Travels With Hannah: From Sardina to Rome

We swept into Su Gologone, in Sardinia’s Barbagia region, in late afternoon. The Sunday drive from Olbia Costa Smeralda Airport, on the island’s northeastern coast, had been uneventful, a carless drive marked by a craggy landscape. Not a speck of blue, despite the fact that Barbagia also touches the coast.

Su Gologone, which opened in 1967 thanks to Giuseppe “Peppeddu” Palimodde, who aimed to offer traditional Sardinian foods in an area dominated by bandits, is a 71-room and -suite treasure, tucked among cacti, sprawling bougainvillea, and lavender in the rocky hills of the sparsely populated region. It’s an artist’s haven — a so-called experience hotel — where guests can sign up for mosaic-making classes and dream catcher-making classes and experience dinners within dedicated gardens. Breakfast, served on a terrace overlooking the pool, is included for every guest, and most guests (ourselves included) opt, too, for a half-board stay. Dinner is served on that same terrazza, but in the central courtyard, even those leaving the property can bear witness to the pièce de résistance: suckling pigs roasting in an open fireplace.

We had come to get a feel of the north before heading south. Sardinia, Italy’s second-largest island, next to Sicily, of course, prides itself on its aquamarine waters and pristine beaches. From May through August, celebrities and wealthy Italians flock to the tony slip of beach called the Costa Smeralda, the Emerald Coast, where properties like the newly renovated Belmond Romazzino charge $3,000 a night and up.

At Su Gologone, we were shown to the Art Studio Villa, once the creative space of artist, designer, collector, and the hotel’s proprietor, Giovanna Palimodde. The space is now a private sanctuary, with two distinct sleeping areas, a sweeping garden, private pool, and rooftop terrace. Palimodde’s paints and art supplies now serve as their own objets d’art in the studio space.

Time is suspended at Su Gologone. After drinks one night at the Magico Tablao, a bar set into the hill, we joined Palimodde for a multicourse meal at Sos Nidos, celebrating the centennial Blue Zone lifestyle of Sardinia. Tucked into a sparsely lit garden that was fragrant with lavender, we ate our way through traditional courses: frughe, or a traditional cheese soup; green lasagna with zucchini and thyme; and beef with Nepente’s sauce. Our meal concluded near an open fire, where, over plates of local warm, raclette-style cheese, we watched local singers from the town of Oliena.

Eat. Sleep. Eat. Beach. Eat. Wander. Such were our Sardinian days. We made it to the famed beaches of the Orosei region, where the water is the color of the Caribbean Sea, stopping for lunch on the way back at an agritourismo in Dorgali. In Barbagia, platters of charcuterie — sopressata, prosciutto, bresola — appear at the table with every meal, no doubt procured from some secret meat cave.

The road to get south — our final days on the island were spent in Chia Laguna, at the Conrad property that opened two summers ago — one must drive west, and so we stopped at Is Arutas, a picture-perfect beach outside of the city of Oristano, where locals crammed into rock grottoes to swim, jump and snorkel. For lunch: linguine alle vongole, made with tiny local clams, and purple homemade pasta with shrimp tartare from a place called Pepenero Ristorante & Pizzeria, in the city proper.

Down to the south, where, from the window, my kids shouted about the spindly birds standing in the surf. Flamingos! They couldn’t believe their eyes! The aquamarine sea turned green at La Dune and Monte Cogoni, the two beaches where our hotel had sunbeds and cabanas set up for us each morning.

Then it was time, all too quickly, to head to Rome, abandoned in the wake of Ferragosto, the annual August 15 festival. The Eternal City was surviving one of its hottest summers, and we were thankful both for our spacious junior suite and for our pool at the 110-room and -suite Villa Agrippina Gran Meliá, just a 10-minute walk from the Vatican.

On our first afternoon, we were picked up, mercifully, in an air-conditioned car for our three-hour private tour through Imago Artis Travel. Within the cavernous Vatican, itself the smallest country in the world, our art historian tour guide, Jessica, navigated us through public and private spaces. We had the Bramante Staircase — as well of a view of Rome — all to ourselves. The tour was my 5-year-old’s favorite part of our Italian summer.

We had more to see, though. The next day, our hotel treated us to a second tour, this time by golf cart. For three hours, we scooted through the streets of Rome, through alleyways and impossible nooks, visiting the Bernini’s famed Trevi Fountain, the Spanish steps, and, of course, the Coliseum. For lunch, our guide deposited us at Ristorante Ponte & Parione, a bistro not far from Campo di Fiore. Outside, a woman made pasta by hand. We ordered it with clams, as well as the special: giant, orb-like ravioli, stuffed with buffalo ricotta and topped with fresh tomato sauce and burrata.

For dinner, we were guests of Rocco Forte Hotels’ Hotel de Russie, where, after a tour of the new Fairytale Suite by Hamleys — guests can book the family-style suite, complete with an outfitted room for children, through early 2025 — we were escorted to the property’s signature restaurant, Le Jardin de Russie, an oasis within the city. First: seared scallops beneath shaved summer truffles. Amberjack crudo, with a Pantelleria pesto, was inescapably good. Cacio e pepe came in the form of delicate ravioli. More linguine, more tiny vongole. A veal chop, sliced and stuffed with sage and topped with ribbons of prosciutto: saltimbocca.

The light had grown dim. My husband ordered a grappa. My kids ordered quenelles of gelato. As our own hotel greeted us for the final night, we could smell the citrus trees that lined the path. Just a taste of Italy, really. Enough to make us want so much more.