Corsica....Part Two!

And so to Bonifacio, fantastic walled city which was originally founded in 828, but most of the citadel that is visible today is relatively modern...around the 9th Century!  It is just as spectacular as the postcards (maybe not our photos) suggest, and we really enjoyed our time there.  Predictably, the city is a big tourist trap, so parking is hard to find, and at a cost, if you are lucky enough to score a space.  Arriving at around 5pm, we somehow found a free car park for patrons of the boat tours that leave the harbour every hour.  As the last trip left at 4.30pm we decided that no-one would be any the wiser if an extra car appeared, so we parked up for free.

The views along the cliffs were beautiful, and we watched a peregrine / kestrel like falcon attacking a crow for about half an hour, dive bombing it from above - at the last minute the crow would do a 180, flipping onto its back so it presented its claws to the falcon!  We seemed to be the only ones watching the action, while everyone else was more interested in the ice-creams and postcard shops.

The following day we beat the car parking police at their own game again.  There's a stunning walk along the cliffs from Bonifacio to the lighthouse 1 1/2 hours away, therefore involving about 3-4 hours of more car parking fees.  We drove to the lighthouse, where we could park the car wherever we liked for free, and did the walk in reverse!  We took most of the day, stopping at some of the stunning beaches on the way which we climbed down to - they made Wharariki look rather tame.  The little dot in the centre of the photo is Lew...just to give some sense of scale!

The camera went into overdrive that day, but I'll try not to fill up the blog with just one day..

At Bonifacio we stayed at a bed and breakfast owned by a young Italian woman, helped by her parents.  This was a very different experience to the first B & B, very modern, with large rooms, big windows, double glazing, a huge bathroom, and.....just for Lew.....a massive shower he could stand up in, wave his arms around, and STILL not hit the shower head!  Some of you (not us ) will be familiar with taking your children on a holiday, showing them all sorts of amazing sights, giving them experiences they will surely remember for life, and at the end, when you ask them what was the best part of the holiday, they reply "the chocolate ice-cream on the plane"?!?  Yes, you guessed it, when I asked Lew what he enjoyed most about Corsica, the reply was..."the shower at Bonifacio"!!  I guess when you're six foot four, the chance to stand upright in a shower doesn't come along very often!
After Bonifacio we turned north, and had a day of beaches on our way to Porto Vecchio.  Unfortunately not warm enough to swim, but very tempting as the water was so blue and clear.

Porto Vecchio was a pleasant city, with a good mix of culture and tourism, beaches and mountains.  It's hosting the start of the Tour de France at the end of June, which is the first time the Tour has been to Corsica, so there were signs of the efforts being made to clean up the city and prepare for the event.  The cyclist on the building was made out of corks...not sure what the dog was made of!

One of the parking meters got us into an interesting discussion with the B & B owner.  We noticed that you don't have to pay for parking between 12 and 2pm.  The reason?  Everyone goes home for lunch, of course: the only reason for coming INTO town between 12 and 2, is to go to a restaurant for lunch, and why on earth should you pay for parking if you're doing something so important as eating out?!?

Corsica is a great island for walking, and there was evidence everywhere of walking parties, guides, and individuals like us, taking advantage of the well sign-posted tracks.  The main walking track, the GR20, goes from north to south, taking 15 days, and is apparently not to be undertaken lightly.  The shorter Mare a Mare (Coast to Coast) track is a mere 3 days, and we walked on part of it up in the mountains behind Porto Vecchio.  The weather that day was a bit grey and drizzly, so no pictures worth publishing for that walk.  Instead you get a couple of photos from our drive back to Ajaccio to get the ferry the next day.

All in all, a great week.  Weather: variable.  Scenery: stunning.  B & B's: all different, all very good.  People: friendly, but anxious to point out the Corsica is not France.  Food: not for the gluten-free, dairy free population.  Ferries: entertainment all round, and way cheaper than the Cook Strait ferry.

Corisca....Part One!!

Thursday 16th, up at 5am, left the house by 5.30am and drove to Nice to catch the ferry to Corsica.  A six hour trip on a boat doesn't usually fill me with excitement, but I have to say, it was entertainment all the way!  The ferry left at 8am, so first stop for everyone was the self-service cafe, where they queued for ages to get their croissants and coffee, giving us ample time for people watching....and dog watching.  The French take their dogs everywhere, and the ferry was no exception.  Sitting opposite us was a lady with her little terrier, who was taking her first voyage at the age of 12 (the dog, not the lady).  Obviously the excitement was just too much...

