Beautiful Sardinia - The magic island in the Mediterranian Sea

An island of myths and legends. Olysses once sailed past this rock. The Dolce Vita on the Emerald Coast, where Madonna of the Sea takes a swim and the people live much longer than those elsewhere. Sardinia. Eight in the morning at Sardinia's northern point, in La Maddalena National Park. It's a special day for Tommaso Gamboni from the Environment Authority. It is high time we did our annual check at the pink beach of Budeli. We want to check if everything is OK and if the beach has more colour again at last. Budeli. For Tommaso and his colleagues this is the nicest break from their office work. A site meeting on the island with the famous pink beach. The remains of it are now a protected area. For a good reason. A few crazy people have been known to drive over the island with amphibious vehicles and flatten everything beneath. There it is, the pink beach. This is the only place in Sardinia where it occurs in this concentration. The pink colour comes from Minnesina Minnesea. Microorganisms that live in the seagrass lawns off the island. When they die their pink shells separate off and sink to the bottom. Current carries the coloured particles to the beach and colours it pink. Such an enticing pink that visitors used to like taking a handful of sand with them. Can you see the headland? That's developed since our last visit but over there a dog must have run over it. Watch out tourists. Did you take some photos? Only with my eyes. It's in my head. No photo can do it justice. It is forbidden to take photos. One person is allowed to enjoy this beauty every day. Island warden Mauro. He's been looking after Budeli for 24 years day and night employed by the Environment Authority. More and more people in dinghies are coming here. You have influence over in the office. Please bring me some prohibition signs. I've been asking for years. Where are they? The rubber dinghies and ever full excursion boats are allowed to go as far as the barrier. Mauro keeps a constant eye on the intruders. They stole the pink sand by the ton and took it away in sacks, bottles, plastic bowls. If you take just a tiny bottle of sand you take away millions of these microorganisms and there are only three or four in each plant. Humanity will go extinct before the beach is as pink again as it was when I came here 24 years ago. The authority has seen enough. Back to the office. Next time bring good news. And cigarettes. And a good wine. Red. And don't forget the cigarettes. For most of the time Mauro is on his own here. A Robinson Crusoe who never wants to leave this island. He rarely goes to the mainland, only when supplies run out. Budeli is his life, even in winter when it doesn't feel quite so Caribbean anymore. Every night I have to pull the boat high up onto the beach. When the Tramontana winds are blowing the waves go up to those gorse bushes over there. The warden cannot control the sea, only the boats off the pink beach. Where you see the red line, the red mark, they are not allowed to cross that. They can cruise along the beach but aren't allowed to stop and they have to drive slowly, very slowly, otherwise the propellers churn up the seabed. There isn't a hostile armada off Budeli every day. When the tourists are gone, Mauro gets creative. This is my Christmas tree. I've decorated it with items washed up by the sea. And here it's Christmas all year round. Mauro from Budeli. Nobody knows his real name. Memories of Modena, where he was born. The city of Ferrari and Lamborghini are far away. His life on Budeli is not fast-paced. And that is why Mauro is here. For me Budeli means peace at last and joy. Even when the sea is rough or if it's raining, stormy or snowing. Here I am part of nature. That gives an inner peace that makes me very happy. But Mauro's paradise is threatened. The prospects are anything but rosy. There is a row over the privatisation of the island. Sardinia, a small continent on its own, in the middle of the Mediterranean. In the far north, La Maddalena. Such sandy beaches are rare on Sardinia. In the countless bays, every boat will find a place to anchor. Bandits used to make trouble in the mountains by Nuoro. Now sheep and goats graze here. The man in the sheep's skin is Mario de Sois. The black fur around his shoulders is meant to garner him the respect of his herd. A few Yui's have too much milk. That needs to come out, otherwise they are in pain. The supplementary food for the animal is getting more and more expensive. Hard times. Then Mario had a brainwave. He offered a few sheep up for adoption. Rich and famous from the Costa Smeralda were thrilled. No, no, no. Names of adoptive parents. It's all private. I will only say this. The one back there, turning its back to us, bother. Now it's run away. That one, that is Silvia Berlusconi. Well, that's what I've called