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By: Ikedi Ani-okoye.

Travel Corsica

The French island of Corsica, blessed with a temperate climate, gotten beaches and a rugged mountainous interior, became 'the' place to escape British, winters. Those early visitors realised that on this versatile island it was possible to spend the morning swimming in the warm blue sea and in the afternoon go walking in lush cool forests. Gradually a small English colony of cottages and an Anglican church was established in the capital Ajaccio which can still be Ben today.

Corsica became seriously chic and as was to discover. the air of exclusivity enjoyed by those first tourists is still in Cadence today. On disembarking in the carnal Com the supremest comfortable overnight ferny tom Marseilbes, we odder coffee at a stereotypical French cafe to watch Ajaccio's morning rituals. Coffees are stirred, newspapers read and leisurely cigarettes smoked. Elderly women with petite flufiy dogs shade past, chic gifis cycle by and there are constant l 'kiss kiss' greetings on all sides. It is like being deposited in a Truffaut film; leisurety and typically French. Native Corsicans are renowned for their laid back philosophy, 'Slow in the morning and not too fast in the afternoon,' and so we simply order more coffee. When we do finally move it is to the market where the stalls display a mouth-watering selection of vegetables, meats and cheeses.

The pungent scent of Brocciu, a local sheep's cheese vies with garlicky sausages and dried herbs and despair when think of our shrink wrapped supermarket foodstuffs at home. Ajaccio, like a maturing matinee idol, possesses good looks, immense churn and a vibrant sometimes controversial history. Its palm fringed water tort, pastel coloured facades and geranium filled window boxes are reminiscent of 1960's St Trowel. Yet even as far back as 1840, Flaubert had observed, 'The sky in Corsica is super- and it would be impossible to think of anything more beautiful than the bay of Ajaccio ." Despite being famous as the birthplace of Napoleon, (abel Gance, director of the silent film classic 'Napoleon', shot many scenes in the capital), Corsicans prefer to honour another local hero.

Pascal Paoli, an intellectual, patriot and revolutionary, who supported and fought for independence during the forty years war which started in 1729. The island was finally handed to France in 1769 and Whilst on the surface it appears typicalty French, Corsica retains its own language plus a rebellious and distinctive culture all of its own. That afternoon, keeping faith with the Corsican motto, we visit the Capo di Feno beach for a long lunch. A rustic beach bar shaded with palms serves ridiculously inexpensive and gargantuan plates of freshly caught octopus and freshly baked bread with a blush rose wine. This, like all the local wines is exceptionally good. There is something about the light on this island which intensifies colours and this beach scene with a cobalt sea, ochre sun and virtually deserted pristine bleached sands, is positively Caribbean,

The following day we exchange sandals far hiking boots to explore the interior. En route we stop at the Filitosa prehistoric site to the south of )wner of the site, Charles-Antoine Cesare, the site proviDes evidence of Corsica's prehistoric people dating back to the seventh millennium BC. Amidst the early stone settlements are a number of strangely carved statues reminiscent of the Easter Island effigies. Although the excavations here can only hint at history's rituals, et Sartene, described as 'the most authentically Corsican town', one ancient tradition is re-enacted every year.

On Good Friday the cobbled streets witness a procession during which a citizen disguised in a red hooded robe re-enacts Christ's journey to Calvary. His feet are wrapped in chains and he carries a cross weighing more that 30 kilos which can be seen in the church. It is, we are told, a great honour to be chosen as the Red Penitent but his Identity remains undisclosed to ell except the priest. Inland, switch back roads lead through landscapes Which mam pass for the Highlands of Scotland or alpine peaks.

The maquis of the Corsican scrubland, a fragrant melange of wild heather, broom and myrtle, led Napoleon to say that he could sense Corsica before her shores carve into view. There are hiking and riding trails across One island leading through verdant forests and to lakes, tumbling rivers and waterfalls, Little wonder that Corsica is known as a paradise for hikers, wedkers and wild life enthusiasts We take a brisk walk to the Cascade des Anglaise at Vizzavona, near
Codie.

The oame reflects its attraction to those first English tourists and as we clamber between pines and over huge Bat rocks beside glittering cascades of trout filled waters, l wonder if this exhilarating scenery may have reminded them of home. Following steaming hot chocolate at a riverside cabin we return to the nearby Hotel Monte D'Oro for lunch. Is like stepping into a story by Colette. On a terrace shaded by vines, the tables decorated with ice buckets crammed Kith yellow roses.

In the lounge, panelled with highly polished chocolate coloured wood and Dimly lit by art deco lamps, sit beside a baronial open fire and Pernod, En route for the restaurant, discover photographs of Edwardian vomen playing tennis, Further evidence of the enduring popularity of this refuge. The handsome dining room overlooking hotel's private chapel, the tables are Dressed with starched napery and the Goof is hung with fronds of ivy which creeps in through the windows. Our ellow diners include two elegantly attired Elderly gentlemen who are feeding titbits to a portly poodle.

Yet why they waste such glorious food on a dog, will never know. l can still recall the superb duck cooked in local honey and a sinful chocolate pudding cooked to order. Corsica is a gournet's dream, During our tour of the island we are introduced to one fine meal after another. Amidst many memorable dishes, particularly recall an excellent boar pate in the quaint riverside Hotel Le Refuge in Code. Nestling amidst the mountains, this historic town was the islands capital during the late XV111th century.

Whilst a fascinating museum shows that for many nural Corsicans life remained hard until relatively recently, the towering Citadel proved how tough it would have been for the Foreign Legionnaires who once served there. Before taking the ferry back to Marseilles, we travel to Bastia on the northeast coast. It is Sunday and in the old town the dells are pealing. The crumbling facades and closed shutters lining the narrow streets are painted faded shades of ochre, peppermint and sky blue. Beside a church, the scent of incense mingles with pungent garlic and a dog barks front behind a closed door.

There is a crumbling elegance to this town and beside the harbour a Mediterranean atmosphere predominates. This is the place to take an aperitif and watch the world pass by. Before taking to a beach along the famed coastline of the Cap Course, we head for the hills and luoch in the village of Son Martino di Lota, At the Hotel de la Corniche we are seated on a terrace shaded by the branches of mature plane trees. The view is captivating. A church spire rises above a verdant valley spiked with palm trees and beyond there is a tantalising glimpse of the sapphire sea.

Although the meal, from the crevettes to the pink lamb, is unforgettable it is the setting which turns this event into an almost cinematic masterpiece. At a long table a wedding party is quietly unOeneday. The bride is dressed in a simple but chic silk sheath. Her hair is casually arranged and a full