Our first day at the beach in L'Île-Rousse our white limbs were greeted with laughter by a leathery brown old chap who observed "Vous avez été ici longtemps" (You guys have been here a long time).
Right before we left a woman got stung by a jelly fish and she rubbed sand in the sting. At the time I wondered if it was an urban myth or if that really helped. The next day I read this entry from French Word of the Day about her run in with the méduse. So of course, a few hours after getting in the water, just when I had relaxed enough to shed my top, I felt like my leg had bumped into some fire, which is pretty shocking when you are under water. A few days later at the same beach we saw one (before it stung us). David held onto my leg so I could float and watch it through my goggles without getting too close. It was bright blue and yellow, a little larger than a baseball and very pretty.
The food is a perfect mix of Italian pasta's and pizzas, French cheeses and desserts, fresh seafood and generous portions of fruits and veggees not drowned in butter or boiled to death like they normally are in Paris.
|The birthplace of Naploleon Bonaparte|
We also had a BBQ at our place, so we could cook at home if we wanted. Despite being surrounded by other apart'hotels, it was very very quiet. We are used to the sound of traffic and the silence was almost creepy.
Maza did not appreciate being called a bizarre cat and sulked in the bushes
There are also sweet little rivers which remind me of the ones in Grass Valley. If I had known there was a little piece of California only an hour and a half flight from Paris I would have gone sooner.
There was also a scrappy little cat at the apart'hotel who cried to be let in, ate the best bits of whatever we offered, turned up his nose at the rest and left to go beg food from someone else, wailing and carrying on like he hadn't eaten for weeks. David called him Chat Corsé and he came to visit us everyday for two weeks. The neighbors on one side thought he was ours and knocked on our door once to let us know he was waiting outside, so luckily I got to clear that up and they won't go home with stories about the crazy American cat lady who brought her cat to an island.
Corsicans have a reputation for being a little gruff. Corsica is the murder capital of Europe And outsiders who try to build beach front property have a little problem with their houses blowing up. So it's not over run with tourists. But everyone was very nice to us. But we also are used to Parisians.
From Wikipedia: The gang Brise de Mer is one of the Most Powerful Corsican criminal organisms . Based in Northern Corsica , the gang controls various activities (racketeering, traffic slots machines laundering, night clubs, gambling clubs, casinos, etc..) in Corsica, goal aussi in the South of France, in Paris , in Western African countries ( Gabon , Mali , Cameroon , etc..), and in Latin American countries.
We ran into some very stinky hunters while taking this picture.
The waiters/waitresses are all about 17 and drop dead gorgeous.
This is not some fancy pants French place. It's super laid back and casual.
This poor old man couldn't stand all the excitement.