Corsica

There are no more than 30 nautical miles between Corsica and Elba. There was good visibility. When we came out of the anchorage of Elba, we clearly saw the mountains of Corsica.

To port we saw Pianosa, to starboard Capria and aft the Italian mainland. The two islands are located in the part of the Tyrrhenian Sea called the Tuscan archipelago. It was here that the skipper of the cruiser Costa Concordia wanted to give his passengers a surprise. He passed close by the small island of Giglio. So close that the ship ran aground and completely sank a few hundred meters from land.  

Deep water

When we had sailed a few hours, we came out at great water depth. The echo sounder (depth gauge) now showed flashing streaks because the sound waves were not loud enough to detect that we were at over 500 meters depth.

Suddenly a pair of fins appeared outside. No doubt. It was dolphins. They swam towards us with great speed. When they reached the bow, they dived elegantly under the boat.

And then they were gone.

Or were they?

For a while, the sonar showed a depth of 1 meter. We could not get rid of the idea that the dolphins were just below the echo sounder, which after a while again showed flashing lines.

Geography 

Corsica is the fourth largest island in the Mediterranean. Only Sicily, Sardinia and Cyprus are larger. A long mountain range with peaks of up to 2.700 meters covers two thirds of the area. This is why Corsica has the nicknames "The Mountain in the Sea" and "The Island of Beauty". Corsica is sparsely populated and over a third of the slightly over 300.000 inhabitants live in the two largest cities of Ajaccio and Bastia.

..and history

In 1755, the Corsicans revolted against Genoa and, under the leadership of Pascale Paoli, founded an independent republic. The constitution, which inter alia gave women the right to vote, later became a model for the French and American constitutions. After some years, Genoa sold its claim to Corsica to France, which had the military resources to put down the revolt. After the French Revolution of 1789, Corsica was incorporated as a region of the French Republic at its own request. During the post-revolutionary regime of terror, the Corsicans, again with the help of England, sought to independent of France. But in 1796, Corsica was occupied by Napoleon, who was himself a Corsican. Since then, Corsica has belonged to France.

Investments in establishing an agricultural area on the eastern side of the island created economic progress at the start of the 1950s, but also tensions because French refugees from Algiers were allocated some of the land.

In 1968, FLNC was founded, aiming to make Corsica independent. The movement began to use terror, culminating in 1998 with the murder of the prefect of Corsica. In 2001, Corsica gained a special status as a region in France. Inter alia it was allowed to teach Corsican in schools. The main source of income, tourism, suffered from the many bombings and terrorist attacks. But it was not until 2014, FLNC announced that violence is no longer part of the struggle for independence.

Bastia

After 6 hours of sailing, we docked in Bastia.

«Take the old port. I always use it. It is the cozy »had an Italian, who spoke almost flawlessly Danish, advised us when we were in Cecina in Italy.

The old harbor was also 'den hyggelige', but after one night we sailed over to the new Port Toga. Opportunities for provisioning was something near perfect. The harbor provided nice protection in all wind directions, and a beach was close by.

«Yes. C'est possible »replied the girl at the port office when we asked if we could stay in the port for a week. Then she printed out an invoice.

We looked suprised at it.

"It's because it's high season now," she explained. And maybe because we still looked straight open, she added a bit instructive "The price for a week is the price per day multiplied by the number of days in a week."

We are Danish dynamite

There are many cafes and restaurants in Port Toga. In the evening we went into a small cafe. It was packed with guests watching France play the 1/8 World Cup final against Argentina. There was shouting, screaming and buuuhet. The enthusiasm culminated with singing and the spout with horns as the match ended with French victory.

The next evening we went to the small cafe to see the 1/8 World Cup final between Denmark and Croatia. Now the atmosphere was different. There was only one guest. Le Patron, his wife and sister-in-law sat at a table and seemed to be bored with a "when-can-we-go-home” attitude

We sat down at a table in front of the lit TV and ordered the dish of the day. When Mathias Jørgensen scored after just one minute, the sister-in-law exclaimed in amazement «Oh.There are goals» and looked over at us, who with their arms in the air shouted «yes, yes, yes there eeeeer mååååål»

Some time into the second half, the lone guest got up, said something to le Patron, and then left the small café. All that was left now were us, le Patron, his wife and sister-in-law. All three almost almost dutifully followed in the unbearably exciting battle. During the break before the extended playing time, le Patron's wife stated that we could easily stay seated until the match was over. When Schmeichel saved the penalty kick in the extra time, we sensed something reminiscent of a slight enthusiasm of all three, and when the match finally ended, well over two hours after the normal closing time, we felt a mixture of compassion and relief.

