It 's the name of a village in the province of Cagliari.
until a few years ago it was common for me one of the many Italians who do not know, is now a place of memory.
The first time I've been there to tell the truth I have not seen much, only the House of Manolo era after a ride up and down the strip of asphalt track designed in collaboration by the patron saint of motorcyclists and its consideration tempter.
Then it was one evening in late April, I still remember the warmth in the house of his father and mother of Manolo. I had not seen before and yet I felt like a cousin they had not seen for a long time, accepted as a member of the family that reluctantly they were separated. In this
end of January I returned to "Sardosterra" to celebrate the birthday of Manolo. I spent three wonderful days with people extraordinary people for whom family values, hospitality, friendship is still something to live and grow.
Starting with the family of Manolo in its entirety. Some of them I had never seen and yet all we are sitting at the table together in what I like to call PURA family friendliness. The beauty of the small towns of the province is just that, the natural rhythms of life still manage to slip, where Sunday lunch is still a chance to be together in reinforcing the family as the emotional ties.
The mother and father, two simple people from the hands made rough from work, a disarming smile in the genuineness of the act. Nothing is fake or anything and tried wanted, it's all natural.
The pig, his involuntary sacrifice for the success of the day, all joined in a united and noisy symphony of sensations at the end of the meal was definitely tried, I could not say no to anything, I would feel like a thankless bearer of contempt of the Family.
I associate all this in place, Dolianova that for me now is associated with feeling good, like few other places.
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