising here and there from the vast plains - in the distance with its wreath of clouds, looked almost otherworldly. Vegetation in this area consists mainly of scraggly sagebrush, and every little shrub sported its own little drift. 

 Once the highway split and we took the turnoff towards I-15, thus changed direction from due east to a bit southeast, the going got a lot easier. The snowplow continued on the highway we had just left, but this highway ... had been newly plowed as well, and soon the snowy patches got smaller and we could pick up some speed. On the interstate there was no sign of what we had just traversed, and we finally could relax and made good progress. Not only that: the temperature, which had been a cool -10 for the first hour and a half of driving, started to warm up the further we travelled south. By the time we reached Salt Lake City it was +7, the warmest we've had it this far.

                                          ~~~~~~~~~~~~

I had asked Jay, our friend from previous visits at Diamond Fork hotsprings (were we were going the next day), for recommendations for a shorter hike around Salt Lake City, and he had sent a few suggestions that looked like nice options, but I had also mentioned that we were thinking of visiting Temple Square. That morning he sent a note suggesting we might want to opt for the latter since new snow in the area would probably make the trails – a little higher up in the canyons – less desirable. Johann and I had both been to the Temple area before, but for him it was 50, for me 44 years ago, and we didn't remember a whole lot; Dorothee had never been there.

Getting to the Temple Square area was surprisingly easy, traffic much, much less than we've experienced it on the freeway passing the city. We had a bit of trouble finding a parking spot at first, but after circling the 5-acre square once we left the car on the side of a road just north of the square. The sunshine was almost warm when we walked over to the entrance, and it felt as if spring was a possibility at last. We tried to get our bearings, find out where we wanted to go, and soon were approached by two young women who greeted us warmly and welcomed us. We chatted for a bit and found out that there would be a guided tour of some of the buildings in about fifteen minutes. One of the girls, when she found out that we were from Canada, asked, 'Canada! Did you notice ...?' I hadn't, but Johann had: on her badge she wor the Canadian flag: she was from New Brunswick. We talked to a couple of other girls, always in groups of two: for the time they spend here to do their missionary time – eighteen months, if I remember correctly – they are paired with another young woman for three weeks at a time. 

Missionary work, we heard later from Jay, consists to a large part of service work nowadays, working in Welfare Square, for instance, which is part of the humanitarian efforts of the Church and consists of a grain elevator, storehouse, bakery, cannery, milk processing facility, thrift store and employment centre. It would have been interesting to see this – again we found out about it later from Jay – but we heard a bit about the history of the Mormons and the buildings on the square from the two young women who conducted the tour, one from the US, the other from Brazil. 

We started at the statue of a man and a woman pulling a handcart loaded with all the possessions they brought with them on their way from Illinois from where they were exiled for their religious beliefs and travelled west in the search of a place to settle where they could practice their faith. We had always assumed that the carts and wagons were pulled by horses and oxen, but many families embarked on the long and perilous journey pulling these handcarts since they didn't have the means for anything else.

We were taken to the domed Tabernacle next, home to the world-renowned Tabernacle Choir. The acoustics in this big hall are amazing. Our guide explained that it was built for big assemblies, at a time when technology didn't provide the means of voice amplification. The preacher's voice needed to project from the front to the very back of the hall, and with room for 6000 people that was an amazing feat without microphones. Had the road conditions been better we would have had a chance to experience these great acoustics for ourselves: we had hoped to be there in time for the organ recital that afternoon, a regular Sunday afternoon feature. I would have loved to hear this huge, beautiful instrument that has a rich and interesting history.

https://www.thetabernaclechoir.org/about/organs/organ-information/tabernacle.html

The main building of the square, the Temple itself, has been undergoing major renovations since 2019, with a planned completion in 2025. All we could see was its shrouded form, and the exposed foundations: the main reason for the construction is to make it more earthquake-safe. As non-Mormons we wouldn't be allowed into the temple anyway, except for a few months right after the renovations are finished. During the construction period, our guide explained, the temple is a building like any other, and people will be invited to view and admire it when it's finished. Once it is re-dedicated that will not be possible anymore. 

