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Wild And Lovely Corsica  The Best Of France And Italy With A Twist, US$1 equals 0.88 euro~ by Steenie Harvey

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When in Corsica, do as the Corsicans do. It’s dusk, and I’m wandering Ajaccio’s back streets, on the hunt for Mafia-black sunshades. Even at night, they seem required garb for locals...and I always like to fit in.  “Corsica is France, but it is not French,” wrote Paul Theroux. Indeed. Although the island is claimed by France, it’s geographically closer to Italy...and this produces paradoxes aplenty. Yet it’s not just the local penchant for ridiculous sunshades that evokes the weird sensation of being in an Italian port town. It’s the twisty alleyways...the walnut-faced men conversing outside doorways on wooden chairs...the ice cream parlors with their decadent concoctions...the background hum of put-putting scooters… As France and Italy are two of my favorite countries, I’m overjoyed. Corsica could have been especially designed for us confused souls who can’t decide if we’re Francophiles or Italophiles. It’s tremendous fun trying to decide what seems distinctly French, Italian, or home-grown Corsican - or what defies any classification whatsoever. Paella? It’s baffling why so many restaurants serve this Spanish rice dish at lunch-time. Doggy grooming parlors are definitely French. Judging by the price lists of Toilettage pour Animaux, it’s understandable why poodles outnumber Airedale terriers. $40 to get Fifi clipped - but $88 to get a big, bouncy Airedale into shape. Most dogs are better groomed than their owners. The world associates the French with being chic and fashion-conscious, but here many people go around in scruffy jogging attire. The boules players below Ajaccio’s Grotte Napoleon provide another typically French sight, but an Italian influence keeps surfacing. For centuries, Corsica’s overlords were the Genoese and they built their citadel towns and defensive coastal towers in much the same style as back home. And, just like in Italy, many shops close for the afternoon, reopening again for an early evening session.  Around 5 p.m., Ajaccio’s equivalent of the passegiata gets under way. You get the impression that most of its 60,000 inhabitants are out enjoying the sunshine. Streets are crowded with shoppers and people sitting at outdoor cafés, sipping aperitifs and nibbling from giveaway plates of olives and nuts. Others just stroll aimlessly up-and-down, trying to look ultra cool. Naturally there’s a torrent of “Mwah! Mwah! Mwah!” kissy greetings.

Somewhere in this labyrinth is the house where Napoleon Bonaparte was born...but I’ve discovered U Borgu, a cave-like restaurant on rue Anciens Fosses, where a stuffed boar lurks in a chimney nook. Napoleon will have to wait until tomorrow...civet sanglier (wild boar stew) is on the menu for $11. 

The Alternative South Of France

Anchored 100 miles south of the Côte d’Azur, Corsica is a chunk of France positioned under sunny Italian skies. Pristine beaches, snow-capped mountains, and wonderful walking trails...intimate harbor towns and forbidding citadels...weird medieval traditions...great dollops of history encompassing everything from ancient stone fertility figures to Napoleon and Columbus. Whether you enjoy hiking the Great Outdoors or lazing on the beach, Le Corse (as the French call it) has all the ingredients for the perfect vacation.

But with 260,000 inhabitants, this is no holiday island that dies once the tourists depart. On a pre-Easter visit, I was impressed with how gloriously alive everywhere seemed. From the moment the Air France flight from Paris started its descent, I knew a major treat was in store. The intense turquoise of the sea...the tiny blood-red islets of the Iles Sanguinaires...verdant mountains swooping and soaring into the far distance. And I mean mountains—some tower more than 9,000 feet high.