him. He's the leader of the herd, he bosses everyone around. And this is Heidi, the prettiest of all, our model. She produces the best milk and today she is even smiling. The original Heidi is of course much prettier. But this one isn't bad, is it? Occasionally Mario makes an excursion to the VIPs on the Costa Smeralda. Sometimes I drive down to deliver some cheese to the customers. Everyone who has adopted a sheep here at a cost of 140 euros a year is entitled to seven kilograms of cheese and can choose a name. Sharp tongues call the Costa Smeralda the Emerald Coast, the Stolen Coast. Many farmers and shepherds felt deceived by the sale of their land to the millionaire Aga Khan and his friends. Mario is getting a little money back with this adoption scheme. The shepherd has smartened up and Ilyana is waiting. How is her sheep? She hopes it's well. Very well. It was eating corn this morning. It's only a short trip for Mario into the glamorous world of Porto Rotondo. But he'll be back again with more cheese and news of Ilyana's sheep. Alghero in the west of Sardinia, famous for its historic heritage and the wrecked corals off the coast. Piero Capula is one of just two dozen coral fishers who still regularly go out to dive here on the Riviera del Corallo. Together with Daniele, his boatsman, he's on his way to an area considered difficult. You never know where she might be hiding. That's why I call her the crazy coral. Coral fishing a dangerous occupation. Of course, I don't take any unnecessary risks, otherwise I would be a bad coral fisher. It is a philosophy of life to be a corallaro. We go diving like a train operator goes on the track and a banker to the bank. But I know it's unusual work and I have to be careful. At 58, Piero is the oldest active coral fisher. A corallaro veterano. He can't stop. He wouldn't consider using modern equipment. Why? The 75kg cylinders have never let him down. Getting ready for a dive. Nothing is possible without his boatman Daniele. Coral fishing is teamwork. The man in the water has to be able to rely 100% on the one on the boat. I have to pay full attention. One mistake is enough and the one in the water has a real problem. Piero descends at least 80m. It is forbidden to harvest corals above this height. The stock is already very depleted. I can see by the air bubbles that he is waiting a short while. Maybe he's looking around. If we're lucky, he's found something. The actual dive at this extreme depth only takes half an hour. It takes much longer, at least two hours, for Piero to come back up again. Otherwise he might get the bends. In the meantime, Daniele can draw the net up. These days one can't expect much. I thought it would be less, but it's looking quite good. Daniele sorts what Piero has collected. When they get back to the harbour, the coastguards will check if the corals are big enough. Otherwise there will be trouble and the catch will be confiscated. The sea of Algiers has the biggest and best corals in Sardinia. But coral fishing is a dying trade. Hardly anybody wants to face the risks. Many coragliari have lost their lives diving. Fausto Troisi doesn't dive himself anymore. He lets others do it. In other words, he used to let a robot do it, up until recently. We don't go down ourselves anymore with the heavy oxygen tanks around our neck. We send the robot. He can dismantle the corals surgically, so to speak. The life of a coral fisher should be worth as much to us as the coral. So if you want to avoid fatal accidents, you have to use robots. Then we'll finally see fewer widows in Alghero. Only robots to go down, that was the plan. That's the control desk. Solid Russian technology, like the robot itself. But unfortunately my robots are standing around in my garage. The new law forbids them to dive. Very unfair. As they save lives. Fausto's boat doesn't go out diving anymore. The regulating authority has forbidden robots. They harvest too many corals. Piero had to wait once more at 10 meters depth. Final halt before he resurfaces. Now things have to go swiftly. Piero can only stay on deck for a few minutes. Just enough to glance over his treasure. Intuition is very important for coral fishing. Just like collecting mushrooms. I started that eight years ago and always go out with a friend who's been doing it for longer. An old hand, finds much more than me. He can smell them. And I, not wanting to brag, can smell the corals underwater. Better than the robot. When we coral fishers wish each other luck, we say, off into the bum of a whale. Now he has to go to the decompression chamber for a further two hours. I'll be off to my private chamber. Constantly under pressure. It's not really a comfortable occupation being a coral fisher. In Agero Old Town we find the laboratory of Leo Camelo. In her hands the coral is turned into an artwork. To make money, Lea also creates what the