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I stayed at Pullman Timi Ama in Villasimius. Four nights. Early June. Warm sun, clear water, pink flamingos nearby. It felt like a dream, and also a real place with little quirks.
If you’d like an even deeper dive into every moment, you can check out my honest stay at a beach resort in Sardinia for a blow-by-blow account.

The quick take

The beach is stunning. The water is that electric blue you see in postcards. The resort is pretty, clean, and friendly. Some things cost extra. A few things were slow. I’d still go back.

Where I slept, what I paid

I booked a “lagoon view” room. King bed, small sofa, and a tiny balcony that looked over a green lagoon. You can walk to the beach in about 10 minutes, or take the cute little shuttle. My rate was around 400 euros a night with breakfast. Pricey, yes, but it’s Sardinia in season.

Funny thing: it felt calm by the room, yet the pool was busy. Both can be true. Mornings were peaceful; afternoons got lively.

First morning magic

I woke up early and walked to Porto Giunco Beach. The path smelled like wild herbs. I heard cicadas. And then—wow—the water. Clear like glass. White sand. A lifeguard set up chairs. Flamingos stood in the Notteri lagoon behind me. My kid counted them like they were Pokémon. We stayed until the wind picked up.

You know what? I could’ve stayed there all day.

Food that made me smile

Breakfast had fresh ricotta, cherries, warm pastries, and crispy pane carasau. I piled honey on everything. One day they had seadas—fried pastry with cheese and honey. Sweet and salty. I went back for seconds.

Dinner was a buffet the night we stayed in. I had fregola with clams, grilled sea bream, and a bright tomato salad. The chef salted things well, which I love. The spritz at the bar was strong and clean. It also cost about 12 euros, which stings a bit.

I did sneak out to town for gelato. Pistachio and lemon. Worth the sticky fingers.

Beach days, real talk

The resort runs a little shuttle to the beach if you don’t want to walk. Umbrellas and loungers are set in neat rows. The first rows cost more. The back rows are included for some bookings. That part was a tad confusing, so ask right away.

Most days, the sea was calm and silky. One day, the maestrale wind came in. Whitecaps, red flag, and we stayed near the shore. Another morning we saw a few jellyfish. The lifeguard pointed them out, and we avoided them. No drama.

My kid loved the mini club craft hour. I loved 30 quiet minutes reading under an umbrella. Small wins.

Pool, spa, and little moments

The pool felt warm by noon and got busy after lunch. I liked morning laps when it was quiet. The spa has a salty pool and a steam room. It felt soothing after the sun. The gym was small but fine for a quick session.

Housekeeping was steady. Fresh towels by 2 pm most days. Towel cards for beach towels—don’t lose them.

People and pace

Check-in was slow. Like, “let me finish this espresso” slow. But staff were kind. They brought water and smiled. I’ll take kind over fast.

Service at the beach bar was quick. Sandwich with prosciutto and tomato, cold beer, and shade. Simple and perfect.

The good stuff (and the stuff that bugged me)

• Beach: five stars. Soft sand, shallow water, safe vibe.
• Food: fresh, with local touches—fregola, ricotta, seadas.
• Family feel: kids club helped, lifeguards kept watch.
• Nature: flamingos in the lagoon! Yes, real ones.

And the not-so-great:

• Mosquitoes near the lagoon at sunset. Bring spray.
• Extra fees for front-row chairs and some activities.
• Wi-Fi got weak near the beach.
• Music by the bar went until 11 pm on Saturday. Not crazy loud, but you’ll hear it.

Quick trips that made it better

One afternoon we walked up to the old stone tower over Porto Giunco. It’s a short climb. The view showed two shades of blue on each side. On another morning, we drove to Capo Carbonara. Rocky, wild, and windy. Bring a hat.

Parking in town uses a small machine. Keep coins handy.

I planned these little adventures with the help of Antonello Salis, a treasure trove of Sardinian tips that pointed me toward the best viewpoints and quiet coves.

Tips I wish I knew

• Spray for bugs at dusk, near the lagoon.
• Go early to the beach before the wind wakes up.
• Water shoes? Not needed. The sand is soft.
• Book chairs if you care about front rows.
• Rent a car. Beaches and gelato are easier with one.
• Sunscreen, then more sunscreen. The sun here means business.

Who should go

• Families who want calm water and easy days.
• Couples who like nature, not a party scene.
• Friends who enjoy long swims and slow meals.
• Solo travelers who’d like to connect with fellow beach-lovers. For curvy travelers especially, you might peek at InstantChat’s BBW community where you can chat with like-minded people, share tips, and maybe line up a friendly face before you touch down in Sardinia.

If your itinerary routes you through the Netherlands on the way to or from Sardinia and you’re curious about Amsterdam’s famously open-minded nightlife, take a moment to browse this curated directory of trans escorts in Holland—it lists verified profiles, transparent rates, and safety tips so you can plan an inclusive, stress-free evening during your stopover.

If you want nightlife that runs until 3 am, look elsewhere. This place whispers more than it shouts.

A tiny gripe, a big grin

Was it perfect? No. The Wi-Fi and fees got old. But the sea was perfect. And my kid still talks about the flamingos and the “sweet cheese pastry with honey.” That counts.

Would I go back?

Yes. I’d book earlier, pack bug spray, and plan two dinners in town. Then I’d sit under that umbrella and watch the water change colors. Simple plan. Happy heart.

—Kayla Sox

I’ll keep this simple. I’m Kayla, and I actually sat in a room and felt this music in my bones. I saw Antonello Salis live in Sardinia, then I went home and played his records till my neighbors knew his name too. So, yeah—this is real. If you want the quick back-story of the man himself, here’s a handy overview on Wikipedia.

If you’re curious about every twist and turn of that first encounter, I broke the night down minute-by-minute in this separate recap.

How I Found Him (and why I was unsure at first)

A friend dragged me to Time in Jazz in Berchidda last summer. It’s a small hill town. Warm night air. Dust on my sneakers. I wasn’t ready for anything heavy. I just wanted a drink and some easy tunes. I’d spent the afternoon on the coast—here’s my honest stay at a beach resort in Sardinia—so I was in vacation mode and not expecting to be blown away. If you ever plan to experience the festival yourself, this detailed guide to Time in Jazz in Berchidda can help you map out the trip.

Then Antonello walked out with a grin, an accordion, and a piano that looked like it had stories.

You can dive deeper into his world—tour dates, albums, and fresh videos are all waiting on Antonello Salis’s official website.

You know what? I braced for “background jazz.” I got fireworks instead.

