One of my big frustrations as a little boy, was that the Church in Turri (My birth town, if we call a town a group of some houses surrounding the church) didn't have a church tower.

As you know in the old times, the church towers were landmarks used to for orientation in space, and the sound of the church bells were used as orientation in time. Life was centered around the church and the priester was the main source of information, and that gave him a powerful position .... not counting the secrets that he knew from the confessional - worse than the C.I.A.

Outside the village, I could see the churches of all the neighboring villages; they all have a tower: San Lorenzo, Sant' Antonio, Sant' Ignazio. Turri was invisible from a distance: tucked away amongst small waving hills, like green waves in a sleepy ocean. Sometimes I thought that Turri didn't exist at all, and I doubted if even I existed.
To sound the bells, you to climb to the roof and hang on the bell ropes, one major bell, one minor bell, like brothers.
I was terrified and I never had the courage to do it. I saws myself hanging on the bells in mid hair. No sir, I will not do it.
Once the small bell fell down, making a big hole in the concrete. Nobody was hurt; it happened just when all the people were inside the church. 'Miracle!' said the priest


Time goes by, the church is still there,  but here is no more priest and no one to sound the bells. Sometimes a priest is rented from a bigger city to celebrate the Mass on important days like Christmas.

That was for the past. About the present. I'll have to adjust to the culture of a West Vlanderen way of life and instead of opening a bottle of wine to celebrate the Sunday (and the rest of the week too), I'll just open a bottle of Belgian beer, Leffe in this case. Not bad at all, but not that of of the special ones which are reserved for special days. The Belgians like to put their beer in champagne looking bottles; not a bad idea at all.


I'm getting used to walking to the sand worm - a work art made by a Finnish artist from Italian origin, with the help of some Dutch people; Marco Casagrande.  It is made from willow branches woven together.  I like to think that he was inspired by the Sandworm of Dune, a science fiction novel written by Frank Herbert. I like to imagine myself getting to ride this huge sand worm. It has become a landscape marker on the dunes, next to the café where even horses can come and have a beer.


Meanwhile on the beach the sea gulls are having a good time helping in digging for sand. I think they are convinced that the Flemish authorities are doing all this digging just to get some food for them. At least they scream 'Thank you! Thank you! all day long.

I spoke several days ago, about yesterday, being the 1st of May. In Europe this is considered as labour day, which means most people don't go to work this day, and many add the Monday to the weekend, so they make a very long weekend out of it.

In Sardinia the first of May is Saint Efisio day, and an opportunity to celebrate. Sardinians live to celebrate. They do it with a Sardonic smile on their face. An obvious thing to do being from Sardinia.

You can eat traditional food too: snails and fresh fava beans, and raw artichokes or cheese with maggots.
This time I will post the original way of eating snails; it is a little bit like kissing some nice lady .... not the same outcome though.

By the way the snails didn't taste great. Sorry snails , I will not do it again, but it was fun.




There was a big parade the 1st of May, in Cagliari. Lots of horses and people wearing the old costumes, many playing old music with horizontal old instruments (Sono de cannas). Sardinians love traditions, and they make a big effort to keep them.

It is like staying outside the main stream of time. Staying by the side of the river of time, and just watching the time  (water) go by.