Sardinians are always very keen to distinguish themselves from mainland Italians. This is apparent not only in the food but in every cultural detail. They even have their own ancient dialect  -  Sardo.

I had never before been driven to tears by a weather forecast. But there in front of the TV screens at Cagliari airport, I suddenly felt that involuntary tremor of my lower lip, followed by a vague tightening in my throat and then a glistening well that blurred my vision.
With steely determination I pulled myself together. I reminded myself that I had come to sample the culinary delights of Sardinia's famed cuisine, to immerse myself in its rich history, to explore deep into its unique mountainous scrubland perfumed by wild thyme and rosemary. I was here to discover the 'real' Sardinia - even if my somewhat imbalanced luggage ratio of bikinis to walking gear suggested a slightly different motivation.
Just 40 minutes' drive from Cagliari airport, beyond the pink-flamingo nesting grounds of Sardinia's south-western marshlands, lay our first port of call: Forte Village. Crowned for the 11th year running the 'World's Leading Family Resort', this is a 25-hectare holiday wonderland. If only its gloriousness had been matched by the weather - leaden skies and an apocalyptic forecast of flash floods.
Leaving our car at reception, my boyfriend Adam and I were taken on the journey to our hotel in a Noddy cart, crossing cobbled walkways flanked by resplendent gardenias, hibiscus and palm trees  -  and at every juncture a flamingo pond.
The enormous resort boasts a multitude of activities; a mini-football club, 12 floodlit tennis courts, putting greens, go-kart tracks, dozens of children's pools, bowling alleys and a centre specially for playing Nintendo games.
Greeting us at Le Dune, one of eight five-star hotels in the resort, was Giuseppe, the manager, who guided us past its glass-fronted Michelin restaurant and under the vine arches to our enormous suite. The room and the bathroom were beautifully decorated and, hidden by olive and palm trees, our terrace and private garden opened out to the turquoise seafront.
Naturally, I was still worried about the weather. Taking Giuseppe aside, I asked him about my chances of getting a tan. 
'Worry not, Miss Dwan,' he said. 'At Forte Village we have a very special micro-climate because of the mountains. It might rain only for a little while but then in no time is again... sunny!'
The skies told a different story. Fearing that we might never get outside, I checked out the food facilities - where the outlook was very good. There are more than 21 restaurants within a few paces of one another, ranging from those serving traditional Sardinian fare, to steak houses, pizzerias and extraordinary fine-dining venues. It's possible to eat in a different restaurant for every meal.
Sardinians are always very keen to distinguish themselves from mainland Italians. This is apparent not only in the food but in every cultural detail. They even have their own ancient dialect  -  Sardo.
When D. H. Lawrence came to Sardinia with his wife Frieda in 1921, the thing that struck him most was the hospitality he received, and the 'salty' sincerity of the Sardinians, compared with 'the macaroni slithery-slobbery mess of modern adorations' that he had observed elsewhere.
And a warm welcome remains throughout the island. Perhaps it is because Sardinia joined the tourist route relatively recently, and cynicism hasn't entirely set in. Until the Fifties, the marshlands we passed on our way from the airport had been host to malaria and an enemy of the 'bling' that blights Sardinia's brash Costa Smeralda. Giuseppe told us: 'The famous people come here, the people who want to be famous go to Costa Smeralda.'
The Forte resort is particularly proud of the thalassotherapy treatment available in its thermae spa, where guests can exploit the beneficial effect of seawater in six high-saline density pools set in the tropical gardens.
Having bobbed about in the pools for an hour or so, I was ready to meet my ' massotherapist', Andre. I told him about my previous back injury and he asked me to lie flat  -  while he dug out a huge broomstick.
I began to worry: Had I in my garbled Sardo requested a sado-massotherapist? Having rolled the stick along my body, he pulled and tugged at my limbs and then  -  in what I thought was a slightly unconventional move  -  hung me upside-down by my feet until my skeleton shrieked. After a final roll of the broomstick, he declared: 'Lizzzzaaa, now you are aligned!'
Newly aligned, I was ready to see more of Sardinia. Forte is a great place to holiday with children, but I was kidless and restless so - deciding to dodge the showers - and armed with driving instructions in Italian and the fact that we both knew the words for right and left, we travelled deep into Sardinia's hinterland, heading for Su Gologone, a country hotel surrounded by olive groves and vineyards in the Supramonte mountains.
After a five-hour drive, I was amazed to find it was completely full - and wondered how all these people had managed to find it. But its remoteness adds to its allure. As does its food. The hotel was established in the Sixties by the Palimodde family, who wanted to showcase the local 'casalinga'-style cuisine, the type at the time found only in traditional Sardinian homes.
Su Gologone's reputation grew and spread, and these days it attracts food connoisseurs in numbers.
By the gigantic open fireplace in the corner of the restaurant, attending to a neatly stacked row of pronged, roasting piglets, stood a petite elderly woman in neat traditional widow dress. Mrs Pasqua Palimodde governs every service in the packed restaurant, where not a single plate escapes her watchful eye. She was taught to cook by her grandmother, who in turn learned from her grandmother, and employs only women in the kitchen. The same chefs have been preparing her family recipes for more than 40 years.
