** CORSICA-SARDINIA 2009 - Weeks 11~12**

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CORSICA 2009 - THE NORTH-WEST COAST & MOUNTAINOUS INTERIOR:

Our final 2 weeks in Corsica began in spectacular style along the bed of the Spelunca Gorge, a formidable cleavage stretching from the coast into the island's mountainous interior, with granite walls 1000m high. From the coast at Porto, a narrow road winds inland, gaining height rapidly towards the village of Ota which squats on the mountain face with the jagged pinnacle of Capu d'Orto towering overhead. From Ota bridge, an age-old mule track shelved across the face of the mountain high above the most monumentally spectacular section of the gorge, with the towering walls and gaping mouth of the gorge closing in around us.

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Back down to the coast, the D81 road weaves a serpentine route along an unnerving corniche between projecting rocky walls of brick-red rock and sheer drop down to the sea, endlessly contouring around barren maquis-covered hills which looked so forbidding and utterly devoid of any cultivation. After this hair-raising approach drive, it was almost a relief to drop down the narrow lane to the coast at Plage de Gradelle; here, across the waters of the Golfe de Porto, the northern crags of Capu d'Orto still towered overhead (Photo 1 - Plage de Gradelle backed by Capo d'Orto) forming a monumental backdrop which swept around to the Calanche in the south. A warm welcome at Camping E Gradelle convinced us that here at last was the best campsite of the trip. The setting, terraced up the hillside amid ancient olive-trees, was simply awe-inspiring: and as the sun set, salmon-pink light picked out every detail of the Capu d'Orto's craggy pinnacles across the Gulf (Photo 2 - Capo d'Orto and Golfe de Porto in evening light). The whole ethos of Camping E Gradelle seemed to convey the aura of welcoming those who relished the natural beauty of this incredibly beautiful land- and sea-scape; this was truly a campers' campsite. And the following morning, the breeze wafted the fragrance of myrtle over our breakfast table from the maquis-covered hillside opposite.

The road north continued up to the Col de la Croix, from where the coastal panorama extended around the blue waters of Girolata bay and its tiny isolated village (Photo 3 - Coastline of Golfe de Girolata from Col de le Croix). The road ahead contoured around endless headlands, gaining significant height up to the Col de Palmarella; from this wind-swept gap, we had our first distant views of Corsica's highest mountains, still snow-covered in early June. Another endlessly winding descent through the fearsomely desolate maquis brought us down at last to the relative calm of the Valley of the Fango, and an afternoon's walk along the mini-canyons and deep pools of the river. The maquis-covered terrain of the river bank was glorious, but the eye was constantly drawn upwards to the distant mighty wall of mountains dominating the eastern horizon - the snow-covered peaks of the Monte Cinto range (Photo 4 - Valley of the Fango river backed by Monte Cinto range).

From Galeria in the Fango valley, two routes lead towards the northern coast at Calvi, the main direct road and what seemed from the map a more spectacular coastal minor road passing through the utterly barren, uninhabited terrain of the so-called Désert de Balagne. A narrow, neglected and unprotected corniche road led after 11 kms down to ... well nothing ... other than the derelict buildings of an abandoned silver mine which gave this desolate place its name of Argentella, ... oh, and Camping La Morsetta; it's usually the case that immediately following an excellent campsite, you hit rock-bottom, the very pits, and this of course was Camping La Morsetta. And the curious thing was that, despite being set in an utterly desolate maquis-covered no-where-land wilderness, miles from any disco, the place was packed with German and Italian holiday-makers. Tempting as it was to turn about and return over the corniche road to a more favourable campsite at Galeria, we were weary and making the most of this grubby place (where even the bar had recently been burnt down - perhaps other disgruntled guests felt as we did), we settled in and cracked cans of Pietra. In the early 1960s, De Gaulle had proposed using Argentella for French nuclear tests when the Sahara became internationally frowned on. It says something of the French President's cynical disregard for Corsica that he should have considered using this part of the French homeland for nuclear tests, until pressured by national protests into dropping the idea. Looking around at Camping La Morsetta, you were left feeling the place might have been improved by being nuked.

Even a new sunny day did nothing to improve Argentella, and we gladly returned over the corniche road to take the regular road to the north. Breasting the col, the whole northern panorama opened up across the wide Figarella valley towards the coast. Before heading to Calvi, we turned inland deep into the hills towards the Cirque de Bonifato, a gigantic amphitheatre of red-grey granite where spectacular craggy peaks over-topped pine-covered valleys (Photo 5 - Cirque de Bonifato with its skirt of Laricio pines). This was gargantuan terrain, but in the limited time we had, we could only fit in a brief walk. An ever-steepening and narrow lane led up to a parking area alongside an auberge, and from there we followed a track leading up alongside the cascading stream which surged among the chaos of fallen boulders; it was a spectacular walk but at comparatively low altitude in these formidable mountains.

