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There are places you sail to, and there are places that never leave you. Northern Sardinia is the latter — a sanctuary for salt-stung hearts and wind-chased wanderers. It’s more than a
destination; it’s a feeling you carry long after you’ve hauled anchor.
We set our course from Cannigione, a quiet harbor that feels like a warm welcome. The pastel hues of the waterfront, the scent of wild myrtle in the air… it all slows your pulse. But the wind had other plans, tugging at our sails like a child eager to play. We answered, of course.
From there, we slipped into a dream — the La Maddalena Archipelago. My God. No chart can prepare you for the stillness of its blue lagoons or the rugged beauty of Caprera. It’s a sailor’s Eden. We dropped anchor in the front row of Cala Coticcio and dove headfirst into waters so clear, it felt like flying. The granite cliffs stood guard around us like ancient gods.
Later, the wind turned playful again, so we skimmed down toward Porto Pollo — a place stitched together by windsurf sails and sun-drenched laughter. It’s wild and alive, the kind of anchorage where you sleep with salt in your hair and stories in your bones.
But the north doesn’t just speak in untamed gusts. It sings in luxury too. Cala di Volpe greeted us next, a silky crescent of beach wrapped in elegance. The bay sparkled like champagne under the sun, and we clinked glasses at anchor, watching the twilight melt across the sky.
Then came Porto Cervo — proud, opulent, legendary. We felt small arriving among the superyachts, but in the wind’s embrace, we were equals. The town bustled, but the sea remained unchanged, vast and welcoming. There’s something surreal about sailing into such polished glamor with sand still clinging to your feet.
And finally, Porto Rotondo — quieter than Cervo but just as spellbinding. The marina lights twinkled like stars fallen into the sea. We sat on deck that night, listening to the creak of our boat, the whisper of wind in the rigging, and the soft lapping of water. And we didn’t speak. We didn’t need to.
Rising almost impossibly out of the Tyrrhenian Sea like a great limestone throne, Isola di Tavolara is one of those places that feels more myth than reality. Towering cliffs, sheer and wild, shoot nearly 600 meters straight up from the water, commanding reverence from even the most seasoned seafarer.
Geographically, it’s not far from Olbia, but Tavolara feels like it belongs to another world. Sailors often anchor in the turquoise shallows near Spalmatore di Terra, a small strip of beach where you can go ashore. There, a few houses and a family-run trattoria serve up local seafood, and if you’re lucky, you might hear the story — the one every sailor loves — of the Kingdom of Tavolara.
Yes, that’s right. Tavolara was once a kingdom. In the 1800s, Giuseppe Bertoleoni declared himself king, and the family still holds onto the legend today. There’s even a royal tomb in the small cemetery, nestled between the cliffs and the sea. It’s this mix of mystery and isolation that gives Tavolara its magic.
The waters around the island are protected — part of the Tavolara – Punta Coda Cavallo Marine Protected Area — which means you’ll be sharing the anchorage with dolphins, groupers, and seabirds rather than noisy jetskis. It’s peace, in its truest and most raw Mediterranean form.
If La Maddalena is the siren of northern Sardinia, then Tavolara is the sentinel — proud, silent, and unforgettable. Sail past it and you’ll feel small, anchor near it and you’ll feel something deeper: a connection to the old sea, the kind that doesn’t fade with time or tide.
It’s not just a waypoint. Tavolara is a moment. And like all the best ones at sea, it lingers.
Northern Sardinia doesn’t ask for your attention — it steals it gently, like the tide under your hull. It’s a sailor’s heartbeat, echoing long after you’ve set a new course. And if you’re lucky, the wind there will tell you secrets only the sea knows.
Fair winds,
— Your sailing dreamer in the Med
