There aren’t many “jollies” in June, due to this thing called Work that seems to get in the way… but we do manage a short section of the Mare de la Mare (the coast to coast) starting from Serra di Fium D’Orbu, which is rather beautiful, if hot…

…and also we take a trip back to Corte, where my camera failed miserably…managed to take a few more pics…

…explore the citadel… the Museum is well worth a visit…

walk a few more of the historic streets…

…look at a bag or two…

…and eat a heavenly lunch before being called on an emergency back to the campsite by an ailing customer… oh well, c’est la vie, as they say!

Up into the hills again, this time to Solaro. This place is quite categorically paradise on earth. Hills, sunshine (hence the name Solaro), wide open views of hills, plain and sea…

…a couple of little cafes, a community of artists, walks…

a Mairie and a post office…

…and not far to drive to the sea if you suffer from those lack-of-maritime blues, which I frequently do…Nothing better than a cup of coffee overlooking Solenzara harbour, even if said sunshine is a little thin on the ground, or, should I say, in the sky…

Decide to check out Prunelli market. A pleasant enough affair with lots of craft stalls and Corsican music playing over the P.A. system (pity it wasn’t live though). Pony and donkey rides for children and some lazy adults too.  Other lazy adults (i.e. us) sit in the local cafe and survey the scene…

That little guy in white is the local bee-keeper, in case you hadn’t guessed. But is he still alive….?

Terry sets off up the track (about 50 yards) for his first “band practice” with the campsite owner. Well, you could hardly call it a band, seeing as one hasn’t been formed, and it can’t be a practice as there’s nothing to practice for, so it’s just a “do” where a few musicians gather round with their guitars and make some kind of noise. Just as well they’re communicating with musical notes, because there’s something of a challenge on the linguistic front: four people there, four different languages. Hmm…interesting…a French man speaking French (well, naturally…) as well as Corsican, Italian and a kind of upside down English; a Corsican speaking…Corsican; an Italian, yes, well, it’s obvious, isn’t it, and an Irishman speaking English and French. The Italian sits listening. The Corsican sings, and the other two, according to Terry at any rate, twiddle about on their guitars. Needless to say, a successful night was had by all, and out of it are born one rock star and one teacher (Terry). I think I’ll keep out of it!

Starting out from the mountain village of Gavinu we aim for the Piscia di a Bughja, the Bughja waterfall, as recommended by the local guidebook. We find the start of the track OK, but having scrambled over the “ford” – on all fours – which was probably not one of life’s most delectable views for anyone watching – we find we don’t know where to go next. Fortunately there are some people behind us (the only people we see for the whole of our walk).

“Go straight up,” one of the women says. “My husband has a guide book. It says the path goes up very steeply.”

She’s right. Off we go, straight up…and up…and up….

The path is not really marked and it’s pretty vague in places. However, we’re reassured by small cairns and also some red and blue marks on trees, which we think must be marking the way… we go up and then down, until we come to a snivelling stream with a lot of rocks…

This can’t be it! Back up (yes, UP) the way we came, then branch off on another route. This is more promising, following more cairns…until we reach our destination…

Fairly impressive…

The people who we spoke to before are sitting there smugly.

“Did you go wrong somewhere?” they ask. “You should have followed the cairns.”

“We did, and the blue and red markers.”

“Ah,” they said. “Not the blue and red markers…”

Oh well. Can’t win ’em all. It’s truly lovely though, then it’s back down again, on to the road to the village – no people, only two very busy dung beetles trying to cross the road with their booty…

…and a man trying to prove that not a drop’s passed his lips and he can walk a straight line…

We drive across the south of the island to Propriano to discover a hotel for insects…

…so any bedbugs, earwigs, spiders, ants and beetles, get your butts out here and party…because Propriano is a pretty cool place…

…except those “buildings” over there are hotels for the soul, i.e. a typically extravagant cemetery! I wonder if A.S.Byatt was thinking of Propriano when she named her book Angels and Insects…

Joking aside, Propriano  is a lovely seaside resort with a pleasant harbour and accompanying restaurants and some pretty beaches around, though the sand is a little coarse (no pun intended – Corse) on the delicate of foot…