The Live Set That Hooked Me

Real example one:

• Place: Time in Jazz, Berchidda, Sardinia
• Seat: about three rows back, dead center
• Drink: a plastic cup of a cheap Negroni, a bit too sharp

He started on the piano with a soft run. Then he stood, opened the lid, and strummed the strings with his hand. Light taps. A hiss, a hum. He kept time with a heel stomp that shook the floor. It felt like someone knocking on a door inside my chest.

Halfway through, he grabbed the accordion. Warm air in a box—that’s what it sounded like. He didn’t just play notes. He bent them, teased them, made them laugh. He threw in little bits that felt like folk dances—turns and skips—and then slid back into deep, late-night jazz. At one point, he shouted a line into the body of the piano, and the sound swirled back like a ghost.

I got chills during a slow, minor piece that built and built, then broke open like a wave. People around me stopped breathing for a second. You could hear the wind outside the tent.

I left with dust on my ankles and a grin I couldn’t shake.

A Smaller Room, A Wilder Night

Real example two:

• Place: Jazzino, Cagliari (small club, low ceiling, red lights)
• Time: early spring, midweek
• Seat: at the side of the stage, near the left speaker

This one felt raw. The mix wasn’t perfect—piano a touch hot, accordion a bit shy—but his energy filled the gaps. He switched between instruments like he was talking to two friends at once. I remember a fast piece in odd time where he clapped a rhythm and the room clapped back, messy but joyful. He winked at an older couple near me when he quoted a tiny phrase from an Italian folk tune. They laughed, then cried a little. I think that says plenty.

If you leave a show this electric wanting to spark up conversation with the stranger next to you—maybe about music, maybe about meeting later for a late-night bite—and you’re stumped for a smooth ice-breaker, swing by this list of Tinder pick-up lines for clever openers that go beyond the usual “Hey, how’s your night?”; it’s a quick way to turn shared concert vibes into an actual chat.

And hey, if your travels eventually carry you far from Sardinia—say you find yourself drifting along Florida’s Gulf Coast and craving company that’s as open-minded and unforgettable as an Antonello solo—you can browse OneNightAffair’s trans escort listings in Bradenton to meet welcoming, professional companions who’ll help you keep the spirit of a wild, music-soaked evening alive long after the final encore.

At Home With Headphones

Real example three:

• Gear: old Sony cans, small desktop amp
• Tracks: his duos with a trumpet player (you can find a bunch on streaming), and a live solo set recorded in Italy

The duos are airy and brave. Lots of space. Notes hang like lanterns. When he brings the accordion in, it blooms, round and salty, like sea air. On the solo set, he bangs the low end, then whispers in the high keys, and somehow it still feels like one story. I used these tracks for late-night work. I also used them while folding laundry because life is not a movie, but music helps.

Side note: my dad kept an old accordion in our attic. I never loved it then. Antonello made me want to pull it out, dust and all.

What I Loved

• He plays with joy. You can hear the smile.
• He blends jazz with folk roots. It feels local and wide at once.
• The accordion tone is warm, never thin.
• He takes risks. Some are wild, and many land just right.
• Live, he brings the room into the song—claps, snaps, breath, all of it.

What Bugged Me (a little)

• Inside-piano sounds can get scratchy. If you hate that, fair warning.
• Some tracks wander. It’s the nature of improv, but still.
• Club mixes vary. I had one night where the lows boomed too much.
• If you want smooth, hotel-lobby jazz—this isn’t that.

Who Will Click With This

• Fans of playful, fearless jazz
• Folks who like accordion greats and Mediterranean color
• People who enjoy live sets where anything can happen
• Night owls who love slow builds and sudden turns

How I’d Start If You’re New

• Watch a live clip first. Seeing him helps the sound make sense.
• Try a duo session next. The space gives you room to listen.
• Use real speakers if you can. The low notes feel better in your body.
• Late evening, low lights. It pairs well with quiet.

Tiny Things That Made Me Smile

• The heel stomp. It’s a heartbeat.
• The quick grin before a risky leap.
• A short quote from a folk tune tucked inside a heavy chord.
• The way he moves—like he’s dancing with the piano, not sitting at it.

My Verdict

I’d see him again tomorrow. I’d even sit closer, though I might bring earplugs just in case the room booms. He made me feel awake in a slow, kind way. Not many players do that.

Score: 4.5 out of 5.

Would I recommend? Yes. If you like music that breathes and sweats and dares, go hear “Salis Antonello.” Take someone you love, or go alone. Either way, you’ll walk out a little lighter, with dust on your shoes and a tune stuck to your ribs.

I’m Kayla. I’ve stayed all over Sardinia—north, south, and that wild east coast. And you know what? The “best area” changes with your mood. One trip I wanted quiet coves. Next time I wanted music, gelato, and an easy bus to the beach. Both were perfect, just in different ways.

Let me explain how I sorted it out, with real days, real beds, and real sand in my shoes.

Quick picks before the long story

• No car and want charm: Alghero or Cagliari
• Water so blue it looks fake: Chia, Stintino, or La Maddalena
• Quiet coves and boat days: Cala Gonone and the Gulf of Orosei
• Fancy vibe and nightlife: Costa Smeralda (Porto Cervo, Baja Sardinia)
• Family-friendly and easy: Villasimius or Alghero (Maria Pia beach)
• Great value and color: Bosa or Santa Teresa Gallura

For extra on-the-ground insight, I also leaned on this Sardinian local's guide, which maps out lesser-known beaches and eateries. For an even deeper planning dive, you can read my full breakdown of Sardinia’s best areas to stay, where I compare each corner of the island in detail.

To balance that local intel with broader travel wisdom, I kept two trusty references open on my phone: the Travel + Leisure Sardinia travel guide for a polished overview and hotel ideas, and Lonely Planet’s Sardinia section for down-to-earth bus routes, budget tips, and walking notes.

Now, here’s where I actually stayed and what happened.

Alghero: Old stone walls, soft sand, grilled fish

I stayed near the old town walls, two blocks from the sea. I’d grab a cappuccino on Via Carlo Alberto, then walk the ramparts as the sun warmed the stones. It felt slow in the best way.

Maria Pia beach was my go-to. Wide. Pine trees for shade. Clear, shallow water that made kids squeal. I caught the little beach bus in town and didn’t miss a car at all. One night I booked dinner at a country farm near the airport called Sa Mandra. Big tables. Lots of local dishes. I still remember the roasted suckling pig and the myrtle liqueur. I waddled home, happy.

Who it fits: easy base without a car, families, food lovers.