Tagged the île de beauté, Corsica really is bedazzlingly gorgeous. The coastline - nearly 650 miles of it - remains almost entirely unspoiled. Sandy beaches are mostly white and gold, and the sea shimmers with all the colors of a peacock’s tail feathers - jade, turquoise, palest aquamarine. If somebody showed you a postcard and said it was the Caribbean, you would believe them. 
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No Mediterranean islands are disagreeable, but I think Corsica is the wildest, lushest, and most scenically splendid of all. In fact, it can almost match Ireland for greenness. Almost two-thirds of the island is covered in pine, oak, and chestnut forests - often the hideaway of semi-wild pigs snuffling for acorns. Not that the interior is all impenetrable mountains and wildwood. Medieval villages perchés (literally perched villages...hundreds of them) adorn craggy peaks or are buried like secrets in the blue/green folds of the hills. Under bushes of gorse, juniper, laurel, and myrtle, an aromatic carpet of herbs grows wild all over the island. Heather, lavender, thyme, rosemary, sage and other sweet-smelling plants combine to produce a scent that almost sends you reeling with its intensity. This is Corsica’s famous maquis. Napoleon, the island’s most famous son, reckoned he could smell the maquis in the air when he was exiled on the isle of Elba...though I personally reckon you’d need a very big Gallic nose to do the same. And, if you remember WWII, you’ll know that the maquis was also the name of Corsica’s resistance movement. Banditry and Vendettas For most North American travelers, Corsica remains as unknown as the dark side of Pluto. If the island comes to mind at all, it’s usually in connection with banditry and vendettas. Time was when some unlucky devil might have to pay with his life for a perceived insult to a neighboring family’s great-great-grandfather. No matter that events took place long before anybody in either family had been born. Corsica’s blood-thirsty code of honor ensured that vendettas could - and did - last for generations.

Paradise - Or Problem Child?

Of Corsica’s two million annual visitors, most are French. Although it’s barely touched by industrialization, the island does little to promote itself to the rest of the world. This is undoubtedly because locals refuse to be herded along any route that would bring mega-hotels and mass tourism. If there’s a McDonalds or a Burger King on the island, I didn’t spot it. And, as if to further dissuade the crowds, few restaurant menus are in languages other than French or Corsican. (The island has its own dialect.)

French tricolors are plentiful, but it’s just as common to see the island’s own flag of a head-banded Moor fluttering in the breeze. Some car owners even meddle with their number-plates, covering up the EU stars and F (designating France) with a Moor’s head sticker. Probably illegal, but Corsica has long had a reputation for thumbing its nose at Paris.

The coastline is hypnotically lovely, but forget any notions of buying a beachfront plot and building a home. Here, protest tends to take the form of action rather than words. On the day I rode the coastal train from Calvi to Ile Rousse, a gaggle of French tourists were excitedly pointing at the ruined remains of two new villas. Shoddy workmanship? No. Somebody had objected to the idea of even a tiny fraction of coastline disappearing. Boom! The new constructions had been blown up in the dead of night.

Many islanders are imbued with a fierce nationalistic streak. Demands for Corsican independence regularly surface...and to say the island is politically tumultuous would be putting it mildly. In the last two years, there have been over a hundred bombings. This sounds alarming, but like I said - it’s mostly political and linked to separatist movements. Just avoid hanging around government buildings or development sites in the middle of the night. Bombings have rarely happened during the day.

Shabby Chic

Almost midway down the west coast, Ajaccio (pronounced Ajaxxio) makes a good introduction to the island. Arcing around the Gulf of Ajaccio, the phrase “shabby chic” could have been invented just for Corsica’s little capital. Glowing like honey at sunset, Italianate villas along Avenue Paris and Val Grande are colored ochre, lemon, and pink - and many are set in flowery gardens. During my visit, masses of wisteria cascaded over walls in rivers of pale purple blooms. 