customers demand. Necklaces, amulets, sculptures, octopus, small crabs and seahorses are the most popular. An item of jewellery made of red coral belongs in every Italian household. Corals bring good luck, protect from illness and the evil eye. In legend the coral is Medusa's spilt blood. The colour of the coral, this vivid red, is symbolic of life. The coral is also thought to have healing and magical powers. Of course, if you work with corals, you really believe that. Many coral objects in the tourist shops of Agero are cheap forgeries and certainly not awarded art prizes such as this fragile beauty in Lea's jewellery cabinet. Priceless. In this day and age of copies and forgeries, we think we can reproduce anything. I think at least that one cannot forge a coral that comes from 120, 130 meters underwater. It cannot be forged. It must not be forged at all. Half of Agero is out for an evening stroll in the old town above the sea, with or without corals. Early morning on the Sinis Peninsula on the wild west coast of Sardinia. Nearby Cabras is the world's capital of Potaga. That is what the roe of the grey mullet is called on Sardinia. The caviar of the Mediterranean. The mullet live in the brackish pools around the town. When the fish want to return to sea to spawn, they end up in the traps. The men are getting ready at the Pontis Cooperative. We used to go in bathing trunks, but the beasts jump at you and leave their bones in your leg. Today we have protective suits. But even in a wetsuit, catching mullet is still a job for a real man. Most of them here have been with the cooperative for many years. It's easier together. And it takes two to catch a grey mullet anyway. One holds the net, the other dives. You have to be fast. Grab it, put it into the net and close it fast. Otherwise the mullet escapes again. The females are hardest to catch. Those with the roe, the Potaga. Salvatore, nicknamed King Kong, is one of the most experienced in the group. This one here has a lot of Potaga. Nice specimen. Francesco, take a look at this one. Fifteen minutes of exertion. Then the day's catch is in. Not bad. We wouldn't have thought it this morning. Now they have to clean up. I'll wash the beast. What would they do without King Kong? Salvatore caught the most today, like every day. Well, we oldies, we can still deliver. If they hurry, they can get their load to the fish market in time. Only the males are sold. They are good on a barbecue. Enough for today. Nothing will happen until Monday because the fish market is closed tomorrow. Start again on Monday. The female grey mullets are brought to the cooperative's fish hall for further processing. The roe is salted, pressed and dried to turn into Sardinia's caviar. In sausage format. Potaga tastes better than its appearance suggests. Nowhere on Sardinia is far from the sea. The village of Perdas de Fogu in the southeast. Here, people live longer than elsewhere. The only place with more centenarians is the Japanese island of Okinawa. Adolfo Melis is working in his bar, like he does every day. Aged 92, he is not the oldest person in the village still working regularly. I've been standing behind this bar since 1958, for as long as I can remember. For a while my brother was with me, but I was mostly on my own. Only now I am at my best. Sunday afternoon, not much going on. Time for a few words with the customers. Nobody can explain why the people living in this part of Sardinia live for so long. Only the Lord knows the secret of long life. My sister, Consolata, says the same. This much strength at a great age, only God can see to that. Helped by, in Adolfo's case, a double espresso. In the mountains around Perdas de Fogu, between home oak woods and granite rocks, we get closer to unravelling the secret. This is the Melis family's vegetable plot. It's tended by Adolfo and his brother Vitalio, who is the youngest, aged 90. We started in 1949, that's when we built the garden, and since then we've been working here. Every day, God brings, I've been here. Of course they only eat home-grown vegetables. A healthy diet is an important factor in the fertile rural life of the Melis family. Our sister, Consolata, raised 14 children. Eight of them are still alive. She always worked, day and night, always. A life of toil, no, of exaggerated sacrifice. They are all like that, my sisters. Look, a few of those into the salad, and add some beans. And a few fried courgettes. It's healthy, I'm telling you. At home it's like this, down in the bar I wash the dishes, and upstairs my wife does them. I help her when I can, of course. I sometimes put the dirty dishes into the dishwasher. A wife isn't a slave. For today, the garden has generated enough. Enough fresh air, too. They have to go home. Consolata has invited them for coffee. Consolata is the eldest sister in the family. Together, the nine siblings reach a