What I didn’t love: weekend crowds on the ramparts. Go early or late for quiet.

Cala Gonone: Boat days that feel like a dream

When I wanted secret-feeling beaches, I stayed in Cala Gonone. My room had a small balcony over the water. The plan was simple. Walk to the harbor. Hop on a small boat. Spend the day in coves that look like a postcard.

Cala Luna gave me soft sand and shade under caves. Cala Mariolu had water so clear I watched fish nibble foam from my toes. The skipper handed out cool melon at noon, which just felt right. Back in town, I got a cone of lemon gelato and sat on the steps like a kid.

Who it fits: couples, swimmers, hikers who want cliff trails too.

What I didn’t love: once the wind picked up, boats stopped. Have a “land day” backup (I did the Bue Marino caves tour).

Villasimius: Easy town, big beaches, and a pink sunset

I booked a small B&B near the main street in Villasimius. I could walk to dinner, then sleep early. Each morning I drove a few minutes to Simius or Porto Giunco. The sand felt like warm flour. Flamingos stood in the lagoon like pale statues. Punta Molentis took my breath away, but the parking lot filled fast. I learned to arrive by 8:30 a.m. and leave after lunch.

Dinner was casual—pizza one night, a plate of fregola with clams the next. Simple and fresh. No fuss.

Who it fits: families, first-timers, folks who like easy parking and town life.

What I didn’t love: August felt packed. June and September were sweet and calm.

Costa Smeralda (Baja Sardinia): Glossy, pretty, pricey

I tried the fancy side to see the buzz. I stayed near Baja Sardinia and spent a day people-watching in Porto Cervo. Big boats, big sunglasses, tiny dogs. If you find yourself soaking up the jet-set nightlife here and would like a little adult company beyond bar banter, check out JustBang’s “Craigslist women seeking men” personals—the ads are regularly updated and filterable by location, so you can discreetly arrange a date and add an unexpected spark to your Sardinian nights. The water? Unreal. I swam off Liscia Ruja and Spiaggia del Principe and felt like a movie extra. The overall vibe echoed much of what I shared in my honest stay at a beach resort in Sardinia, where comfort and cost danced a tricky tango.

But groceries felt high, and beach parking added up. Worth it once. Not my everyday pace.

Back home, when I’m chasing that same carefree vibe on a totally different continent, I sometimes scroll through One Night Affair’s trans escort listings for Binghamton—the site’s vetted profiles, clear reviews, and upfront rates let you arrange a respectful, excitement-filled meetup without the guesswork.

Who it fits: nightlife fans, honeymoon vibes, splurge trips.

What I didn’t love: the bill. The calm water helped me forget, but only a bit.

La Maddalena (and Caprera): Island hop joy

I took the ferry from Palau and spent a night in La Maddalena town. After lunch, I rented a scooter and zipped over the bridge to Caprera. Spiaggia del Relitto looked like a painting. Late day light hit the rocks, and the water turned glassy. Next morning I booked a small boat tour. We stopped near Spargi and saw the pink shore at Budelli from the water (no walking on it—protected). Fair. It’s too pretty to wear out.

Who it fits: photographers, snorkelers, couples, anyone who says “wow” out loud.

What I didn’t love: sun is strong, shade is rare. A light shirt saved me.

Quick detours that stuck with me

• Stintino (La Pelosa): You need a ticket and a mat for the sand. It’s fussy, but that blue? Worth it. I went late afternoon and it felt calm.
• Cagliari: I stayed near Castello. Loved Poetto beach by bus, and the San Benedetto market for seafood and cheese. Day trip to Nora ruins gave me history with sea views.
• Bosa: I did one night. Rainbow houses by the river, a small taste of Malvasia wine, and a slow walk at sunset. Not a beach hub, but a mood. It felt similar to the night I spent with Salis Antonello—short, sweet, and surprisingly memorable.

So, which area is “best”?

I’ll split it by the kind of trip you want.

• No car, simple days: Alghero or Cagliari
• Peak-beach wow: Chia, Villasimius, or Stintino
• Quiet coves and boat magic: Cala Gonone / Gulf of Orosei
• Fancy nights and perfect water: Costa Smeralda
• Color and calm budget: Bosa or Santa Teresa Gallura
• With kids: Alghero (Maria Pia), Villasimius (Simius), or Costa Rei

Small twist: I tell friends to pick two bases. One “town base” (Alghero or Cagliari) and one “pure beach base” (Cala Gonone or Villasimius). That mix kept me happy and kept the drives short.

When to go and little tips I wish I knew

• Months: June and September were gold. Warm water, fewer crowds. July was fine. August was busy and hot.
• Wind: If the Mistral hits the northwest, I switch to a south beach that day. It helps a lot.
• Parking: Many beach lots take cash. I kept coins handy.
• Shade: Bring a light umbrella or a hat. Real shade is rare on some beaches.
• Boats: Small-boat tours feel nicer than huge ones. I loved leaving early, back by 3 p.m.
• Local bites: Try pane carasau, pecorino, bottarga, and a small glass of mirto after dinner.

My simple verdict

If you want one base only, pick Alghero for ease or Villasimius for beaches. If you want the trip I’ll remember forever, do Alghero for three nights and Cala Gonone for four. That gave me old stone lanes, slow dinners, and those bright, hidden coves. Honestly, that mix felt just right.

And a last note

I’m Kayla. I travel with two kids who love sugar, slides, and bedtime stalling. We spent two weeks in Sardinia in June, split across a few family resorts. I came home sun-kissed, sandy, and weirdly proud I packed enough snacks. Here’s my honest take — the good, the messy, and the “why is the pool this cold?” sort of stuff.

Quick note: we flew into Cagliari for the south and Olbia for the north. We rented a car. Best choice we made. Gelato stops came with it. Pistachio won the trip.
Before we left, I mined the local-parent wisdom on Antonello Salis and nabbed tips that spared us both tantrums and wrong turns. If you want the same insider scoop, his Sardinia with kids guide lays it all out.

Figuring out where to base yourself first can save hours in the car; I cross-checked our plan with Antonello’s rundown of Sardinia’s best areas to stay before booking.

First, a tiny truth

I love big resorts. Then I don’t. Crowds stress me. But with kids, big can be easy. More shade, more pools, more “Mom, can I go again?” You know what? I made peace with both.

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Forte Village Resort, Santa Margherita di Pula — “The Kids Took Over. I Lived.”

