James & Vilija

August, empty august… Its a time when Europe shuts down, everybody goes on holidays and normally buzzing metropolises become ghost towns complete with rolling tourists being blown down the main street by a hot northerly wind. At risk of boredom we decided to join the mass temporary migration and planned a holiday to Corsica & Paris with Vilija’s friend from Paris, James (henceforth referred to as Paris James) and his girlfriend Malene.

Stage one in the grand plan was to meet Paris James in Milano. He arrived on a cattle plane (mistakenly labeled as Ryan Air) from Paris and we wondered around Milano, the first real time for all of us. This was our first introduction to Europe in mid August. The Sydney of Italia was empty, streets that were death traps when I was there waiting for my flight last time were perfect spots for a spot of backyard cricket.

None the less we managed to happily pass the day. Vilija bought herself 7 years of good luck by grinding her heel into the testicles of the bull at Galleria Vittorio Emanuele. We continued our amazing run of seeing famous buildings covered in scaffolding. The ornate Milano Cathedral that holds a staggering 40,000 people (take that docklands ) was a breathtaking site of thousands of turrets, gargoyles, 2″ steal pipes and advertising billboards.

At this point I would also like to add a vocal warning to anyone contemplating travelling through one of Milano’s airports. DO NOT LEAVE ANYTHING IN YOUR LUGGAGE THAT YOU DON’T MIND LOOSING!!! That is unless you could use a new camera, iPod or sunglasses Remember people, insurance fraud is wrong, I would never suggest anything that hurts the wonderful people in the insurance industry. But seriously, there has recently been a scandal where a large number of baggage handlers were sacked for helping themselves to peoples luggage.

Back in Genova we went off to Siestri Livante to have Pizza for Chiara’s birthday. The original plan was to attend another Sagra but the sudden end to Europe’s hot summer put a definite dampener on that.

The next day we jumped on to the ever reliable Italiani trains and made our way to Nice from where our ferry to the home of Asterix & Obelix departs. Up until very recently Paris James worked for Eurosport in their motorsport team. As a result a high priority was to find a classy establishment where we could relax and follow the Hungarian Grand Prix. Establishment, we found, classy it was definitely not!!! Chez Wayne’s was an Anglo-Saxon sanctuary, sticky carpet, stinky toilets, friendly English speaking bar staff and most importantly had a projector TV. Here we watched the start and then left Paris James to watch the rest of what we have been reliably informed was a very entertaining race. Vilija and I went went off to see Cote d’Azur, the beautiful stretch of beach that conjures images of 60’s bond films due to the casinos and shear number of tourists that line the coast.

Struggling with ill-fitting backpacks and bodies unaccustomed to carrying 20kgs we found our way to the ferry terminal and then to Corsica.

Arriving into Calvi we met up with Malene who had arrived 2 days early having hitch-hiked from Paris with a friend. Malene and Lasse had already scouted a good camping ground located about 20kms out of Calvi in a town called Algajola. Too late for the train we caught a cab that was closer to an amusement park ride than a car trip. Screaming along narrow twisty roads, eligible for the Corsican Rally our cab driver juggled the steering wheel, gears, on coming traffic, radio and call center for the two cab outfit. Needless to say I closed my eyes and held the “ohh s@&t” handle tightly.

Our campsite at Algajola was 50m from the beach and was our home for the first 3 nights. The tent given to us for my birthday was brilliant, easy to put up and with enough room for Vilija and I and all our junk.

The beach at Algajola was beautiful, sand, crystal clear pale blue water warm enough to lounge around giving my best impression of an Hippopotamus. The only complaint we had was that the sand was too soft to use the cricket bat and ball that Paris James lovingly brought from cricket mad Paris. The fact that we not to find a suitable place other than on a train platform on the way home will remain unsaid.

Our stay at Algajola was an enforced relaxing time as we were slightly stranded due to a strike in the old train that links Calvi to Ile Russe. Apparently the second time in three years they have striked in the peak tourist season we were told that it shouldn’t last too long and it didn’t.

