Every June, my husband and I find ourselves pulled back to Italy, chasing that effortless rhythm of la dolce far niente, if only for a few days. Over the years, we’ve fallen in love with the classics—Roman ruins, Florence’s sunlit galleries, Milan’s elegant windows, the Amalfi Coast’s cinematic cliffs and the slow-burning symphony of Sicily. Each city sings its own story.
But this summer, we chose to wander further west to a coastline that felt less rehearsed, untamed and impossibly beautiful: Sardinia.
This place is a study in contrast—the sea comes in every imaginable shade of turquoise, towns glow in sun-washed colours and weathered cliffs rise beside ancient nuraghi, built over 3,000 years ago. The coastline stretches more than 1,800 km, a blend of secluded coves, coral-pink beaches and whispering olive groves.
Sardinia felt like a revelation, balancing the glitz of Costa Smeralda (think sleek yachts, Michelin-starred menus and polished promenades) with the slow charm of its countryside: winding country lanes, sheep-dotted pastures and family-run agriturismi. On the drive to San Teodoro, I learned a fun fact that says it all: Sardinia has nearly twice as many sheep as people—a definite nod to its pastoral roots and world-famous pecorino!
We spent five days here, slipping between these two worlds—the polished glamour of Porto Cervo and the soft, laid-back ease of San Teodoro. It felt like discovering Italy all over again, but this time without the crowds and with all the magic.
“There’s a certain kind of glamour here—the kind that doesn’t try,” I thought, as we wound our way through Porto Cervo, the jewel of the Costa Smeralda. A playground for the rich and stylish, yes, but also a place of quiet confidence.
Our hotel, Abi d’Oru, perched above Marinella Beach, felt like a serene hideaway with whitewashed walls, terracotta roofs and terraces that opened to the calm, crystalline sea, shaded by olive trees. Below, beach shacks and barefoot bars tempted us to slip into the island’s unhurried time. Turning 31 here didn’t feel so daunting—especially with the sweetness of tiramisu, the tartness of a margarita and the soft lilt of Italian music in the background.
That evening, we dined at Zuma, a rooftop space reached by a leafy trail, where the sky transitioned through brushstrokes of peach, pink and coral. We savoured the handcrafted sushi and clinked raspberry martinis over candlelight and sea breeze.
The following day was filled with a lazy stroll on the Promenade du Port, iced matcha lattes from La Piazza in hand, where bougainvillaea and hydrangeas spilled over high-end storefronts. A quick padel match before sunset, and a quiet dinner on our hotel balcony—the harbour shimmering below—felt like a postcard version of la dolce vita.
This day felt like a showstopper.
We chartered a boat with Emerald Freedom, and almost instantly, it became clear: Sardinia is best experienced from the water. Our captain took us past Palau, crossing a sea streaked in emerald and sapphire into the La Maddalena Archipelago, a scattered chain of protected islands: Spargi, Budelli, Caprera and Razzoli.
Anchoring near Spargi, a postcard-perfect beach with soft white sand and granite boulders, we swam in the clear shallows, hiked behind the dunes and dried off under the warmest sun.
Then came the natural pools: Porto della Madonna, Passo del Topo and Passo degli Asinelli, where the lagoons turned into perfect mirrors. The warm and glassy water is said to be unlike anywhere else in the world—famed for its still shallows and infinite shades of turquoise. I still don’t know how something can be that pale, that luminous, that magical.
Drifting past Budelli’s famed Pink Beach, with its delicate rose-tinted sand, we arrived in La Maddalena —a quaint port washed in butter yellow, accessible only by sea. At Noir Lounge, with boats swaying in the harbour breeze, we shared fiery shrimp pasta and icy glasses of Vermentino, followed by a wander through cobbled lanes and artisan boutiques, pausing for gelato before boarding again.We ended the surreal day near Razzoli, just shy of Corsica, floating in natural pools between Passo degli Asinelli and Porto della Madonna. The boat rocked gently as we dozed on deck, the sea warm and quiet around us.
Leaving the luxe behind, we drove an hour south to San Teodoro, where the rhythm shifted. Here, simplicity isn’t staged; it just is.
We stayed at Abbaia-Ba, a boutique countryside retreat tucked between fig trees and wild lavender, behind a private stretch of Salamaghe Beach. It felt like slipping into the quiet life, where things grow wild, meals feel homemade and silence is sacred.
Mornings began with an espresso under the trees and a match on the shaded padel court. Afternoons were spent reading and swimming at La Cinta and Salamaghe, wrapped in that golden Sardinian light that seems to slow time.
By sunset, San Teodoro’s night markets bloomed to life: linen dresses, sea-glass jewellery and the scent of mirto in the air. Our final evening was a gentle crescendo: bolognese at Al Dente, grilled seafood at Punt Zero, a Sardinian spritz at Café Florian and one last toast at La Posta Birreria.
On our final morning, driving through oleander-lined roads toward the airport, I was already plotting a return. Sardinia doesn’t compete for attention—it’s not loud here. Sardinia is quiet magic, content to let you discover it slowly. And I think that’s why it stays with you.
It’s not one grand moment that defines it, but a string of quiet ones: bougainvillaea-covered alleyways, white sand underfoot, a spritz garnished with rosemary, walks through prickly pear groves and granito sardo. A place that lingers long after you’ve left.
June to early July because it's warm, breezy and less crowded.
Fly into Olbia Costa Smeralda Airport (OLB) after transiting through Frankfurt, Munich or London.
Renting a car is essential for exploring Sardinia’s coastlines. You can also charter a private boat through the La Maddalena Archipelago with Emerald Freedom.