This place is a small city by the sea. Bright flowers. Palm shadows. Golf carts whizz past like they’re late for recess. My son called it “kid Disneyland without Mickey,” which is close. If you want a glossy, outsider’s take, Women’s Health magazine put together a detailed write-up of Forte Village that lines up with much of what we saw.

What we used for real:

• Children’s Wonderland and Mario’s Village: my daughter baked pretend cakes; my son drove mini-cars in circles. Giulia at the mini club remembered their names by day two. I almost cried from the sheer relief.
• The Acquapark: slides that look scary and are not. I went down the blue one and screamed anyway. The kids still tease me.
• Bikes with child seats: clutch for getting from our bungalow to dinner without meltdowns.
• The pizzeria near the main square: simple, fast, and big enough to share. Staff brought the kids crayons without asking. Bless them.

Beach notes:

• Soft, pale sand; clear, gentle water in the morning. It got choppier after lunch. We stuck to mornings and naps.
• Loungers got claimed early. Towel diplomacy is real.

The “hmm” list:

• It’s pricey. I knew that going in. Still gasped at a few drink bills.
• Breakfast got crowded at 9 a.m. We started going at 8:15. Much calmer.
• Babysitting after dinner was great, but not cheap. Worth it for one date night.

Tip I wish I knew: sandals with back straps are gold on the wooden paths. Also, book half board. The buffet saved us from hunger-tantrum doom.

Parents sometimes ask me how to recapture a bit of grown-up adventure once the kids are settled with the sitter or conked out after a day of slides. If you’re curious about where modern dating culture meets the quick-hit spirit of old-school classifieds, the guide to the best Craigslist-style hookup apps breaks down which platforms still have real users, clear safety features, and minimal hassle, letting you decide if an adults-only side quest fits into your next child-free evening.

Some of my Canadian parent friends joke that the hardest part of any getaway is remembering how to date again once you’re back home. If that home happens to be on the Atlantic coast, a thoughtfully curated resource like Trans Escort New Brunswick provides up-front details, verified photos, and safety guidelines so that any meet-up starts from a place of clarity and consent.

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Chia Laguna, Chia — “Gorgeous, Windy, and Full of Little Joys”

The beaches here look fake. Su Giudeu is this shallow, turquoise sheet of calm. My kids walked out and still had water at their knees. We watched tiny fish dash by their toes. We all squealed like kids. Fine, me too.

What helped us:

• Kids club in the morning, beach after lunch. The club had a baby corner with a microwave and warm milk, which made bottle life easier.
• Shuttle to the beach. Came often. We brought the foldable stroller and didn’t hate our lives.
• Dinner had a pasta station. Sauce on the side. Simple wins.

The windy bit:

• The mistral showed up two afternoons in a row. Umbrellas wobbled. Sand flew. The kids thought it was thrilling. I thought, well, exfoliation’s free.

The hill problem:

• The resort sits on slopes. Pretty views, strong legs. Stairs plus stroller made me mutter. I still loved it, but I felt it.

Tiny fix: we asked for a room closer to the pool after night one. They moved us. Took five minutes and my mood flipped.

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Pullman Timi Ama, Villasimius — “Flamingos, Soft Sand, and 90s Hotel Vibes (In a Good Way)”

This one sits between a lagoon with flamingos and a big, gentle beach. Yes, real flamingos. My kids now think all lagoons have pink birds. Hard myth to break.

What stood out:

• Little train to the beach. The driver waved every time like we were friends.
• The kids club felt warm, not pushy. A gentle staffer named Enrico coaxed my shy daughter into a painting game, and she left with blue hands and a grin.
• Tennis courts for me, a lazy river vibe for the rest (not a real lazy river, but you get it).

Food stuff:

• Breakfast had proper espresso and a pancake corner. Dinner buffet had a bright salad bar and one solid roast meat each night. Desserts looked prettier than they tasted, but the fruit was ripe and cold.

The small gripes:

• Rooms are a touch dated. Clean, though. Think comfy, not flashy.
• Mosquitoes at dusk near the lagoon. We learned fast. Spray at 6:30 p.m., not 7.

Worth it for: the beach. Calm mornings, soft entry, and enough space that I didn’t whisper “sorry” every two steps.

If you’re curious how another parent found resort life, Antonello’s no-filter review of a Sardinian beach resort echoes a lot of my own highs and lows.

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Resort & SPA Le Dune, Badesi (Delphina) — “Huge, Cheery, and Great Value”

Northern Sardinia felt wilder. The sea here had more mood. Le Dune is like a family village. So many paths and pockets that I lost my way on purpose. Among its five micro-hotels, La Duna Bianca sits right on the sand, and The Week’s recent review captures the all-inclusive indulgence better than I ever could.

Family wins:

• Multiple kids pools and a shallow splash area. Water felt a smidge warmer here, which helped with my cold-pool kids.
• The Peter Pan kids restaurant. Staff ate with the kids and made everything feel like summer camp. I sat near the door and watched, pretending I was chill.
• Long beach with strong sun. Free shuttle there and back. We built the ugliest sandcastle. It still counts.

Food notes:

• Tons of choice. Grilled fish one night, big salads the next, with a creamy risotto that I thought about on the flight home.
• It felt less fancy than the south, and that suited us. Easy, cheerful, no fuss.

What to watch:

• The sea can be rough later in the day. We swam mornings. Afternoon became shell-hunting time.
• It’s a trek from the airports. Our drive from Olbia took about 1 hour 20 minutes with a bathroom stop and one “I dropped my bear” moment.

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A Quick Word on Falkensteiner Capo Boi, Villasimius — “Small Cove, Big Smiles”

We did two nights here. Private-feel cove, clear water for simple snorkel peeks, and a kids club called Falky Land that felt so clean and bright it made me want to play too.

Good bits:

• Early dinner hours with a kids buffet. My son lived on tomato pasta and cucumbers and somehow thrived.
• Evening mini-disco with a caretaker who knew the Chicken Dance by heart. I laughed, then I danced, then I pulled a calf muscle. Worth it.

Less great:

• Pebbly spots in the water. Water shoes helped a lot.
• Shade at noon was limited right by the water. We rotated like sunflowers.

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Random Things That Helped (And Kept Me

Quick outline

• Set the scene and why I care
• Who they are (plain and simple)
• What I heard live, with real moments
• What worked, what didn’t
• Who should listen
• A few listening tips
• Final take

Here’s the thing: I still hear the wood and wind from that night. Naná Vasconcelos on berimbau and voice. Antonello Salis on piano and accordion. Two people, one room, and a lot of breath. I caught their duo late, at a jazz festival in Sardinia. If the island’s tug is real for you too, here’s my local guide to Sardinia’s best area to stay; it maps the beaches, bars, and cheap rooms I swear by. No big intro. Just a nod and a soft shaker. Then—boom—magic. I later poured every spark from that first collision into a longer recap, which you can catch in Berimbau and Bellows: My Night With Naná Vasconcelos and Antonello Salis.