It's all pretty relaxed on these ferries: we watched a beagle dog calmly drop a turd on the carpet next to us....the lady owner didn't even break conversation with her husband as she calmly bent down and scooped it up in a bag.....none of the other passengers seemed to think this was in any way unusual apart from us!  Another incident...I was washing my hands in the ladies toilets, when a uniformed man burst in with a cheery "bonjour", proceeded to re-stock the toilet paper, before breezing out with a "bonne journee"!!

Arrived in Calvi at 2pm and drove south through the mountains, passing through beautiful little villages and stunning scenery.  It was lovely to see mountains again, as we haven't seen anything like this since leaving New Zealand.
One thing quickly became apparent: if we thought the cemeteries were good in France, the dead are given rock-star treatment in Corsica, with incredible vaults which would house a small family (which I suppose they do, in a strange sort of way!) and always with the best views out over the valleys and hills.

Our first bed and breakfast was way up in the mountains, in a tiny village called Carbuccia, and run by a Corsican couple.  The B and B is the two houses to the right of the white car.

 Frederique had been born and brought up in the village, left for his education, and came back and bought an old house just below his parent's house, doing it up over several years.  He spoke very good English, and as we were the only guests for the two nights, he sat with us for breakfast and answered all our questions about Corsica and life on the island.

Breakfast: the Corsican attitude to breakfast, as with the Italians, is - if it's a carbohydrate, bring it on!  In fact, the more gluten they can pack into their day the better!  So we were presented with croissants, fresh white bread, sliced wholemeal bread, sliced sweet brioche, fruit cake, and three types of sweet biscuits!  There was a cursory nod to health with a small pottle of natural yoghurt, looking a little out of place amongst the carbo-loading festival.

Suitably stuffed, Fred sent us off on a walk up to a waterfall.  We had to drive for about an hour on the twisty mountain roads which were in very good condition everywhere we went.  So good were the roads, that the pigs had decided to do a bit of sunbathing on the warm tarmac...

These are domestic pigs, bred for the plate, and they were so unfazed by the car we virtually had to get out and push them off the road!  They had "escaped" from their pens, which we saw along the road everywhere in northern Corsica - it wouldn't be difficult to hatch an escape plan, as the fences and barriers didn't like they would put up much resistance.

The walk was beautiful, up through farm land, then following an irrigation canal leading to a waterfall with several pools.  There was no-one else around, which was often the way when we were in the mountains - the coastal towns were a different story.

The following day we had to be up and out of the village by 8.30am - the reason?  The international rally of Corsica had a stage passing through the village, which meant that the road was closed from 8.30am until 7.00pm, cutting off the village.  The night before Fred had shown us where to park the car about 4k down the road, just past the intersection to the village.  By parking our car there before 8.30, we could then walk back up and watch the first few cars come through.  That was the plan.  We wound our way through the village, where roll upon roll of red tape had been placed overnight, marking off driveways and gateways.  Many villagers had parked their cars carefully behind the tape, safe in the knowledge that the red safety tape would protect them from a rally car taking the corner at 130kph plus...

We hung around for a while, watching the TV crew arrive, plus all the locals settling in for the day from the best vantage points.  After a while I talked to one of the traffic police, who checked his schedule and told me the first car would be through at about 11am.  It was about 9am so we decided the Corsica rally would have to run without us, and we set off for Bonifacio.

We left the mountains and followed the coast south, stopping at several beaches on the way.  At one beach, a couple were searching in the sand just where the waves came in, so they were up to their ankles in water.  They kept picking up something very small.  In the end I gave in to Lew saying "go and ask them, go on, please, go on, it'll be good for your French" and they showed us tiny white flat shells which are made into jewellery.  Just as we were talking, a young woman came along, took off her dress and started searching for shells too, topliss, and virtually bottomless!  Unfortunately for every male on the beach, it wasn't a particularly pretty sight!  However, as usual, no-one took the slightest bit of notice.  Sorry, no photo to accompany that story!!

Unfortunately the weather wasn't that warm while we were there - the whole of northern Europe is having a slow start to summer, and Corsica was no exception.  So, we didn't venture into the sea, even though the water looked lovely - very blue and clear.

Anyway, we timed our arrival at Bonifacio to avoid the tour buses, and rolled into town at about 5pm. But that's in the next post.............

A basset hound, a beehive and a bike tour!

