Going to Corsica in November is like breaking into a huge shopping centre after hours. Everything you’ve every wanted is there and you get it all to yourself. The small island packs in every possible type of topography in her 180km length. High rugged peaks and the narrow, twisting, heart stopping mountain roads that go with them. Quiet lush green pastures dotted with goats, sheep and terribly skinny cows. At first we thought they were malnourished. They have the hip bones of supermodels lying on their backs. There are charming villages that seem to drip into the sea and oh, the sea. Two hundred and twenty beaches of swimming pool clear water and icing sugar sand…all empty. Except for you.
After a sweet stay in the northern town of Oleta we moved inland to…how do you say ‘the middle of nowhere’ in Corsican? No kidding, one night we came home in the pitch dark to find our stone walled garden filled with those boney cows I was telling you about. We had to chase them out with our iPhone flashlights. Yeeehaw style! They had busted in the back gate. Perhaps they were tempted by the fresh green shoots of grass that were growing under our shade tree. The one with the red wrought iron swing hanging from it, right beside the old lanterns strung up in the branches to illuminate your dinner party and the French wicker cafe chairs around the red metal table. Are your charming alarm bells ringing yet? Just wait. We had booked a roulette or old wooden gypsy caravan through AirBnB in the idyllic countryside because a) we have a tight budget and it was cheap b) the photos looked too rustic+funky+lovely to believe c) we wanted to experience all aspects of the corsican landscape and lifestyle and d) it was cheap. Continue Reading →