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[OC] Do Not Contact [Part XIX]

First | Previous
The sprinkling fountains by the Château shone brightly under the clear sky of a late spring morning, as the sparrows chipped merrily above the well-cut canopies which topped the lush gardens of Versailles.
Nearly two hundred flags lined the entrance to the historical seat of absolute monarchy and its greatest son, Louis XIV, the Sun King. 20 kilometers southwest of Paris, its lustrous railway station had been welcoming delegates, military officers and world leaders for the previous hour with exceptional attention to protocol and diplomatic decorum. The few remaining monarchs of Europe stepped into the old royal estate with the same regal manners with which their ancestors were welcomed and there hosted centuries previously in the same palatial grounds, while both democratically elected leaders and tyrannical rulers stared perplexed at the monumental reception which had been set up at the Château, unseen in its grandiosity and exuberance since the extravagant days of the Ancien Régime.
The grey-haired French President smiled as he helped the Secretary-General of the United Nations, and his fellow member of the Supreme Earth Command, out of the first class carriage of the TGV and into the now vivacious city of Versailles. Joining him in the short walk to the foremost of palaces on French soil were the German Chancellor and the Italian Prime-Minister, who managed a small detour to speak briefly with the papal delegation, deftly moving past the red robes of cardinals and monsignors to kiss the Fisherman's Ring. Beyond the gates, from the stage William knew to be set up in the gardens, there came a lively melody, making its way through fountains and forests with equal ease. He recognised the joyful vibration of violin strings. Vivaldi's Le Quattro Stagioni was still in its Spring, and the orchestra was still in its rehearsal, but walking past the equestrian statue of the Sun King under the warm rays of his namesake, with the pleasant music in the literal background of the scene, William could hardly understand how he had managed to spend weeks confined inside a metallic tube between the deep ridges of the Pacific and the rocking waves of its surface with only the nuclear him of the engine as musical companion.
The French Tricolour flew proudly atop the Palace as William and his fellow leaders approached the golden gates of Versailles. Spears and fleurs-de-lis pierced above the gilded barrier of the palace, and as William admired the intricate details of the massive golden crown which adorned the top of the exuberant gateway, the Italian Prime-Minister attentively pointed out the furtive black figures of the GIGN, the elite tactical unit of the French Gendarmerie Nationale, calmly poised among the dark gilded roofs of the Château. Rifles scouting the perimeter, they seemed to be taking over the archers of old in even older castle turrets. And suddenly William was back at the United Nations Headquarters in Geneva, under the gloomy cover of Swiss skies, peeking through a window as riot police cracked down on the thousands of protesters of a hundred different nations outside, in the first months of SEC control and initial mobilisation to war. Then, as now, the elites of the world had met to discuss the question of the Council and its demand of war on the Void. The images were haunting and William couldn't help but tie the occasion to the historical significance of these elites meeting, while the masses outside might revolt, to the Château de Versailles and its last royal occupant. The same Palace where, nearly two and a half centuries previous, on the morning of October 5th 1789,a French woman struck a drum on behalf of the starving peasantry and led a march on Versailles, forcing the royal family to flee to Paris, where in 1793 Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette would be guillotined in the Place de la Concorde in the name of the Revolution. The people were calmer this time around, thought William, but the cost had been far greater than he cared to admit. The three leaders were met at the central courtyard by a small figure. The Château's curator, a frenchman of sixty with a balding head and an aged body, was nonetheless vivacious in his greeting, and the green eyes under his ancient spectacles had the joyous life of a young artist.
"Messieurs, Madame, welcome to the Château de Versailles! I'm Henri Bertrand, the curator of the palace and its gardens, and it is a most wonderful honour to have you here. We are almost ready. I know we are not expecting our special guests for another three hours, but we want to have everything prepared just in case. I think you will enjoy our preparations fully, even with the short time warning we had to make them. The Château hasn't seen something like this in centuries. History in the making!" After the initial introduction in a thick accent, he led them around the courtyard and the neoclassical wings at the front end of the palace, through two different security checks, before entering one of the many rooms of the Château, which they passed without halt or time to admire the royal chambers through which they quickly moved. After moving through the right wind of the palace, the curator vigorously opened an elaborate wooden door at the end. Vivaldi's masterpiece grew suddenly and Henri theatrically made way for the trio to stand before the most magnificent scenery they had ever witnessed. Under direct exposure to an infinite number of photos, the geometric magnanimity of the Jardins of Versailles spread before them. Dividing the eight hundred hectares of the gardens in two symmetric parts, the Grand Canal cleanly reflected the sunlight above, beyond the balustrade and the exquisite details of the Fountain of Latona, and thirty-eight horsemen of the Garden Républicaine lined the way to the waters, with golden helmets, resplendent swords at their hits and white horses under the leather reigns of their riders. Down the stairs, the orange trees had been brought out to the Orangerie, and the sweet scent of citrus fruit hung in the warm lazy air.
