Motorbike holiday to Corsica and Sardinia - part 2

I have long wanted to see Bonifacio, that town perched perilously on the cliffs at the very south point of Corsica. By fortuitous planning, we were catching the ferry to Sardinia from Bonifacio, a mere 50 mins crossing, and decided to spend our time visiting the town instead of taking the long winding mountain lanes inland from Porticcio. Taking them would add several hours to our journey and we would have had time for nothing else.

We took the scenic coast road instead, and arrived in Bonifacio in time for lunch.We found a sandwich bar, ordered a couple of sarnies and then went to sit on the other side of the road on the bar's terrace. My DB went off to use the loo so he wasn't there when the bar owner came over to give me a bollocking. We had committed the cardinal sin of ordering our sarnies at the bar instead of sitting on the terrace and waiting for the waitress to serve us. Was there a sign in hell-fire warning us NOT to order at the bar if we wanted to sit down? Nope, we were just supposed to know. Did I give a shit? Not really, I just wanted her to leave the sarnies, shut up and go away. Which she did, and we sat on the terrace and ate, in the sun. For the beginning of the season, she was a tad tetchy, I found...

Motorbikes park for free in Bonifacio, which meant we could enjoy the sites without getting ripped off at the end of it. We took a boat trip out to see the town from the sea for the spectacular views of it perched on the cliffs (which we would also see from the ferry but not so well...).

Bonifacio from the sea

The house at the end on the right belongs to actress Marie-José Nat

We had lovely weather for it, and the boat was packed. Lots of people had been stopped by the attractive girls plying boat trips along the marina. We were sat at the back of the front section which meant I could stand and take photos without bothering anyone. Cool.

Bonifacio from the marina

There's a little train that takes you to the top and drops you off for €10 (and brings you back down) but you can make exactly the same trip by car. The train shows you no more than you can see for nothing. Cars have to pay to park though. We had a party of extremely exuberant (post-lunch) retired fonctionnaires on our train who were loud and brash and thought themselves terribly funny the whole way up.

Coming into the port from the sea, ferry on right

 Later, we were on that ferry which wasn't packed but there are 15 crossings per day!

No cars in the old town. Wonder why...

Napoleon lived in Bonifacio for a while. His name is on a plaque on a house in the middle somewhere. Peeking inside, the stairs up were terribly steep, the sort you haul yourself up.

Looking east towards the cliffs from the edge of the town

The views were nothing if not dramatic, and seeing them in the lovely weather just made them all the more spectacular. You can see more amazing pictures on this website: www.bonifacio.fr 

Fortress walls

  

The coast looking north-west

I was happy to spend the afternoon there. Even on a motorbike holiday, it's nice to stop and visit sometimes, and Bonifacio is certainly worth the detour. I think it must be hell on earth in the summer though with all the visitors.

We got on a late afternoon ferry and arrived in St Teresa di Gallura, our port of arrival in Sardinia in a bit of a drizzle. It was also pretty chilly. Our hotel was marvellously placed in the centre, two minutes from the port, so we could pop into town to buy a map of Sardinia (much needed!), notice that no one was about because of the cold, and that the place looked dead.

How different it looked on our return a week or so later when the weather was good, the sun was out and the temperature balmy. The piazza was alive with chatting folk, the bars had happy drinkers, and the shops had customers.

Spring motorbike holiday to Corsica and Sardinia - part 1

My DB and I have just come back from over a week away. Du jamais vu! Yes, from Wednesday to Saturday ten days or so later we were over the hills and far away in (Corsica and) Sardinia. It was a marvellous break because Sardinia is so beautiful with such varied scenery, and it was amazing to have a so much time away together.

We went on the motorbike of course - Sardinia is a biker's heaven, with great roads in good condition and not too much traffic especially out of season. I packed my capsule wardrobe into my faithful little blue and green bag that my parents left after one of their visits many years ago, and is the exact size of the BMW side case. I'm getting good at it, but didn't know whether the evenings would be warm enough for a little top. They weren't, so I took two tops too many, a pair of black trousers too many, and over-packed a black jacket which I wear with the little tops and black trousers. But apart from that, I wore everything!

We rode to Marseille port, got on the overnight Corsica ferry and had a delicious dinner from a buffet starter, then really good pizza, and wine. There was also a menu for just buffet starter and buffet dessert which, with hindsight would have been better as the starters were so tasty, and I was looking forward to having on the boat going back. Just my luck that it was a different boat and company, and we had to use the motorway service station-style caff. Disappointing!

Corsica

The ferry deposited us at Isle Rousse (top left), so called because of the brilliant orange colour of the rocks, and we rode off in search of breakfast as it was only 7am. I was also looking for a bar with wifi as my son had badgered me just before we left (literally, like 5 mins before!) about some shoes he'd received from Brandalley, didn't like, and wanted me to buy some more. I was so not in the frame of mind for buying shoes on the internet, so told him to send me a link to the ones he liked. He suggested I give him my credit card details and website login so he could do it himself. Nice try, son.

So it was that I was sat in Calvi, at a bar overlooking the lovely little port with my café crème and croissants battling with Brandalley. I made the transaction and didn't notice the delivery date. When I did, several hours later at the hotel, I realised summer would be practically over before the shoes arrived and had to call to cancel the order. The things one does on holiday!

Terrible Corsican tourist road

We took the tourist coastal road south. It was full of pot holes, repaired pot holes, newly forming pot holes, and pot holes upon pot holes reproducing like rabbits. The weather was a bit hazy but not actually raining.