The world's most beautiful train journey

Getting around Corsica by public transport is not easy. From Bastia, trains go to Ajaccio five times a day and the train to Calvi runs just like most buses only twice a day.

One day we took the train to Calvi. The city is located on the west side almost 60 kilometers from Bastia. In a straight line. But on the single-track railway that cuts across the high mountain range, the distance is twice as great. The track was built in the late 1800s. The train, called the "bone shaker", is a diesel train. It has only 2 carriages and spends over 3 hours driving the 120 kilometers.

We bicycled from the harbor to the station in the city.

"The destination is on their left", said Googlemaps, who, however, failed to explain why there was no "Gare SNCF" sign indicating that the building was a train station. We asked two men at a café if they knew where the station was located. They looked at us questioningly and then pointed to the sign "Chemins de fer de la Corse". (Later we found out that Corsica as the only region in France has its own train company. It is called Chemins de fer de la Corse and although it operates under its own name, the operation is outsourced to French SNCF)

The Corsica train track is considered by many to be one of the most beautiful in Europe. When we started driving over the mountain chain after almost an hour's drive, we understood why. The train slowly moved up the track, laid in the steep mountain walls. Over us hovered birds of prey. Several hundred meters to the side, we saw the continuation of the track cut into the mountain and below us the mountain wall fell down to the depths. At other times we passed a farm, a small village or free-range cows, goats and sheep.

When we had crossed the mountain range, we drove for 30 minutes along the Mediterranean, which was colored turquoise green by the white sandy bottom, and reached Calvi the end station.

Calvi has 5.500 residents and is one of Corsica's most popular holiday destinations. We strolled around the old town and enjoyed the laid back holiday atmosphere among the many tourists. Had lunch at a restaurant on the harbor overlooked by the citadel. It was here Lord Nelson lost his right eye when the English conquered it in 1794. Now it hosted the 2.regiment of the Foreign Legion. After a couple of hours, we took the train back to Bastia.

Saint Florent

A few days later we took the bus to Saint Florent, which like Calvi is on the west side. Again we came over the mountain range and shuddered a little when the driver drove out to the edge in the sharp hairpin bends that revealed a wide view of the mountains and the Mediterranean, which from up here had its special blue color.

To the south

After a week in Port Toga, Daniel and Emilie signed on. Nice having vistors from home and seeing Emilie, who was now over a month further in her pregnancy.

We decided to sail to Porto Vecchio, located on the southeastern side of the 70 nautical mile south of Bastia.

When we got out of the harbor, we could clearly see the bottom of the 10 meter of water below us. Nice to be out again. When we had passed Bastia, we came to Corsica's only low area, which was made free of malaria mosquitoes as late as after World War II. This was also the area where the refugees from Algiers at the start of the 1950s got land where they have since grown wine, fruit and vegetables.

After a few hours of sailing, we breathed Port Taverna. It was hot. Really hot. When we had moored we went over to the beach and bathed in the fresh crystal clear water that reached the neck a few steps from the beach edge.

«It's been a long day» said the American, who had backed his boat into the berth opposite us. «I left from Porto Vecchio this morning. Solenzara is only a couple of hours sailing from Porto Vecchio and there are no shelters between Solenzara and here »

The next morning we sailed along the coast towards Solenzara. The American was right. There were no protective anchorages at the 32 nautical long white sandy beach, which, apart from a few individual collections of single-family houses, was completely deserted.

A Dane in the city

"Do you speak Danish?" a lady asked us when we had moored in the port of Solenzara and continued «the last ones I saw with the Danish flag did, namely not» But yes. We were ashamed then pre-Danish and had a long talk with the lady. She had sailed most of her life and had bought a GD28 with her husband in the 1960s. By the time they reached retirement age 30 years later, they were on a long journey. After seven years they had reached Corsica and had had the boat lying in Solenzara since 1999. The man had died several years ago and now she used the boat as a holiday home when she spent the summer in Corsica every year.

