Sardinia

It's hard for a landlubber like me to really appreciate the roll of the waves, the bite of the wind and the rhythmic rising and falling of the swell until he's felt it for himself. As our cruise ship churned down along the west coast of Sardinia, I finally knew what it all meant. It's not that the sea was particularly rough, but for someone used to terrestrial solidity and whose maritime experience had previously been limited to canoes, sunfish and speedboats, it was an unsettling, even disorienting feeling. I was lucky, though, and didn't join in the crowd at the ship's rail.

Our excursion was, if anything, typical - just what I would have expected from a guided tour. Had I really been paying attention, now I'd know in what year the Savoie family had arrived with their Gothic architecture, when and how they had handed the island over to Spain, and the precise circumstances under which the whole thing became once and for all Italian. But, interesting as our guide's explanations were, informative, and even pedagogical, I can't say I really listened much. The cathedral was impressive but, then again, aren't they all? That is their purpose. No, at the end of the day I was more interested in my chances of getting a good backrub, and a Cuba Libre that hadn't been too far watered down.