We stopped for lunch at Porto, bought some last minute just before it closed at midday supermarket sarnies and crisps and sat on the pebbly beach to eat. The pebbles were many and varied in colour and degree of speckling. Wet, they were a riot of colour.

So we had the port to our right, a look-out tower set up on a jutting rock just in front of it, the lovely blue sea before us, and some impressive sheer cliffs to our left. They had many a ring and other device for fixing climbers' ropes up the impossible-looking rock face.

Porto look-out tower

Rock climber's rock face. Click to see hooks and rings.

The pink granite rocks at the water's edge had been weathered into fantastic blobby shapes, as though a giant child had thrown down dollops of melting marshmallows and they'd set solid.

Porto rocks like marshmallows or rhinoceros hide.

We continued down, came across a bevy of Porsche 911s. The Owners' Club must have been having a day out because there was a good 40 or so of them. Some were speedier than others and went zooming off with a satisfying roar along the narrow winding roads. Luckily they met no one at the dodgier corners... My DB's sap rose, the adrenalin flowed, and he roared off after them, with me not taking pictures from the back...

Porsche 911 Owners' Club day out along Corsica's slightly better roads

Ajaccio came and went, and we stopped a few kilometres south at Porticcio, just off Agosta Plage at the Kalliste Hotel. Our room was an apartment kitted out from Ikea, with views towards the sea. It's practically brand new and a little bijoux. We had to dine out though as there's no restaurant. The receptionist recommended the Auberge de la Ferme just down the road. We walked there, got lost, had to call for directions and found it behind the Radisson at the end of a side road full of building materials and up a hill. We were a tad ratty by the time we arrived.

Still it was worth it, for the best veal daube EVER. It was tasty, tender, not full of smoked bacon or too olivey (like daubes often are), but just a perfect harmony of taste and texture. Pure bliss.

It felt good to be on holiday.

Worst Christmases

What's the worst Christmas you've ever had?

I have two contenders. First let me say that I'm a big fan of the family Christmas with things done as they should according to family traditions, and it pains me greatly when I cannot be with my family at this time.

That said, you will understand why my worst Christmases took place far from my family.

The first was Christmas in Egypt during a year there as part of my university course. The year itself was, on the whole, a waste of time, but the Christmas part of it is just one totally ghastly memory. I was living with some others from my course: 3 girls plus the boyfriend of one who was a total idiot. There was another group of boys living in the flat next door. Most of us decided to go to Sharm al-Sheikh for a Christmas break, by bus. This was in 1982.

It was a budget trip, natch. Our hotel accommodation turned out to be nuclear bunkers which had running water for two hours a day; one in the morning, one in the evening. You had to be quick or you missed it if, for example you had a lie-in. Meals consisted of veal. Except breakfast which would have consisted of veal except that the cook would probably have given in his notice if he had had to prepare it three times a day.

So, there we were in the middle of the desert by the sea; no telephones, no water, and the odd stray camel and misguided tourist for company. Those poor folk had actually paid good money for their holiday of a lifetime. At least we paid peanuts and had no illusions about what we would probably be letting ourselves in for, from the previous three month's experience to guide us.

Christmas lunch was... wait for it... veal, yes! how did you guess? Christmas dinner was... veal! Woah!You're getting good at this! We had to hitch a lift to the nearest village that had an international phone and wait for the operator to put us through to our families for a 2-minute frenzied chat each.

That was about it really. Exciting huh?

The other worst Christmas I had the joy to experience was in Corsica. My ex-h was doing a replacement there. We were put up in a closed hotel, so we had a bed, but had to eat out for every meal including breakfast. On Christmas Eve, when most French folk are tucking into foie gras and a seafood platter, we made our miserable way into the centre of town in search of an open restaurant. We found one which appeared to be a front for the local branch of Free Corsica. Everyone stopped talking as we walked innocently in. Heads turned to stare at us. We felt uncomfortable, but hunger drove us on to ask for a table. We were ungraciously plonked at one sandwiched between the broad ends of Corsican freedom fighters.

The menu was limited. I asked for the tomato and avocado salad. It arrived, with furry tomatoes and crunchy avocados so unripe the knife refused to budge once forced inside. Of course, we dared not say anything. Well, you don't, do you, with moustached henchmen on every side eyeing you suspiciously as though you were a spy. I'm not sure we stayed to eat the rest. I think we felt so unwelcome that we paid up and hurried out, went back to the hotel and ate biscuits.

The next day, Christmas day, the only place we found open at lunch time was a pizza take-away. We bought one, and ate it on the main square in the cold while I phoned home and tried not to sound like my heart was pounding the misery I felt.

Of the two, I'm not sure which was worse. Probably the Egyptian experience, because it ended with a bus ride from hell. The bus had no windows. On the floor lay the debris of hundreds of meals, plus half the desert. There was no loo on the bus. Loo stops consisted of doing a pee behind the bus with all the passengers hanging out of the windows watching. I could not pee under these circumstances. Call me an old fusspot if you will, but I had to have a modicum of privacy, and cleanliness.

However, after several hours on the bus, I was so desperate I could barely contain myself. Once in Cairo, I dashed to a station worker and asked to use the loo. He could see I was in great need, and, bless him, took me to the staff loo. Well, what can I say? It had a door. That was it's only positive feature. I dared not sit down. I hardly dared walk on the floor. However, I finished my business and came out to an audience of men with their ears pinned to the door. Come to think of it, there might have been the odd crack in the door wood too, but hey, who am I to comment? It takes all sorts...

World travel is so educational, don't you think? However, my days of Christmas anywhere other than with my family or in my house in France are over. Thank goodness.