The assembly hall on the other hand, a chapel that's probably the oldest structure on the square, across from the tabernacle on the southern edge of Temple Square, was open, and we were welcome to enter. It is hard to believe that it was built within four years – 1863 to 1867 – not even twenty years after the arrival of the Mormons in this area in 1847. The temple was started even earlier, in 1853. At a time when they still had to work hard to establish even the means for survival the people were working on constructing these huge buildings. The church being the centre point of their lives, this work must have been of utter importance: to have a sacred place to gather. Every single one of the huge stones had to be brought from a quarry about twenty miles away by horse or ox and wagon, and each round trip took two days. We marveled not only at the dedication to make this possible but also at the fact that among the people who came west were artisans skilled enough to build these beautiful churches.

After one last stop to absorb the signs of spring in the Temple Square park – tulips, hyacinths and iris getting ready to push up buds – we concluded our visit by stopping briefly at the relatively new convention centre with its huge auditorium that has room for 21000 people.

Stained-glass windows at the assembly hall (chapel)

 

The car thermometer still showed +7 degrees when we arrived at our hotel in Spanish Fork. Finally! Maybe we could really say good-bye to winter now. 

Hot water and cold temperatures: Goldbug Hotsprings to Arco, Idaho

 

Our hotel offered breakfast from 6 am on, which suited us very well. Goldbug hotsprings are very popular with the students from Rexburg college, about 2 1/2 hours away, and we knew from experience that it can get very crowded by midday.

At seven we had packed all our gear and were ready to leave Salmon for the half-hour drive to the hotsprings. It was cold, about -12, in the Salmon valley. The Salmon River, which originates from the Sawtooth Range in central Idaho at an altitude of about 2,800m, is the longest undammed river in the contiguous United States, 425 miles long, and drops 2,100m to its confluence with the Snake River just south of the Washington border. I've loved this early morning drive since the first time we came here, the shallow, fast-flowing river to the right, geese floating, preparing to lift off or just standing at the river's edge beating their wings as if they were doing their morning exercises, cattle lined up along the bales of hay rolled out for them. The sun, although risen, is still hidden behind the mountains to our left and will remain there for much of the morning. It always feels to me as if the world is being reborn at that hour. The surrounding hills, but also the pastures in the valley are covered in a good layer of snow this year, more than we've ever seen on previous visits.

Rising early paid off: there were only five cars in the parking lot at the trailhead, with a few people stretching beside them; it looked like they might have spent the night in their car. For the first short stretch the narrow trail zig-zagging up a steep hill was extremely icy which was treacherous even with crampons. Once we were past that part the going got a lot easier. The trail, but also the ground beside it was covered in snow, and I'm sure the desert plants will be thankful for the extra moisture in this arid country. A couple of young guys came down the mountain: aha, only four cars left in the parking lot now – good news for garnering a prime spot in the pools. The higher we climbed the more often we saw steam rising from the creek plunging down. The juxtaposition of that, and green plants growing between rocks on the one hand, and the snow, but also the shrubs right beside the creek covered in hoar frost from that very steam, is always fascinating to me. 

 I had to stop often to catch my breath on the last steep part of the trail, but we made it up in just over an hour, faster than expected, and really: there were only three young men in the pool with the 'perfect' temperature. Others might have been in the cooler pools right below them or the hotter ones above, but we couldn't see anybody else. Changing out of your clothes, standing on the frozen rocks, always takes determination, but the hot water soon makes you forget this fact. It's wonderful to relax in the clear water, the view of the snow-covered mountains across the valley spectacular. What more could anyone ask for? We stayed for nearly two hours, leaving the warm water reluctantly, but nicely warmed through even the cold rocks and frigid air temperature didn't feel so bad. By now the sun had moved around and above the surrounding mountain, and while it didn't really provide any heat it was still nice to feel its rays on my face. 