combined age of 819 years. A Guinness World Record. Consolata, how are you? Consolata is 107 and has many plans. For example, to get married. You're not allowed to say that you're in poor health. You have to say that you are strong and healthy. Otherwise your marriage won't happen. I know that you'd like a companion again. You've removed your wedding ring. I can hardly wait, but I know once something's gone, it's gone. In this way, a morning is spent. Time is of no consequence. Could your husband do a good tomato sauce? No, that was rubbish. Could he make a fire? Yes, he could do that. We should drive to the sea. The small house with the garden on the water. Some time by the sea, a month on the beach, that's good for the old bones. Would you like caramel? They are nearly always together. Maybe that is the most important ingredient for their long life. On the beach of Sant'Antioco. Chiara Vigo is a little late with her morning ritual. This is how she welcomes every day. With this writing, these words in the sand, I express my loyalty to the water, the sea. I have asked the sea in an ancient secret cipher to grant me, and those that accompany me, a nice day. And it is a nice day. For Chiara, however, it has already been desecrated by unwanted beachgoers, who are putting their beach chairs on the sacred sand. The water is holy. And the marine silk is the thread that connects the Holy Ghost with us humans. The water, the sea, is priceless. The marine silk is holy. Not everyone here on the coast of Sant'Antioco understands Chiara exactly. But she is respected. A self-announced high priestess of the sea and maestro del bisso, master of the marine silk. She finds her fragile raw material half a meter underwater. The fine threads, with which the giant shellfish Pinanobilis anchors itself into the mud. Chiara's museum of marine silk is also her workshop, and a little bit of a witch's kitchen. The Bible already mentions marine silk, and Jules Verne talks about it in his novel Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea. The thread that Pinanobilis dispenses solidifies in contact with seawater and turns into pure silk. They are the mooring ropes of a large bivalve. After it has been cleaned, the silk is spun, an ancient craft, holy art for Chiara. And she would only have half the fun without the conjuring tricks. Attention, now it gets magical. The magic formula, 15 seaweeds, 2 lemons and some seawater. The brew makes the silk glow nice and golden. I once made a tie for Bill Clinton, and a rosary for Pope Benedict. That gave me huge pleasure. It had a blue ceramic base, the ribbon and of course the cross were made from braided marine silk. Lovely. In the north of Sardinia, on the La Maddalena archipelago, the town of Palau is waiting for its high point of the year, the feast of the Madonna of the Sea. It's Saturday evening. Anna Massu and a few friends are decorating the statue in the church for the big event. Tomorrow we'll carry the Madonna to the procession on the sea. In this way we remember the battleship Trieste that was sunk not far from this harbour, so many dead. The Madonna has to be ready by tomorrow's midday mass. Don Salvatore Matta is also counting the hours. Nobody from Rome will attend, but at least the bishop is coming. The sea is a part of us. The sea is as pervasive in our lives as the air that we breathe. That's enough up there. Put that down a bit so the buds don't show. Do you understand? Cut it off, there. Capo d'Osso, the bear cape, named after the bear-like silhouette of the rock. It watches over the bay which Ulysses once sailed past. Shortly before mass, the chief of police is there. Any problems? All under control. We're ready and are waiting for things to start. Of course we carry the Madonna in our hands. It goes straight to our hearts. To carry the Madonna, lovely. She gives us strength when we haven't got any. Love and strength. Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus Christ. Amen. The Madonna only comes off her pedestal once a year, to go to sea. The whole town is out in the streets. Don Salvatore and the bishop are already on board. But then, the ship is too low, there had been no time to practice, and now the Madonna doesn't fit under the canopy. Lift her, carefully. A small catastrophe for Anna, her floral decorations. Did you see that? Dear God, the Madonna will laugh at us when she sees how we're messing things up here. I'm a bit cross that they ruined my flowers, but let's celebrate the day. And then, the highlight. The pilots of the Coast Guard throw the flower wreath into the water, to honor the dead of the sea. It is Anna's wreath. She spent half a night making the flower wreath for these few seconds. Did you see that? So pretty. Heaven, Madonna, and everyone else knows, after the procession is before the procession. On Sardinia, the magical island in the Mediterranean.