adventures in Corsica : part one

I had often dreamed of exploring Corsica, what always seemed to me a mysterious island, possessing a unique and varied history as it passed from Italian hands to French. I even came close during my year of travel but opted instead to carouse the south of France. My Italian grew up facing this island from his perch in Monterosso, yet he too had never reached it’s shores. It was not yet our time.

Last spring we fell in love. And there was no better place. Corsica became our island.  It is here that we spent our first holiday together, exploring the south, becoming deeply enchanted by this island of untamed beauty. Long and winding roads providing the sensation of driving along the edge of the world. Or a very steep cliff. Seemingly never-ending dirt paths leading to uninhabited golden beaches. Off in the distance the setting sun illuminating a crystal blue sea. Very simply, heaven.

We made a vow to return. Forever. Or until we had crossed every inch of the island. On this, our second adventure in Corsica, we headed north.

Rather than explore the large cities, (besides the fact that Bonifacio had already captured my heart), we decided to spend our time becoming intimately acquainted with the small villages, both coastal and interior, and stopping to enjoy the view as often as our timeless days allowed. Immediately upon arriving to Bastia we located our 4 wheel companion and hit the tangle of roads. Onwards to our first stop Algajola, a little paradise nestled on the coast between Ile Rousse and Calvi.

With a population of no more than 225, this tiny village lies on a sandy strip of beach, hidden from the world. From our well appointed room, the turquoise sea and sky sea melted together, calling us ever so subtly to enter its calm. Dinner consisted of a barefoot walk to a simple seaside restaurant (still one of my favorites) for a plate of St Pierre beneath a setting sun. In case of boredom (does such a word exist in Corsica?) there’s a coastline train to transport you to Ile Rousse or Calvi for a little more action. Though we were perfectly happy to remain hidden.

By day three city life was a distant memory. Paris who? We were hyper-relaxed and ready once again to explore the island. On a sudden whim we changed our plans and hit the road for a long and winding drive above the sea, direction: ‘phantasmagorical rock formations’ known as Les Calanques.

Many hours spent in awe at the irregularly shaped boulders rising into the sky, some more than 400m above the sea. We stopped in the quaint village of Piana for lunch, (this time I tried fish soup, a Corsican specialty). Our plans changed as a local directed us to a surreptitious beach, just in time for our daily swim. A long drive and a short walk…and there was Marine de Ficajola. One of the most splendid secrets for the senses to behold! Once again, paradise found, beneath the boulders.

We would have stayed for days, living off the land, reveling in the paradisiac landscape, but night was falling and we had a long drive back to our home in Algajola, with a stop in Calvi for dinner. The following day the adventures continued in Cap Corse (part two)…

the dream of Honfleur

I grew up listening to my parents tales of journeying around France, during those seemingly endless summer months when they would leave my brother and I in Poland to fend for ourselves. Well, not exactly. We were in good company with a dozen or so cousins and plenty of aunts and uncles who took delight in temporarily parenting the ‘American’ cousins. Summers were spent building houses out of haystacks and learning the difference between the variety of pretty and poisonous mushrooms on our frequent walks in the woods. I’m still not certain whether elfs really do live inside trees? As well as being a gullible child, I was always very curious and knew one day I too would run wild amidst lavender fields in Provence and drink copious amounts of Champagne in where else but the Champagne region. Those dreams have yet to be realized, though I did travel around Luberon during my year of exploring the world. Most recently I lost myself (literally in fact) in the charming village of Honfleur during a romantic weekend escape. I imaged to feel the charm of this intimate coastal town much in the manner that my parents did so many years ago, considering it has not changed for centuries.

Honfleur provides a setting in which to dream, to become lost within the tangle of cobbled streets possessing brightly colored buildings evoking a historic Normandy. Impressionist masters such as Gustave Courbet, Eugene Boudin and Claude Monet found inspiration within this scenery, immortalizing it forever upon the canvas.

Much of our time was spent sitting on the Old Harbour in peaceful observation. Time moves at a slower pace, surely allowing one to waste more of it!? As in most regions of France, you can easily live off of the local produce in Normandy. Had I not already been a gourmand I surely would have become one! We feasted on local oysters, scallops and an assortment of freshly caught fish, each meal ending with a cheese plate, camembert being the regional speciality. Evenings called for a well-aged calvados, necessary for digestion, of course.

It is here where the oldest wooden church stands, Eglise Saint-Catherine, a perfect place in which to seek refuge when caught in a sudden romantic rainstorm.


Before returning to Paris and concluding the dream of Normandy, we stopped at Étretat, known for it’s twin cliffs. This, another scene of inspiration for Monet, a natural splendor rising from sea to sky!

the Normandy sky

Our adventure in Normandy began with a drive along the coast, beneath one of the most dramatic sky that has ever captured my gaze! This tumultuous sky seemed fitting, considering the battles of D-day which took place along the beaches code-named Utah, Omaha, Gold, Juno and Sword. A little history. On the morning of June 6, 1944, an armada of over 6,000 ships and boats hit the northern Normandy beaches and tens of thousands of soldiers from the USA, UK, Canada, etc, stormed onto French soil. These landings, known as ‘Jour J’ in French, were followed by the 76-day Battle of Normandy. The Allies suffered 210,000 casualties, 37,000 troops were killed, as well as a loss of over 14,000 French civilians.

As exhilarating as it was to explore this region of France and gaze into the vastness of the sea and sky, it was an equally intense and thoughtful journey into recent history. I will forever recall the feeling and depth of this sky…

A final moment of calm before the journey continues…to Honfleur!

a shade of Chartres blue

In honor of the Christmas holiday, or simply for the sake of adventure, we took the train to Chartres, 88km southwest of Paris. This medieval town boasts an incredibly impressive 13th-century cathedral, crowned by one Gothic spire and the other Romanesque. This unique architecture is due to the Romanesque cathedral being destroyed by a fire in 1194 (along with much of the town) and being rebuilt in the Gothic style over the following 30 years. Cathédrale Notre-Dame de Chartres is France’s best-preserved medieval basilica.

Most impressive, aside from the ‘Holy Veil’, said to have been worn by the Virgin Mary when she gave birth to Jesus, are the stained glass windows. Almost all of the 172 windows dating back to the early 13th century, and several even to the 12th century, are renowned for the depth and intensity of their blue tones, famously called ‘Chartres blue’.

After hours spent lost and frozen amidst the cobbled streets, dreaming of a gourmet candlelight dinner in this most historic and romantic town, our adventure ended at a British pub feasting on burgers. Fine dining will have to wait.

snow storm!?

Due to the train strike (who would have guessed the strikes go on for weeks!?) Bartosz and I rented a car to drive North, I was headed to Lyon and he to London via Paris. The adventure continued as we drove straight into what felt like the twilight zone, from a blue sky into a snow storm!! Perhaps it was one of those moments shared between friends that will never be understood by another.


In very little time and much amusement, I arrived safely to Lyon and after a speeding ticket, hours of circling the city of Paris and a missed train to London, Bartosz too arrived home.

Sainte Victoire

I have long desired to drive along the path to Sainte Victoire, the mountain apparent in much of Cezanne’s work, 444 oil paintings and 43 watercolors to be exact. It was my persistence and slight pleading that led us to the mountain as we exited Aix-en-Provence which in the matter of less than 24 hours I introduced to Bartosz who I know would find it as warm and inviting as I had. As the mountain loomed in our presence I experienced one of those rare moments in life when all rational thought dissipates and you can only feel with your heightened senses…



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