Corsica was lovely. It started with a flight to Ajaccio, a large port city on the west coast, where Napoleon was born, followed by a frantic search for camping fuel (I eventually settled for plain old gas, which works well, but doesn't burn very cleanly), a train trip to Vizavonna, a blip on the map in the center of the island, where we unloaded the kilos of pasta and canned goods that the 4 other hikers had requested from paris. Life on the trail isn't cheap, and the merchants who sell the essentials: cheese, bread, and wine know that.

The first day didn't seem so hard until the end...it was mostly uphill, but I soon discovered that the trail contour in the guide was only a general outline, lacking in a number of details. The one it missed the first day was a very steep climb three km before the night's refuge. Ug.

The views from the tops of the mountains were spectactular...it was a treat to be up above the level of the clouds for a change. Hiking up and down the sides of mountains, stopping at springs for water and seeing the changes in the landscape that distance and elevation created was quite fun. The whole trail, called the GR20, has 15 stages, and we did the last 6. Pictures and information (in french) can be found here

Each night there was a refuge: a sort of hostel where you could rent a bed for the night, perhaps buy dinner pre-made, or perhaps buy some essentials (beer, wine, cheese, bread) for dinner or breakfast. And of course, there was the always the possibility of taking a shower. Cold. Frigid. Freezing. Glacial. One day they even taunted us with a solar panel next to the shower, leading me to believe that there might be warm water. I was wrong.

The feet held up well, the back was a bit sore, but I was out of shape, and my labored breathing on th accents was the chief indicator of that. Not playing sports or riding my bike around paris took it's toll on my physical fitness. The others in our group of 6 seemed to fare much better on the assents, even though only three of them had been training (well, perhaps training isn't exactly the word, those three climbed Mt. Blanc, the highest mountain in the alps two weeks prior)

After that it was 5 days of fun in the surf and sun at the beaches of Porta Veccio and Bonifacio in the south of the island. The beaches were crowded, but nice, although I think I prefer the ocean beaches in Sri Lanka better...the water was warmer, less salty, the waves more fun to play in. I now look nicely italian as a result of the time in the sun. Each of the towns has a "camping" where tourists on the cheap put up their tents next to girl scout troups, weekend escapees and the usual assortment of travel trailers. It was here that we found our first shower with hot water. Woo hoo!

The two towns are a bit similar: an old part of town inside the old walled city on a bluff overlooking the harbor (where the old fort protecting the harbor would have been), which has since been turned into a sort of outdoor mall, full of restaurants and stores selling souveniers, "authentic" corsican cuisine, clothing, and lots of ice cream. The lower town is by the water's edge and much newer.

I found Bonifacio more interesting than Porta Veccio, both for it's quaint small streets, and for it's natural beauty, sitting on a rock outcropping. The limestone in the area erodes in interesting ways with the sea, creating giant grottos, so big that you can drive a boat into them, and we did so on a little boat tour around the coast near the town.

We almost got trapped in Bonifacio, as the two ATMs in town broke down on sunday evening, and the bus left town for our flight early monday morning, and only accepted cash. "Part of the charm of corsica" one local explained to us.

Back in Ajaccio we found a farmer's market and loaded up on Corsican specialties: sausages made from whole pork tenderloin, cheeses made from goat milk, wine made from myrtle flowers and leaves, local beer and cookies. A quick lunch by the water's edge, and then it was time to head to the airport for our flight back to paris.

At the airport there was a 40 minute wait before they loaded, and I was all set to sit in the waiting area and read, but Claudia wanted to go to the nearby beach. She got in a good 15 minutes of bathing before we had to return. Try finding a waiting room like that at a US airport!

While at the beach, I watched a brush fire burn out of contol in the hills above Ajaccio for several minutes before a group of three seaplanes swooped down in front of the beach, took a gulp of water, and then deposit it on the flames. They kept up the show for a good 30 minutes, until the fire was extinguished, and the bathers had grown tired of the routine.