Of course (did the above play on words work?) I had to visit Corsica, a stunning island just south of Nice.
After a lovely but uneventful (just the way I now like it) late afternoon ferry ride to Corsica, I was greeted by my Airbnb host and taken to the apartment. It seemed the only relevant part of Airbnb for my host was the air in her head, but nonetheless we don’t travel to sit in a room…well certainty not this one, as I am sure the online photographed views were from the house above…hers. Moving on, quickly.
I decided the next morning to drive three hours across the island to the beach resort of Ajaccio. However would it be far enough to escape the mosquitos that my previously mentioned host seemed to set on me overnight? I had visions of a swarm following my car. I needn’t have worried, as the exhilarating mountain drive where my GPS said straight but the road demanded numerous rally like curves replaced the buzz of pests with the buzz of thrashing a rental car in true French style through the cliffs, forests, bridges and seemingly four seasons before seeing Ajaccio…where the air was fresh, clean and everything travel books promise.
A hotel on the water’s edge (Hotel Demeure Les Mouett) corrected my earlier mistake of lodging choice; and when combined with the waves, which hit the beach with a deft and mesmerizing touch, made any thought of leaving seemingly impossible. The beaches were very European which Australia seems to beat hands down, but their pace and elegance leaves us in their wake.
Dinner was along the coast with views like those at Icebergs in Bondi, but in this case back to many beaches and headlands of this remarkable Island…amazing to watch as a cloud came over the mountains and threatened the coast…as you could see the sun and beaches fighting back, never wanting a day to end in such a mood. Rightly so.
The food at L’Altru Versu was cooked with passion, flare and an understated elegance that rarely matches such a view…I usually read or write over dinner but in this instance I had to stop and simply enjoy. Until, that is, I was drawn back to reality by the popping candy that laced the strawberries in the tart…a playful way to bid me farewell.
The eight-hour west coast drive back north provided a stark contrast to the four seasons of driving through the centre. Winding roads that were cut into cliffs with just enough space for one car…yet the French fit a bike, coach and car at the same time – and going 40 miles an hour! I was rewarded with seeing an array of beaches, hillside hotels that seemed to have stopped time, and the Les Calanche (which I first thought was a large dessert, so went hungry until a delicious dinner of Filet de Boeuf in Saint Florent), but were in fact stunning red rock mountains.
Corsica – uncomplicated, contradictory and curving both time and space. Would I come again? Of course-ca.
