Olbia to Aleria
Good morning, fellow ramblers.
The first thing to do today is say a very big thank you to a particular fellow GSer who offered to lend me his Zumo for the next Ramble given my home pit-stop will be so short and I wouldn't have time to get the thing back to Garmin for a repair. I should add I don't know this person.. Other than a name I recognise from being around and about the site for a few years now. I really, really wholeheartedly appreciate the very kind offer.. this place eh?!
And it looks like I'm sorted on the replacement front too, fingers crossed all goes to plan.
OK.
Of course last night was all very pleasant and all that. Lovely big hotel room, fluffy towels, swimming pool and all that malarkey, but the place had as much personality as a peanut. I had dinner, which was fine, a spinach and racotta ravioli during which it occurred to me that to spend more than a day here, let alone week or more at a place like this, well it would drive me totally off my bloody head. Fluffy towels only get you so far. Mind, they probably look at a sweaty smelly lunatic on a noisy bike with some incredulity. Diff'rent folks and all that I s'pose..
The one upside was there was a huge bath, so I could wash my heavy jeans properly. After the honking that I encountered on the ferry in I couldn't help but think that it was long overdue. To give you a sense of how warm it is and was last night, After washing I just flung them over the railing on the balcony without attempting to dry them at all, and by 10am this morning they were totally dry.
Corsica seemed a bit confusing to me. Last night I had a quick nose on the web to look at accommodation; camping seemed perilously expensive at high season from what I could glean, and hotel accommodation started at £70 for something that wasn't rated well. Hmm. Well, we'll play it by ear and see what goes.
The run up to catch the ferry had nothing special to remark upon. There were a few trademark nuisance Italian hamster endowed drivers on the main road, but in Italy its just something you come to expect, so no drama.
About an hours run sees me to Santa Teresa Gallura, home of the ferry to Bonifacio. A good cappucino in the harbour prior queuing for the ferry and then off we go.
Ah, Moby..
I meet an Italian Gser and his charming daughter. We chat sort of, with help of a V-Max rider who does a bit of translation. He's on a 1100GS just knocking up to 100k (km's though). He'd had a low speed spill and his arm was bound up and covered in blood. Riding in shirt sleeves is cool (I've done it enough lately, TBH) but not pretty when it goes wrong. He said, 'this was done only at 5km/h'. Gulp.
Ferry embarkation is fine. The little Moby man ties up the bike well and we're up to the salon. I'm joined by the Italians, they ask if they can join me and we have more chat, decoded by the gents 16 year old daughter who has stunning English, I tell her this and she's so happy 'My friends call me a nerd' she says 'you make me so happy as I try so hard'. Her father is really proud too. There's no need to exaggerate, her English really is first class. They live in Genoa, he is originally Sardo, or Sardinian, and every year they head back to the motherland. 'Do you like riding pillion' I ask the daughter 'But of course!' she says. She has had here own scooter since she was 15, that's how it is. I forget. Different places, different rules.
We have a good chat; they are really good company. The 50 minute crossing seems over in minutes. I rue not getting a photo of her, but when I look again at the photo of dad above, there she is smiling in the background on the left. Splendid!
The entry in to Bonifacio, is as Franco earlier eluded, is something quite different. Remarkable cliffs on the way in to port, and then a very pretty harbour indeed with a castle set up high. Sadly, I miss most of the journey in, or only see it with my nose pressed through the little window of the ferry as I promised to keep an eye on the bags of an American couple who'd asked me if I wouldn't mind. I thought they'd only be gone a few minutes when we'd boarded, but I'm still hanging around long after the Italian GSer and his daughter had said their goodbyes and gone back down to the vehicle deck to saddle up. Finally they jovially yomp back in oblivious to my good actions of good conscience. I should have just said balls to it; I'm reminded of the Not the Nine O'Clock News 'Why is it when somebody does something good they are the ones that get hurt' sketch
*3
Still, my stoic commitment to what is just and right struck a good note with the Italians, so here I am at least forging ahead for Britain's reputation at the cost of some nice snaps.
Eventually I ride off the ferry and pull up 100 yards or so further on to farkle with me bits and bobs and replace my pathetic floppy hat with a hard traditional motorcycle one.
I'm approached yet again by this American, who asks me, a British guy, a thousand miles from home, in another country and on a Mediterranean Island, if 'I know where the Europcar agency is?' This is almost my Jasper Carrott 'Ah, you're English.. Do you know Bob from Stoke?' American encounter, for anyone who remembers that
*4 
Stuff my old boots.
I tell him no, but lo.. a simple READING OF THE BOOKING CONFIRMATION (who'd have thought?) tells me that the agency at an Esso Station in town, to which then, by flagging down a port official and asking him politely AGAIN WHAT ARE THE CHANCES generates a warm response and the diligent seeking of a taxi. How an earth did this bloke make it this far, I'll be damned.