The oldest part of town is crammed in between elegant Place Foch, the Port de Peche, and the Genoese citadel. As you’d expect in a fishing quarter, there’s an array of great seafood restaurants, many offering three-course evening menus for around $18. The town beach, Plage St. Francois is nothing special, but there are fabulous beaches a few miles away at Porticcio. Ajaccio’s port is big enough for ferries, but it’s no grim container port - the marina also bobs with smart white yachts and fishing smacks. 
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It came as no great surprise to see one huge passenger ferry was named Napoleon Bonaparte. In fact, I don’t know why Ajaccio hasn’t been renamed “Napoleonville.” Statues of Napoleon wearing a toga, Napoleon on horseback, Napoleon in bicorne hat...if you didn’t realize this is Old Boney’s birthplace, you’ll latch on to the fact very quickly. Whether it’s cashing in on his fame - or a sign of a complete lack of imagination - just about ever other business carries “Napoleon,” “Bonaparte,” or “Empereur” (emperor) in its title. For an Englishwoman, this Nappy love-fest can be overwhelming. Ajaccio’s adoring citizens seem to have totally forgotten the Duke of Wellington trounced him at Waterloo! However, if you want a total immersion in Napoleonic memorabilia, visit Maison Bonaparte on rue Saint Charles. He was born here on August 15, 1769. And, if you crave more, the tomb of Letitzia and Charles Bonaparte (Napoleon’s parents) is in the Imperial Chapel. More links to the Bonaparte family come courtesy of the Fesch Museum, set up by Cardinal Fesch, Napoleon’s uncle. (For art-lovers, definitely worth a visit as it contains works by Botticelli and Titian.) The Property Market Apartments in Ajaccio start at around $47,500 for 483 square feet, but don’t expect a “vue panoramique” for that price. For space and a lookout on the blood-red sunsets of the Iles Sanguinaires, the sky’s the limit. In Corse Immo, a local property magazine, I saw a 1,933 square foot duplex with terraces and a verandah listing for $580,000. I stayed in the Mercure, 115 cours Napoléon, 20090 Ajaccio; tel. (33)495-204-309; website: www.accor-hotels.com. It’s a French chain hotel, and thus nothing memorable, but standard rooms sleeping one or two in April cost $57. La plus Corse des villes Corse An easy away-day from Ajaccio, Sartène rises above a prehistoric landscape of menhirs and dolmens. Steeped in medieval traditions, this forbidding-looking settlement looks prepared for a siege - or to battle things out eyeball to eyeball with any raiding party. A complete contrast to the coast’s vacation ambiance, it prides itself on being la plus Corse des villes Corse - the most Corsican of Corsican towns.

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As you approach, you can see why the poet Paul Valery penned: “The whole place breathes war and vengeance.” High in the thickly wooded mountains of the south, Sartène seems hewn out of the very rocks it stands on. Built by the Genoese around 1550, this formidable stronghold was designed to repel the bad lads who plagued the Mediterranean during the 16th century. Five years earlier, the Turkish pirate Dragut, had organized two raids in the area. Fifteen villagers were killed and 200 more were captured to be sold as slaves.

Some of its 16th-century stone houses tower seven storeys high. In this enclosed twilight world your imagination runs wild, feeding off the almost tangible sense of menace. Although Sartène is a perfectly safe place nowadays, it’s hard banishing away thoughts about cut-throat assassins. Low archways, dead ends, secret gardens...skinny passageways that never see a shaft of sunlight...endless flights of stone steps. Any Turkish corsair with an ounce of sense would have definitely gone elsewhere for booty. 

During those perilous times, you’d think Sartène’s citizens were fully occupied by the dangers of the outside world. Not so. For centuries, the inhabitants of Borgu and Santa Anna quarters also enthusiastically waged a local vendetta. One man spent nine years shut up in his house in the Borgu, never venturing out for fear of being slain.

Sartène’s big day is Good Friday when the town slips through a time warp and recreates the Middle Ages. A sinner called the Catenacciu shuffles through the town’s narrow passageways, wearing red robes and a cowl. With 35 pounds weight of chains fastened to his ankles, he carries a heavy cross, made of solid oak and weighing 75 pounds. (When they’re not in use, you can see these tortuous symbols inside Sartène’s church of Ste-Marie.) 

Catennacciu is the Corsican dialect word for “penitent” and his red garb symbolizes religious passion. Accompanied by nine other cowled penitents clad in black and white, his walk reenacts Christ’s journey to Calvary. His identity disguised by the red cowl, the Catennacciu is always anonymous. He (and it’s always a he, never a she) is chosen by the local priest “to expiate a great sin.” However, if you too have some terrible sin that needs shriving, don’t expect to find any quick route to redemption here. A notice in Ste-Marie church indicates there are enough local applicants to fill the Catenacciu’s role up until the year 2040.

Calvi…More than just A Pretty Face

If the sight of men in military uniform makes you go weak at the knees, then don’t miss Calvi. The French Foreign Legion have a base outside this seaside town, and there’s plenty of opportunities to clock handsome brutes in distinctive white kepis. 

Of course, this isn’t why most visitors come to Calvi. Almost in the north-west corner of the island, it’s the perfect Mediterranean holiday resort...the Riviera as it used to be. Over three miles of fine sandy beach spread out under shady pine trees beyond its little harbor, there’s a sailing school, and the sea temperature never dips below 57° F, even in winter. 

