39° 08' 43.0" N 8° 18' 30.5" E
Isola di San Pietro:
all roads lead to the sea
There it lies in the sea, south-west of Sardinia. An island off an island – ancient, authentic and just a little bit old-fashioned. Famous people sometimes stop here, but that doesn’t matter, they don’t play an important role. What matters on Isola di San Pietro are the marinai, the tuna and the taste of the sea.
Departing Sardinia by ferry, you can see San Pietro Island in the distance: a flat, beach-fringed islet floating in the sea with a gentle elevation in the middle. From Portoscuso, the ferry steams south for four nautical miles, across waters shimmering with sand and seagrass. Soon, ahead of the bow, the island will gradually emerge.
The entrance to the harbour comes into view with its two mole lighthouses, the quay on the Corso Battellieri. Carloforte, the island’s only town, spreads out beyond it. A collection of brightly coloured houses like a watercolour casually painted onto the shore. Palm trees, cafés, pink facades, walls painted lime green.
With a gurgle of wake, the ferry berths. Cars roll onto the quay, passengers walk down the gangway like awestruck extras entering an old theatre. Insular Italy, Carloforte is the stage, and the piece being performed seems to hail from a forgotten century. With a gurgle of wake, the ferry berths. Cars roll onto the quay, passengers walk down the gangway like awestruck extras entering an old theatre. Insular Italy, Carloforte is the stage, and the piece being performed seems to hail from a forgotten century.
Laundry flaps on balconies, waiters bring tagliere, charcuterie boards, to the tables below. A blinking diver sign calls attention to Tutti Pesca Mare, a small shop where Massimo sells harpoons, fishing rods and neoprene wetsuits. Around the corner, at the Roma bar, elderly locals sit around the cast-iron tables beneath three jacarandas, chatting and smiling knowingly.
The tiny island basks in the southern Mediterranean sun like a relic from another time. Indigo-coloured water on all sides; steep cliffs in the north; La Caletta cove in the south. Down in the village, photos of gozzi, old lateen-rigged fishing boats, hang on pub walls. Bottles of Campari, grappa and liqueur line the shelves. The publicans behind the bars are jolly and unshaven. This island is their home. An island that nothing and no one will ever persuade them to leave.
This isn’t Sardinia, it’s not even really Italy. It’s an island off an island – proud and staunch. A cactus-covered rock inhabited by navigators and people of the sea.
A maritime idyll indeed, but little do visitors realize what a fascinating place they’re about to discover. The history of San Pietro Island begins with Tunisian coral fishers from Tabarka. In the mid-18th century, Genoese seafarers from the town of Pegli, originally from Tunisia, settled on what was then an almost uninhabited island. People speak their own dialect here too: old Tabarchino.
Everyone here knows San Pietro’s history: the language, the seagoing tradition, the way of life. This isn’t Sardinia, it’s not even really Italy. It’s an island off an island – proud and staunch. A cradle of seafaring, a cactus-covered rock inhabited by boatmen and navigators.
And something else: it’s where the tonno rosso swim, large bluefin tuna that migrate from North Africa to the Ligurian Sea each spring in giant swarms, which pass right by the island. During the annual tonnara, the Carlofortinians catch them as they did a thousand years ago. With a system of nets and pure muscle. You could say that tiny Carloforte is the tuna capital of the world. A place entirely dedicated to the sea where maritime traditions shape collective memory. On good days, even the air tastes like salt water.
No, this is no ordinary harbour town. The island is more like a ship. Live here for long enough and you could begin to imagine you’re on the high seas. Walking through the old alleys, you see fish everywhere.
The tonno rosso are painted on steps, they swim on walls and beneath ceilings, are whittled from wood and made out of cork from decommissioned buoys. Planks from sunken fishing boats are nailed to pub walls. The paving stones leading to San Carlo Borromeo church are engraved with images of fish. And the colourful little dresses in the boutiques hang on spars from disused rowing boats.
Seafaring insignia, fishing emblems. Everyone on San Pietro Island has the sea in their blood.
Up in the north, near La Punta, Antonello Rosso leans against the bonnet of his 4x4, looking out to sea. Fishing nets lie spread out behind the rocks by the old tuna factory; beyond it the unbroken expanse of the Sardinian Sea stretches all the way to Tunisia in the south and across to the Balearics, 240 nautical miles away. Antonello Rosso is wearing shorts and sandals and a white t-shirt. Methodically, he rolls a cigarette.
‘See the swell coming in from the west?’, he asks. ‘See the waves breaking against the cliffs?’ Rosso fumbles for his lighter. ‘You know what? I love this island!’
The words sound like they’re out of a glossy brochure, but they’re spoken from the heart. They spring from the soul of a born Carlofortinian, a man with the island in his blood.