"Unnglaublich..." whispered the German Chancellor.
"First time in Versailles?"
"Only for the Chancellor and Signor de Souza", clarified their Italian counterpart. "I spent many happy summers in the gardens, but it was a long time ago. We had a family house nearby."
The aristocratic upbringing of his Italian guest seemed to please the curator, who excitedly pointed to their left. "We call it La Gloire de l'Homme. The Glory of Man."
Opposite the orchestra an even greater arrangement had been set up. Priceless white statues had been brought from museums, castles and palaces around the world and imposingly arranged upon the gardens. A half-circle of Greek and Roman deities stood below another row of kings, queens, pharaohs and emperors scientists and inventors, painters and poets, saints and sinners. William could make out Michael angel's David and the Pietà, and Bernini's Truth Unveiled by Time. Above them all, stone-faced, Caesar and Alexander commanded their legions of marble. Humanity's finest, expertly sculpted by its greatest artists, stood together for the first time in History, linked in their power, joined in common memory, united in glory. Shining togas of philosophy and sturdy armor of war adorned the men and women in glorious victory and suffering.
"Magnifico!" exclaimed the Italian Prime-Minister. Just then, over the beautiful tune emanating from the orchestral rehearsal, tolled the church bells of the city. Twelve times they tolled, and the rows of chairs by the stage were starting to fill.
"We understand our guests will attend to their own biological and atmospheric needs, so we took the liberty of preparing our favourite meals for human consumption, the best that French cuisine can offer. Please help yourselves." Henri left tem by a large table. Sitting proudly above the white linen were dozens of French delicacies, being tentatively tasted by some who, for too long, had been made to eat rations in the name of war needs. Now, in military uniforms, tuxedos and royal garbs, they re-acquainted themselves with the nostalgic fondness of yesteryear on the sweet taste of duck confit, cocquilles and oysters. In total, the French government had mobilised thirty chefs from their posts around the system, twelve bartenders, and two tons of food from their rich country farms.
"Seems to me," suggested the Chancellor quietly, "we're doing this more for our pleasure than for the Grand Council's appeasement."
"It is obvious!" The Italian smiled. "We are all human. I have been - we have been - fortunate enough to eat as we wish through these hard times. But take a look around you, at the tables, at the orchestra. The waiters, the musicians, the journalists. They didn't. They had to survive in a different way. Maybe this is the first time I a long time they try foie gras, or can enjoy a glass of wine, or are allowed to admire the view without being ordered to move on with their duty; the first time they can relax and enjoy la dolce vita. For three hours, until our visitors arrive, this reception is for them, it's their time to be kings. And what better place for that than Versailles?"
The German Chancellor looked around, tracing the nameless faces behind their leaders and monarchs, smiling and chatting by the tables and fountains and ancient stairs, as if a galactic war weren't underway, and reflected impressed on the knowing words of the Italian.
The joyous atmosphere was only broken once, when from the skies above there came the interrupting noise of spinning rotary blades, drowning the orchestra and the chatter around. Coming down in one of his Air Force's heavy duty helicopters, the Russian President made his grand entrance at the reception, and after landing somewhere beyond the canopies, the tsar quickly passed the Canal, climbing the stairs with his easily recognisable gait and headed straight to one of the lavishly composed bars, where he substituted the usual alcohol ohf his people for the champagne flute of the French. Only after did he joined the political leader of Supreme Earth Command.
"Bonjour," he said, revealing in the careful pronunciation of the greeting the French tutoring he had received as a young boy in Soviet Saint Petersburg. "Good journey?"
"Very", William answered. His former cabin mate sipped from his flute and looked at the gardens from their high ground, taking a deep breath before addressing them again.
"It's good to be out."
"Out of what?"
"That bloody submarine."
"Ah, yes," admitted William. "Yes, it is."
"When do they arrive?"
"Just under three hours. If they're on time."
'Anyone still missing? "
" The American President and the Chinese Premier. The British Prime-Minister is also accompanying the sovereign on their special convoy, they've just crossed the Channel."