Adorned by a Genoese citadel jutting out into the sea, Calvi is a picture postcard of terracotta roofed houses clustered around a pink and white church. There’s only around 5,000 permanent inhabitants, so it all feels deliciously toy-town. Unlike in Ajaccio, no high rise apartment blocks mar the view of snow-capped peaks across the bay. 

Enclosed by formidable rampart walls, Calvi’s citadel forms a tiny town within the town. Following the cobbled streets that wind like a snail shell around its old cathedral, I came across a plaque outside the remains of a stone house. Written in the Corsican language, it commemorated the birthplace of “Cristofanu Columbu” in 1436. Although the rest of the world doesn’t take the claim seriously, some local historians insist Columbus was born here rather than in Genoa.

Incredible though it seems—and I’m talking about the April week before Easter - a few people were lying on Calvi’s beach. A couple of hardy girls had even gone topless. As the temperature was only 68° F, it wasn’t hot enough for me to disrobe, but my arms and face certainly got sun-kissed. 

All creaky floorboards, the Grand Hotel Calvi has a faded air of elegance. It’s clean, but it has seen better days. Wonderful views from the top floor breakfast room, but sadly the breakfast doesn’t encourage you to linger; orange juice, bread, a croissant, jam, and weak coffee. As it charges $96 for doubles during the low season, you could be forgiven for expecting more.
Grand Hotel Calvi, 3 boulevard Wilson, Calvi; tel. (33)495-650-974; e-mail: info@grand-hotel-calvi.com.

The “Red Island”

Fifty minutes east along the coast from Calvi is Ile Rousse. The “red island” takes its name from a rocky red promontory sheltering the town’s tiny harbor. Sandy beaches curve gently around a beautiful blue/green bay, and no doubt it’s a great place for lazy-day summer vacations. 

During April, though, there didn’t seem to be many visitors about. Strolling along the Marinella esplanade, I thought the water seemed far choppier than in Calvi. The wind was colder too—nobody was splashing in the waves or spread-eagled on the beach here. 

Bedecked by palm trees and lined with outdoor cafés, the town’s main square, Place Paoli, is huge for a town of 2,500 inhabitants. Nothing wrong with that—it provides ample space for afternoon boules games. 

For mouth-watering fresh produce, make tracks through the colonnades of the covered market, which is actually listed as a historical monument. Laid out on marble slabs with mosaic designs are all kinds of tasty treats; crunchy almond biscuits that go by the name of Sant’Antonino croquants, tubs of brocciu sheep’s cheese, deep green olive oils, blossom-flavored honeys, bulging-eyed fish, and mounds of fresh fruit and vegetables. But go in the morning - by lunch-time everything gets packed away.

Into The Balagne

Between Calvi and Ile Rousse is an inland area called the Balagne. It’s often called “the Garden of Corsica,” and even a sorcerer couldn’t conjure up a more magical slice of landscape. The jeweled blue/green sea below, jagged peaks up above, the Balagne unfurls out its tapestry of timeless villages, bijou chapels, and stone hump-backed bridges. Narrow lanes are hemmed with olive groves, orchards, and vineyards, where some of Corsica’s best wines are produced. (Try Clos Landry, which comes in both rosé and red varieties.)

Many Balagne villages date back over a 1,000 years. Santa Reparata of the ancient churches, chapels, and convents made me yearn to explore further into the interior, but in this one area alone, there are far too many villages to discover on a single trip. 

A number of settlements are linked by an artisan’s route (the very Italian-sounding Strada di l’Artigiani), which delivers you to craftspeople who continue traditions passed down through generations. Probably the most rewarding village for a shopping trip is Pigna. According to real estate agent Olivier Dennis-Masssari, this village has potters, engravers, artists, and musical instrument makers, one of whom specializes in lutes. 

Village Properties

Mr. Dennis-Massari is based in Ile Rousse. (Agila Immobilier, Avenue J. Calizi, 20220 L'ILe Rousse, Corsica; tel. (33)495-605-548; website: www.agila-immobilier.com). We passed by Pigna on our way to Aregno, where he currently has some village properties. Coastal properties aren’t exactly cheap (new-build apartments in Ile Rousse cost around $221 per square foot, and an 1,100 square foot villa with sea views can easily achieve $326,700), but village houses in the hills cost far less. And with some under $50,000, they’re a fraction of what you’d pay on the mainland, in Provence. 

