We wake to the sound of flapping. Through the skylight and way above a line of brightly coloured kites, strung together, stretching right across the sky. A good indication it might be windy.

Craig steps outside and sighs repetitively, as he does his morning perimeter check on Vin’s exterior. During the night the heavy down pour has washed the sand and dust off the roof leaving bright orange streaks all over Vin’s white body. Vin looks like an extra from a vampire movie. Ah well, at least he blends in and gives us a little camouflage.

After a breakfast of ‘van’ bread (a splash of olive oil and toasted in the pan) and marmalade we set off. Back along the dusty lane but this time we turn left after a mile. The unpaved road coils along the contours of the landscape. We bump along and pause beside a riverbed, bone-dry today but bearing the scars of fierce torrents of the past. In two places the concrete bridge has collapsed and been washed away. They’ve been waiting since the mine closed to have it repaired.

The bumpy dry river bed takes some navigating with large boulders and rocks. Our slow and careful crossing pays dividends as Vin crosses unmarked unlike my nails which are now chewed to the cuticle. As we weave along, the roadside bushes get denser and more untamed making our cautious drive a tight squeeze. Another, dry river takes us onto a long thin finger of land between the river and the ocean. The dusty white hairpin bends are becoming so tight that we are unable to make them in one. Craig carefully performs a series of three point turns, leaving us at times backed up to the very edge of the thorns and prickles of the extremely scaring cacti plants.

As the track turns right, we halt. Another river but this time its not so dry. Remembrance stone stacks for the workers who lost their life in the mines line the bank of the river. The rusty river is not wide or deep but another nail biter as Vin is far from an off roader.

We rumble across the waters of the river, swelled by rainfall. From here a dust track climbs steeply through a landscape of dry stone-walled terraces, which support the staple food of Sardinia, prickly pears. Another half a mile and we join the start of a welcomed tarmac road.

We pass a tiny sleepy hamlet before reaching our stop for today. A beautiful wild headland with stunning views of the wind whipping up sizeable waves. The road down to the flat spot is rather bumpy, so Craig walks the track to make sure we can drive down. With thumbs up, we slowly bump our way to the headland. Its a super wild spot with parallel sand stone ridges dotted with the odd juniper bush.

We enjoy an hour or two of isolation before we are spotted. Then one by one the campers join us and by sunset there are 11 campers to keep us company. Most respect wild camping with just a chair to sit and admire the view. But there is always one, a motorhome who takes full liberty and sets up their stall like they are on a campsite. Awning out, chairs, tables, bbq, ground sheet etc. Thankfully, the crashing waves and wind blocks out the sound from their stereo.

Our Bumble wild camping near Portu Maga GPS position: N039.592517, E008.466277