Corsica

Corsica is a French island in the Mediterranean Sea. It is only 5 to 6 hours on the ferry from Nice to Calvi.

 I was so fortunate to stay the night in Nice with my new American friends, S. and B. The evening preceded my travel across the water to Calvi. We had a great evening together, wine and cheese tasting. Afterwards, S. and B.  produced a book that had a chapter about Corsica. It informed me that Corsica is for beach lovers, culture buffs, hikers, divers and families. It combines vast stretches of shoreline with the beauty of the mountains along with a rich history. My appetite was whet with superlatives from everyone and anyone who can talk. 

I took a "selfie" as I waited dockside for the ferry to pull up. I think I look like the cat that just ate the cream. There is a silent euphoria going on inside my head as I anticipate the next three weeks of travel.

The ferry was immense. It arrived with much pomp and ceremony as if it was a long distance ocean liner.

The back of the ferry lowered it's massive "derrière" for the large amounts of vehicles that made the voyage. I entered the ferry as a foot passenger. The voyage across was non-eventful, so I settled in to a solid 5 hours of reading and knitting.

After disembarking, I only had about 2 kilometres to walk to the camping ground. However, the lethargy of being stationary for the most of the day, and carrying heavy bags meant that I walked at a slothful pace to find my digs for the next week. I was rather charmed by these sign posts. I think they depict what goes on in these parts.

The pine trees gracefully extended towards the sky with lots of panâche.

A motorcyclist and pillion passenger timed their "drive by" with impeccable precision as I snapped the shutter. I took this shot to show you where I stayed. It was 200 meters from the beach. Try Google Earthing it.

Near the entrance of the camping ground was a collection of flags. The white flag in the foreground is the Corsican flag. It sorts a Corsican person wearing a black bandana. I love it. What a shame that I was unable to capture the image with the flag in view.

The camp shop sported all the needs for having fun at the beach. 

I was transported from the office to my cabin in the world's most cutest golf cart. It was somewhat weird being delivered with regal importance....... what with my backpack and hand luggage, I felt like a tramp.

The green scene was the view from my cabin for the next 5 days. The scent of the eucalyptus trees always reminded me of a sweet marijuana perfume.

I settled in, and with all my might tried to see the benefits of having an idyllic week-long beach holiday ...... alone. I decided to use this as an opportunity to indulge in spiritual and personal introspection; a luxury that eludes me in the hustle and bustle of the life of a school teacher.

Joyeux Anniversaire

16 April, 1958. A most auspicious date when I entered this beautiful world.

Finding this little fluffy feather outside my sliding door on the morning of my birthday, felt like a gift from nature.

 I was ecstatic to be able to spend my 56th birthday in France with a bunch of very, very cool people.

B. and J. picked me up and we zoomed up the slopes of the mountain, Charance, to Éve's lovely house. The late afternoon sun was shining and the happiness in my heart felt like a balloon ready to burst.

Éve and a sweet little 10 year old girl, R., had decorated the front gate with a welcome sign and magnetic letters expressing goodwill. The late afternoon sun created a sharp glare that ensured I couldn't see what I was taking a photo of. Unfortunately, the photo of the welcome on the gate turned out to be a closeup, with little to show.

Éve had gone to a lot of trouble to set the garden out for the guests. It looked great.

Éve characteristically chuckled as she explained that the colourful "Joyeux Anniversaire" sign hanging on the hedge hadn't been brought out for a long time, since her son was small. To me it seemed to be smiling!!!!

J.-M. looked extremely dapper in his white hat and light blue striped shirt. B. wore a very smart white dress, giving a light summer feel to the occasion. J. and D. were casual chic in their white tops and jeans. É. with the loving, nurturing energy of a mother, brought out extra chairs and poured iced drinks whilst the rest of us socialised.

Éve giggled as she asked me if I wanted a single candle or a representative 5 candles for the cake. I opted for the easier single candle version. As it turned out, it took ages for the candle to be lit.  The gentle zephyr that played in the leaves of the trees, decided that it would mischievously play with the resistant candle flame. 