$48,426 is sought for a house on Aregno’s Place d’Eglise - though I must stress it’s hardly bigger than a doll’s house. Built of solid stone - the walls are three feet thick - it’s in very good condition and you could move in straight away. That’s if you can imagine yourself making do with just 462 square feet of living space.

We also viewed a studio apartment for $46,700. Stunning sea views from the terrace, but at 176 square feet, living space was even more cramped. Even so, for a single person or a minimalist couple it might do for a holiday home. During July and August, even tiny studios can achieve weekly rents of $340 in this part of Corsica. And although the mountain roads seem to be taking you to the back of the beyond, Aregno is only six miles from the coast. 

Sidebar: Three More Favorite Restaurants

Each region of France has its own cuisine. Corsica is no exception, and I can honestly say I had no bad meals. However, those with delicate stomachs may want to avoid sansonnet - a terrine made from blackbirds. But even that tasted wonderful - though admittedly I didn’t realize what I was eating at the time. 

Many restaurants offer lunch-time 'plats du jour' for $9.50 to $10. On Ajaccio’s seafront (below Place de Gaulle), I can recommend U Farniente. On the day I visited, there was a good choice of fishy-type dishes including paella, fillets of rouget (red mullet), moules (mussels), and calamar farci (stuffed squid). Served with fluffy rice, the squid was scrumptious. I’m not sure what it was stuffed with, but I’d guess some kind of herby sausage. A quarter-liter of white wine here costs $3.40.

If you miss out on sanglier (wild boar) in Ajaccio’s U Borgu, try it in Sartène. In U Passaghju (rue des Freres Bartoli), I chose boar pâté served with crusty bread, salad, olives, and gherkins, then boar chunks cooked in honey. Delicious and great value at $12.50.

On Place de l’Eglise, in the backstreets behind Calvi’s waterfront, Santa Maria’s candlelit tables beckoned. Here I went for croustade, which turned out to be a pastry stuffed with shrimp and other tasty seafood bits. I followed that with loup (sea bass). $23 for two excellent dishes seemed very reasonable, but they also offer a three-course Menu Corse for $18. 

Sidebar: A 15-day Hike, Anyone?

Spring is a wonderful time to explore Corsica in hiking boots. It’s not baking hot, and wildflowers such as white cistus, golden broom, pink dogroses, and bright blue miniature lupins blossom everywhere. 

Numerous hiking trails arrow into the island’s heart. The best-known is the GR 20, which crosses Corsica’s mountainous backbone and apparently takes 15 days to complete. For a route sampler, you can take a train from Ajaccio or Bastia to the inland village of Vivvazona. This is one of the closest points to the GR 20.

Not having time for 15 days in the wilderness, I wimpishly caught a local Ajaccio bus to Bois des Anglais (the English Wood). This is the start of a five-hour hike called le Chemin des Cretes, the Path of the Ridges, winding above the coast towards the Iles Sanguinaires. All along this sandy up-hill-and-down-dale path, lizards kept darting in front of me, butterflies flitted past, and small birds chirruped from the top of spiny cactus plants. 

Sidebar: Eye-catching Mementos

Trust me...you don’t want that bust of Napoleon perching on your mantelpiece. If you’re seeking a more unusual memento, many gift-shops sell Santa Lucia’s Eyes: small, oval-shaped amulets and pendants. Gold-encased “eyes” are more expensive, but if you’re not concerned about gold or silver settings, you can pick them up for between $3.40 and $5.60.

Santa Lucia’s Eyes are what local fishermen call the orange, pink, or brown plate, that slides across the opening of a sea snail’s shell. Santa Lucia is thought to provide protection against harm—particularly the evil eye. She was famed for her chastity, and one of the best-known legends tells how she deterred an unwanted suitor. I can think of easier ways of getting rid of an amorous nuisance, but St. Lucia believed in drastic measures. When the love-sick admirer started waxing poetic about her eyes, she plucked out her eyeballs and presented them to him on a platter.
 

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