For the last two weeks, we’ve stayed at Peter and Anne’s flat in Arbatax in the Olgiastra region. Today we finally got a chance to meet them. They were away in Australia visiting “mates” when we first arrived. Peter is a longtime climber from the Peak District of England and now divides his time road biking the smooth, steep, curvy Sardegnian roads with climbing the limestone any chance he gets. Anne hails from Scotland and has the accent and wry humor to prove it. She climbs too, but trends towards long treks in the mountains. After years in the corporate world, they shucked their careers and moved to Sardegna where they own and operate a bed and breakfast in Lotzorai called the Lemon House (www.peteranne.it), a ten minute drive from where we are living. 

We ring the doorbell at the Lemon House, which is indeed the color of its namesake saving it from overstated British whimsy. The neighbor’s limping pregnant cat (it was knocked up, then hit by a Fiat—apparently) meows at our feet. Anne answers the door. She is short with thick-rimmed glasses, but her total impact makes her appear much taller than she is. She doesn’t suffer fools easily.

Anne gives us the tour of the three-story house where they live and entertain guests from all over the world—mostly climbers, cyclists, trekkers, and the odd bits and ends that end up in Sarda. We end up on the roof ourselves, overlooking Lotzorai, the Med, the hills and mountains beyond. From this vantage point can see that they are somewhat visionary for picking the location: Tapped and untapped crags can be seen for miles. It is possible that the Ogliastra region is set to be the next big climbing destination after the more famous, well-established areas like Cala Ganone to the north and the steep overhanging crags of Isili to the west.

From our home base in the Ogliastra region we have been able to branch out in all directions, albeit within the limits of my old lady Italian driving skills. We have climbed nearly every day save for the one sunny day when I put my foot down and went to the beach to write a letter and the first Sard dispatch. We have become hopelessly enthralled with the landscape, the people, the food, the limestone. The apparent simplicity of living within the Mediterranean brightness warms our skin, turning the long winter into the first day of summer. But of course all is not so simple. In many respects, this is a poor island. Many people are forced into leaving the island to find work elsewhere in Europe. And the tourist trade, such as it is, is seasonal and pays hardly a working wage.

Then, from our roof top position we spot a white Fiat. It’s Peter. We file down the winding staircase to meet him. On the way out the door into the sun by the sleeping pregnant three-legged cat, I close the front door to the Lemon House just as Anne says, “no need to bother closing the door.”

Too late for that…