View of the lower (cooler) pools

We arrived back at the car at 1:30, had a quick snack and soon were on the way to Arco, about 2 1/2 hours from the hotsprings. For a while the road – Peaks to Craters Scenic Byway – follows the course of the river, winding back and forth, through more beautiful scenery. In some spots the river seemed completely covered in snow and ice, but most of the time it flowed freely in a sometimes narrow, sometimes wider channel. We passed through a narrow canyon of black rock, the road climbing steadily, temperature getting steadily colder, and once again the road was icy or snowy from time to time. Sunshine gave way to clouds which seemed to sink lower and lower, until their white bellies almost touched the ground. It felt like we were driving through a white void: the mountains disappeared from view completely. We were glad to finally arrive at our DK motel in Arco, right across from the famous hillside where generations of graduates have marked their graduation year. The earliest stems from the early 1920s – not that we could even see this now. Just like last time we were in Arco, three years ago at the very start of Covid, it presented itself to us in a blanket of snow. Does it always snow this much here in March, I wonder? 

 We were not the only Subaru lovers at the hotsprings; indeed, it always seems as if Subaru is the prevalent brand of car in Montana and Idaho.

Crossing a border and finding more winter: Cardston to Salmon, ID

    

  Sunday morning in Arco, Idaho. The sun is shining through my window at the DK Motel, but the already considerable layer of snow has grown again overnight.

It's a good thing that we didn't expect to leave winter behind anytime soon when we left home not even three days ago – hard to believe that it hasn't been longer than that – because it is very much with us still. This morning it is -10, yesterday morning in Salmon it was -12. But I better start where I left off last time.

We checked out of our motel in Cardston early: we had several stops before our arrival in Salmon, Idaho, a drive of about 650 km. The wind had lessened, and it was a beautiful drive through the foothills to the Carway border crossing. We met hardly a car, and the road was reasonably clear, though there were more icy patches than on the last stretch before Cardston. No wonder: we were climbing higher, after all. In the distance the impressive blocky shape of Chief Mountain invited to stop for a photo.

This border crossing is tiny, and I don't know if it was because it was still early morning, or because the border guards are happy about every traveller who interrupts their quiet (I assume) day, but everyone was very friendly. Upon hearing that our friend was visiting from Germany, the first young officer asked her from where, and when he heard 'Frankfurt' his face lit up: “My family is from Nuremberg.” (Not that these two cities are exactly close together!). He told us that his grandmother had married a GI, and they had started a family in Texas. “That's where I grew up,” he told us proudly. We could hear it, too. :-) We briefly had to complete a few formalities inside, again were met with exemplary courtesy by another young officer, and we were on our way.

The first thing we saw after leaving the border station was a huge herd of buffalo, some close by the road, many, many more just dots in the distance, blending into the habitat where they once thrived. Part of the herd that was close to the road were white buffalo, an amazing sight. This area is Niitsitapi (Blackfoot) tribal land, and white buffalo are considered to be sacred by several indigenous tribes. They are extremely rare, only about one out of 10 million births, but selective breeding has led to higher birthrates, and this is what must have happened here.

