It’s the village where I live. It was its aesthetic and charm that attracted me here in the first place, but most days these things go more or less unnoticed. Then one morning in October, a Saturday market day, it is a different, mysterious sort of place. Familiar views are vague and left to the imagination. Everything is indistinct. The air feels and smells different; there is a dampness and the smell of soil. The autumn morning has begun in fog.
Corsica was always a mysterious place in my mind. Part of France but not fully embracing it, birth place of Napoleon, and possibly Columbus, it’s rugged landscape and isolated location have kept the culture very separate from the world. I wanted to see it, to witness this place apart.
Well, the landscapes are dramatic, and if you were to focus on remote areas and then, say, hike in the mountains I’m certain it would be a magnificent destination. Apart from that, though, it is now very definitely on the tourist trail and the roads are too narrow for their buses and the towns not fully up to dealing with the numbers.
Here, though, are some of the dramatic views.