North of Bastia
I look out the bedroom window. It's very sunny. We want to get going.
Bastia is Corsica's second city and was once the capital. We return to the Old Port's quayside and it looks very different in daylight.
There's color; lots of it.
The bars are now empty. It feels like Sunday.
We take some photos of the picturesque mix of ramshackle buildings, street cafes and freshly painted facades encircling the water - all dominated by a grand church - with some smart-looking craft and fishing boats floating thereon before exploring the nearby cobbled lanes - some steep ones - before heading back through busy town in the late morning sunshine.
We have a sandwich while sat in a park. We'll be going north: up Cap Corse's eastern shoreline.
This is the tour's real start.
There's only one road to go on. We're heading north.
The D80 is narrow with little room and it's a bit too busy for comfort with locals driving to and from Bastia, but after about 20 minutes they fade out and the route becomes tranquil enough for us to relax and not fret about sticking tight to the edge.
Following the coastline as it must, the D80 has steep green slopes rising up on its left that peak at over 1,000 meters and we soon pass our first Genoese watchtower that stands over the tarmac looking out to sea. Circular, robust, hundreds of years old and constructed of stone; about four-floors high I guess. We take a snap.
The sea is really blue and so is the sky.
The road undulates more. Beside it round balls of parachute-type seeds that resemble dandelions and we ponder what their flowers might be like. That stand almost a meter tall.
Nearby is a spray-painted image on a meter-tall rock tablet that reminds us of the island's long fight for independence from France. It's the profile of 'The Moor's Head' with a blindfold lifted above his eyes, sybolising a collective desire to see clearly.
I'd read somewhere that it's best not to bring up movements such as the Fronte di Liberazione Naziunale di a Corsica or even talk about Napoléon - who was born here - or refer to the island as being French with Corsicans. Read about Corsica and there'll be something about a strong desire for independence. The island has its share of gangsters, too. We see no one to talk to.
After 10km we come to a shop in a village - Erbalunga - and stop for some cold drinks. As we do so a bus pulls up and a group of tourists gets off and amble down a side alley. Mmmm... Where're they off to?
Curious, we freewheel down ahead of them and discover a quaint harbor that's overlooked by higgledy-piggledy houses painted in pastel tones with a semi-destroyed Genoese tower guarding the mouth: so pictureseque.
What luck.
The village of Marine de Porticciolo has a small supermarket where we rest for a while after buying fruit, yogurt and drinks.
It's a real scorcher.
From here the D80 winds up to just over 300 meters and we venture west, through forested countryside. The road still goes up after the col sign.
The trees below us look like broccoli.
Our steadily climbing route takes above a church of sorts - maybe its a monestary - and a windmill stands on the top ridge of the cape. We walk up to it but feel disappointed as there's not much around and once back on the bikes decide to drop right down to the port of Centuri - a dot on our map - after the owner of a shop near the junction to it tells us it has a B&B.
The next place to sleep is a long way south at Saint-Florent. This is about halfway there.
We'll ride the rest tomorrow.
| Rate this entry's writing | Heart | 1 |
| Comment on this entry | Comment | 0 |