"Admiring the imposing rock at sunset, which rises out of the sea just a few meters from the coast, is truly astonishing: The sunlight shines in all shades of yellow and orange from the limestone shape. Pan di Zucchero is one of the most imposing and The most spectacular natural monuments on the island and the symbol of the coast around Iglesias. It bears this name because of its resemblance to the famous Pão de Açúcar in the bay of Rio de Janeiro, which replaced its original Sardinian name Concali su Terràinu in the 18th century reach it by rubber dinghy or boat from the beautiful bay of Masua, a stretch of the coast around Iglesias 2.5 km away Climb 133 m: It is the highest rock cliff in the Mediterranean Sea, overlooked from the summit there are the three "smaller brothers" called S’Agusteri and Il Morto, which is located to the south. The four rock cliffs of Masua are structurally homogeneous and connected to each other and belong to the monument: Their white-blue color stands out against the offshore violet-blue coast. They consist of chemically almost pure Cambrian limestone and were created as a result of sea erosion, which also caused their detachment from the mainland and, more precisely, from the cliff top of Is Cicalas: the 300 m wide section of the sea that separates them is often inaccessible.
Pan di Zucchero is massive and round in shape. Due to karst phenomena, its flat surface (less than four hectares in size) was pierced and two tunnel-like grottos were formed. They are each 20 and 25 meters long and face the sea. They are both inhabited by sea birds and can be crossed in small boats. "
When the sun sets and the sea turns to liquid silver, then it happens: From the tranquil blue, the rock rises – not like a foreign body, but like a thought of the earth turned to stone. Pan di Zucchero, or Sugarloaf, they call it, and indeed: There it stands, as if licked by the sky and washed by the sea, round and proud, as if watching over the Sardinian coast.
The last rays of day creep over its limestone walls, licking firmly at the edges, casting both shine and shadow. In this light, it glows – not garishly, not obtrusively, but like something that remembers: the millennia of the sea, the silence beneath the water, the spray of geologists, birds, wind, and the hand of man who searched for ore and dug veins nearby.
A monument that demands nothing. It simply stands there – and is contemplated. From Masua, one approaches, on foot or by boat, with the rocks on the right and the open blue on the left. Those who take the path will be rewarded with views that are out of the ordinary. Those who choose the boat will be amazed: by the grottos that dig into the base like eyes, by the almost outrageous height – 133 meters rising vertically from nothing.
And then, in the late afternoon, when the sun is low and the rocks are silent, something else happens: Sugarloaf Mountain begins to tell its story. About the time when it was still connected to the mainland. About its little brothers – Il Morto, S'Agusteri – that stand lost in the sea. And about all the seagulls that circle as if they had invented the place.
No photo, no filter can replace this moment: the whisper of the wind, the salty air, the light that forgets the sky. You stand there and are silent. And the rock – it remains. As if it had always been there. And always would be.
Translated by Google •
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