Biking in Corsica: Following the Scent of the Maquis by
Catherine Lutz
Stepping out of my tent clad in Lycra, I
met the curious stares of my campground neighbors. It was a hot
sunny day on Corsica, the turquoise waves of the Mediterranean
beckoning melodiously nearby and a cool breeze refreshing the
sizzling air. While the Europeans in camp finished their breakfast
under shaded awnings and packed their beach bags for a full day of
relaxing by the ocean, I had decided to tackle the hilly terrain of
this island on a bicycle.
A small Mediterranean island only 113 miles long and 51 miles
wide, Corsica boasts long stretches of white sand beaches on its
gentle east coast and a ragged shoreline of imposing cliffs and
idyllic bays on the mountainous west coast. In the rugged interior,
more than 20 peaks soar over 6,540 feet. Tiny ancient villages
scattered among the massif cling precariously to the hillsides. A
wild thumb of land - Cap Corse - juts out north of the island,
buffeted by the Mistral and other infamous winds.
Roads resembling cooked spaghetti ribbon 620 miles of the
Corsican coastline. An island that experiences strong sunshine in
the summer, with little precipitation and a consistent breeze,
Corsica is the ideal place to cycle. Distances between towns are
short and the scent of the maquis--Corsica's ubiquitous wild
flowering shrubs - add to the pleasure of an open-air adventure.
West Coast
I started my journey with a day tour of
the Balagne, a fertile, sparsely inhabited region in the northwest
known as the "garden of Corsica." Climbing steadily inland on a
narrow twisting road away from the port town of Ile-Rousse, I was
rewarded with panoramic vistas over the curving haphazard
Mediterranean shoreline.
Stopping at Sant Antonino, a picturesque cluster of stone houses
on a rocky hilltop, I enjoyed fresh squeezed organic lemonade and a
lunch of Corsican charcuterie and cheese on a terrace overlooking
ripe vineyards. The road then follows the natural curves of the
hilly valley, undulating up and down, winding in and out of the
curving hillsides.
I passed several sleepy hamlets, among them Spelunkato, named for
a natural rock tunnel that becomes mysteriously illuminated by
sunlight - after sunset - two days a year. Belgodere is one of the
largest towns in the region with a population of 330, and a good
place to stop for ice cream.
On the mostly downhill cruise back to the campsite, the sun was
sinking in the west, casting its golden rays on the bay's brilliant
waters. A steady, gratifyingly cool breeze increased in force and
became a frustrating cross wind as I pedaled along the shore towards
home.
After a rest day - playing in the waves and lounging on the beach
- I tackled the mostly straight, no nonsense highway south to Calvi.
With some uphill but mostly down, I attained high speeds and
completed the 12.5 mile stretch in a little over an hour. While
cycling parallel to Calvi's famous 3.7 mile long beach, I often had
to slow down or stop for groups of towel-toting tourists crossing
the road to reach the sandy playground.
Calvi and Columbus
Calvi - situated in a protected
bay surrounded by craggy peaks - was the principal city on Corsica
during five hundred years of Genoese rule, and the last city to hold
out against the French in the late 18th century battles over the
island. The citadel, crowning a rocky promontory in the bay,
preserves its medieval charm with twisting cobblestone streets,
crooked stairways, and imposing lookout towers. Calvi is rumored to
be the birthplace of Christopher Columbus (along with several other
Mediterranean cities), a claim emphatically supported by residents
and commemorated with a small plaque on a modest house in the
citadel.
The road south from Calvi to Porto is well known to be the most
scenic on Corsica. Here the narrow two lanes twist and snake along
cliff sides, making their haphazard way around headlands overgrown
with maquis or naked with deformed volcanic rock. Population is
scarce in this region; the only habitation I passed in several miles
was a lone crumbling Napoleonic castle.
Detouring slightly from the coastal road, I rode inland a couple
miles along the Fango River. Originating from snowmelt high up the
steep valley, this pure clear alpine stream tumbles a few miles to
the sea over smooth boulders in a series of waterfalls and deep
pools. Cleansed of the sweat and grime of cycling, I could prepare
for the next stage - a nine mile, 1,300 foot climb towards the Col
de Palmarella.
Twisting furiously, the road crosses the interior of the
uninhabited Scandola peninsula, part of the 4,800- acre Reserve
Naturelle de Scandola. La Scandola is a strictly maintained nature
reserve and scientific study area for the islands flora and fauna,
extending over land and sea.
The grueling breezeless climb was made worthwhile by the view at
the pass. Before me lay the Golfe de Girolata, bathed in late
afternoon sunshine, its resplendently serene waters a sparkling
gold. The land surrounding the gulf is almost completely wild except
for the tiny isolated hamlet of Girolata, accessible only by boat or
foot, and the equally minuscule fishing port of Osani, where I chose
to spend the night. Under a trellis of passion fruit vines, I
devoured my steak frits and gulped local Corsican wine, utterly
exhausted but completely satisfied.
The final 19 miles from Osani to Porto was mostly gentle going, a
steady up and down. Here the cliffs fell more steeply and
dramatically into the sea, and the traffic jams became more frequent
on the tight road. Stone walls built from the cliff rock acted as
barriers to prevent nasty swan dives into the boulder- strewn sea.
The most spectacular sunsets on Corsica can be seen from Porto,
although more adrenaline pumping activities - such as scuba diving
and hiking - are plentiful for the less sedate. Silhouetted against
a late afternoon blood red sky, Porto's Genoese watchtower stands
defiantly on a rocky outcropping. The tower's traditional role as
part of an island-wide warning system and refuge for inhabitants
during invasions is clearly unnecessary now, but it still stands as
a reminder of Corsica's tumultuous past and unique history.