The magnificent empty landscape stretching as far as the eye could see cast its spell on us. We happily remarked on the fact that there were so few cars, how easy the driving was, but this was soon to change. The icy patches grew larger and more frequent, and the wind picked up. We drove through Babb, a place that seemed utterly deserted, the windows of the motel, store and fuel station boarded up. Our GPS told us we should turn off onto Hwy 464 from US 89 shortly after Babb. By now veils of snow were blowing across the road, making it difficult to see at times. When we turned onto Hwy. 464 the first thing we saw was a sign, completely covered in snow, in the middle of the road. We had immediately had the nagging suspicion that this was what it turned out to be once Johann brushed off the snow: ROAD CLOSED. Now what? According to our GPS this would have been the better of the two roads, or at least that's what we thought. In retrospect Google and also our Garmin GPS might have suggested this route because it was the shorter of the two, but that idea didn't occur to us then. What to do? We needed to find out if any road going to Browning and on to Missoula was passable. We turned around, thinking we might find someone to ask in Babb after all. It didn't take long until two pickups came from the direction of the border. One of them had a snow blade, which was a reassuring sign already – or was it? Johann flagged down the first pickup which turned out to be a border control vehicle. We heard that we should take US 89, snow-covered but passable, and later turn onto Hwy. 2. The road had been newly plowed already that morning, so the surface was less of a problem than the drifting and blowing snow which made it almost impossible where the wind had free access, a scary situation. Here again we were glad for the sparse traffic, although on the other hand every vehicle coming from the other side was an encouraging sight: the road was still open. 

 By the time we reached Browning, our chosen destination for breakfast, it was 10:15. The restaurants listed for Browning on the internet seemed to be mostly closed, probably not surprising in the off-season, but thankfully this town, like so many others here, has a casino, and we got a good breakfast there. Thus fortified we could now make our way to West Glacier – more poor driving conditions through magnificent country – and continued along huge Flathead Lake south of Kalispell, now on good roads, after stopping for groceries at the Polson Walmart. The fruit orchards along this road which had so surprised us last time we drove here – who would have expected them this far north? - were covered with a thick blanket of snow, but it looked as if some spring work had been started before the last snowfall: branches from pruning poked out here and there.

Our next stop was Costco in Missoula for gas. Another 2 1/2 hours to go, and Chief Joseph Pass to cross still. This scenic route is among our favourites for the whole trip south, and it didn't disappoint this time either. The roads were fine even on the pass, but there sure was a lot of snow! Sharp edges of drifts ran nearly vertical at times on the steep slopes beside the road. 

Dusk was approaching, and hundreds of deer grazing along the way required close attention by the driver. At times they were right among the cattle, sharing in their hay. One more time we stopped along the way, at the same spot where we had stopped last time, to get a close look at the Salmon River. We had never seen it like this before: a small channel of running water between huge ice floes that had likely piled up during a warmer period a little while ago. The waxing moon floated high above Red Rock: half an hour more, and we finally reached our Super 8 motel in Salmon.

 

On the road again

 

I've been asking myself the same question as last year when we left for our trip south to the US: why are we leaving here now? Car packed to the gills, we started out early this afternoon, not to return until the end of the month that has just barely started. This time there are three of us for the first half of the trip: our friend Dorothee from Germany is joining us for some hiking and sightseeing.

Water was running off the roof – another five-gallon pail filled from the spout, so there should be enough to water the house plants until spring truly arrives – and the snow sparkled in the sun when we took to the road at 1:30 this afternoon. For the first two days it will be quite a bit of driving, with little chance to stretch our legs: a six and a half hour drive to Cardston today, and more than that tomorrow to Salmon, Idaho.

Strong winds had blown wet snow into our lane in open areas for the first hour or so, which made it necessary to slow down and manoeuver carefully at times, but after that the road was dry, and we made good progress. It cooled down somewhat from the sunny +5 at home when skies clouded over further south, and the wind, though still pretty strong, calmed down a bit between Edmonton and south of Calgary. Then, it doubled its efforts to make it harder for our Subie to keep the low mileage from the first part of the trip. It was a beautiful night, though: from my vantage point on the right back seat I had a great view of the celestial spectacle that is happening right now, the conjunction of Venus and Jupiter. A few days ago I noticed how close they were together on my evening walk on the Wabash creek. At that time, Jupiter was sitting a bit above brighter Venus. Now, Jupiter is below Venus, but still very close. Since it was cloudy last night I missed seeing them side by side.

