Raining in Corsica

I left Nice yesterday in the pouring rain on a delayed flight, arriving in Calvi, Corsica (on the northernmost tip, not on the map below) just in time for a glass of wine and dinner.  The flight is a quick 30 minutes and my hotel turned out to be about five minutes from the airport, so it felt like I was whisked straight from boarding the plane in Nice to walking into my room.

I’m staying at a lovely place called La Signoria, just a few km outside of Calvi.  The staff here is amazing, the kind of people that make you truly regret not paying attention in whatever foreign language class you took in middle school – they all speak four languages.  French, Italian, English, and Corsu (Corsican).  Can you imagine?  I only know one person (hi, Henk) who speaks more than two languages, and in fact I think he speaks eight or ten, as that’s his profession.  These folks, though, are waiters, concierges, and desk clerks, and they all speak four.  They seem to think it’s funny that I’m amazed by this, but I AM.  I can’t even keep “si” and “oui” straight now that I’ve crossed from Italy to France.

Corsica, as you either already (unlike your author before she researched this trip) knew or by now have surmised, is part of France.  It is an island off the west coast of Italy.  Napoleon was actually born here – in the southern town of Ajaccio, where I’ll be heading this morning.  And I discovered yesterday that the Corsicans also claim Christopher Columbus (recall I was told in Genoa that he was Genoese).  With a little digging, by which I mean quizzing my waiter while I sipped a glass of lovely Corsican rosé, the truth appears to be:  Columbus was indeed born in Calvi, but at the time of his birth Corsica was part of the Genoese empire, a technicality that allows both to claim him.

The Corsican people remind me a bit of the Basques – fiercely independent, and distinctly different in dialect and in personality than the rest of their mother country.  In fact, I found quickly that Corsicans do not like to be called French.  They are Corsican, thank you very much.  So now you have two travel rules from me:  don’t drive in Genoa, and don’t call a Corsican French.  

The island is far more mountainous than I thought it would be, and the mountains being so close, along with the overcast weather and the fact that I have read way too many Daniel Silva spy novels featuring a Corsican assassin, lend the place a slightly mysterious feeling.  Here’s the view from my little balcony:

Something called “macchia” is pervasive here.  It is a dense, herbal underbrush that covers the landscape and gives the air a savory smell.  Think rosemary mixed with pine and bay leaf and you’re close.  You can see it in the foreground of this photo:

I honestly didn’t do much yesterday.  During a midday break in the weather, I went for a run down to the beach, then mostly just lounged around and read.  I decided to embrace the solitude, as I’m getting ready to have company for the next ten days.  It was lovely.  For those of you who are readers, I’m working my way through three different books right now, all of which I would recommend:  Becoming Wise by Krista Tippett, Headstrong by Dave Asprey, and Freedom by Jonathan Franzen.

I’ll be taking a long taxi ride, about 2 1/2 hours, down to Ajaccio later this morning, where I’ll meet up with my hiking group for the rest of the trip.  Our route is below, and we’ll spend two nights in each of the red-dot towns.  




First hike is this afternoon.  Fingers crossed this rains stops….
Cheers!

Traveling Girl