Welcome to France!

We left the flat in Paris early last Thursday morning to catch the Roissybus out to Charles de Gaulle for our flight to Corsica. In spite of a big detour for another bus driver to come on board, which we thought at the time was a bit odd, but which made sense later, we still got to our terminal in good time to check our bag, and for me to put my bionic limbs through the security gate -- with all that that entails!

Boarding the EasyJet plane right on time, we buckled ourselves in, ready for take-off. Only then did the captain come onto the PA system to announce that due to the National Strike going on that day throughout the entire country, the air traffic controllers had informed him that our flight would not leave for three hours!!!

The woman in front of us turned around and smiled. "Welcome to France," she said.

Ah yes, the National Strike days that do their best to paralyze the country! This particular one centered around the whole retirement system in France, with the government attempting to push back retirement age for certain categories of workers. The air traffic controllers are not included in these categories, but, this being France, they wanted to show solidarity ("Fraternité") with those affected, and elected to have a "go slow" day.

So, we sat on the plane at the gate for a good half an hour. Then word came we were cleared for take-off. We taxied to the runway, stopped, then kept going to the farthest corner of the airfield and stopped again. "We have no idea why we have been sent here," apologized the captain, "we are the seventh flight today that this has happened to. These are the games they play." More time went by, then we returned all the way to the gate where it was announced that it would, once more, be three hours to take-off!

People stood up and stretched. Restless babies were passed around to be amused by other passengers. Everyone was, as always in these situations, very jolly. Strikes are part of daily life here. We realized that the changeover of the bus driver earlier was part of the work stoppage strategy going on in all walks of life. Many schools were closed, swimming pools closed, post offices closed.


Finally, over two hours after our scheduled departure, the word came: "cleared for take off." People scrambled back into their seats, buckled up and off we went, heading south to the "Isle of Beauty" La Corse, where dear friends of ours spend part of each year in their beautiful villa near Ajaccio.

Birthplace of Napoleon Bonaparte, Corsica has been inhabited by humans since the Mesolithic era! Scattered remains can be found throughout the island, whose current population is a mere 200,000. Throughout its long history, it's been occupied by the Holy Roman Empire, the Saracens, the Lombards, the Genoese, and even, for a while, as part of some Franco-Ottoman alliance in the 16th century!

There was a brief period of Corsican sovereignty in the mid-18th century before the island was incorporated into France in 1770. However, national feelings still run high, town names are in French and the local Corse language, and the flag of Corsica still features
the head of a fiery Corsican with a bandana firmly tied around his head.




Today, the island shares its beautiful, craggy mountains...

...with cheerful poppies that line the roadways...








...and with warm sandy beaches, quite empty on a late Thursday afternoon.





Our friends live across Ajaccio Bay on Isolella Peninsula, from where the tall buildings of the bustling city of Ajaccio shimmer in the warm air.



From this side of Ajaccio Bay, the rugged, rocky coastline spills into quiet bays, and gentle beaches, offering families a paradise for building sandcastles, swimming in safe waters, and sunning for hours on end.


We joined our friends at their spacious and elegant villa, where I had last visited 23 years ago when Sonya and Alex were 12 and 8 years old, respectively! Now, as then, the roses were in full bloom and the garden lush with jasmine, fragrant herbs, green lawns, and palm trees...


...near one of which Matthew happily sat at his computer under a broad umbrella, working on a current script project for a Belgian production company...


...until, that is, word came from our host -- whose happiest hours are spent "messing around" in his boat -- that a regatta was in full swing across Ajaccio Bay, and we should go check it out...at once!

As eager shipmates, his crew quickly assembled on the beach, clambered aboard his boat, the "Haleakala", and raced across the water, holding on to our hats and riding out the bumpy thumps as the boat hit the sea swells and wakes of other boats.


There, against the backdrop of Ajaccio, full-masted sailboats, crewed in some instances by at least 20 people, tacked and jibed their way along the race course through choppy waters and strong winds...


...some of them letting loose a billowing spinnaker.


Under warm, sunny skies, our four days passed in a lazy cycle of leisurely breakfasts, a little walkabout (for me), "messing in boats" (for Alain), reading and sunning (for Marthe), writing (for Matthew), lunch on the terrace, an afternoon somewhat similar to the morning, with a late elegant supper to round off the day.


On our last evening, we headed inland for the mountains, that stretch from one end of Corsica to the other, and rise to over 9000 feet.


Here's where you find many of the original settlements, far from the coast and the dangers of invading armies, where villages took root and communities thrived. One such village, Peri, lies about an hour's drive from Isolella, hanging on to the side of the mountain, with a beautiful church bell tower at its heart.


And right next to the church is Chez Séraphin, where Chef Séraphin (whose tummy arrives a good five seconds before the rest of him) served a sumptuous seven-course dinner: sturdy, multi-vegetable soup, beignets stuffed with squash flowers, courgettes, the most delicious gigot of lamb we have ever tasted, garden fresh salad from behind the restaurant, local cheeses, baked caramelized apples and ice cream. All accompanied by local Corsican wines and served under the beamed ceiling of a warm, cosy dining room. Bliss!

Corsica is aptly named "Île de Beauté". After a gap of so many years, I felt just as much at home in its gentle pace and stunning beauty as I did in 1987.

A far cry from the bustling streets of Paris, it offers a quiet, historic, welcoming paradise all of its own. I know it won't be 23 years before I return!




À bientöt!