At least three people liked my recent Rio Vista report (The Revenge of
Rio Vista), and at least one didn't.  The ratio seems O.K. so here is
another report.  This one involves some actual windsurfing.

The Aga Khan knew what he was doing when he bought that part of
northeastern Sardinia now called the Emerald Coast.  It's a nice area.
My uncle owns a vacation house just south of there, where he often
invites me.  I was there the second week of September.  Above the
Emerald Coast lay the Bocche di Bonifacio, a funnel-shaped strait
between Sardinia and Corsica.  On the Sardinia side, facing the
Bocche, is Porto Pollo, the windiest spot.  Clearly we had to go
there.

Have you seen ``The Spy Who Loved Me''?  There is a car-helicopter
chase on a hilly road near the sea.  We were driving a white Fiat on
that road.  The driver was Piero.  Piero is a cousin of my mother, and
an opera director.  According to him, Pavarotti once told him:
``Piero, you are a genius, and you would be the best if you did not
fight with everybody''.  In one of his most famous fights he slapped
the face of the director of the Salzburg Festival.  I read about it in
the newspapers.  I guess artists have to be like that.  But what do I
know, I am an engineer.

Next to Piero was uncle Luigi.  He is an excellent uncle: everybody
should have an uncle Luigi.  He likes adventure and exploration.  His
most unexplainable defect is that he likes Piero.  In the back, us
kids: myself, my former girlfriend Martha, and Alessandro.  Martha has
windsurfed three times, always at Lake Del Valle near Livermore.  But
she rides horses well.  Alessandro on the other hand was the first
person to use a short board in Baia Brandinchi.  Brandinchi, by the
way, is his grandfather's last name.

On the way to Porto Pollo we stopped at Porto Cervo, the main
community of the Emerald Coast.  A dozen large yachts were leaving the
harbor for one of the trials of the Merit Cup.  The wind was very
light.  We realized it would not be enough to windsurf.  Piero was not
keen on windsurfing anyway.  He proposed to go to the race triangle, a
couple of miles off the coast.  We rented an inflatable boat with an
outboard motor, called ``big rubber'' in Italian, and were off.

We spent a few hours watching the race from the downwind buoy.  It
was all right, but not as exciting as taming Mother Nature with a
board and a sail.  When we got back to the land, Piero suggested to go
to the Yacht Club for a coffee.  The reason for his interest in large
yacht races became suddenly obvious: social contacts.  On our way to
the bar he had already spotted and greeted several well-known persons,
including Marta Marzotto.  If you don't know who she is it's because
you are not Italian.  As we sat at the table, he said: ``I love
Sardinia in September, because the crowds have left, and what remains
is the cream of the cream''.  I like spending time with Piero for two
reasons.  One, by comparison I can appreciate what an incredibly nice
person I am.  Two, I get a chance to practice some of my best virtues,
such as tolerance and patience.

We went to see the yachts back from the race, all of them moored at
the same pier.  For the first time in the day, Piero became an asset.
He knew someone on the winning boat, an 80-foot two-mast monster, and
we were invited to visit it.  On the way downstairs, I slipped and did
the stairs on my behind.  Piero was clearly embarassed to be in the
company of such clumsy people.

Two days later, the wind came up.  Nice wind from the south, about 15
knots.  Not the best wind for Porto Pollo, so we stayed near home, in
front of the island Tavolara.  Piero took his windsurfer, I took my
uncle's, Martha the big rubber.  What prehistoric equipment!  A large,
heavy HiFly board with a flattish 5.0 sail and a sluggish
acceleration.  Clearly the uncle had not kept up with technology.  But
there was enough wind to plane, and we arrived at the main Tavolara
beach before Martha.

There I asked Piero to let me try his board.  It was poorly rigged,
not enough downhaul.  I pulled the mast extension out a little, then
went out alone.  The setup was better, but after the second waterstart
I heard cracking sounds and realized that the mast had broken at the
base.  The wind was pushing me towards the open sea, but Tavolara was
not too far to the side and I started self-rescue.  The water was
quite warm and I wore only a neoprene short-sleeved shirt.

I was making good progress when Piero and Martha arrived in the big
rubber.  Piero: ``What happened?''  Me: ``The mast broke.''  P: ``How
is it possible?''  M: ``It broke at the base.''  P: ``Well... it's
because you extended the mast.''  M: ``Yes, but it was designed to be
extended.''  P: ``Look at that, the equipment was doing fine and you
had to ruin everything by being a perfectionist!''  I did not feel
like being slapped in the face, so I agreed.  P: ``And be thankful
that we saw you in trouble, or you would be on your way to
Civitavecchia!''  M: ``I think I was going to make it to the island.''
P:  ``Forget it! Not in your dreams!''  M: ``Allright, thanks for
saving me.''

The next day the wind was even a little stronger, and I wasn't going
to waste it on the uncle's equipment.  I went to Porto Taverna, just
half a mile away, a long, shallow beach with white sand and green
water on the west side of a small bay.  Wind still from the south.  I
rented a Mistral Screamer with a 4.9 sail, got in the water, made sure
it was deep enough for the fin, and jumped on.  Ahhh!  Speed!  In a
few seconds I was in the middle of the bay, and I ran into a serious
hole.  I quickly started losing momentum, had to move forward, stopped
planing, why isn't the wind coming back?  The hole lasted an eternity!
The board started sinking and there wasn't enough wind to even keep my
balance.  I dunked and kept a waterstarting asset for a while.
Finally the wind returned, picked me up and slammed me to the other
side of the board.  What the hell?  Talk about gusty!  Maybe it's
because the wind was coming from the land, and the mountains added
some large-scale turbulence.  But it was like that until I quit, on
and off and on and off.

Overall, I strongly recommend Sardinia.  When you windsurf you don't
just go up and down practicing your jibes.  You can explore the coast
and the islands, and find beautiful little hidden beaches at the end
of rocky coves.  Just stay away from opera directors.