Sardinia by Shannon May Powell January 26 2016

Shannon May Powell is an Australian writer and photographer based in Berlin. She has been featured in such publications as Les OthersCabin Porn, Suitcase MagazineThe Adventure HandbookAccidental Discharge, and Dumbo Feather. Her work explores intimacy, with a particular interest in psychogeography, the meaningful interaction between people and places. In this instalment of SUKU travel diary, Shannon shares her musings and moments from the island of Sardinia, Italy.


The town of Bosa was our first stop where we stayed in the home of a local artist. Her artwork filled the walls like a fresh coat of paint. Each frame was like a doorway to another world, containing its own story. There were charcoal sketches of lovers’ bodies in the master bedroom and Egon Schiele-esque paintings in the reading room.

You can read a person's history like you would a book of brail just by running your hands over the fabrics they have chosen to dress their home in. The way a rich scarlet silk falls over the curves of the couch says more than they would ever dare to tell. Our mornings were spent drinking too much coffee, glancing over the town form above, admiring the gestural language. The white octagon shaped chapel stood opposite us, staring back with the same omnipresent glare.

Cala Mariolu

Our next stop was the East coast, which meant we had to cross the rugged winding mountainous bulk of the island by road. The views were equally as mesmerizing as they were terrifying, like all good things. We cut through mountains and skated over narrow bridges until the ocean resurfaced again. This was where the world’s second best beach, Cala Mariolu, could be reached only by boat.

We sailed through water the colour of precious stones until we reached a series of secluded coves that lined the coastline like the beads of a necklace. Nothing could have prepared us for this utopic scene. We stayed here, chilling our bottle of Prosecco in the whitewash and reading each other’s Tarot until the sun had set.

Valle Della Luna

Our last stop was Valle Della Luna hidden on the Northern tip of the island. With vague directions my friend had scribbled in my journal as our only map, we began our hike towards The Valley of the Moon. There were cave homes built into the giant bizarre rock formations. Here we set up camp overlooking a private cove that the moon spilled over at night illuminating plankton in the water and making it sparkle as though it had been filled with sapphires.

Words and Photos by Shannon May Powell