Corsica! Or not?
Trip Start
May 02, 2007
1
28
70
Trip End
Ongoing
Landshut,
Germany
Friday, August 17, 2007
01."Tiger", our adopted kitten
. In August, the heat is sweltering. Movement, for any level of comfort, is restricted to early morning and late evening hours, lest you twitch a muscle and break out in a profuse sweat.After arriving in the port city of Bastia on August 10, we immediately found a campground near a beach on the east coast. On our first morning, we woke to discover swarms of little ants crawling around inside our van. We spent an hour clearing out our cupboards and drawers, spraying Mr. Clean everywhere to exterminate the invaders. After first suspecting the open window as the point of entry, we later witnessed armies of ants marching up the cable that connects our van to the electrical box. They were coming in through the hole where the cable enters. After plugging it up we suspended the cable off the ground to stop the arrival of more ants. Our best efforts to rid ourselves of the pesky insects have proven to be less than 100% effective; we still find ourselves slapping our arms and legs and chasing the odd one around. We suspect there are many more hiding in the dark recesses, and the ones we see out and about are the scouts. We pray that we get them in time before they return to their troops to report on their findings.
Ants aside, we began our exploration of the small landmass on Cap Corse, a pinky finger of a peninsula in the northeast
02.Having a lie in the van
. We trekked along a coastal path near Macinaggio, cut through swaths of desert-dry scrub and stout water-deprived trees, in the Capandula Nature Reserve. We passed a few Genoese watchtowers, built in the 17th century, to warn the coastal villages of approaching pirate ships and allowing them time to evacuate and escape capture (the pirates ransomed kidnapped victims and also sold them as slaves). Climbing up to a high mountain ridge afforded us stunning views of the surrounding landscape before we made our way back along the blue waters. The next day we drove west, cutting across the Cap Corse to the opposite coast. The peninsula is only fifteen kilometers wide as the crow flies, but by twisty up and down roads is a much longer drive. We made a short stop in Centuri-Port on the west coast of Cap Corse, an old fishing village whose industry was hampered when asbestos killed much of the offshore marine life when it was mined nearby. Moving south down the coast proved to be a white-knuckle affair - the "road" clings to a rocky face and the direction we traveled meant we were on the cliff side of the street, with nothing but my steady hands on the wheel keeping us from taking a deadly tumble. It is very common in Europe for drivers to go too fast for road conditions, compensating for the sharp turns by crossing the center line in an effort to avoid steering and braking (at the risk of their own lives, or worse, other lives - I guess saving brakes, tires and five minutes here and there is well worth it, don't you think?)
03.Cuddling up in the van for a nap
. We have become accustomed to this, although it is still scary at times to round a corner and see a car coming right at you - and especially on this particular route, it made it all the more hair-raising. The views from the corniche were breath-taking; the drive itself, breath-holding! I am now the proud owner of the world record for not taking a breath: two hours and forty kilometers! I do remember a stretch or two for about 300 meters where it straightened out enough for me to gently slide the van into THIRD gear. It was like heaven.Arriving safely in our destination town of St. Florent, we got a taste for the first time just how busy the island actually is. We crept slowly along the thru road with the rest of the holiday makers, eventually making it to the other end of town, where we found a place to park. After the ten minute walk back to the centre we were met with swarms of visitors cramming the streets and alleys. We booked a ferry for the next morning to Lotu Beach in the Desert des Agriates, just northwest of St. Florent (the only road in is a pot-holed dirt track that we didn't want to subject Freda to). We hung out in town, ate gelato, and briefly watched a strange native Indian street performer, regaled in full Indian headdress, play the pan-flute and recorder to a CD (one of the songs being ABBA's "Chiquitita").
The next morning we hopped aboard the high-speed ferry for a twenty minute ride to Plage de Lotu
04.Capandula nature reserve
. Once there, we strapped our big backpacks on (we were toting sleeping bags and a tent) and made for the trail to Plage de Saleccia, one of the highlight beaches of Corsica, and apparently unrivalled in the Mediterranean. We hiked in searing heat around numerous headlands for just over an hour before we came to the beginning of the kilometer long stretch of pearl white sand. The translucent turquoise water immediately invited us for a swim, but we declined for the moment in the interests of securing a campsite (we called the night before to reserve and they said they were full, but we chanced it anyway). We settled for taking our shoes off and walking along the water's edge, and about twenty minutes later we were face to face with the reception. Luckily they had a spot for us (and Yvonne's "but we made a reservation!" tactic proved unnecessary) and we pitched the tent, had a much needed cold shower, then hit the beach. After hours of lounging under the umbrella and reading, napping and people-watching we went back and had dinner. Later that night we returned to the beach with a bottle of wine and watched the sun disappear behind the mountains. When the last bit of light faded away the black night sky revealed countless stars, so many that the milkiness of the galaxy was visible, and we lay there watching shooting stars streak across the sky.Despite our best efforts to beat the heat and hike back early the next morning, we ended up departing around 10:00
05.Genoese watchtower
. Even at this time the sun was unbearable and the relatively short trek to catch our return ferry seemed like an eternity. As we neared the port we saw a ferry approaching and, not wanting to have to sit in the sun for another hour for the next one, began a full out sprint. We made it just in the nick of time and were relieved to unload our packs and take a seat. After cleaning ourselves up back at the van, we pressed on west toward Calvi, when something in both of us snapped. Perhaps it was the constant, intense heat; perhaps it was the sheer number of tourists (again verified when we found out our chosen campground was full); probably it was a combination of the two. Whatever it was, we made the decision to turn around and head back to Bastia in an attempt to escape the island earlier than planned. We were warned by our guidebook that August is not the ideal time to come simply for the fact that it is so hot and also the busiest time of the year (to put it in perspective, Corsica sees two million visitors a year, two thirds of them in July and August alone). But we had made our minds up that we wanted to go and it was the only time that fit in with our travel plans. We grudgingly admitted to ourselves the mistake we made, knowing full well that if we continued on for the next two weeks we would not get to do the things we wanted to do - mainly some long distant hikes that the heat would make it next to impossible to complete. We made a pact to return to the island on another trip, but also promised to come in early June
06.Another Genoese watchtower
!One obstacle remained in our new plan to head back to the mainland: changing our ferry ticket. When we arrived back in Bastia that evening, I talked, or rather, tried to talk (she didn't speak English) to the ticket agent. Luckily, a bilingual passenger was behind me and helped translate. Unluckily, they translated that every single ferry back to the mainland was booked solid (for over-height campers) before our scheduled departure of August 28. Deflated, we left the port and found a beach parking lot nearby to spend the night, but not before sneaking into a campsite and having a quick shower and using the free wireless Internet. Our alarm woke us the next morning before 7:00, and we rushed back to the port to see if there were any cancellations or no-shows for the 8:15 ferry. This time the ticket agent spoke English and she put us on a wait list. We drove to the boarding area and patiently waited (and car counted) until we were the last one standing. We held our breaths and watched the ferry staff debate. We were ecstatic when they waved us on and wasted no time boarding.
So here we are, back at Babette's in Landshut. We are in the midst of trying to sort out our Russian visas. It is a complicated and expensive process and the Russian consulate's hours in Munich do not help at all (9 am - 1 pm, visa pick up only between noon and 1). We have about two weeks left with the van before we fly to Greece for two weeks, so are trying to piece together a plan. We have so much to do in terms of preparation for the next leg of our journey through Russia, Siberia and Mongolia and into Southeast Asia. But we will enjoy the last days of our comfortable campervan traveling before we have to lug around a backpack like the rest!