Wait, who are they?

• Naná was a Brazilian percussionist from Recife. He made a single string sing. The berimbau looks simple—bow, gourd, wire—but he could make it sound like rain, birds, and a heartbeat, all at once. He passed in 2016, but his sound lives strong. If you’ve heard the Pat Metheny and Lyle Mays record “As Falls Wichita, So Falls Wichita Falls,” that airy, human rhythm? That’s him.
• Antonello is a Sardinian pianist and accordion player. He treats the piano like a friend and a playground. He plucks the strings, slaps the wood, then jumps to accordion and floats a melody that feels like sea air. He laughs when he plays. It’s kind of great. You can dig deeper into his world at Antonello Salis’ official site.

Curious about an entire night devoted only to Antonello’s set? I wrote it all down in I spent a night with Salis Antonello—here’s how it hit me.

You know what? It felt like a kitchen jam
I grew up with spoons on pots. So when Naná shook a caxixi (that small basket rattle tied to his berimbau) and thumped his chest mic for a bass hit, I smiled. It felt homey. Then Antonello slid his hand inside the piano. He muted the strings with one palm and tapped a rhythm with the other. Clack. Thrum. A tiny blues phrase slipped out. He looked up and grinned.

Real moments I wrote down that night

• The birdcall tease: Naná whistled a high, thin note and brushed the berimbau string with the coin. The gourd pressed to his belly made that wah sound—like a voice talking. Antonello answered on accordion with a slow, rising swell. It felt like dawn, even though it was close to midnight.
• The stomp-and-spark: Mid-set, Antonello shifted to the piano and played a left-hand drone, low and heavy. Naná layered shakers, then clapped a backbeat and used his voice as a drum—puh, tsk, tsk, hah. He tossed in tiny bells. I saw two people at work, but I heard a whole street parade.
• The quiet break: They dropped to a whisper. You could hear chair creaks. Naná sang—just vowels—and held the berimbau note until it buzzed. Antonello tapped harmonics on the strings and let them shimmer. Nobody coughed. We were all holding the same breath.
• The wild laugh: Antonello hit a big piano cluster—both forearms, fast—and laughed out loud. Naná shot back with a rolling rhythm and a flash of cupped-hand mouth beats. It sounded rough but felt right. Like fresh bread torn by hand.

A small tangent, but it matters
Earlier that week I re-listened to Naná on that Metheny/Mays album. Same warmth. Same body-in-the-sound feel. So when he built a groove live by stacking voice, shaker, and bow buzz, I knew that flavor. It wasn’t a trick. That’s his thing—make rhythm breathe.

What worked for me

• Texture play: Wood, skin, metal, air. They kept changing colors. You think it’s a drum duo, then you hear a hymn.
• Humor and heart: They teased each other. Quick quotes, little jokes. It kept the room loose.
• Movement: Accordion lines floated over earthy beats. Piano thunder met berimbau whispers. Push and pull, like tide.

What didn’t (and it’s fair to say)

• Wandering bits: One long stretch felt like searching with the lights off. If you need clear tunes, you might drift.
• Room noise: A couple mic pops and chair squeaks. Not a big deal, but in soft parts it stood out.

Who should give this a shot

• Folks who like improvisation more than fixed songs.
• Fans of global jazz and folk edges.
• People who enjoy hearing the actual material—wood, string, breath—do the talking.

Jazz gigs and late-night festival corners are also where many queer music lovers find their tribe. If you’re looking for that same open-ear, open-heart vibe online, swing by InstantChat’s gay community—inside you’ll tap into a 24/7 chat where listeners share playlists, trade festival stories, and plan real-world meet-ups to keep the improvisation alive long after the encore.

And if your post-gig wanderings ever carry you to Philadelphia’s porch-lined Germantown neighborhood, the city’s inclusive nightlife has its own sweet after-hours coda. For listeners who crave one-on-one company as adventurous as a free-jazz solo, exploring the trans escort scene in Germantown offers a safe, discreet path to vetted companions, transparent expectations, and the kind of mutual respect that lets everyone improvise their perfect ending to the night.

If you’re unsure, try this

• Good headphones. Medium volume. Let the low berimbau bloom.
• Follow the conversation. Ask yourself, “Who is leading right now?” It flips, a lot.
• Don’t expect a melody you can hum all night. Expect a moment you’ll remember.

One more real example I loved
Near the end, Naná set a fast shaker pattern and sang a short chant. Antonello squeezed a bright, almost carnival run on accordion, then landed back at the piano with a soft, major chord bed. The chant slowed. He held one last berimbau buzz, and Antonello tucked a single note under it, like a pillow. The lights felt warmer. People didn’t clap right away. That pause said plenty.

So, would I go again?
In a heartbeat. It’s not background music. It’s close-up, hands-on sound. It’s two people testing wood and wire and breath, and somehow finding a shared story. Messy at times. Human always. And honestly? That’s why I loved it.

I’ve been to Baja Sardinia twice now—once in June and once in early September. Both trips felt like summer postcards with sand in the corners. This is me, telling you what I loved, what bugged me, and the little things I wish I knew sooner.

If you want the blow-by-blow version—including the exact moment I ditched my phone and just listened to the waves—you can peek at my full first-person Baja Sardinia diary.

Getting There, Without Stress (Well, Mostly)

I flew into Olbia (OLB). I grabbed a tiny Fiat Panda and drove about 35 minutes to Baja Sardinia. Easy roads. Pretty views. I did miss a roundabout once because the sea flashed blue, and I got distracted—totally worth it.

Parking near the main beach was a mix. Street spots were free early in the day. After noon, I paid at a small lot near the square. It wasn’t cheap, but it wasn’t wild either.

If you want a deeper dive into local driving routes, hidden coves, and food stops, check out Antonello Salis’s insider Sardinia guide before you go.

The Beach That Hooked Me

The main beach is called Cala Battistoni. Soft sand. Clear water that fades from glass to turquoise to deep blue. On my first morning, I waded in and could see my toes. I could also see tiny fish zip past my ankles. I’m not a strong swimmer, but it felt safe and calm most days.

Bring reef-safe sunscreen. Some days you’ll see brown sea grass (posidonia) along the shore. It looks like mess, but it’s normal and protects the coast. I learned not to complain about nature doing its job.