The Interior
Corte, deep in the mountainous heart
of the island, was the next stop on my itinerary. Turning inland
from Porto, the road climbs almost 5,000 feet in 21 miles.
Constantly curving left and right on a stretch of road literally
blasted out of the granite, I could look back down at the bay--
shimmering in the heat and surrounded by miles of craggy coast.
Emerging from the cool evergreen forests of the Spelunca Gorge, the
dizzying heights of the central massif soon came into view.
Dominating the landscape, Monte Cinto at 8,849 feet is Corsica's
tallest peak. From these heights icy snowmelt is channeled through
glacier-carved valleys, creating short but furious rivers. Like many
Corsican towns, Corte is perched on a rocky hilltop. Geographically
at the center of the island, Corte is also at the center of the
independence movement and holds Corsica's only university. The
dilapidated crumbling buildings have an authentic charming air about
them, and the city is as well known for the wealth of hiking trails
in the surrounding valleys as for its rich cultural offerings. The
narrow romantic Restonica Valley winds southwest from Corte along a
crystal clear river of the same name.
From Corte I descended swiftly towards Ponte Leccia on a
blessedly straight highway, then bore northwest towards Bastia
through flattening lowlands. Castagniccia is Corsica's prime
chestnut growing region. Chestnuts are a staple here, ground into
flour and consequently at the base of most bread and cakes. Wild
groves of chestnut trees - also called bread trees - shade the
landscape sloping towards the coast.
Cap Corse
Coming into Bastia I was dazzled by the
grandeur of the new port - no less than half a dozen large ferry
boats and cruise ships towered over the docks. Bastia boasts a
population of 38,000, but this bustling city carries the energy and
pride of a much larger European capital. In contrast to the new
port, the old port sports rows of peeling old fishing boats, still
taken out daily to earn a living for many residents. Authentic
restaurants serving Corsican specialties of the land and sea
surround the old harbor - a must is cannelloni a brocciu, pasta
stuffed with soft sheep's milk cheese, spinach, and spiced with
maquis herbs.
Rugged Cap Corse geographically apes the main bulk of Corsica.
The peninsula's eastern coast is gentle and smoothly rolling, the
west wild and fierce and dominated by rocky wind-ravaged spits of
land. Roughly 35 miles long and never more than 11 miles wide, it is
spliced by a mountain chain that makes crossing its width only
possible in two places.
Flowering maquis shrubs line both sides of the road as I left
Bastia, heading up the east side of the peninsula. The scent led me
through several quaint port towns spaced only a few miles apart, and
over a pleasantly rolling landscape. Many ports on Cap Corse are
actually half the town, dominated by a watchtower but sparsely
inhabited. The other half can be found further inland - safely
tucked away near a river source, and difficult to access by
potential invaders.
Further north the countryside inland becomes wilder and the
vegetation scrappier. Frequently ravaged by damaging fires fueled by
constant strong winds during the dry summer months, much of the
landscape lies scoured and barren. Whole crops are ruined, and the
economy can be seriously impacted.
The coastal road turns inland at Macinaggio, a couple miles from
the island's ragged northern edge. Climbing steadily above the low
scrub I passed sleepy Rogliano, once a dominant town during Genoese
rule, but now marked only by crumbling castles and overgrown
terraced fields.
Battered by fierce winds and flying sand, the tiny fishing hamlet
of Barcaggio is the northernmost settlement on Corsica. Out of
curiosity, I descended the nine miles of rough curving road to the
tip, but didn't stay for long, imagining on my laborious climb back
up how inhospitable this place must be in the winter.
The Descent
From the Col de Serra - the pass which
separates the east and west sides of Cap Corse - I began to descend.
Far below, the angry ocean pounded the bottoms of glistening black
cliffs and rolled over Volkswagen size boulders in the surf.
Seriously concerned that I'd get blown off the road by the hurricane
strength wind, I gritted my teeth, tightly gripped the handlebars,
and set off down the perilous coastal road towards a campground -
hopefully sheltered from the wind - near the fishing village of
Centuri-Port. That night I took a walk along the ocean. The half
moon illuminated the angry sea, turning the breaking waves an eerie
shade of slate blue topped by sparkling white caps.
The next morning, heading towards Nonza, the sky was cloudy and
thunder rumbled for the first time during my tour. When the rain
finally fell, it lasted less than a half-hour and the sun was out in
full force by mid morning. I rode through sleepy villages, rows of
maquis extending their flowering branches far out into my path.
The road cut across sheer cliffs, great slabs of gray blue rock
that mingled far below with bubbling black boulders. While eating
lunch I watched a fire burn its way across the high scrubby
hillside.
Nonza looks like it was carved from the cliff on which it is
perched. Several buildings jut dangerously over the eroded stone
outcropping. A square Genoese tower dominates the town's profile.
From the tower one can gaze out towards the Gulf of St. Florent at
the base of Cap Corse, where deeper cobalt waters mingle with
turquoise shallows.
The final six miles of my journey - a leisurely downhill glide -
afforded expansive views of the gulf and its principal town, St.
Florent. For the final three and a half miles the road turns inland
and meanders through Patrimonio, one of Corsica's principal
wine-growing regions.
On my last night I attended a concert of the "Nuits de la
Guitare" festival in the town of Patrimonio. While the flamenco
guitar thrust out bold spirited chords and the accompanying singer
passionately delivered his musical message to the crowd, I thought
how appropriate it was that I was attending a flamenco concert my
last night in Corsica. The borrowed music mirrored the spirit of the
island itself, and highlighted the yin and yang - the pleasing
harmony of opposites - that I had found throughout my journey here.
Catherine Lutz writes from Woody Creek, CO. She writes for a
local newspaper and gets out whenever possible on bike, by foot or
other transport that fits the bill.
This article was
reprinted with permission from GoNOMAD.com.
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