Having spent a peaceful afternoon in the solitude of the mountains, it was disorientating to face the hurly-burly of Calvi's busy traffic and even worse, the overcrowded, grubby, inhospitable and noise-ridden Camping La Pinède, yet another Grotsville campsite to be avoided. Its only merit was its proximity to the tram which runs along the coast between l'Île Russe and Calvi saving the 2km walk into Calvi. The little port of Calvi clusters around the mighty Genoese citadelle which still dominates the town. Calvi prospered under the free-trading privileges granted by the Genoese and remained loyal to its ruling patrons even during the 18th century struggle for Corsican independence. This drew the attention of the nationalists' English allies and Nelson's fleet bombarded Calvi into submission; it was in this action that Nelson lost his eye from cannon shrapnel. French control of Corsica brought Calvi's decline during the 19th century, and tourism is now the town's economic mainstay as was evident the moment we walked from the little station into the prosperous-looking main street. It was also evident how the official building of the French authorities stood both physically and culturally isolated from the Corsican town, almost like an unwelcome colonial intrusion, a characteristic we noted elsewhere. Joining the throngs of other visitors, we wandered along the waterfront lined with palm trees and over-expensive restaurants. Every serious tourist centre needs its local hero, however tenuous the connection, and Calvi lays dubious claim to being the birthplace of Christopher Columbus. The square named in his honour now serves as the town's car park, and from here a cobbled pathway leads up into the interior of the citadelle; the massive rampart walls of this mighty piece of medieval military architecture overlook the town and harbour with distant views across the bay to the backdrop of misty snow-capped mountains (Photo 6 - Calvi's harbour and mountainous backdrop viewed from the Citadelle). We spent a relaxing afternoon wandering among the citadelle's narrow lanes, with flocks of swifts whirling and screaming overhead, before the tram trundled us back to the oppressive noise of our ill-chosen campsite.

The RN197 road along Corsica's north coast is wide and well-surfaced and follows a rocky shoreline pleasantly free from concrete development. Just beyond l'Île Russe, we paused at the island's only botanical gardens, the Parc de Saleccia, dedicated to the trees and shrubs of the Mediterranean maquis. Following destruction by a devastating fire, the former olive estate has been painstakingly restored with impressive plantations of maquis shrubs like lentisk, arbutus, cistus and myrtle, the scent of which lingers in the memory. If you pass this way, the gardens are worth a visit for educative understanding of the wild maquis which covers Corsica; or visit their web site:  Parc de Saleccia

Thankful to be leaving behind the tourist-ridden coast, we gladly turned inland into the broad valley of the Ostriconi with its sweeping views of snow-covered peaks of Corsica's mountainous interior. Just before Ponte Leccia, we turned up into the lower Asco Valley and found the wonderfully welcoming Camping Cabanella; the flat grassy camping area was shaded by large and ancient evergreen oaks and the air was filled with the sound of birdsong and the rushing River Asco which tumbled along its rocky bed immediately below us. It was sheer delight sitting with this hospitable family, drinking a late afternoon beer with them on their shady terrace. The following day, we ventured up through the Gorges of the Asco Valley with its pine-covered sides and snow-covered peaks towering at its head. The road narrowed into the start of the gorge with craggy side-walls closing in around us, the unprotected drop into the river canyon falling sheer on the outer side (Photo 7 - Upper Gorges of the Asco). The higher we advanced, the more awesomely the gorge walls towered overhead; the rock scenery was stunning, but with having to peer around blind bends for oncoming vehicles, there was little opportunity for admiring the magnificent surroundings. On and on, the narrow road wound around craggy buttresses with overwhelming rock walls towering overhead. Swinging around a narrow bridge across a side valley-head, we tackled the final steep section up into the tall houses of Asco village. After such a drive, it was a relief to pause for our lunch at a terrace looking out over the magnificent panorama of the valley spread out below. Below the village, a high-arched Genoese bridge carried a track across the deep river pools, and despite the gathering gloomy cloud, we enjoyed an afternoon's walking among startling mountain scenery.