I also wandered over to a quiet cove behind the Grand Hotel Smeraldo Beach. The rocks look like sculpture. I laid on a warm slab and listened to the water slap and hush. You know what? I almost fell asleep right there.

Food That Tastes Like Sea and Sun

I kept it simple. A plate of fregola with clams. Grilled sea bream with lemon. Pane carasau that crackled. I drank Vermentino di Gallura—cold, clean, a little salty. For dessert, I had seadas, warm and sticky with honey. Sticky fingers, happy heart.

One night, I sat by the square and ate a thin-crust pizza with anchovies. A local guy leaned over and said, “Good choice.” He was right. I love when a place nudges you toward simple food and it just sings.

Golden Hour: Where Sunset Feels Like a Show

Phi Beach is the sunset spot. It’s carved into rock, right by the sea, and it’s a whole scene. I went early one evening and got a front-row seat to the sky turning peach and gold. My Aperol spritz was strong and, yeah, pricey. But that view? It made me hush without trying. After dark, the music picks up. House beats. Bare feet. People floating from one rock to another like it’s a movie set.

Another night, I tried Ritual Club. It’s tucked in the rocks, almost like a cave garden. Soft lights, steps cut into stone, a little mystery. I danced, then cooled off outside where the air smelled like myrtle and salt.

If that after-sunset energy puts you in a social mood and you’re keen to meet someone beyond the dance floor, check out this locals-only “sex near me” personals page where you can scroll through nearby profiles and line up a spontaneous beach drink or late-night stroll without wasting any of your precious vacation time.

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A Quick Kid-Friendly Break

Aquadream is right in Baja Sardinia. It’s a small water park, good for a half day. I tried the big slide once, screamed once, and decided to cheer from a chair after that. Families seemed happy. Lines moved pretty fast. My niece would love it.

Day Trips That Made Me Stare

• La Maddalena archipelago by boat: I booked a day tour from Cannigione, which is close by. We stopped at islands with water so clear it looked fake. I swam, had a simple lunch on board, and got sun in places I forgot to sunscreen. No regrets.
• Porto Cervo: It’s a short drive. Shiny yachts. Fancy shops. I grabbed a gelato and people-watched from a shaded bench. Fun for an hour or two, then I missed the sand.

What I Loved

• The water: calm most days and silly clear.
• The vibe: relaxed by day, glam at sunset.
• The rocks: giant, warm, and kind of magical.
• The food: simple, fresh, and salty in the best way.

What Bugged Me (A Little)

• Prices jump: sunset drinks at Phi Beach were steep, and chairs on the main beach add up. I skipped loungers and used a towel. Worked fine.
• Wind days: the mistral hit once and the sea got rough. I wore a light jacket at night and felt smart.
• Summer crowds: show up early for parking and a good spot on the sand. Late mornings felt like musical chairs.

Where I Stayed

I split between two spots on my trips:

• Hotel La Bisaccia: quiet, with a little cove and lawns that roll down to the sea. Breakfast on the terrace was slow and peaceful.
• Grand Hotel Smeraldo Beach: a bit livelier, with granite steps that lead to tiny beaches. I swam before coffee. That felt like a small win.

Both hotels were a short walk to the square, which made dinner easy.

If you’re still weighing up which corner of the island fits your style (and budget), my candid rundown of Sardinia’s best areas to stay might save you a few hours of map scrolling.

And for anyone flirting with the idea of going full resort—deck chairs, beach bar, the works—I also wrote an honest review of what a Sardinian beach resort stay really feels like.

Tiny Tips That Helped

• Bring water shoes if you plan to climb on the rocks. They grip well and save your toes.
• Go to the beach by 9:30 am for calm water and soft light.
• Keep cash for small beach bars and parking meters that don’t love cards.
• Save one night for a long walk along the shore after dinner. The sea glows. It really does.

Final Take

Baja Sardinia isn’t wild or fussy. It’s gentle and bright. It keeps you outside—barefoot, a little salted, and not checking your phone much. I went home with sea-soaked hair and a mood that felt new.

Would I go back? Yes. For the rocks. For the water. For that soft moment at sunset when everyone goes quiet, and the day slides into night like a secret.

You know what? I walked in a fan of piano and accordion. I walked out kind of buzzing. Not from coffee. From sound. Wild, careful, funny sound. Someone else had a similar rush in their own write-up, which you can read here.

Who are these two, anyway?

Antonello Salis plays piano like it’s a drum one minute and a river the next. He’s Sardinian, and you can hear the folk roots peeking through the jazz. Get a deeper taste of his restless discography and current projects on his official website. For a taste of him unaccompanied, check out this thoughtful All About Jazz review of his album “PianoSolo.” He also plays accordion, but this time he sat mostly at the grand. For a glimpse of how his accordion dialogues with even more unexpected partners—say, a berimbau—take a look at this night he shared with Naná Vasconcelos over here.

Simone Zanchini holds an accordion like a secret engine. He can make it sing sweet, or snarl, or storm. Sometimes all three in one breath.

People call them jazz. That’s fair. But it’s also play. It’s risk. It’s two big ears listening hard.

The room, the mood

Small hall. Low lights. No fancy set. Just a shiny grand, a chair, a couple mics, and that black-and-chrome accordion. I sat close enough to see the bellows move and the dust lift when Salis hit the low strings.

A couple in front of me whispered, “Is this free jazz?” I shrugged. Then the first note hit, and we all shut up.

First tune: a hush, then a grin

They opened quiet—so quiet you could hear the bellows breathe. Zanchini held a single note and bent it with the air, like a violin but warmer. Salis reached into the piano and plucked a low string with his left hand while his right hand tapped a tiny rhythm on the keys. No rush. Just a slow build.

Then he did that Salis thing: stood up mid-phrase, slapped the piano frame with his palm for a backbeat, and slid back to the bench without losing the pulse. I let out a tiny laugh. Couldn’t help it. It felt like a magic trick.

Real moments that stuck

• A quick quote of Caravan popped up, just two bars, and they twisted it into a knotted groove. Everyone caught it. You could feel the smirks.
• Zanchini did a bellows shake that sounded like far-off thunder, then snapped to a bright, almost music-box melody. The contrast hit hard.
• Salis muted the piano strings with a cloth and made a soft, dry clack under Zanchini’s line. It turned the grand into a giant kalimba for a minute.
• They slid into a simple folk phrase—felt Sardinian to me—and turned it inside out. Same shape, new colors. Like watching someone fold paper into a bird.
• At one point, Zanchini leaned into the mic and let a tiny growl sit under a high note. It was weird and human, in a good way.