As you can see, Éve's handiwork with decorating the cake was very touching. 

My heart swelled with love as the small group of french friends sang an endearing version of "Joyeux Anniversaire" to me. When the song had finished we all laughed with embarrassment at their somewhat "unsteady" singing voices. The breeze had already taken care of the flame extinguishing ritual.

The cake tasted delicious!!!!!! It went down nicely with two glasses of delicious French champagne.

Éve offered everyone a taste of this liqueur. We roared with laughter as they explained to me that this drink makes the male extremely virile with the ladies. The picture of the flower has a somewhat metaphoric message.

Never one to be shy of a public speech opportunity, I dug into my handbag and pulled out a pre-prepared thank you speech written in french. I commenced with a few "French" jokes and then expressed sincere thanks to each and each one of them. It was received well, to my relief. I think that there weren't too many errors.

R. , who had a most endearing Marseilles accent, left on his Suzuki Bandit motorcycle.

D. rushed off to pick up his kids from day care. The rest of us sat around talking and laughing until the sun and wind made it unpleasant to remain outdoors.

I gathered up my affairs to return back to the reality of my apartment. The swelling of love for France and my small eclectic collection of new friends continued to make me feel the strong emotion pumping through my veins.  

( .... Or was that the Champagne communicating to me?) 

The group had contributed together to present me with a most DIVINE bottle of french perfume... "Manifesto"... YSL.

I will really treasure this picture of Éve and I.

xxxxx

Musings from where I sit

My evenings are spent listening to music and podcasts while I industriously knit colourful peggy squares. I love the different colours and I love watching my eclectic pile grow.

I get a big buzz from watching the trees develop fresh greenery before my very eyes. 

Putting the washing out to dry in the mountain air has become an enjoyable experience. However, it doesn't surpass the scent of the crisp, dry washing as I scrunch it up to my face as I unpeg it from the clothesline.

The sharp mountain sunlight always creates very sharp shadows.

 This delightful Toucan has become a friend of mine. I will be soooo sad to leave him behind. His cheery face seems to have a subtle smile. He weighs a ton. I hope that i will find a good new home for him.

"Souiris à la vie et la vie te sourira." 

Smile, and the world smiles back.

"Hello World. It's a beautiful day."

A shamelessly narcissistic selfie. My new fringe length is way too short for my comfort. Give it two weeks and "she'll be right."

• A green-haired angel watches over my every move in my apartment. Nothing gets past her beady eyes!
• A panoramic card with a view of Gap on the cover. 2014 blazoned across the front reminds me that this is a year for magnificence!
• My newly purchased french flag cost a bomb. It will become a treasure back in NZ!
• The gay colours of my knitting cheer me up if ever I need cheering up.

These eye-catching sneakers were an impulse buy. They have given me bulbous blisters on my heels. Blast!!!!

I love my poster of the Eiffel Tower.

Mountain Magic

J. hesitated before she asked me, "Is it too early to partake in a Kir?"

In my estimation, 5:30 p.m. was the perfect time for a Kir. As late afternoon transmuted into early evening, we watched the clouds dance around the mountain tops. The moon, one day off it's FULL glory, moved from the horizon to above our heads. I counted my lucky stars that J. had asked me to join her for the weekend in Embrun. This sleepy, little town is a near neighbour of Gap; only half an hour in the train. 

Kir flavoured with Violette poised in my hand, ensconced comfortably on her deck; we contentedly surveyed the scene. Sheep baa-ed in the distance, a frisky sheep dog ran through the fields and the birds noisily returned to the trees for the evening.

J. told me how the Iron Man competition, held in August, is world celebrated. Her balcony provides a wonderful spectator-view as the sweaty contestants navigate the steep hill in front of her apartment.

The rural scene intoxicated my senses far more than the Kir.

J's apartment reflected arty, eclectic, well-travelled owners.

