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!
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 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.|
|Porto rocks like marshmallows or rhinoceros hide.|
|Porsche 911 Owners' Club day out along Corsica's slightly better roads|
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.