WorldTripping.net - Corsica travel writing and travel articles.

WorldTripping.net - Corsica travel writing and travel articles.,WorldTripping - Simon and Leah tour Corsica by bicycle. Read the Corsica travel journal. Peruse the online travel articles. It's all about cycling in and around Corsica and traveling by bike.,worldtripping,world tripping,simon,leah,simon green,leah ingham,cycle europe,bike europe,bicycle europe,brighton,cape town,overland,brighton cape town overland,uk,sa,overland,uk sa,uk sa overland,coast to coast, coast to coast overland,cycle corsica,bike corsica,bicycle corsica,travel corsica,traveling corsica,travel writing corsica,travelogues corsica,cycle touring,bike touring,bicycle touring,cycle travel,bike travel,bicycle travel,cycle traveling,bike traveling,bicycle traveling,publishing,publishing online,travelogue,online travelogue,travel writing,travel writing online,diary,diaries,online diary,online diaries,weblog,web-log,web blog,web-blog,blogger,blogging,

"Glimpses" extracts from Leah's journal.
Arrival.
A last minute decision, as per usual, brought us to the shores of the French island, Corsica. The ferry docked early in the pretty port town of Ajaccio and we had time to enjoy coffee on the beach before the 2km cycle to the campsite. The sky was a brilliant clear blue and the sea sparkled. Palm trees lined the promenade and early morning joggers panted "Bonjour."

Steep Hills and Heat.
On our way out of town the following morning, we were waylaid by dog walkers, curious about our bikes and our journey. In pigeon French, we told them of our planned route through Corsica. "Ooh la la, "exclaimed one. "Au secours," blurted another. The miming of giant hills overcame the language barrier and we left, a little anxious but confident we were fit enough to tackle anything.
	The air was perfumed with the delicate smell of wild flowers. The heady views from a-top the sea cliffs, intoxicating. Geckos flitted across our path and we dodged dozens of praying mantis, stood frozen in the road. Most of the inclines were too steep to cycle, however, the weight of our panniers making the bikes rear up when we tried. Our journey time doubled as we pushed our way south. We were back to the 2pm heat wave but had no shade to rest in. We ran out of water and began to blame each other for the sore feet and headaches. Just in time, we reached civilisation, a white sand beach and campsite across the road. For the next couple of days, Simon enjoyed warm water swims and I sat in the sun, burning winter white legs.

Simon's Single Piece.
Fleeing France.
We rose in the pitch black and at the ungodly hour of 5.00am. Somehow we managed to pack the tent; pack the panniers; and load the bikes, all without losing a single item. Weeks of routine and practice had finally paid off. We snuck out of the campsite, through inky forest with precarious drops all around. A long way to fall and made more unpleasant with the prospect of a fully laden mountain bike landing on top of you, just after you hit the ground.
Racing to be at the port on time, along deserted and darkened roads; we picked up warm pain au chocolates and more bread. We sat eating, watching our ferry dock and the sun rise. We needn't have been so early, as the ferry was at least an hour behind schedule.
	After tying the bikes up badly with bits of string rather than ropes and webbing, we sat in the bar, drank coffee, and took photos of our second departure from France. We were moving South again, chasing the sunshine. People stared as I wrote postcards and chatted with Leah. I felt scruffy and self-conscious in my 'work clothes'; unlaundered, unshaven, unshowered, up for hours, and surrounded by clean people who undoubtedly, had houses and baths. After three long hours, we docked, got maps from the handy Tourist Office and promptly set off along the wrong road out of Porto Torres.

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Before here we were in France. After here we were in Sardinia.

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