Sep 2007

(Sountrack option: For full effect, start playing Celine Dion My Heart Will Go On immediately.)
It didn’t start off well. It was more than a little breezy when we boarded the SNCM ferry for our five-hour crossing from Nice to Ile Rousse in Northern Corsica. We became a bit more concerned when, even with our not-so-great French we managed to understand the announcement that told us we would have to sail to another port instead as the winds were too strong to get to our original destination. But it wasn’t until we left the relative shelter of Nice harbour we began to realise our predicament. It. Was. Rough. Waves smashed against the side of our vessel as we rolled and slithered about in the high seas. It may sound like I’m over-dramatising, but I kid you not. Approximately half the boat proceeded to chuck up their croissants and café cremes. We, thankfully, were spared the horrors of losing our lunch, but were seated next to a dapper-looking French chap who tore his way through the sick bags, hurling loudly, then proceeding to act as if nothing had happened. In a strange turn of events, he kept each sickbag on his lap like little trophies. Smelly ones. Mike, still recovering from The Big Race, managed to snooze in his seat, rocked to sleep by the tidal waves. I on the other hand gripped my chair with white knuckles and tried to block out the sound of vomiting by watching The Devil Wears Prada in French on one of the tiny TV screens. The glamorous Meryl Streep seemed oddly out of place aboard our Titanic-style ship.
Five hours later, we lurched in to a fetching little port called Calvi to the sound of rain beating on the ferry roof. Aah, summer holidays eh! Oh, and just to prove I wasn’t over-exaggerating the whole affair, our journey of doom actually made the newspapers, and they cancelled all other crossings for the rest of that day and all the next. See. (Stop Celine now before she bursts something).
The fateful ferry trip (before Mike drifted off to sleep and left me to deal with it alone)

Corsica is brilliant for so many reasons (none of which include the ferry crossing you’ll be pleased to note). Here are a few of the highlights:
1. The food. Mmmmm. Sheeps-milk cheese, charcuterie of all kinds (yep, even donkey), chestnut-flour beer and cakes, great (and cheap) rose, good coffee…
2. The scenery. One minute you’re in a cute little Mediterranean port like Calvi, the next you come across a quaint mountain hamlet. You can swim in clear, deep rivers or pure-white sandy beaches. You can hike through the macqui (sweet-scented bushland – it smells like herbs), or stroll through picturesque little seaside villages. There truly is something for all tastes.
3. The ease. Corsica is relatively small, and driving around it is easy-peasy. Well, when you get used to the crazy Corsican driving. The island is very close to both Italy and France…when it comes to road tactics, need I say more? However, once you’ve accepted the fact that any number plate ending with a 2A or 2B will drive right up your, um, botty, until a) you pull over or b) they hoon past you on a blind corner on the wrong side of the road, you’re laughing. The road surfaces are amazingly sound, most are safe and they’re all quite fast, making seeing a lot of the island in a short time entirely possible.
4. The people. Corsicans are proud of their island and rightly so. There is a very strong sense of patriotism – they are part of France, but distinctly separate and always Corsican first. The island has a troubled past but no animosity is directed at tourists and we felt perfectly welcome. There is a local language, but the people speak French to tourists (you may struggle if you didn’t know any at all, we didn’t come across a lot of English speakers), albeit with a strong Italian accent which makes it sound even more exotic.
5. The accommodation. Cheap, clean, fab. What more could you want?
Our highlight? A crazy-cool boat trip (yes, I managed to strap on my sea-legs again!) from Tiuccia around Les Calanches (huge red-granite gorges) and the Scandola peninsula. We saw osprey fishing, dolphins playing in the surf and hundreds of colourful fish. We swam in deep, warm ocean off the back of the boat, and were escorted in style by the glamour-captain fondly named by his crew ‘Mister Corse’ (say it with an Italian accent and you get the drift). His motto seemed to be “No Shirt, No Worries”, or perhaps “There’s no such things as a too-dark tan”.

All told, we had an incredible 5 days and wished it were longer. Our loop of the island took us to some amazing beaches, bushland, towns and villages. We’d go back in a heartbeat, and for longer. Even for Mike to swig some more Pietra (that chestnut-flour beer) and for me to jam in a little more of that stinky sheep’s cheese.

"The higlight"...our boat trip to Scandola
A friendly neighbourhood donkey encountered during a hike near Corte
Beautiful Bonifacio, a daredevil feat of a place, built precariously on a limestone clifftop
The "Red Rattler" train we took from Calvi (in the background) to Ile Rousse (and the azure water we took a dip in to recover!)