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The roman name of the region, which translates into barbarian, says something about the traditions and mindset of the locals. Consequently, Sardinian is still widely spoken here, and the few villages and their inhabitants kept their defensive if not repudiate aura. It is not only stubborn but noble resistance against invaders and last refuge for underdogs though, that defines the area. Outlaws turned bandits and a flourishing kidnapping “industry” was also part of the Barbarigia history far into the 20th century.
So, I was quite curious what would await me in Nuoro. The town centre was the typical labyrinth of narrow and often steep alleys within three to four stories buildings cramped on the hilly topography. But soon I realized that the somewhat backward outlaw cliché is at least only part of the truth. I had reached a small square with a coupe of man-sized rocks erected all over it. What from far faintly reassembled the menhirs in Brittany turned out to be carefully orchestrated sculptures once you got close enough. The rocks had been partially wrought and thus transformed into pedestals for small but exquisitely crafted cast sculptures.
The often-tiny figures merged perfectly with the grey rock and together formed a composition of very fine art. I honestly hadn´t expected to find something like this in this town. This distracted me for a while from my major task which was finding a bar for a second breakfast, but my stomach soon reminded me about the actual priorities.
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