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.