After Propriano, we head up to Sartène, named in the guide books as the most Corsican of Corsican towns (whatever that means…). From the outside the rather austere stone blockwork buildings suggest that it’s not worth a visit, even though it’s situated in the most beautiful of areas. However, venture in, and it’s rather lovely – worth stopping for a coffee at any rate…

And don’t forget to explore the old town…

Apparently there’s a rivalry between the lower and upper parts of the town which dates back years. The guide books reassure us that slaughtering each other is a thing of the past – that’s reassuring…

We head on back along the stunning coastal road from Sartene towards Portovecchio…

There’s a famous rock in the shape of an enormous lion that can be seen for miles…

Don’t worry though – if you’re particularly stupid, the place where you must look from is marked for you on the road…

There are some amazing rock formations though. Anybody hazard a guess on these two?

A pair of sea lions making up to each other?

A couple of hours free and it’s another tortuous route up into those mountains. This time up to Chisà, which apparently means “Who knows?”, the local response to the question as to where people were fleeing following some kind of vendetta. Yes, who knows where we were going as we followed the narrow lanes through rocky crevices and round hairpin bends…

It’s not the prettiest of villages but the views are the usual standard, and there’s a Via ferrata which looks very exciting. “Oh dear,” says Terry (sighing with relief, beads of perspiration gathering on his forehead), “it appears to be closed. What a pity!” Vertigo? What vertigo?

This chap doesn’t seem to have much to say about it…

Once again, the flowers – rockroses, French lavender, in particular – trees (all now in leaf) and crystal clear rivers, full of snowmelt, are overwhelmingly beautiful… 

The weather seems to have improved at last, and it’s time to inspect the mountains again to check they haven’t dissolved in all that rain. Yup, it’s Ok….

…they’re still there, and they’re drawing us up to the ancient citadella of Corte, where a great deal of argy-bargy went on. It was the important capital of Corsica and the place where Pasquale Paoli led an independent Corsica for a time and, with the help of his friends (including the less famous of the Bonaparte brothers and his parents), established the university, which today enjoys status as the only university on the island.

It’s a fantastic town, not quite cowering beneath these amazing rocks…

…but standing proud, like its leader…

Unfortunately it’s at this point that my camera batteries fizzle out. But I’ll be back – a superb place to visit, with a museum and art gallery to see, and a fine belvedere with some inexpensive cafes…great stuff!

It’s not just Ghisoni, which teeters at the top of a mountain pass, but Corsica in general that is suffering from a deluge. I have spent the morning offering psychologically therapies to inanimate objects – more specifically to Beanies, which sound like people but in fact are metal shelves painted red, which I am trying to clean. They have spent the winter in storage in some kind of muddy hole in the South of France and are coming out for the summer. You might think that they would be pleased about this, but in fact they are depressed. It’s raining, and as soon as I clean off their mud and rust I have difficulty convincing them that they will not become muddy and rusty again. They will never look nice, they say. I tell them that they must combat their low self-esteem by letting in their positive thoughts and thinking creatively. Some people might even find mud and rust attactive. After all, beauty is in the eye of the beholder…

Terry and I decide, rain or no rain, to conquer the défilé des Strette – in the van, that is. It is very beautiful, despite the weather, but I’m afraid Ghisoni does not boast its finer points in a raging hurricane… It doesn’t even look as though it’s raining…

but I can assure you it is…

The only villager we encounter is this one:

…but there is evidence of life…there is a surfeit of cow pats all over the place, something to do with (my cultural attaché advises me, i.e. Terry) the number of abandoned animals which seem to roam around the place. There, I tell the Beanies when I get back, at least someone is trying to look after you…you should feel loved…

Another little foray out, and we couldn’t have found a more tortuous road than the one up to Prunelli-di-Fiumorbo – a white line painted in the middle of something that amounts, in places, to little more than a rough track with room for half a car on either side of it before the unprotected edge sheers off hundreds of feet below!

However, it’s well worth it, because the village at the top is stunning, with formidable views over to the mountains and eastwards back down to the plain, the lagoons and the sea, not to mention a welcome from every resident we encountered. Plus a nice little café  cum épicerie cum gossip shop, where we sit in the sunshine contemplating taking a different road down again!  It works. The indirect route back is a far better road and we “land” safely!