Onwards; I pop into the harbour place. It's enormously busy and there are lots of bikes stacked everywhere. In fact, the parking people are writing little love notes to the bike owners, just like the one on this RT..
I dwell for a few minutes, decide it's not worth the faff for a decent photo, and anyway it's 4pm now, and I still have a couple of hours riding to do if I want to see some wobbly bits and make my way mid-Isle. As I'm making my way out of town, a door is flung open from a taxi generating a swift stop manouever. And who's head exactly popped out with an idiotic grin? You guessed it, yes, none other than our American friend. Now, please don't take this the wrong way old chap, but be a good sort and piss off out of my holiday, won't you?
I head into Ponto Vecchio and then work out there's a road that will take me up. I have a look round, and resist several amusing sign photo opportunities, including a chuckle worthy 'Piles' until I see the hotel for the 'Hotel Le Tilbury'. I feel like going in and asking have you ever been to Tilbury? It is 'Le Shithouse' for goodness sake.
The going on the road is nice; civilised. People are more considerate and less aggressive. Cars allow me to pass. The France influence is showing dearly. And soon enough, I'm given this massive clue too.. Toto, I don't think I'm in Italia anymore..
I head out to pick up the road up into the mountains. About 15 minutes in I get the pressing urge to have a whizz and so limp on for a bit until I can find a spot. When I find said slot, I realise that isn't the issue, and am suffering with bad stomach cramps for some reason. Odd. Perhaps I copped a dodgy egg this morning; but I don't feel right at all. I take a tablet and carry on, but I think that tent again may be a bad idea, so using some mobile phone data I recheck booking.com and find a hotel for a favourable £35, which stands out on its own from the expensive accommodation on the island. I have no idea what it is like, but don't care, as long as it has a bog and a light switch, I'll sleep standing up.
Well let's talk roads and scenery. I thought it would be hard to beat Sardinia, but Corsica is giving it a good run..
Looking down to Ponto Vecchio. Yes, I think we're about level with that cloud..
The town of L'Ospidale, which lives on a series of hairpins in the mountain. Quite odd to run from mountain ascent hairpins, into town hairpins and out again in the same run of road..
At the top of the climb a mostly dried lake and where it looks as though they've managed some deforestation. Nice place for a play on an ATV no doubt.
Gorgeous..
A stop in Zonza, a very pretty place it is too. Stickers sourced.
Magical roads... .
.. And quite magical scenes..
Amazing geology.. what a landscape..
And..
Amidst fabulous lush greenery..
Beware of the roadside woodpiglets..
Need I say more..?
To give you an idea of how slowly I ride to take in the views at the top- The partially functioning Zumo adds 45 minutes on to the arrival time with my pootling about, taking in the views. But it is a place to dwell. You're probably getting fed up with me writing how great the scenery is and the roads are, and I can only count myself extremely fortunate to get so much great riding and spectacular views. Wait a minute: last time I wrote something like that I stubbed my toe and got an insect in my eye. Hmm.
But Corsica is just dreamy, and I have another night here before another late overnight ferry North. Yes!
A run in along the fast and relatively straight coastal road meant I could get a wiggle on to the hotel. I had done so much bimbling that I got quite carried away on the way in, and I look down and I'm doing 90mph. Ooh.. better wind down.
I get to the hotel; It's quite liberating to have some language at last again. Every Italian phrase I learned seemed to drop right out the other side of my head. The girl at reception doesn't have any English but I do perfectly well and it’s a great feeling. Also, there's a real warmth and patience for my trying with the language. Nice little place, too.
I have dinner at the brasserie of the hotel; there's a lovely young waitress who has a few more English words, and is very jovial and again receptive to my GCSE French. We have some laughs and it’s a pleasant evening. I have a Burger which is just the ticket, two local Corsican beers (they've taken the glass now but I think it's called Sandra?); half a litre of Rose which is most agreeable. When I asked for dessert, the girl serving me said 'I am dessert' with a cheeky smile. I almost pissed my frillies.
Sadly, dessert is ultimately chosen as the crepe special of the house, which turns out to be filled with cottage cheese and served with rum and raisin ice Cream. If I felt I was struggling earlier, well, tonight is going to be the test of all tests. Immodium ahoy, yarr.
Ooops, excuse my lapse in concentration, a man just rode past on a Honda sending a text message.
So that'll be all for today. A very, very special day amongst grand days indeed. One happy GSer..
Now, I know there's a chappy who resides in this parish who goes by the name of '
Corsican Dreamer'. Well, chummy, the games up mate. I know what you're dreaming of, and I know exactly why you're dreaming of it. Amazing.
*3 Unfortunately no YooChoob for the 'do gooder' Not the Nine O'Clock News Sketch, so have the superb
'Gerald the Gorilla' instead
*4 I can't find any reference to that particular Jasper Carrott skit on the web, so if anyone remembers it, be a mate and bail me out will ya?
