Art. #05 – Sardinia’s tourism story in 6 turning points
(as told by Franco Atzeri)
When people talk about tourism in Sardinia, they often start from the postcard: sea, light, wind.
My father Franco starts somewhere else – almost always – with a question that’s far more uncomfortable (and far more useful):
>>> How do people actually get here?
Because the truth – he says – is that beauty isn’t enough. Beauty has to be connected. And if you look closely, the history of Sardinian tourism is exactly that: a sequence of logistical breakthroughs, industrial bets, bold visions (some brilliant, some derailed) that turned an island into an international destination.
Here’s Franco’s timeline – not the shortest version, but the complete one that respects every stage in between.
1) The 1950s: Alghero, the first gateway (when the pioneers spoke English)
Franco is unequivocal: the first organised tourism in Sardinia begins in Alghero, on the Riviera del Corallo—the Coral Coast—thanks to the first British flows after the war.
This isn’t a romantic footnote. It’s the starting line of the story.
Alghero had a rare combination for that time: extraordinary coastline, a strong cultural identity (that Catalan-rooted old town that makes people fall in love without even trying), and—crucially—accessibility. In the tourism business, “first” often belongs to whoever can be reached first.That’s the first lesson Franco leaves on the table:
destinations don’t “happen” when they become famous. They happen when they become reachable—and tellable.
2) 1963: The Aga Khan and Costa Smeralda (luxury was born from a route, not a brochure)
1963 is the turning point.
With Prince Karim Aga Khan and the birth of Costa Smeralda, Sardinia doesn’t simply enter the luxury market—it shifts the axis of Mediterranean luxury away from the French Riviera and toward Gallura.
But the strategic detail Franco insists on isn’t aesthetics. It’s logistics.
He sums it up with a line that sounds like a business plan disguised as a question:
“How can I bring wealthy Americans from the Côte d’Azur if there’s no air connection?”
In other words: don’t just build a place. Build a bridge.
In those years, what changes the game are routes and connectivity—Olbia linked to the right hubs, the right gateways, the right flows. Costa Smeralda becomes not just a coastline but a system: services, infrastructure, and above all the “tube” that carries people in and out.
That’s the modern lesson hidden in the past:
when we complain about shoulder season, empty rooms in October, or a winter that never takes off, we’re still talking about one thing—accessibility.
3) Late ’60s–early ’70s: the sea speeds up (and access changes class)
While the North takes to the sky, the sea changes pace.
Franco recalls the shockwave created by innovation in maritime transport—especially the arrival of roll-on/roll-off (Ro-Ro) ferries. Cars and buses boarding like a parking lot, not like a ritual. Time cut, friction reduced, the island suddenly a little less “far.”
It’s the kind of technical change that becomes social: as access becomes easier, the profile of who can reach Sardinia—and when—changes too.Another tourism law, simple and ruthless:
often, the real infrastructure is not the pool. It’s the door.
4) 1967–1970: the Mattei–Forte axis and the “large-scale excellence” model in the South
Then the story moves south, and the rhythm shifts.
Here we’re no longer in the realm of small-scale glamour. We’re in the territory of large volumes designed with high standards—a more “industrial” hospitality machine, but still premium.
Franco connects the birth of Forte Village to a convergence of relationships and vision: Enrico Mattei (ENI), mediation through key circles, and the arrival of Charles Forte, a giant of international hospitality.
For him, Forte Village isn’t “a hotel.” It’s a model. And it does something decisive: it helps internationalise the South by making it bookable and reachable—especially through direct charter connectivity, like London–Cagliari.In that phase, Sardinia learns another rule:
it’s not enough to be desirable. You have to be easy to book and easy to reach.
5) The 1970s: when pioneers became “on the ground” (and Franco steps into the frame)
This is where the story becomes family—and work.
In the 1970s, Franco doesn’t speak as a commentator. He speaks as someone who was there, doing the operational grind: ground assistance and logistics for UK charters, and weekly tours and excursions for Swiss groups.
This detail matters because it explains what good incoming really is:
- obsessive attention to detail,
- reliable local networks,
- the ability to turn a place into an experience—long before “experience” became a buzzword.
And it also proves something that’s still true today:
tourism is not a natural destiny. It’s a competence.
6) The 1970s–80s and beyond: new hubs, missed chances, and the hard lessons
As the island diversifies, new hubs emerge and new investors arrive. Franco’s map expands: different coasts, different models, different bets—some successful, some unresolved.
And then comes the chapter that matters most, because it’s the one that hurts: missed opportunities.
The “Alghero case”: the pioneer that risks standing still
For Franco, Alghero is emblematic. It was the first gateway—but later it struggled with renewal and with projects that got stuck or derailed. He recalls ambitious plans that never became reality, and the weight of market dynamics and big operators.
And the lesson is straightforward, almost severe:
in tourism, being beautiful is not enough. A destination must remain contemporary.
Three choices for what comes next (without chasing mass tourism)
This is where Franco becomes crystal clear.
Sardinia, in his view, should not chase mass tourism at any cost. The direction is different: protect uniqueness, grow quality, professionalise, and create the conditions to work beyond the summer peak.
So what are the three choices that return, again and again, in his reasoning?
1) Tourism and transport need one single “control room”
If connectivity fails, the whole system fails—especially out of season. Promotion and transport can’t work as separate silos.
2) Seasonality is fought with “shoulder-season infrastructure”
Not slogans: real reasons to come in spring and autumn—golf, wellness, high-level services that make the destination competitive year-round.
3) From servitude to service: professional prideHospitality is not “serving.” It’s service: competence, standards, training, career paths. Quality isn’t improvised.
Conclusion: Sardinia didn’t “become” a destination. It was built.
If I put together Franco’s stages – Alghero, Aga Khan, Ro-Ro, Forte Village, new hubs, missed chances – one truth remains:
Sardinian tourism is a construction.
Built through vision, infrastructure, connectivity, and people.
Nature is a gift.
Quality is a craft.And if we want to protect what makes Sardinia unique, we have to do what Franco’s timeline teaches us to do: connect it well, organise it better, and never stop upgrading the culture of service.
Andrea Atzeri