Our reservation, at 1930, 7:30 p.m. was a very civilised time. The Hotel/Restaurant is called Château La Robéyère. It was demure, full of charm and grace. It is an 18th Century building made of stone. It enjoys a wonderful view over woodlands.

The magnificent arching roof added strength and character to our surroundings. J. and I had difficulties choosing from the menu, as all the offerings sounded extraordinary. 

Our meal was extremely pleasant. Conversation flowed and the flavours of the cuisine were exquisite. 

As I slipped between the sun-dried cotton sheets late that evening, I counted 4 alcoholic beverages that I had managed to enjoy. I hoped that it wouldn't affect the events planned for the following day.

The vista from J.'s balcony the next morning was a gift from heaven. It was the complete antithesis to a polluted city-scape.

After a light breakfast, we drove up a windy road that took us to just below the snow line. The arid, rocky faces had their own stark, rugged beauty.

The area is brimming full of holiday-makers during the snow season. We leisurely walked along the piste trails.

We headed towards a waterfall as an intended picnic spot. At first, the snow provided laughs, and squeaks and squawks as we tried not to fall. Then, after a while our feet sunk deeply into soft snow. After about half an hour of this, we turned around. I think that it was a wise decision. A twisted ankle would be a curse.

The swiftly flowing river provided the kind of music that is impossible to ignore.

The melting snow created a pretty pattern on the nearby slopes. Some keen skiers were navigating amongst the trees in the upper distance. We passed a small party of trampers. They joked that I was carrying the lunch. (J. and I were taking turns with the backpack.)

J. explained that these trees are a "sort of" pine tree that loses its greenery in winter. So the tender new furry shoots on the branches were still in their infancy. 

We dined on home-made cheese, tomato and relish sandwiches, a sweet mandarin and nuts. All the while, the gushing river flushed out cobwebs in our heads with its cleansing symphony.

J. decided that we needed to take a different route back to the car. She led us in a demanding steep climb in order to find the piste. We sweated, panted and ducked under prickly bushes. The ever-elusive piste remained in the forefront of J.'s mind as she stubbornly led me into challenging territory. 

At one stage, I clambered over a wire fence, but my leg became caught as I didn't lift it high enough. In slow motion I landed gently on the ground, however, on the way down my foot became doubly entangled in some blue twine that was adorning the fence. As I wriggled to set my foot free, the twine tightened. I was giggling with embarrassment; fortunately I wasn't hurt. Nevertheless, it would be fair to say, that I felt a bit panicky, wriggling around upside down. I experienced the same adrenalin fright that an ensnared animal would feel. ( A good experience to create empathy for hunted animals.)

Once freed, we navigated the scrubland once more. We began descending; giving up on the highland piste trail. Further challenges confronted us with boulders, rocks and thorny bushes.

Eventually, we returned to civilisation. J. apologised for the detour. I refuted; delighted that our "walk" had a little adventure for a "story-to-tell."

The uneventful train trip back to Gap provided a welcome respite, before the inevitable hike back to my apartment. Buses not operating on a Sunday can be a bit bothersome sometimes.

Dinner Party

Saturday evening.

J. and I arrived at B.'s house early before the other guests.

I put on French music, and decorated the table with flowers. Balloons were blown up and hung outside to announce that a party was to take place in the neighbourhood.

B.'s choice of yellow polka dots for the table cloth couldn't have been better. B. had purchased super stripes for the napkins.

The table was set for 11 people.

Champagne on arrival. Snacks and lively conversation in the lounge.

Then a delicious meal of Osso Bucco was served.

The accompanying red wine went down a treat.

The traditional apple dessert was scrumptious.

The conversation was animated and flicked between English and French.

After desert, everyone played a really cool game. It involved some quick thinking and a bit of general knowledge. The teachers became naughty school kids as they tricked, cheated and made fun of each other. The evening passed as quick as the blink of an eye. 

Before everyone departed, I politely asked for a group shot.

As I crawled into bed in the early morning hours, the Champagne and red wine mingled with a giddy feeling of love for such a group of profoundly beautiful people.