The dance between them

Here’s the thing: their timing is tight, but not stiff. They push and pull. One leans forward, the other leans back, and the time breathes. When Salis stacks big, crunchy chords (jazz folks call them clusters), Zanchini answers with thin, high threads. When Zanchini goes fast, like “how are those fingers doing that” fast, Salis drops to a single note pedal point and makes space.

They stop on a dime. Then they hang. Then, wham—back in. It’s theater without the drama hands.

How it made me feel

I felt my chest lift when they hit the big swells. I felt calm during the whisper parts. I caught myself tapping the seat rail like a kid. I also got a bit teary on a slow tune midway through—no big reason, just that warm, late-night kind of feeling music can give. Turns out I’m not the only one; another audience member wrote about getting hit in much the same way here. Funny how that happens when folks trust a melody.

I tested them at home, too

After the show, I put on their duo recording on my phone while cooking pasta. Studio sound is cleaner, of course. You hear the tiny reeds and the felt on the hammers. The wild edges are still there, but a bit neater. One track starts with a slow drone and a small, bright piano figure; another breaks a standard into puzzle pieces and fits them back together. If you want another perspective on Salis holding the stage all by himself, JazzTimes published a sharp take on that same “PianoSolo” session that captures much of what I heard. It’s not the same as the room—nothing is—but it holds up. It’s good company for a slow simmer.

What I loved

• Humor without being cute
• Big dynamic swings—whisper to roar
• Real folk flavor under the jazz lines
• That inside-piano percussion (I’m a sucker for it)
• Zanchini’s control of air and attack; the man paints with bellows

Tiny gripes, because I’m me

• A couple free sections ran a bit long. I like space, but I also like a landing.
• One loud peak felt harsh in the room. Might’ve been the mic, not them.

Who should go hear them?

• If you love Monk, Piazzolla, or short stories with surprise endings
• If you like your jazz with mud on the boots and sparkle on top
• If you want to feel risk, not just hear notes

Maybe skip if you need tidy, verse-chorus songs all night. This isn’t that.

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Final word

I came for craft. I stayed for heart. These two listen so hard that you feel braver, just sitting there. Is that corny? Maybe. But I walked out lighter, and I kept hearing that soft bellows breath in my head. And dinner tasted better, which says a lot, since the pasta was kind of overcooked.

I spent a week hopping between farms in Sardinia. Real farms. Real food. Real early mornings. I wanted quiet. I got roosters. And somehow, that was perfect. For the meticulous, dinner-plate-by-dinner-plate breakdown of each stop, I put together this expanded trip diary you can skim later.

You know what? Agriturismo isn’t fancy. It’s slow. It’s family. It’s a lot of food. If that sounds good, keep reading. If you want a pool bar, maybe not. I’ll tell you exactly what I loved, what bugged me, and where I’d go again.

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What even is an agriturismo?

It’s a farm stay. You sleep in a simple room or a small house. You eat what the farm grows or raises. Dinner is often a set menu. Wine shows up like a cousin at a picnic. You won’t go hungry. You will need a car.
If you’re mapping out a route beyond these farm gates, Antonello Salis’s site is packed with Sardinia-only intel that steers you to the good stuff.

Alright, now the real stories.

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Stop 1: Sa Mandra (near Alghero) — Feast mode

I landed in Alghero late, and Sa Mandra was 10 minutes from the airport.
If you want a peek beforehand, Sa Mandra’s official site and the crowd-sourced reviews on TripAdvisor give a photo-heavy preview of the rooms and those never-ending platters.
I rolled in hungry and a bit cranky. Then dinner happened.

• Antipasti kept coming: artichokes, local salami, pecorino, stuffed zucchini.
• Malloreddus pasta with sausage? Yes. Rich but not heavy.
• Porceddu (suckling pig) with crispy skin. Unreal.
• Seadas for dessert with warm honey. Sweet. Cheesy. It sounds odd, but trust me.

The dining room felt like someone’s big family hall. Kids ran around. Staff moved fast but smiled a lot. I saw a grandmother tap a bowl and nod like, “More.” Same, nonna. Same.

My room was rustic—stone walls, sturdy bed, quiet at night. No designer lamps. But I slept great. In the morning, I walked past donkeys and olive trees. Bells on sheep made a soft clink. Funny thing: I came for food. I stayed for the calm.

What bugged me: dinner is long, like two hours. Also, set menu. If you’re picky, speak up early. And bring some cash just in case—one night the card machine had “a moment.”

Would I go back? Yes, for a big group dinner. It’s a crowd-pleaser.

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Stop 2: S’Ozzastru (near Orosei) — Goat mornings and sea afternoons

Here, I woke to goat bleats and soft light. Breakfast had warm ricotta, fig jam, and still-warm bread. I watched a woman ladle ricotta like it was nothing. Simple food can hit you right in the chest.

The place sits between mountains and the sea—exactly the kind of inland-meets-coast combo I raved about in my guide to Sardinia’s best areas to stay—so I drove 20 minutes to a beach, swam, and came back dusty and happy. My tiny room had a porch where I sat with a glass of Cannonau (local red) and pretended I knew a lot about wine. I don’t. It still tasted good.

One small hitch: mosquitos at sunset. Bring spray. Also, some dirt roads. My poor rental car (a tiny Fiat Panda) did its best. Oh, and dinner was early—if you arrive late, you miss the starters. I learned the hard way and never did it again.

Would I bring kids here? Yes. Space to run. Animals to watch. Parents can breathe. If you’re plotting a full family itinerary, this no-fuss cheat-sheet to Sardinia with kids lays out easy resort options for the days you want a break from goat alarms.

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Stop 3: Il Muto di Gallura (Aggius) — Old stones, slow nights

This one felt older. Stone houses, thick walls, and a hush at night. I walked under cork oaks and thought about nothing. That never happens at home.

Dinner was hearty: zuppa gallurese (bread, broth, and cheese baked into a sort of pie), roast meats, wild herbs, and a little glass of mirto after. The staff said “piano piano” a lot—slowly, slowly—which matched the vibe. Even the wind seemed to hush.

It wasn’t perfect. The room was dim. The shower was tiny. But the peace? Big. I slept like a log.

Would I send a friend here? The one who loves old towns and quiet—yes. The one who lives for nightlife—no.