Deeper into the interior, the Niolo Valley slices an even more spectacular course up though the wild and winding defile of crevices, abysses and jagged pinnacles, with rock walls towering 1,000 feet overhead. The narrow road up this fiercesomely savage rocky wilderness seems to go on and on, eventually emerging from the bare rock of the narrow gorge into the calm, green and broad glacial basin of the upper Niolo Valley and the principal Niolo village of Calacuccia. Here in this plateau valley, surrounded on all sides by Corsica's highest peaks with the crests of Monte Cinto itself gracing the northern side, we camped for 3 days at the magnificently sited Camping Acquaviva. Until the modern road was blasted through the gorge in 1889, the upper Niolo's only connection with the outside world was via a muleteer's track, so steep that much of its course is simple steps cut into rock, giving it and the parallel modern road the name of Scala di Santa Regina. This remote valley had traditionally made a harsh living from transhumant shepherding, and it still feels an isolated place, cut off from the comparatively lush coast by the savage approach gorge. The low granite cottages of the Niolo villages contrasted noticeably with the towering fortress houses of other Corsican mountain villages; clearly Niolo folk felt more secure in their upper valley protected by the ring of mighty mountains that surrounds them. This bleak landscape of maquis and granite with scattered pine and chestnut trees provided superb walking opportunity. Just beyond Albertacce, a path led up through chestnut plantations to the beautifully restored Genoese Muriccioli Bridge (Photo 8 - Genoese Bridge in the upper Niolo valley) backed by the magnificent vista of the shark's fin-shaped peak of Paglia Orba and the jagged Cinque Frati ridge of the Cinto massif soaring above the pines (Photo 9 - Upper Niolo valley backed by peak of Paglia Orba). Campsites and mountain walking simply do not come any better than this.

After our final breakfast up in the Niolo Valley, revelling in the vista of Monte Cinto lit up by the morning sun, we braced ourselves for the descent of the Scala Gorge, but somehow the drive down felt far less challenging than the ascent; descent gave increased view of oncoming traffic. Reaching the main RN193 south deeper into the interior, our next goal was the city of Corte, the geographical and cultural heart of Corsica, set in a high valley surrounded by mountains. Arriving early afternoon and still uncertain of Corte's exact topography, we installed George at Camping Restonica, a small campsite close to the city centre and spread along the banks of the River Restonica and set off to walk up into Corte. Crossing the Restonica bridge, ahead we could see the medieval citadel with the old town clustered at its foot and the modern city spread out across the valley (Photo 10 - Bridge and Citadel at Corte). The Genoese had fortified Corte with its strategic position in the island's mountainous centre, but by the 18th century, Corsican nationalist demands for independence gathered pace. Following the insurrection of 1731, the Corsican National Assembly met at Corte to draw up a new constitution; Gaffori was elected head of state but after his assassination in 1753, Pascal Paoli returned from exile as leader of the rebellious Corsicans, making Corte his seat of revolutionary government and founding a university to train future leaders. But the period of Corsican independence came to an end with French take-over, and under subsequent French rule Corte declined into insignificance. Only in the late 20th century did its status rise again as sous-prefecture of the Haute Corse Département and seat of the revived university whose aim is to re-establish Corsican culture through the compulsory teaching of the indigenous language.

In the torrid June heat, we climbed the steps up to Place Paoli with its pompous statue of the revolutionary leader, eventually reaching the old town clustered around Place Gaffori, where the statue of the Corsican insurrectionist stands. His former house nearby still bears the pock marks of alleged Genoese bullets. The old town clusters around the citadel which towers above perched imperiously on its rocky outcrop, giving panoramic views over the surrounding mountains and the two ravines which converge at Corte. The former military buildings of the citadel have been converted to a trendy ethnographic museum, but on a hot day, the air-conditioning felt more worthwhile than the rather mundane collection of displays. The heat finally overcame our will to explore, and we happily collapsed at a shady bar-terrace with a beer amid the passing tourists and bustling young students of Corte's university. It was very clear that Corte, the heart and soul of Corsica, far more symbolically represents the true essence of 'Corsitude' than the overblown tourist traps of the coast; you really cannot claim to have visited Corsica without having been to Corte.