 Two blogs in a week, things are looking up!  With the car back in action, its time to squeeze in a few more villages.
We had been given a courtesy car by the English mechanic, so having left the car in his tender care on Tuesday, we took a detour home via Antibes for a haircut, then round the coast to Juan les Pins where we stopped for lunch.

We then did a loop walk around the coast on an excellent little path which wound around the coastline for about 1 1/2 hours.  I'm sure the handrail wouldn't have been passed by the OSH police in New Zealand, but the French don't give a stuff - if your child falls through the toddler-sized gaps in the fence, its obviously your own silly fault for not handcuffing your child to your belt!

It was a very well constructed path, which was bordered by a huge private garden, with an impressive stone wall, and occasional glimpses of hard-working contractors maintaining the garden.

We did the return trip to pick up the car from the hospital on Friday.  We decided to go the scenic route and look into a few of the hillside villages on the way to Mouans Sartoux.  Views of Bargemon and Claviers en route, villages to come back to and explore in the future.

We stopped off at Seillans, a beautiful village without too many of the tourists who are starting to appear in the area as the weather warms up.  (Of course, we don't classify as "tourists" we're temporary residents and therefore enjoy a substantial jump up in status!)

We were welcomed to the village by Monsieur Basset Hound, who ambled around the village, interacting with the public, and frequently sitting down the in the middle of the road when the conversation proved too exhausting.

We wandered around the narrow streets and alleyways, commenting on the number of cats that seemed to be around the village.  Stopping at a small craft shop, we found a display of postcards outside - not the usual biscuit-box photos of the village, but photos of all the village cats, together with their names!  Who would buy them, other than the poor deluded owners, to send to their extended families?!?

The fountain in the centre of the village was being put to good use by the restaurant nearby to cool bottles of wine.  "Eau non potable" means "undrinkable water".....lets hope the wine was a more acceptable standard!

As it was lunchtime, most of the shops were closed (when do retail staff get to do their shopping...???)  This pharmacy is obviously making a huge effort to attract customers, display their products and encourage you to spend your money there....

Fronting up at the mechanic's, he had kindly saved the removed organs for viewing, no doubt to justify the 1500 euro price tag (saying it quickly in English is less frightening than saying it in French, which begins with the word "mille", sounding far too close to a million to be comfortable).  For the mechanically minded they include a dual mass flywheel complete with clutch plates etc, front brake discs and pads and air filter.  It took 8-9hrs to get replace just the flywheel because on a Renault you have to remove the front bumper, the entire forward sections of sub frame, drop the motor almost out and then you can get access to the bell housing.  We heard that taxi drivers who are mad enough to buy a new Renault Scenic  (only happens in France of course) get the flywheel welded up to create a single mass flywheel before the car leaves the show room floor!  Lasts forever apparently.       

However, suitably reassured that we are now safe to be let loose on the rocky roads of Corsica, we quickly pressed the buttons to extract the funds from Mr VISA's clutches, and set off in the hope that we can have a rest from spending money on the car for a while.

The following day we decided to give the medieval theme a break, and head for some prehistoric history for a change, searching for some dolmens up in the hills behind Cabasse, a village about 15k away.  As usual with France, any interesting historic site is guaranteed to have absolutely no signage whatsoever, and is usually at the end of a road marked "private, turn around now, or you'll regret it"  or words to that effect.  However, having an historian as a father, I have grown up searching fields for elusive signs of historical activity, so Lew and I confidently abandoned the car and walked up a forestry road determined to find our dolmen.  What we found instead was a chapel in the middle of nowhere, with interesting religious graffiti on the walls!

Obviously it gets pretty hot around these parts in the summer, as the chapel had fantastic indoor-outdoor flow, with an open-air chapel nearby, complete with pews, an alter, and pulpit (plus dubious modern day vicar in situ!)

Abandoning the search for historical sites (my father will be disappointed by my lack of persistence) we drove into Cabasse and settled outside a cafe for croissants and hot chocolate.  There seemed to be a lot of locals milling around at street corners, and after a few minutes, high-vis-vest officials appeared.  Listening in on various conversations I decided my French was decidedly in need of improvement, as I thought they were talking about 900 motorbikes about to pass through the village.  Impossible, given the tiny streets and the fact that we were way off the beaten track to anywhere.  After a while, we went back to the car, drove 50 metres down the road......and met a frantically gesturing Frenchman on a motorbike, indicating that we had to get off the road.....NOW!  We duly obliged, and after a minute or so,  a cavalcade of motorbikes started to pass through the village.  Not just any motorbikes mind you, these were Goldwings, the armchairs of the motorbike world.  And this was not just a local club rally.....or even a national rally.....no, this was the WORLD rally.....and my French was better than I thought....there WERE 900 bikes passing through!!  NZ was even represented.