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The good stuff

• Food with a story. Not fancy, just proud.
• Hosts who treat you like a cousin, not a client.
• Clean air, real stars, animal sounds. It gets in your bones.
• Value: dinners were often set price and fair, with wine included.
• Kids can be kids. Couples can be quiet. Both work.

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The gripes (because I’m honest)

• Set menus. If you don’t eat pork or gluten, tell them when you book.
• Long meals. Lovely, but not fast.
• You need a car. Full stop.
• Bugs at dusk. Not awful, but pack spray.
• Card machines can be moody. Cash helps.

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Real moments that stuck with me

• A farmer handed me a warm egg and said, “Domani, omelette.” I did as told.
• The way pane carasau crunches under soft cheese. It sounds like snow.
• A cat sat on my shoe during dessert and refused to move. I didn’t either.
• The smell of rosemary after a short rain. Sharp, sweet, and clean.
• A shy “buona sera” from a kid carrying bread like a prize.

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Tips I wish I knew

• Book dinner with your room. Show up hungry.
• Ask for a farm walk. Many hosts love to show you around.
• Bring cash, bug spray, and a light sweater. Nights can be cool.
• If you’re gluten-free or veggie, message them in advance.
• Plan lazy mornings. Breakfast is worth the linger.

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Who should go

• Food lovers who like stories with their sauce.
• Families who want space and zero screens at the table.
• Couples who prefer stars to clubs.
• Solo travelers who don’t mind quiet, long meals, and friendly nods.

If you want sleek hotels, this isn’t it. If you want people, land, and meals that feel like Sunday, you’ll be happy. I went for the food. I left with a softer heart. Funny how that happens.

One last travel-friendliness tip: sometimes the conversations you start around a communal farm table spark the urge to meet even more new faces on the road. For globetrotters who enjoy adding a splash of romance or casual dating to their itineraries, FuckLocal’s Asians section offers an easy way to connect with Asian singles and expats wherever you’re headed, giving you a head start on friendly meet-ups and shared adventures beyond the pasture gates. Similarly, if your journey eventually detours stateside and you find yourself along the Gulf Coast craving an inclusive, LGBTQ-friendly way to explore the nightlife, this thoughtfully curated directory of trans escorts in Galveston can pair you with companions who know the city’s most welcoming bars, live-music dives, and after-dark food spots, turning a quick stopover into a memory-packed mini-break.

I walked into a small jazz club in Rome thinking I knew what piano could do. I walked out grinning, a little stunned, and kind of buzzing. That’s what Antonello Salis does. He plays piano and accordion. He also plays the room, the crowd, and even silence. And you know what? It works. Another listener captured a similar feeling in their write-up, Antonello Salis made my night feel bigger than the room.

Curious to trace the journey behind that fearless energy, I later wandered through Antonello Salis' official site and found the same playful depth etched into every project he lists there.

A tiny room, a huge sound

The show was late. It was at Alexanderplatz Jazz Club, the kind of place where your knees touch the stage if you lean in. He came out with an accordion first. No big speech. Just a slow, sweet waltz.

Curious about the spot itself? You can dig into its legacy and nightly vibe in this Romeing overview of Alexanderplatz Jazz Club.

Then, boom—he flipped the mood. He squeezed a fast run that made the lights seem brighter. People laughed, but we didn’t mean to. We were surprised. That same playful back-and-forth surfaces in his duo sets, like the one documented in my night with Antonello Salis & Simone Zanchini.

He moved to the piano and turned it into a whole band. He used “prepared piano” tricks—he reached inside and muted strings with his hand. That gives a dry, thumpy sound. He also tapped the wood like a drum. Then he’d snap back to clean, bright notes, and it felt like sun after rain. I know that sounds cheesy. But it did.

During one tune, he started a modal vamp. That’s a simple, looping groove. He stacked little rhythms on top. Polyrhythm, they call it. My foot went rogue. It found a new beat. The couple next to me whispered, then they went silent. We all—just listened.

The little things I caught

• His left hand felt like thunder. His right hand felt like rain.
• He grunts a bit when he gets excited. Not too much. Just enough to pull you in.
• He’ll start a melody that sounds like folk music from home, then twist it. It turns bold and free.
• He makes you wait. He leaves space. When the next note lands, it lands hard.

He told one short story, too. It was about Sardinia and wind. Simple words. Big feeling. I could almost smell salt. For a taste of how he meshes bellows with global percussion, check out the reflection on Berimbau and Bellows: my night with Nan Vasconcelos and Antonello Salis.

At home with his records

After the show, I bought a CD at the little merch table. Cash only, by the way. Later that week, I played his solo stuff while I cooked pasta. Sauce simmered. He went from tender to wild in one track. Not many artists can do that without losing me. He didn’t.

I also streamed a duo set with trumpet. The horn held a long, soft note while he let the accordion sigh under it. Real hush. Then he cut through with sharp piano chords—like a lighthouse blink. I hit replay. Twice. Ok, three times.

What I loved (and what bugged me a bit)

Loved:

• The switch between accordion and piano. It felt like two voices in one body.
• The humor. He makes chaos feel friendly.
• The risk. He takes leaps and somehow lands on beat.

Bugged me:

• A few noisy parts ran long. I like noise, but I also like a clean landing.
• No setlist on the table. I wanted names to find later.
• The sound guy let the piano mic ring once. A small squeal. It passed, but still.

Is Antonello Salis for you?

• Yes, if you like surprise, color, and heart.
• Yes, if you enjoy folk shades floating through jazz.
• Maybe not, if you need neat, tidy tunes. This isn’t background music. It asks for your ears.

Watching Salis felt a bit like letting a bold stranger set the pace on a first date—equal parts nerves and delight. If you’d like to bring that same mix of spontaneity and control into your love life, take a look at this hands-on Bumble review—it spells out the app’s perks, pitfalls, and pro tips so you can decide whether swiping there will feel as electric as a Salis solo.

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Quick tips if you go

• Sit close. Seeing his hands will help your brain make sense of the sound.
• Bring a small bill or two for a CD.
• If you’re sound-sensitive, pack earplugs. He gets loud, then soft. That swing is the point.
• Don’t talk during the quiet parts. You’ll miss the best bits.

Final take

Antonello Salis made a small club feel like a theater, and then like a kitchen, and then like a cliff at dusk. He’s warm. He’s fearless. He’s also human. Some choices didn’t land for me, and that’s fine. The risk is part of the joy.

Would I see him again? In a heartbeat. I still hear that last chord hanging in the air. It felt like he threw it to us and let us keep it. Someone else summed up a similar rush in the piece I spent a night with Salis Antonello—here’s how it hit me, and I can’t help nodding along.