Via Turritana - Sassari
"Present day. I’m sitting in a bar called Gustavinos on the corner of Via Turritana and Via Eleonora D’Arborea in the medieval town of Sassari on the Italian Island of Sardinia. I’m sipping a cold Ichnusa
 beer and in walks my old friend and one time colleague Tommaso Sommo. Tommaso owns the antique shop on the opposite corner and has a passion for theatre producing, or at least did. He orders a beer and we sit down and enjoy a comfortable silence.
My first trip to the Island was back in 1991 when I toured the coast in an old white Fiat Panda on a camping holiday with my ex-girlfriend, Paola. We had just finished two gruelling years at the drama school Ecole Jaques lecoq in Paris so the month long stint in Sardinia was a much welcome break. What I remember about the holiday and what most people associate with the Island were the spectacular beaches but now having multiplied my initial visit by 72 months I can quite honestly say that there is more to this ancient paradise than just sand!
I look at Tommaso and order a couple more beers. Salute he says.

I moved to Sardinia in 2003. I was working as a theatre director in the northern Italian town of Padova (approximately 30km from Venice) and not wanting to return to the UK decided to completely change my life. I had been offered a job directing A Midsummer Nights Dream on the Island and take the opportunity to make a fresh start. I don’t know if there is enough work to sustain me in Sardinia but if the worst came to the worst I could always make trips back to the UK and direct every so often.  My contacts in Britain were strong and with cheap flights with Ryanair from Sardinia to London commuting was a possibility.

Genoa
In September 2003 I board a ferry at the Italian port of Genoa having driven my Fiat Punto with all my worldly possessions the 340km from Padova via the A3, E70 and finally the E25 from Milan. My destination, the Sardinian port of Porto Torres on the north west of the Island. After five hours driving in stifling heat (my car doesn’t have air conditioning) I arrive in Genoa port late afternoon two hours early for the scheduled departure and decided to treat myself to a well deserved cold Peroni and something to eat. After all I had negotiated the Italian Auto Strada and held my own in Genoa’s rush hour despite being hurled abuse in Genovese non of which I understood but deduced that most of it could be translated into three or four letter words. My Italian back then wasn’t bad, I could understand vaffanculo, but dialects and colloquialisms were a complete mystery to me and better answered with the old smile and nod tactic.
To my absolute horror the bar is shut for refurbishments and I’m pointed in the direction of a small hut with an umbrella outside a couple of hundred meters away across the tarmac. Could I make it without sticking to the asphalt? The thought of a cold beer banishes any doubts I might have had and I make it to the hut with shoes intact. There is nothing in the world that beats a cold beer in 35 degrees of heat but plenty to see off the only continental snack on offer - il toast!"

Extract from the book 'On Another Island' by Malachi Bogdanov