Porto Vecchio

When we reached a few nautical miles south of Solenzara the next day over noon, the white sandy beaches were replaced by rocks that in many places created protective bays with good anchorages.

After 1 1/2 hours we changed course by almost 45 degrees to starboard. Now we headed towards the outer green buoy, which together a red marked the start of sailing into Porto Vecchio. The entrance was over 4 nautical miles long and a bit reminiscent of a Norwegian fjord.

Not a wind was moving in the harbor. It was very hot and the muddy water at the bottom of the fjord did not invite to swimming.

We went up to the town. It was nice enough, but we could not recognize the pilot's description of a town with picturesque fine old buildings, shops and a vibrant life at the many cafes and restaurants.

"How about going up to the Citadel?" asked Daniel as we were on our way back to the boat. We headed up the steep road in the scorching heat. When we reached all the way up, we could now suddenly recognize the city on the description of the pilot book. We stayed there for several hours. Drank coffee at one of the cafes in the square in the middle of the city. Enjoyed the view from the high situated citadel. So a funeral procession that, with grieving women and gloomy-looking men, was like carved out of a scene from Godfather. When it became evening we ate at one of the many sidewalk restaurants and then went back to the boat.

Dane again again

«We are lying here in our own boat and so you were Danish and just wanted to say hello» it sounded from a couple standing on the bridge where we were moored. Weird. We had not met any Danish boats since we had left Menton more than a month ago. And now we met another one in just two days.

The couple, named Asger and Kirsten, had sailed from Tårbæk last year and, like us, had sailed into the river and canal system at Travemünde to sail to the Mediterranean. By the time they arrived, they had sailed east along the French and Italian coasts to Corsica. In Menton, they had landed the boat at Barbara's to examine the propeller shaft. They had seen Heron in the yard of the yard and wondered if no one was working on her. Exactly that we had also wondered not so little about, we explained and had an evening with good laughs and exchange of experiences and experiences.

The first part of the journey ends

There was now only one day left before Daniel and Emilie were to leave. We were going home a week later and had found a place in Port Taverna where Heron could stand while we were at home. The next day we sailed back to Solenzara, anchored up close to shore and swam and dived before sailing into the harbor.

The following afternoon we accompanied Daniel and Emilie up to Bar Jean in the main street. According to the lady at the tourist office, this was where the bus to Porto Vecchio would stop. The bus arrived almost at the scheduled time, stopped at Bar Jean and blocked all traffic during the time it took the driver to get Daniel and Emilie and their luggage on board. An hour later they arrived at Porto Vecchio and after a couple of hours they boarded the night ferry to Nice.

We stayed for a couple of days in Solenzara, had a nice evening with the Danish lady and sailed back to the Port Taverna.

A few days later Heron was hauled on land.

«Prunete? oh no no. C´est pas possible »said the lady at the port office when we asked if she would order a taxi for us. "Such short journeys, there are no taxis running," she explained as she hung up the phone. «But you can ride with me. I'm free in twenty minutes and have to go that way, 'she suggested kindly.

Half an hour we were in Prunete and got out of her car next to a cafe called bar Luccioni, where the nearest bus stop was.

We sat down at a table. There were a couple of guests at two other tables. They were obviously locals and looked at us when they thought we did not see it. One quarter of an hour before the bus was coming, we crossed the other side of the road to make sure the driver could see us. There was no bus when the 15 minutes were gone and no one for the next 20 minutes.

"Yes, it stops shame here. It's probably just delayed, 'assured the waiter at bar Luccioni, as the bus had still not arrived after three quarters of an hour.

And the waiter was right. The bus was delayed. Not so little even. Only after 1 1/2 hours in the strong afternoon sun and scorching heat could we board a modern and nicely cooled bus. An hour later we were in Bastia.

The next morning we embarked on the ferry Pascal Paoli, which at a speed of almost 30 knots effortlessly flew over the great waves north of Cap Corse and onwards towards Nice.

After an overnight stay in Nice, we took the late flight to Copenhagen and walked in the door of our apartment at half past one.