Charting La Corse

A couple of Saturdays ago, Ben and I drove to Nice to catch a car ferry to Bastia, a town located on the northern tip of Corsica. The entire journey took about six hours.

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We spent our time eating lunch, playing cards, and touring the massive decks.

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We arrived in Bastia just as twilight began to descend upon the island; gigantic hills and mountains loomed eerily in the distance as we made our way south to our guesthouse in the town of Corte.

We spent the next few days taking advantage of what Corsica had to offer in the way of hikes, beaches and seafood, which is to say we enjoyed ourselves very much.

Although a part of France, Corsica seemed a world apart, with its wild terrain and impossibly clear water. I loved it for its beauty and utter lack of pretension. As we boarded the overnight ferry back to Nice, I felt distinctly sad to be leaving so soon.

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Bedtime on the sea

A Taste of Corsica

Tonight, Ben and I met up with Jane, Ben’s friend from high school and college, and her husband, Greg, who have lived in Montmartre for the past 11 years. They were kind enough to show us around the neighborhood, and we ended up at a tiny Corsican restaurant located in the shadow of the Sacré-Coeur.

The food and wine were exceptional, but the highlight of the evening was undoubtedly when the owner of the restaurant gave an impromptu concert for the patrons–all ten of us. At one point (after learning we were from Los Angeles), he invited Ben up for a special rendition of “Hotel California.”

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Worst night of Ben’s life

Knowing how much Ben hates this song, I felt a surge of affection for his willingness to oblige. He was a big hit, but no surprises there.