Much hooting of horns, waving, silly costumes, and revving of engines followed.  With no particular plan for the rest of the day, this was fine with us.  However, a Frenchman doesn't like to be kept waiting....the traffic jam in the village that followed once the bikes had gone through was hilarious.  The bike rally officials were doing their best to direct traffic, but Monsieur et Madame Campervan, who were in the 80's, driving a beast far too big for them, decided they had had enough and launched into the jam, determined to get home in time for lunch!  After much waving of arms, swearing, 57 point turns, and more characteristic French behaviour, we managed to escape down a side road, abandoning all further plans for searching out interesting menhirs down the road!

Not to be put off by the experience, the next day we set off to find the beehive, otherwise known as a "puits arien".

This bizarre looking structure (sorry about the power lines, impossible to get a photo without them) was constructed in 1928, based on similar structures in Africa.  The idea is to create water by generating condensation from the air flowing through the structure.  Not being a Master of Physics, I will direct you to Mr Widipedia for more information:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Air_well_(condenser)
We thought it was a beautiful structure to have as your neighbour - its in a residential area, complete with planted garden, and, as previously mentioned with any historical building, completely devoid of any signs, plaques, or information board!  There wasn't even a Mr Whippy ice cream van!  Excellent!

So, we're off to Corsica for a week on Thursday.  Looking forward to stunning scenery, mountain walks, and hopefully a few sea swims.

A word about bread

There's been a distinct lack of blog-worthy activity over the last 10 days.  With the car at the hospital having major internal surgery, we have been staying close to home, getting the property looking good for when James and Lavinia return this Sunday.

So, this week, I thought I'd talk a bit about the "pain" - not the excruciating agony type, but the French bread type!  Pronounced "pain" as in "pan", not "pain" as in "Wayne"!  Now everyone knows the "French stick", available in supermarkets all over the world.  The French baguette is a far superior cousin, and appears in many different sizes, each with their own name.  

The "restaurant" is the big daddy of French sticks, much fatter than any other (like a lot of French daddys we've seen actually!).  

Then comes the "baguette" (literal translation = stick) which is a slimmer version, but still wider in the middle than at the ends.  This is the most popular by far, and competition is high between bakeries to sell them for around 65-70 centimes.

Slimming down even further is the "flute", which is then followed by the anorexic "ficelle".  The ficelle is a bit of a rip-off, as its so skinny there's more crust than crumb and it dries out very quickly.  Far better to buy a "batard" (no spelling mistake there) which is a half length baguette.  

Most boulangeries bake twice a day; the bread has no preservative, so becomes stale quickly.  In order to satisfy the French need for bread with every meal, they buy their bread for lunch, and then again for dinner.

Whilst the baguette and its varieties are very good, we have been far more excited by the other types of bread on offer, using different flours, grains and seeds.

Our local boulangerie makes a great "pain noir" which uses pumpernickel flour, with lots of grainy bits. 

However, our favourite is the "torte de campagne", which is a denser slightly heavier loaf with some wholemeal flour, and some sourdough.

This cute little loaf is called a "menoise" - not sure what the name refers to, but it is a lovely soft, almost sweet bread which I think is made with a high olive oil content.

This is a "batard d'olive" - a half length size, with wholemeal flour and olives.

This loaf is the closest we've found to a granary style loaf.

This is another favourite, a pure sourdough called a "rustique", which keeps for a few days.

The list goes on..........  One thing to watch out for though - just like all croissants aren't created equal, the same goes for breads with the same name.  "Pain de campagne" or "country bread" can vary hugely from one boulangerie to another.  There seem to be no rules and regulations about the flour content of loaves, so one may be purely wholemeal, another may be purely white, and there's every combination in between.
One thing that is strictly adhered to however, is the law that bread prices have to be clearly displayed in all boulangerie windows.  This shows the price of the baguette style loaves, plus the price per kilogram for the other styles - yep, most of the breads above are sold by weight!  As you can see, bakers are pretty busy over here....

We haven't even considered the organic breads - the word for organic is "bio" short for "biodynamique"!!  Can't imagine any self-respecting Frenchman paying 1.30 euros for his baguette!

By the end of this year Lew will at least be fluent in all of the bread names!  Interestingly there's not much talk of gluten intolerence over here....!!