Journalist, DERI ROBINS, flies from Bristol to Bastia and stays in a traditional stone house with a lovely private swimming pool. She finds an unspoiled island of beauty that she can’t wait to revisit dès que possible. . .
Hemmed in by the waters of the Mediterranean on one side, the mountains of Cap Corse on the other, the ancient town of Calvi proved ideal for an 18th-century siege. It was here, from its mediaeval citadel, that the fateful bullet was fired that blinded Nelson. Things are a little calmer around these parts today, but its situation makes it equally well-suited to leisurely pursuits, such as sipping a glass of local rosé gris while watching the magnificent sight of the setting sun illuminating the snow-capped peaks across the bay. Not all dramas, after all, have to feature sabres, machetes, daggers or cannons.
The Genoese citadel, which has seen off many unwelcome guests aside from Nelson, is home to alleyways, cobbled to an inch of their lives and lined with ateliers, shops, cafés, restaurants, sleeping dogs, and a night club called Chez Tao, founded in 1928 by a Russian aristocrat and his ballet-dancer partner. We shared its steep steps, squares and churches with no more than a dozen other tourists – and this was mid-May, a time when all European mainland hotspots are rammed with rubberneckers.
It’s also home to one of the many houses where Christopher Columbus wasn’t born, although the Calvistis insist otherwise. A sign guides you to the gently crumbling building. Corsica is also the birthplace of Napoleon — unlike Columbus, no doubt about this one. Napoleon, Nelson, Christopher Columbus – if you don’t know much about history, but you know what you like, Corsica’s the place.
We were off to do a spot of exploring of our own – nothing quite as daunting as a journey to the New World on board a boat the size of a picnic hamper, but an adventure nonetheless.
Corsica is the most mountainous island in the Mediterranean, with several heroic peaks higher than 6,500ft – that’s more than two Ben Nevises on top of each other. The terrain provides driving conditions best described as uncompromising. Our destination, just on the other side of the jagged range, was the small town of Saint-Florent. Steep, narrow roads offered white-knuckle thrills; vertiginous views took in vineyards, gorges, waterfalls, extraordinary rock formations, forests and medieval villages so isolated that they probably haven’t heard that Napoleon’s dead. In between lies the maquis, the Mediterranean wilderness made up of botanical A-listers such as pines (of course) arbutus, box, cork oak, myrtle, rosemary, sweet chestnut and thyme. The scent on the breeze is intoxicating; the herbs make their way into the local cooking.
On roads shared with wild boar, goats and sheep, patrolled overhead by kites and buzzards, we passed St Antonino, the oldest inhabited village in Corsica and said to be one of the most beautiful in France. It still clings improbably to the top of a substantial mountain, even after 1,200 years of very iffy history. Through a warren of lanes, up steep pathways and underneath vaulted passages, we eventually reached the top; an A-Z of the whole of the Balagne spread out below us.
The old fishing town of Saint-Florent, like the rest of the island, is a bit French, a bit Italian and quite a lot Corsican. There’s a big marina that mops up the Nice gin-palace set, a boulangerie selling densely almondy croissants, a citadel (quel surpris), and, even less surpris, a wrap-around town beach. What appears to be a perpetual game of pétanque takes place in the little town square. You won’t go short of restaurants in St Flo; you’ll get fish, wild boar stew, and twinkly views across the harbour. Having said that, it was a nightly wrench to leave the villa.
We stayed in the traditional stone house of La Citaj, its wide wooden floorboards striped with rays of brilliant Corsican sunshine. It’s set just on the outskirts of St Flo, so that you feel down with the neighbours; we didn’t hear an English voice for a week, but ended up on excellent terms with the local cats. Peeping over the tops of old damson trees is the dome of La Cathedrale de Nebbio. This much admired Romanesque building is apparently not without its issues; the bishop, until recent times, kept a loaded pistol by the altar during mass. The word vendetta apparently originates in Corsica, but given the friendliness we encountered, and the laid-back-verging-on-the-sleepy way of life, it’s hard to imagine what you’d have to do to upset the locals to such a degree; Nelson and Hardy must really have been out-of-order.
Corsica is one of the most unspoiled and beautiful places you could ever hope to visit; with direct flights now available from Bristol we suggest you do so sans tarder, before everyone else gets in on the act.
How did we get there?
We travelled with Corsican Places and flew directly from Bristol to Bastia (flights available from June to September).
How much does it cost?
Holidays to Corsica from Bristol are priced from £499 per person, based on seven nights self-catering, inclusive of return flights and car hire. A week’s stay at La Citaj departing from Bristol airport costs from £799 per person inclusive of return flights and car hire. Corsican Places; 0845 330 2113 Corsica.co.uk
Article originally published by MediaClash.
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