Open Writing

DURING OUR EUROPEAN TRIP in 1992, we spent a week in Corsica. We travelled by ferry from Nice, France to Calvi in Corsica, a three hour journey over seas as calm as a mirror. On arrival, we disembarked, and located the tourist information booth. There, we asked, in our high school French, for directions to our hotel. After complimenting us on our use of their language, we were given the walking directions to it.

We checked-in, then wandered about the town looking into the shops until suppertime. Following a late meal in an outdoor café (supper is rarely served before 8 pm), we returned to the hotel to get organized for an early departure the next day by train for Bastia, the next stop on our journey.

Following a hearty breakfast, we set out for the train station. In Corsica, all the passenger trains are self-propelled gas or diesel railcars where you could sit next to the driver and look out the front windows. Our train would take us across the island to Bastia, a four-hour journey through valleys and tunnels. The railway builders didn't believe in making a bridge across a valley if one could travel up one side and down the other. Thus the rail distance travelled was far greater than that of an airplane flight.

Once we arrived in Bastia, walked to our hotel, and checked-in, we decided to explore the area by taking an ordinary city bus on its route. This gave us an overview of the city including the harbour and the residential areas; a very inexpensive tour without commentary. We stayed two nights in the city, and discovered that it was impossible to have supper until at least 7.30 pm — very late for us. One of the restaurants served pizza unlike any we had had in Canada — varieties like four cheeses, seafood, and ham and pineapple. We had trouble choosing which one to sample.

On the third morning, we took the train once more, this time to Ajaccio, a five- hour train ride from Bastia. After boarding the train, I placed our luggage in the rack above my wife's head. The conductor suggested that it would be safer to place it on the floor but I ignored the warning. As we rolled through the countryside, I noticed the train bouncing up and down, and all-of-a-sudden, down came the luggage onto my wife's head. Luckily all she had was a headache to show for it.

On arrival in Ajaccio, we had a 30-minute walk to our hotel. It was a pleasant stroll though the town though we received a few strange looks from passers-by wondering, I'm sure, why we hadn't taken a taxi. Ajaccio was where Napoleon had lived. We didn't see his home though we did our usual walk-abouts.

The following morning saw us off by coach to Bonifacio, a town at the southern tip of the island. The roads were narrow and winding, very similar to the train tracks. In some towns, the coach had to wait until the traffic coming the opposite way was past, before proceeding. At one point, the driver stopped to pick up an elderly lady carrying shopping bags. He didn't charge her a fare and dropped her off at the entrance to her home. When asked, he said that she walked into the market and home again daily ˆa distance of about four miles each way", and he always gave her a lift.

While in Bonifacio, we decided to take the ferry to Sardinia for lunch. The distance wasn't great nor the cost, expensive. After a 90-minute ride in choppy seas, we arrived in Santa Theresa for lunch, and, of course, shopping. In Bonifacio, we had changed our Canadian dollar travellers' cheques for Italian lira, discovering that we were charged exchange twice ˆonce for conversion to French francs, then for the conversion from francs to lira." In hindsight, credit cards are much easier, safer, and less expensive to use.

Our lunch was interesting. The menu was in Italian and we didn't think to ask the waiter for explanations in English. We ordered what we thought we were getting, and discovered that the soup and two of the courses were fish. We hadn't ordered exactly the same dishes so were able to switch plates with each other when they arrived.

On our return from lunch, the sea was calm and the trip, relaxing. We wandered around the harbour discovering many large ocean-going yachts docked. Some had Canadian crews. We spoke to one crew member who said that he was a student and this was his summer job. He worked hardest on arrival in port when everything had to be cleaned and polished. He could relax more while they were at sea.

After two nights in Bonifacio, we once again boarded the coach for Ajaccio.

We stayed one night at the same hotel. The following morning, we were up at 5 am to walk back to the station for a train leaving at at 6 am heading north to Porto Lecia where we would transfer to the train to Calvi.

While in Calvi this time, we took a so-called commuter train to the village of Ile Rousse, a half-hour's journey away. Our train this time was a self-propelled railcar that had been in service since 1929. It had a gasoline engine, a stick gearshift, clutch and brake pedals! Its top speed‚ was about 15 miles an hour. Both the rail-bed and the condition of the railcar prevented faster speeds. We wandered about the town as usual, stopping for a pizza lunch, then caught a train back to Calvi for the night.

The following morning, our last on the island, dawned clear and calm. I decided that I must have one swim in the Mediterranean so we walked down to the yacht club where I had a brief dip in the warm sea. After a good breakfast, we checked out and walked down to the harbour to board the ferry back to Nice. A perfect ending to another great adventure.