This is true for everyone born and raised on San Pietro. The marinai in the harbour, the fishers, the ferrymen. Even the island’s cooks are connected to the sea, far and above proclaiming their love for it and featuring delicious seafood on the menu. Most of them are fishers themselves. They sail, dive, swim or take a boat out to Isola del Corno to spearfish.
Antonello Pomata, the island’s most prominent chef, is a perfect example. He used to sail, spent every other day out on the water. He piloted old lateen-rigged boats, competed in regattas, even crossed the Atlantic. Then at age twenty, he left the island for a while to explore the big wide world of hotels and restaurants: New York, London, Paris, Milan. He worked as a barkeeper, maître d’ and sommelier, and learned to cook under British star chef Marco Pierre White. But he naturally returned to his island in the end. What was life without vibrant Carloforte? La casa. His home.
Today, Antonello Pomata runs his own restaurant down in the harbour, the famous Da Nicolo. Beside the door hang Michelin designations and other stickers and distinctions from the world of haute cuisine. The restaurant does a lively business in summer. Italian football stars come here, politicians, fashion figures, shipowners.
Vibrant, ancient, authentic, and surrounded by the sea. San Pietro Island is very far away from the rest of the world.
Antonello Pomata, the island’s most prominent chef, is a perfect example. He used to sail, spent every other day out on the water. He piloted old lateen-rigged boats, competed in regattas, even crossed the Atlantic. Then at age twenty, he left the island for a while to explore the big wide world of hotels and restaurants: New York, London, Paris, Milan. He worked as a barkeeper, maître d’ and sommelier, and learned to cook under British star chef Marco Pierre White. But he naturally returned to his island in the end. What was life without vibrant Carloforte? La casa. His home.
Today, Antonello Pomata runs his own restaurant down in the harbour, the famous Da Nicolo. Beside the door hang Michelin designations and other stickers and distinctions from the world of haute cuisine. The restaurant does a lively business in summer. Italian football stars come here, politicians, fashion figures, shipowners.
Vibrant, ancient, authentic, and surrounded by the sea. San Pietro Island is very far away from the rest of the world.
And what about Johnny Depp, is there any truth to that story? ‘Oh yeah, it’s true’, Pomata says. The one about Tom Cruise is also true. Cruise stopped at San Pietro Island one summer on his yacht. He wanted to eat at the famous Da Nicolo, but he hadn’t made a reservation. The restaurant was booked. That evening, the next evening, for the entire week. What were they supposed to do?
Scusi, we can’t. We really can’t.
‘Island chef sends Hollywood star packing’, the press promptly trumpeted. A slight exaggeration. ‘Cruise was nice, an ordinary guy’, says Pomata. ‘We prepared the food for porta via, take-away.’ Cruise and his entourage left the island carrying plastic bags.
Antonello Pomata walks through his restaurant in the evening, conversing with the guests. Most of them are just regular people. People who love the sea. Who love good food and the tuna that swims outside the door.
A soft wind caresses the palms lining the promenade. In the bar next door, the marinaios, the flaneurs of summer. Slippers flap beneath the tables, music tinkles from the bars and the waiters light their first cigarette. They clear the dishes, stack the chairs and slowly prepare for the end of their shift.
That, in a nutshell, is what life on this island off an island is like. Fortunately, San Pietro Island is far enough away from the rest of the world. A few invaluable nautical miles preserving a few centuries of unique history. That’s why it never gets late on this boulder in the sea. Let other people party, the sea will be waiting in the morning.
Not as work, but as life.
Antonello Pomata walks through his restaurant in the evening, conversing with the guests. Most of them are just regular people. People who love the sea. Who love good food and the tuna that swims outside the door.
A soft wind caresses the palms lining the promenade. In the bar next door, the marinaios, the flaneurs of summer. Slippers flap beneath the tables, music tinkles from the bars and the waiters light their first cigarette. They clear the dishes, stack the chairs and slowly prepare for the end of their shift.
That, in a nutshell, is what life on this island off an island is like. Fortunately, San Pietro Island is far enough away from the rest of the world. A few invaluable nautical miles preserving a few centuries of unique history. That’s why it never gets late on this boulder in the sea. Let other people party, the sea will be waiting in the morning.
Not as work, but as life.
Marc Bielefeld
Author
From a balloon to the desert, out to sea, into the ice: in twelve captivating reports and podcasts, the author describes fascinating places around the world and encounters with remarkable people.
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Jens Görlich
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Great moments, peaceful bliss, poignant scenes: the photographer from Frankfurt always has his camera ready to capture what words can’t express.
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Lufthansa
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Our suitcase was right at home in Italy as well. It filled up on souvenirs and gourmet delights, joined boat trips to visit grottoes and even survived a dive in the Mediterranean without a scratch.
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