Paradise far from the madding crowd

Published Jul 10, 2015

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Ajaccio, Corsica - Imagine France without the French. No, not a recently discovered “missing” line from a John Lennon song, but a desire often expressed by the British. We may love the country across the Channel but are generally less enamoured with the people who live there.

It’s not just the British, by the way, who feel that our Gallic cousins are not quite as welcoming as they might be. The French have recently been ticked off by their own Foreign Minister Laurent Fabius for failing to be sufficiently hospitable to foreign tourists (that’s putting it mildly, Laurent).

So what if there were a part of France that wasn’t actually “in” France at all and it was populated largely by people who don’t really seem French. It’s not imaginary, it’s real – it’s an island called Corsica – deep in the Med, 400km off the coast of Marseilles.

Corsica is one of those holiday places that fans like to keep to themselves. Corsica lovers see the place as their own special secret and are terrified that the island could suddenly turn into the next Majorca.

The miracle is that Corsica didn’t become Majorca because, when the package holiday business started in 1950, its pioneer,Vladimir Raitz, chose Corsica as his first destination, taking his inaugural customers to a Calvi camp site (which is still there, by the way).

It was easy to see why he chose Corsica. It is, hand on heart, quite the most beautiful place in the Mediterranean. And it’s the only place I’ve been to which has its own ambient smell. A “scented island” suggests that somebody has plugged in one of those awful aroma diffusers stinking the place out with “autumn glade” or some such perfumed horror. But, thanks to its ubiquitous maquis undergrowth (for some reason it was this agreeably scented shrubland which gave its name to the World War II French resistance), you know you’re in Corsica as soon as the aircraft door opens. In 1814, when Corsica-born Napoleon was exiled to Elba, an Italian island 225km to the east of Corsica, Bonaparte claimed to be able to sniff his distinctive homeland odour on the sea breeze.

Corsica had a chequered history long before Napoleon set forth from its shores to conquer most of Europe. In fact, by the 19th century, most of Europe at various times had conquered the island (shortly after the French Revolution, Corsica opted to be British for a couple of years but things sadly didn’t work out). In Corsica’s cultural development, Italy has arguably played the most significant part (Corsu, the local language, resembles Italian). Corsica’s disaffection with the French has seen a stuttering independence movement – these days the most obvious signs are the efforts to cover up French spellings of places on Corsican road signs.

What I love about the island is the nutty, granite, prehistoric look of the place (there’s a good book about Corsica by British writer Dorothy Carrington titled Granite Island). Everywhere there are huge granite slabs and beetle-browed granite cliffs. Many of the villages up in the hills have the look of Fred Flintstone’s hometown Bedrock.

Our villa, which sat above the coast in the south east of the island on a point roughly midway between Bonifacio and Porto-Vecchio, was situated in a rocky outcrop. The scenery is so agreeably arranged, you’d swear that someone had painstakingly landscaped the place.

Corsica is big: it’s the fourth largest island in the Med, a little smaller than Cyprus but around a third of the size of the two biggest, Sicily and Sardinia, Corsica’s southern neighbour.

It’s about 160km from Bastia in the north to Bonifacio in the south – about a three-hour drive. Not surprisingly, people in Corsica’s south are amazed you would consider heading to the north (and vice versa).

In between Bonifacio and Porto- Vecchio we had all that life could afford (PV has two hypermarkets, several supermarkets and many places to eat). There are walking trails everywhere, suggested bike routes, the chance to go canyoning or to take a helicopter ride.

But I couldn’t see any convincing reason – shopping and sightseeing apart – to venture far from the villa’s excellent infinity pool.

Corsica has famously good beaches, such as Palombaggia near Porto-Vecchio, but our nearest – Rondinara – charged e5 (R68) to park the car, which seemed fairly close to daylight robbery. And I have never seen the point of lingering at a beach for more than 15 minutes; what do people do who spend all day on beaches? Bonifacio has a beautiful citadel with glorious views. Porto-Vecchio’s citadel is slightly less picturesque but charming nonetheless (both need not detain you for more than an hour or two).

The real business of a self-catering holiday in Corsica is relaxing: reading in the shade during the day, over-eating during the evening. And with an agreeably rapid wi-fi connection, evening entertainment was easily arranged via Netflix or similar services.

The Simpson Travel villa was not only comfortably furnished, it also had the owner living nearby in a caravan (which he and his wife occupy for the summer) ready to offer advice on local shops and suitable outings.

One morning I told mein host we were thinking of heading up to the island’s capital Ajaccio to take the famous train up into the mountains – who can resist a scenic train ride?

He wasn’t impressed: he said it would take ages to drive to Ajaccio – about two hours (it looked much closer on the map). And he wasn’t enthusiastic about the train.

Figari airport, handily placed for Porto-Vecchio and Bonifacio, is now served with direct Gatwick flights by EasyJet, British Airways and a private Simpson Travel charter.

The airport, situated in a particularly lovely corner of the island, offers a wonderful introduction for arriving travellers: sweeping vistas, quiet roads and, of course, that ever-present whiff of the maquis. Like Napoleon, I’m beginning to miss it, too…

l Simpson Travel (simpsontravel. com) offers a range of villas, apartments and hotels in Corsica.

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