Built by the Aga Khan, Sardinia’s Costa Smeralda has become the favored playground of today’s little-red-Maserati and private-jet crowd. 

Page 1 of 2 » Next

As dusk falls at the Hotel Romazzino (39-0789-977-111; hotelromazzino.com), on Sardinia’s exquisite Costa Smeralda, we sip fizzy Bellinis on an airy outdoor patio. A stack of crispy, unleavened pane carasau drizzled in olive oil and crusted with salt and rosemary sits on the table. At 7:30, music from a piano ripples from the Ginepro Bar. Eventu­ally, the sun sets. Although it’s been a long day of yacht racing and Dionysian feasting, yet another meal is about to start.

In Costa Smeralda, everything you see is the creation of the Aga Khan, the Pakistani sultan who flew over and “discovered” the region in the late 1950s. Drawn by the sparkling emerald waters (Costa Smeralda means “Emerald Coast”) and uncultivated coastline, Khan purchased the wild, unpopulated 35-mile tract of beaches and cliffs for less than $100,000.

Over the next decade, he planned and developed every spotless street, secluded villa and splashing grotto found here today, from the spacious airport tarmac in Olbia westward to the high-end shops in the courtyards of Porto Cervo. It’s a princely land, and home to the sports of kings — polo, yachting, partaking of exquisite meals and pampering beautiful women.

A quick hop from anywhere in Europe and a relatively accessible, exclusive destination from the United States, it’s also an uncomplicated place to find.

The airport in Olbia is large enough to host 45 planes, and is busy from April through September. According to Bart Spoorenberg, the dapper Dutch former manager of the Romazzino, up to 40 percent of the clientele fly into the airport on private jets. During the July and August high season, Olbia annually vies for the most heavily trafficked general-aviation airport in Europe.

To begin living the life of a sultan, I slip into the sporty new Smart Car of a tawny-skinned hotel publicist named Maddalena and head off to the polo grounds near Porto Cervo. A perfect verdant plain the size of four soccer fields, the grounds are ringed by dramatic, dry foothills dappled in the early autumn sun. White spectator tents line the field, and I see Spoorenberg perfectly attired in crisp seersucker and a tie of Romazzino blue.

The tournament is part of an Italian polo series that starts in Rome and ends in Sardinia. The compact, muscular polo ponies, 140 in all, are ferried every year to the Mediterranean from Argentina, where they’re bred. The riders are among the best polo players in the world, and once the game begins, you can understand what a distinction that is: Polo is fast and surprisingly brutal: as bare-knuckled as football, but much faster.

Of course, few spectators are actually watching the action. Spoorenberg joins the equally well-attired Federico Versari, manager of the Romazzino’s sister, Hotel Pitrizza (39-0789-930-111; hotelpitrizza.com), who is surrounded by his own team of slender fillies in bare-shouldered sundresses and oversized Gucci sunglasses.

Page 1 of 2 » Next

Next article » Patagonian River Escapes Volcano's Wrath

Previous article « Chile