Corsica
Date Visited: November 2000 (10 days reduced to 5!)
Reason for visit: Holiday
It all started as a bit of a panic, the train was leaving in half an hour and I still had to buy a new torch. The entire contents of my rucsac was spread out across the living room floor: food, sleeping bag, tent, stove and everything I need to live away from civilization for two weeks. I frantically stuffed everything in to my pac, making sure to fill all available space. I rushed out the house to the car and was driven off to the station. There was a need to rush because of the Sunday engineering works, which meant that there would be a coach replacement service to get to the Airport. The train was empty when I got on but soon filled up with afternoon rush of people going home after spending the day shopping.
The coach link was what you would expect from a train/coach link; hundreds of people standing, waiting in a car park for the coaches to arrive, asking the clueless station staff how it was going to be.
On arrival at Stanstead Airport I wandered round the check in desks to find mine. Squeezing in amongst the crowds and the queues, until I eventually found an empty desk with little activity to find it was my check in, was I late? After waiting a couple of hours in the departure lounge I came to the conclusion I had been an hour early everywhere as the watch I was using had not been changed from BST. I was however near the front of the queue for check in which meant that I got a window seat.
The flight was uneventful, and upon arrival in Sardinia, I was quickly parted with my cash as the taxi driver charged me double for the short trip into the town center. I was to stay in the cheapest place advertised on the scrappy piece of paper that was sellotaped to the window in the closed airport tourist office. The room was basic, but I was so grateful that I had found somewhere to stay. I quickly unpacked and looked forward to my adventures.
As with any travels without a guidebook, you can’t expect anything to be simple. A free map provided by my lodgings got me as far as the bus stop; from then on it was all guesswork. Not speaking Italian, and without a phrase book I tried the old trick of speaking clearly and slowly....in English. Needless to say the bus driver didn’t understand. Having decided this bus wasn’t for me, one of the passengers got off and spoke to me in broken English encouraging me to follow him. He led me to what I would have described as a toilet block in the park, to find it was in fact the ticket office, although it liked like a toilet block inside as well.
Tickets bought, I boarded the bus and was on my way. Upon arrival in town whose name is still don’t know, everyone alighted from the bus, and I was signaled by the driver to stay put. He drove me to the deserted bus station and scribbled on a piece of paper that I was to wait for 4 hours for my connection. This was the first point that that I realized traveling out of season was not a good idea. Two hours into my eventless wait I realized it was probably time to buy some tickets. It took a lot of walking and an difficult conversation with a taxi driver until I realized that all bus tickets were sold through Tobacconists (the Italian word is similar to the French one, and the only word of the entire conversation with the taxi driver that I understood) I eventually bought my ticket and endured a final hour of waiting for the bus.
On arrival in Santa Teresa di Gallura I once again realized the out of season irregularity of public transport. Having missed the second and only ferry to Corsica, I was destined to spend another night in Sardinia. I was the only tourist in the hotel, which probably explained why I could not find any shops open. Dinner once again consisted to Mars Bars & Twix’s followed by an early night.
Heavy rainstorms during the night was to set the tone for the rest of the trip.
The morning was overcast, but the ferry arrived on time and I was on my merry way to Corsica. Greeted by the towering cliffs we moved closer and into the sheltered water of the harbor. Passport controls had been carried out on Sardinian soil and the sun was shinning to welcome me to Corsica, although the bus timetables were not on my side. The first and only bus of the day was due in four hours. After cowering from the first thunderstorm of the day my rucsac was donned and off I went. It was along way to where I was going and I had so little time.
Hitching was the way forward, or so I thought. Two lifts, three thunder storms and much walking later I was 15km up the road and wondering whose idea it was to do the GR20; but soon realized why he had cancelled some weeks earlier!
It took a bus and train to get me to Calvi, only to find the campsite was ½ foot under water, the Youth Hostel closed and the cheapest hotel not yet opened for the season. I was destined for a night of luxury.
The following morning the hotel staff ordered a taxi for me; and even before a drop of rain from the days first thunder storm had hit the ground, I was on my way. First walking through the narrow streets of Calenzana then on to the trail proper. As the sun rose above the mountains I began to realize why so may people flock to the Corsican mountains in the summer, but was soon to find why there were so few in Autumn.
The views were spectacular, gorse covered mountains interspersed with pine trees with a light dusting of snow. After a short break for lunch the clouds lowered and the temperatures dropped at I started the scramble across the rocks following the painted marks. As the painted marks slowly disappeared under the snow I began to doubt the ability to find my way.
I continued to walk for another hour or so along what I thought was the path, and to my relief was greeted by the Mountain Hut. Life would probably been simpler had I stayed in the hut, but since I had carted my tent half way up the mountain I was determined to use it! The snow continued through the night as Ibecame wetter and wetter from the condensation forming on the inside of my tent. After a cold and restless night I was greeted by an overcast morning and more snow. Having quickly packed up, I was on my way.
Not more than 100m from the campsite I resigned to the fact that I was not going to find my way in the snow, so retreated down the back of the mountain to the relative safety of the valleys. At the campsite it had been snowing, in the valley it was raining; or should I call it a topical rain storm. My Over trousers were less waterproof than a sieve but this became an advantage after the river crossing up to my thighs as it let the excess water escape nicely!
It is amazing how few cars pass you when you want someone to stop and offer you a lift, but I eventually decided it would be more challenging to walk the 14km all the way back on the road; this was after all going to be the last walking I did in Corsica!!
The following day was my Birthday, and what a day it was going to be. After checking out of the Hotel as late as possible, I walked round Calvi for numerous hours before catching the train 10km down the track for the short walk and the very long wait at the Ferry terminal. The Ferry trip to Nice was nice, but trying to find some where to stay when I arrived at 9 o'clock at night wasn't. It took two hours, many km's of aimless walking and my best French (ou est un Hotel s.v.p) to track down a Hotel for a much needed nights sleep.
As if turning 26 wasn't bad enough, finding that I was ONE day too old for cheaper rail fares made me feel really bad as I forked out £140 for a one way Euro star ticket from Nice to London. The journey was a pleasant one, and I even saw the Eiffel Tower out of the window as we pulled into Paris. Next time I will stop to see it properly. As I finally arrived at London Waterloo I sighed for relief for arriving safely and thinking that next time I wouldn't go out of season.
You live and learn !