'Women are much better in the kitchen than men, as they have small hands and much empathy,' Pasqua said. I think she meant that they know what she wants and how to keep it that way.
Once the appetite is aroused by the delicious foreplay of antipasti, the tender sucklingpig dissolves like butter on the tongue. Then there is guanciale  -  a salt-cured jowl of a pig, sliced so that you can see the merest ribbon of pink flesh in a velvety lard  -  and culurgiones, finger-pinched pasta filled with mashed potato, pecorino cheese, garlic-parsley and mint. During the leek and fennel ravioli, I almost wept - again.
Like the food, the hotel decor is based on tradition. Pasqua's daughter, giovanna, is the artist responsible for the tasteful weave of old and new and the development of the hotel's art centre where guests can learn the traditional skills of embroidery and pottery from artists in residence.
Each room is dedicated to an individual Sardinian artist. Juniper branches hang from ceilings, bedspreads are woven with colourful embroidery, bold paintings, ornate carpets and tablecloths are all produced by local craftsmen.
As night stars fell like a canopy of fairy lights above our heads, we were invited out to the terrace to hear the traditional tenor singers from Oliena, the nearest town. Four burly men stood in a huddle facing one another in traditional dress. One male voice chanted a melody while the others followed it with repetitive gutteral sounds. The effect was like a voyage to a prehistoric age, when people imitated the sounds of nature.
Eventually, we headed for bed and their soporific, vibrating melodies  -  a cross between Tibetan monks and a herd of goats  -  rebounded off the mountains and lowed us to sleep.
Next morning, after a refreshing dip in the hotel's freezing natural spring pool, we headed off for our hike through the mountains. On the rocky ascent we could see why Sardinia has been called The Unconquered Island. The Romans called the inland area 'Barbagio' after the local tribes of 'barbarians' and they could never conquer them.
The giant granite peaks hide deep caves and valleys, where villagers over the centuries retreated to in times of threat. From the highest peak, Punta Corrasi, we saw farmlands peter out into the wilderness of the macchia  -  an arid, jumbled landscape of myrtle, juniper, rosemary and sage. All along the way, we saw wild pigs and muflone - an ancient variety of wild sheep with horns  -  feasting on the grasses and herbs
With lush green moors, mountainous-forests, farmland, lagoons, ocean and the macchia all within a swift panoramic view, Sardinia feels not so much a country as a compact continent.
Our journey on to The Costa Smeralda was somewhat simpler than our trip to Su Gologone: all we had to do was tuck our little rented Fiat Cinquecento in behind a convoy of seven Ferrari convertibles heading towards the coast. Sure enough, it was doortodoor service, as they unknowingly guided us through the gates of one of the world's most expensive hotels - Cala di Volpe in Porto Cervo.
Initially the holiday home of the Aga Khan when he arrived in the Sixties, the hotel's grounds have attracted the rich and famous and their friends since day one. They remain loyal to the place, returning in yachts, helicopters and Ferraris for more than 40 years. Consolidating the sense of glamour and the elite's sense of identity are the exorbitant prices. The hotel's price lists are a great hunger suppressant; I was glad the nuts at the bar were free.
Built on the site of an ancient fishing village, the 124room Cala di Volpe was designed in 1963 by Frenchman Jacques Couelle and prides itself on its simplicity and rustic charm  -  but perhaps it's just a little too rustic. We had a tiny room with a bath and a flimsy shower hose, and a phone from the Seventies that didn't work. It made us wonder what all the hype was about.
Michele Cantatore has been the face of Cala di Volpe for over four decades and continuesa tradition of employing local people. 'They are the big reason why guests keep returning year after year,' he said. 'They combine unfussy charm with magnificent hospitality. Nothing is too much trouble'  -  although perhaps our porter Diago was taking hospitality to the extreme as he hauled a double canoe into my room, simply because I mentioned that a paddle in the pool below our window 'would be nice'.
Outside, a short walk across the wooden bridge that connects Porto Cervo to the Old harbour, is Il Pescatore, an upmarket fish restaurant with a waterfront terrace. Bubbly host Agostino gave us the 'tour of fame'  -  'Over there, table five, is where Diana and "him" dined the night before she died,' he revealed, 'and here, of course, is where my friend Bono and his wife sit and watch the ocean...'
Back at the Cala di Volpe, we made for the restaurant, which is recognised as one of the best in the world. There, our chef used a mobile stove to cook our meals to our tastes at our table, laughing and joking all the while. This personalised treatment ensured that we felt like old friends.
As the evening progressed, an elderly couple rose to dance by the piano. 'We always dance when we come here,' the lady said. I asked her how often she had returned. 'Once a year has kept us going for 40,' she said. 'There is simply nowhere like this on Earth. We can barely afford it with the recession, but one has to keep on living, doesn't one?'
Costa Smeralda certainly suited her, but if I am to return to these shores, I'll do as the Sardinians do and retreat to the hills, back to nature at peaceful Su Gologone - whatever the weather.
http://www.dailymail.co.uk/travel/article-1267019/
Sardinia-breaks-Actress-Lisa-Dwan-surrenders-
Italys-loveliest-island-Forte-Village-Su-Gologone.html#
 

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