It is hard to imagine the construction of a railway over the severely mountainous terrain of Corsica, but the 1m gauge Micheline train threads a tortuous route from Calvi and Bastia in the north, through Corte in the mountainous heart of the island down to Ajaccio on the west coast. The line is a masterful feat of 19th century engineering, crossing the wildest mountain terrain, spanning ravines on viaducts, disappearing into tunnels through mountain ridges, and winding a serpentine course as it contours every-which-way around the wooded hillsides. Known in Corse as Trinighella ('Trembler') from the former bone-shaking ride, the service is now operated by ultra-modern railcars. We had to travel on what must be one of Europe's most spectacular rail journeys negotiating steep gradients through the heart of the Corsican mountains from Corte down to Ajaccio. The crowded train pulled out of Corte and immediately the climbing began into wild country with wheel flanges screeching around the constant tight bends. Soon after the village of Venaco, the line crosses the spectacular Vecchio Gorge on an even more spectacular but flimsy-looking girder-viaduct built in 1888 by that doyen of engineers Gustave Eiffel (better known for his decorative Paris icon), spanning both the gorge and the old road bridge (Photo 11 - Railway viaduct over Vecchio Gorge). The RN 193 cross-island road running parallel with the railway now crosses the gorge on an equally spectacular new bridge. Beyond here, the line loops around and tunnels through the increasingly wild hills above sweeping valleys and craggy mountains, passing little station halts below remote villages, up to the highest point at Vizzavona. From the watershed, the long descent brings the little train steadily down to Ajaccio where in contrast to the lone isolation of the mountainous interior, the line passes along the waterfront to the terminus station. The question then was - how to pass 3 hours in this traffic-ridden city while waiting for the return train? The answer - when in doubt, take lunch; and we did, enjoying our first moules frites. Despite reading and re-reading Rough Guide, there was still little of interest in the island's capital city; being Napoleon's birthplace, there are two silly statues of the 'Little Corsican' dressed in imperial Roman toga, and having viewed these, and walked past the Maison Bonaparte, we returned along Cours Napoléon to the station for our return train back up into the wild interior and the stifling heat of Corte.

Over the next 2 days, we returned to the mountains, this time by the RN 193 road, following the course of the railway which ran high above us. Gradients were steep and the winding bends relentless, but at least for all the severity of the terrain, this was a remarkably well-constructed road. We timed our crossing of the Vecchio Gorge with the 11-20 train to photograph this crossing the viaduct (Photo 12 - Micheline train crossing the Pont de Vecchio). Beyond here, the route gained more and more height, passing through all the villages and hamlets whose station-halts we had seen yesterday - Venaco, Vivario, Tattone, Vizzavona (Photo 13 - Venaco village in central Corsican mountains) - each set on a high shelf way above the broad valley below with houses tiered up the steep hillside. The startling panorama of distant, pine-covered misty mountains presented a stark vista of this bleak landscape (Photo 14 - Central highlands of Corsica near to Vivario). Beyond Tattone, the road steepened significantly for the final 5 kms up through pine woods to the Col de Vizzavone at almost 3,500 feet, with views dominated by the mighty bulk of the Monte d'Oro massif, a huge craggy-topped peak of over 7.800 feet with lower slopes covered with a skirt of dark green pines. From the Col, we descended a forestry track down a short section of the GR20 long-distance footpath alongside the river Agnone which tumbles down a roaring a dramatic series of cascades and pools known as the Cascades des Anglais (Photo 15 - Cascades des Anglais). It was so noticeable that since leaving behind the tourist-plagued coast, campsites had improved markedly, and none was better than the wonderfully sited and superbly hospitable Camping Le Soleil where we camped that night. Set on a grassy shelf just below to Tattone railway station and shaded by ancient Corsican pines, the campsite was dominated by the monumental face of Monte d'Oro, mistily layered in the late afternoon sun (Photo 16 - Monte d'Oro (2389 m) from Camping le Soleil). And from our breakfast table the following morning, we gazed up in wonder as the morning sun picked out every detail of the mountain face.

Our time in Corsica was approaching its end and we wound our way back to Corte to turn down the valley of the Tavignano to the east coast. And what a startling contrast in surroundings: suddenly we left behind the bleak mountainous terrain in exchange for lush orchards of Mediterranean fruits. Corsica's eastern flat coastal plain is topographically the least interesting part of the island, and being now well into June, it was infested with plagues of holiday-makers, even worse than the malarial mosquitoes which once made this coastline uninhabitable. This was not an area to hang around in, and after a brief visit to the archaeological site of the Roman city of Aléria, we beat a hasty retreat north towards the unattractive industrial suburbs of Bastia, and beyond to the wild peninsula of Cap Corse. Modern concrete resortsville extends northwards from Bastia along the D80 coast road, and it is only when you reach the more gentile villas of Erbalunga that it's worth stopping. Built along a promontory, the village's old stone houses stack crookedly up the hillside behind the little harbour; a gusty wind drove breakers onto the rocky shoreline, and the Moby ferry from Bastia to Livorno, which we should catch in a couple of days, passed by on the horizon (Photo 17 - Harbour of Erbalonga on eastern coast of Cap Corse). Beyond here, the terrain reverted to maquis-covered wilderness, dotted with surviving Genoese watchtowers built to forewarn of pirate raids. The road wound around the coastline to reach the busy village of Macinaggio where we had anticipated camping for our last days in Corsica. Camping U Stazzu seemed ideally placed for our planned coastal walk: the monosyllabic and unwelcoming greeting from the surly owner and extortionate price for what was a basic campsite with primitive facilities were bad enough, but the swarms of flies made the place virtually uninhabitable - this place was the very pits, one of the worst campsites of the trip, to be avoided at all costs. We withdrew to the nearby village of Luri-Santa Severa and Camping Santa Marina where in contrast, the pitches were grassy and shaded, the facilities modern and the owner delightfully welcoming.