Cardston doesn't have a huge choice of hotels; in fact, there are only two. We decided on the South Country Inn, marked as 'pleasant' in the reviews. Our first impression fell a bit short of pleasant: one of the beds obviously hadn't been made, and the waste paper basket was full. We have been upgraded and now can enjoy clean beds and, hopefully, a restful night. We are only about 15 km from the US border and hope to cross it without much delay tomorrow morning.

A beach walk at Costa Rei

 

It's 7:15 on this windy Saturday morning, and the sun will rise in a few minutes. We've watched sunsets from the rooftop terrace, the sun disappearing between the roofs of two hilltop houses rather than in the ocean at this time of year: days are short here, too, and the sun sets shortly after five pm. We can't see the sun rise from here, but I can see already that it's a bright day, last night's thunderstorm blown over, literally. Wind has been a nearly constant companion on our daily excursions, but we have been very lucky with the weather.

After two hikes on Wednesday and Thursday a bit east of here past Costa Rei we decided on a beach walk at Costa Rei yesterday: for once the morning was absolutely calm. We spent three hours walking along the 10 kilometre long beautiful white sand beach that must be very crowded during high season. Yesterday we encountered only three people, one dog and a few gulls and cormorants. The temperature was a pleasant 20 degrees Celsius, just like the day before, and even though a breeze started up on our way back blowing in towering thunder clouds it was warm enough to walk in shorts and short sleeves. Marietta and Johann even decided on a swim, the clear water about the same temperature as the air.

The drive to Villasimius, a neat village about half an hour from here close to Costa Rei, took us along the rugged coastline on a very curvy road with stunning views around every corner, but on the way back we decided on the faster freeway: the looming clouds made it advisable to get home without delay.

The fierce wind from the middle of the night has given way to a nice breeze, so that nothing should stand in our way to explore Cagliari, Sardinia's capital city, today.

A trip to Sardinia's south coast

 

November 24^th, 2022

It's a quarter to eight in the morning here in Geremeas at the southern tip of Sardinia. The comforting warmth of the pellet stove beside me is a nice counterpoint to the howling wind that's playing with the golden hibiscus and pink and red bougainvilleas in the small yard, but I know it sounds and looks worse than it is: it's a warm wind, and it won't keep us from exploring this area with its rugged beauty a little more today on our hike.

We arrived here – our friends Manfred and Marietta, Johann and I – after driving from the ferry at Olbia, 300 km to the northeast, two days ago.

Right now I am waiting for the bread dough which, covered with a tea towel, is rising on the wood stove beside me: I've been tasked with making buns for breakfast. The next supermarket is about twenty minutes away, and the little bakery that's within walking distance is closed for the season, as so many other restaurants and tourist-oriented venues. Far from lamenting this fact I'm glad about it: there are very few people here at this time of year, quite different from the summer, as we've been told, when parking spots this close to the beach are very hard to come by and beaches are teeming with people, streets are crowded and noisy.

When we arrived on Tuesday the wind was blowing hard and it was cooler than it is now, but the sun was shining from the bright blue sky, a perfect backdrop for the foam-capped waves lashing the beach. We had chosen this particular destination – Geremeas, about half an hour from Cagliari, Sardinia's biggest city – because Marietta's brother and sister-in-law own a house here, our home for the five days we are here. It is rented out in the summer months, between late May and early to mid September, and nobody had stayed here in six weeks. We opened the shutters and got settled in, put away the groceries we had picked up at a supermarket along the way, and made our way down the road to the beach, a walk of five minutes. It didn't feel like the mediterranean just then, the waves and wind reminiscent of a more northerly sea in the summer, except for the palm and olive trees, the cacti, the ochre, light yellow and white-washed houses and villas. 

Just like yesterday we plan to hike today, but right now the buns are ready and it's time for breakfast. Hopefully we'll be able to get water from the taps again today; yesterday afternoon it stopped running for no apparent reason. A bit of improvisation isn't a bad thing, though, and so far we are doing fine.