With the strike over we said goodbye to Lasse, who headed home to his native Denmark, we jumped on the ancient train for the few stops to Ile Rousse. A windy bus ride later we arrived in St Flourent a cute town nearly busting at the seams from the tourists.

As we headed north the amount of French spoken steadily decreased replaced by Corse which is remarkably similar to Italiano. There was a very strong pride evident throughout Corsica of their heritage with their flag being flown and visible everywhere.

The plan was to catch a small ferry from St Flourent to a UNESCO World Heritage protected area called the Desert of Agriates. We had heard of a good camping spot near some amazing beaches. The ferry dropped us off at Lotu, a beach that did not disappoint. White as white sand, turquoise water and a steep mountain backdrop. Though, as if we should have expected otherwise it was PACKED.

Not a problem, the camp site was an hours walk further on. Off we trooped with a sense of adventure as we only vaguely knew where we were going. Its not Marblebar I reassured myself. Upon arrival we were treated to a brilliant camp site situated on top of a small hill and covered in gum trees we felt strangely at home.

The beach here was called Saleccia and was equally stunning as the previous beach. We immediately made ourselves acquainted with the water

The only thing that spoilt our time at Saleccia was our lack of self catering ability. As a result we were at the mercy of a shop that opened for 3 hours a day and sold bread hard enough to shatter granite. Our hope for relief was dashed when we found the pizzeria closed one night and sold out another. A bit of sweet talking and a well timed beer resulted in 4 more pizzas being scraped together

In search for a bit of respite from the crowds Vilija and I decided to go exploring further along the coast. After at times a challenging 2ish hour walk we found another beach shared with 6 others. Our find was cut a little short as a strong wind whipped up sand and very kindly exfoliated any exposed parts of our bodies.

Our final night was interrupted with the wind howling through the trees and unsuccessfully trying to blow down our tent. The next morning we packed up and waddled back to Lotu. A broken thong later we arrived to find the beach largely empty except for a few of yachts. Curious we made a few inquiries and VERY quickly found out that the ferries weren’t running due to the high wind, called The Mistrial. A phenomenon, we were confidently told lasts for three days. That day was the second.

A few blank stares were passed around along with a few expletives. We needed to get back to Calvi, or at least Ile Rouse, or risk missing our ferry back to the mainland the following day. Running up and down the beach trying to bum a lift off one of the yachts present wasn’t successful. They were intent on enjoying Lotu on the very rare occasions in august when its not covered with people.

The only option left was to walk. A 4 hour walk according to the signs and 4 hours till the bus from St Flourent left… Tick tock… With little hiking fitness, heavy packs, lack of food, water and proper footwear confidence of arriving in time for the bus was not high. :-/ None the less off we went.

The track wound its way around the coast towards St Flourent, over the rocky coastline with an occasional shortcut that involved a steep climb over a peninsula. With very little water we resorted to asking nearly everybody we saw if they had any to spare. We found a few lovely people who gave us some.

At the 2ish hour mark we took a break and conversation was limited as everyone collapsed. With no idea how long remained, there was a lot of concern as to whether we would make the bus… It turned out at this stage we were over half way. An hour and a half later we arrived sore, exhausted, smelly but happy at having made it on time!!! With hindsight it was a great experience, beautiful scenery and rewarding, if we were better prepared and had more time it would have been easier.

From St Flourent we made our way back to Calvi for our last night. The following day we poked around Calvi, a pretty if not expensive touristy town in august, and then caught the ferry back to Savona this time. The last piece of excitement was left for our arrival into Savona that was lit by many flashes of lightning over the hills inland and just as many over the water, though luckily it remained dry for us.

I’ll sign off by sparing you a description of the feud I had with the taxi driver upon our return to Genova and say that we have just returned from the second half of our trip in Paris and we had a ball!!! More about that to come.

Tags: Calvi Algajola, Corsica, France, Milano, Nice, photos, Saleccia

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