A coastal footpath passes around the northern tip of Cap Corse, the uninhabited maquis-covered wilderness of the Site Naturel de la Capandula, and our final day was spent walking a section of this. Compared with many of the wild beaches seen elsewhere on Corsica, this coastline was not spectacular, the beaches grubbily polluted with Posidonia weed, but what sticks in the mind was the maquis-covered headlands (Photo 18 - Maquis-covered coastal path at Cap Corse). And in mid-June, the myrtle was in full flower, the delicate white blooms crowned with a prominent pin-cushions of stigmas and stamens; in the hot sun, their fragrance filled the air (Photo 19 - Fragrant Myrtle - classic flowers of the maquis). The path descended to the clear turquoise waters of the Rade de Santa Maria where the bay was still guarded by one of the Genoese watchtower. This massive stone-built tower standing at the water's edge had been cleaved in half by cannon fire from Nelson's fleet, revealing its vaulted interior structure; the shell of the tower still stood starkly defiant.

The morning of our departure from Corsica arrived, and we returned to Bastia for the Moby Lines ferry back to Livorno from where we left 3 months ago. Looking out over the town from the ferry's deck as it drew away from the dock, the derelict area of the old town still remains unrepaired from WW11 bomb damage when the USAAF managed to bomb Bastia after the Germans had left, killing more citizens than during the whole of the war as they were out in the streets celebrating their liberation. As the ferry picked up speed for the four hour crossing to Livorno, we stayed out on deck for our farewell photos of Corsica (Photo 20 - Farewell to Corsica - departing Bastia by ferry).

Sardinia and Corsica has been a trip of mixed fortunes: spectacular mountain and coastal scenery beyond compare, two very different and fascinating sets of cultures and history despite the islands' geographical proximity, but our hard-won experiences of the last 3 months compel some serious health warnings:

  • both islands, but Corsica in particular, are severely mountainous even at coastal level, and if mountain driving is not your thing, maybe this is not the destination for you
  • the neglected state of Corsican roads, compared with Italian investment in Sardinian infrastructure, raises serious questions about the French state's neglect of this remote part of its homeland; doubtless the mindless behaviour of so-called Corsican nationalists continues to be a thorn in the flesh, but the French have held Corsica for 200 years; why is it therefore that remoter parts of the island still have a third world feel?
  • barbaric Corsican driving standards, which compound the intrinsic hazards of narrow, ill-protected mountain roads, maybe reflects a people who have spent the last 3,500 years resisting invaders. Yet contemporary 'invaders' in the form of visitors (whether tourists or serious travellers) are one of the island's only form of income; when the French subsidies dry up, and if such uncouth behaviour deters visitors, then what is the economic future for Corsica?
  • the intrinsic cost of living in all French territories is now horrendously high, not simply due to the pound~euro exchange rate; we make a thing about living thriftily and straightforwardly while away just as at home, but this has been the most expensive trip ever. Supermarket shopping in Corsica and indeed in metropolitan France is now a shock to the wallet; add to this the horrendous cost of French motorway tolls and all of this is sufficient deterrent from travelling even through French territory

So for us, it will be back to Eastern Europe for our autumn 2009 trip, this time to the Czech Republic to complement last year's trip to Slovakia. We shall be setting off again shortly and shall publish our usual Prologue edition with background information on our host country. There will be no time before our next travels for our customary Review of Campsites and Travel Tips for Sardinia and Corsica which will be published on our return later in the autumn. In the meantime, happy and safe travelling; join us again shortly for our trip to the Czech Republic.

   Sheila and Paul

   Published:  5 July 2009    

Next edition to be published in 2 weeks

 

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Voce Di Corsica - Furtuna, Barbara

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