More about Corsica

I was speaking about Corsica and got into meeting our little friend, George. Obviously this is a well-trained animal with quite a bit of hair.

We went into the little shop where George was being displayed (he was outside; the shop was inside) and did a little sampling of cheese and olive oil. One thing I have learned is that all olive oil is not the same. Some is more sweet; some more ascetic; some tart. The olive oil on most of the islands we visited was more sweet than tart. Most of the cheese was made from goat's milk, but was milder than some of the goat cheeses I have sampled elsewhere.

What else does one do in Corsica? Ah, he finds the object of a nine year search ... a bathing suit. Not that I am a swimmer but I needed something less than thirty years old to use at the hot tub on the Seabourn decks. My old Catalina was just that ... old ... with the interior supports pretty well worn to pieces. So there we were searching for souvenirs when Virginia ducks into a doorway, comes out a few seconds later and motions me with her finger. Motioning me with her finger is always a sign she has found soemthing and so she had.

They had -- on sale no less -- two beautiful swimming suits just in my size. Actually, if it hadn't been for a very nice lady behind the counter who did not think I'd fit into the suit I originally picked, my eyes would have been bulging on the first try. But she was very kind and helpful, spoke perfect English and even gave us a discount for buying two.

I love them both but you aren't reading this to learn about my quest for a bathing suit ... or are you?

Corsica has a rugged terrain as do most of the islands we visited. Everything seems to be rocky and uphill. One thing the island has that most of the other islans do NOT have is water. Right! I said water. So Corsica exports water. Drinking water mostly. (Brand name Zilia.) They bottle it under their own brand name and sell it either to the mainland or the various islands. We were given water on the ship so we didn't sample any of the local water except in Sicily -- where it was delicious and wholesome. It had taste.

The towns in Corsica are quaint and charmingly narrow. The seascapes entrance you at first glance. And one comes away from Corsica understanding why the rich and idle spend their idle time on islands such as this. They sail into the harbor or fly into the private airport and then limousine to their million dollar homes. Tourists like us ride the bus. But then, the rich don't get to meet George either.

We did visit a Corsican market. Purchased a piece of Corsican cheese which was made from goat milk and was delicious. We'd nibble on it as we ducked in and out of little shops. I think the real fun was being able to buy things and spend money even without understanding the language. All the merchants we met were extremely courteous and helpful.

In my travels I have found that if you make an attempt to speak to the natives in their own language -- no matter how poor your French, Italian or Spanish may be --- they bend over backwards to help you. I think it's the fact that one shows respect for the country he is visiting and they appreciate it. Lord knows, Americans do not have a good reputation abroad, but if you act like a human being and with respect, you find a wonderful friend at the other end of your efforts.

The roads on most of the islands curve and wind around the island, sometimes so narrow the tour bus had to back up to let another car pass. We did visit several towns and one Church but the Church was closed because of construction. Not that we lacked for visiting Churches. In some of the churches they have a three-masted schooner hanging from a pole above the altar. This was an offering to God to bring the seamen home safely. Most of these islanders traveled a good deal by boat because it was the only means of travel until air travel emerged.

All of the islands have ferry service and these boats are large enough to carry cars as well as people and cargo. They sit prettly low in the water and there are usually two kinds on the wealthier islands: one is a slow version of a ferry and the other is a faster catamaran type that really moves. We saw both as we were mooring in the harbor and on the way out, the dolphins raced us for quite a distance, thought we were too far away to get a picture. I think it would be truly exciting to travel from island to island on the ferries. Kind of like island hopping on a tramp steamer.

There is an enchantment about travel, an excitement. I cannot quite put my finger on it, but it is as if one has traveled in another time or in another place and now, has returned again. I felt it on Corsica, Elba, Sardinia, Tunisia, but no where did I feel a sense of having come home more than when we visited Segesta and Erica, Sicily. Perhaps it was the roots of my home country, the place where my grandparents were born and married. Perhaps it was a reincarnation of self. Perhaps some genetic part of me recalled the family that took its donkey into the house every night so it would not be stolen. I just had an eerie sense that I had seen some of Sicily before.

I think we all experience deja vu at one time or another in our lives. For me, it was Sicily. I must admit I had trepidations about returning there. What would it feel like? How would I fare in a place where I did not speak the language? Would there be thieves and robbers? Would there be someone waiting for me from a long dormant vendetta?

Ah, but I am getting ahead of myself again.