"Good. That is good." He faced the German Chancellor. "And what is the status on your Herr Dreher?"
"It's Herr Schmitt now. He left the ISS yesterday and should be arriving at the Moon base today."
The Russian finished his champagne, signaling a passing waiter for more. "Good. That is good."
"And what is the status on the other envoy?" inquired the Chancellor.
The Russian shrugged. "Karlov said nothing other than they must have arrived at their first stop by now." He paused to consider the situation. "Also good."
By then William had started to notice the eyes of all those leaders and delegates, politician and officers, set on his little exclusive group. He wasn't the only one to notice.
"If you do this well," suggested the accented voice of the elderly curator, who had seemingly appeared from one of the dozens of exquisite doors behind them undetected. William wondered if he shouldn't have been sent stealthily to space instead of Karl Dreher, "you might just end up next to those statues, Madame et Messieurs." He greyed the Russian President while the Italian Prime-Minister seemed to consider the aesthetics of his future marble figure among the stone pantheon of humans history chose to remember.
"Oh, by the way. The Russian Federation wishes to add something to the interior decoration. No wish to be behind on loaned artwork." From his suit pocket, the President withdrew a shining orb of a thousand colours and sheens. Encrusted in solid gold ere several dozen precious gemstones of exotic provenance and incalculable value.
"Fabergé," admired a fascinated curator, carefully handling the precious egg. "It will be a most formidable addition. In behalf of the Château, Monsieur le Président, merci." He hurried back inside with the imperial masterpiece, leaving the five to contend amongst themselves, now that the American President had finally arrived.
"Should we take a seat?" asked William. "The orchestra has begun to play." In solemn conversation, they had failed to notice that most of the delegate had left their warm spots by the fountains and tables and were now sat intently listing to a superb performance of Vivaldi's Four Seasons.
"Not yet," halted the Russian. "We must wait for the others."
Finally, as the first movement drew to a close, the French President emerged into the outer courtyard with the Chinese Premier, the British Prime-Minister and his sovereign, and their respective delegations. In spite of the musical act, there was some commotion among the audience at the entrance of such noteworthy late arrivals. After the British monarch had taken a seat among the greater family of European royalty, the Prime-Minister joined them under the cool shade of the palace.
"Everyone ready?"
"We have to be," answered the Italian leader, revealing a discreet yet expensive wristwatch from under his well-tailored sleeve. "Two hours to go."
"Let's find our seats, then, if you please," suggested the French host, leading the way to the seats of honour. Once among the rank and file of humanity's representatives and ancient families, the High Command of Earth's planetary fires tried to enjoy the spectacle, which, in the manner of old Versailles, included a brilliant fireworks display above the gardens, jg nervous anticipation prevented any proper admiration of the performance. The Russian President tried nonetheless to sooth this mood with the less than moderate consumption of alcohol he had become accustomed since faced with leading the world against a galactic enemy. By the end of the show, faces around the Château were beginning to look up in excitement, some in expectation, others in a fruitless hope that it would reveal nothing more than a clear sky for the rest of the day, so that the lavish entertainment and careless enjoyment could last until dusk, and possibly beyond. However, after the orchestra had finished playing and most spectators were again converging back on the tables, like an infantry battalion taking over some enemy trench, a broad-shouldered man in impeccable uniform approached the small group of leaders expected to welcome their extraterrestrial visitors.
"Sirs, Ma'am," he saluted.
"Our sensors have picked up their position. They have moved from one of their large transport ships to a single destroyer and are rapidly approaching Earth. We expect them at the ISS in twenty minutes to board our convoy ship.
The nervousness great as they called the curator to inform him of the imminent arrival. Even so, it still seemed beyond credibility to any of then that the Grand Council of the Galactic Union was about to land before them, and receive the greatest welcome in Versailles sine the days of Louis XIV, the Sun King. The current scene at the absolute monarch's hunting grounds was still a dream from which William felt we would wake up at any moment. But the fountains still expelled the cleat water high in the air, from the mouths of fish and around heroic men and women of ancient Mediterranean myths. The birds chipped again, taking over the orchestra as the real resident musicians of the palace. The General returned as nearly everyone, delegates and workers, had their eyes fixated in the sparse and thin white clouds floating along the slow currents of the rich blue sky.
"Contact," he declared ominously. "Fifteen minutes to landing."
As the other delegates fell back to their seats, the group followed the general down the stairs past the fountain of Latona, and towards the Grand Canal. To the left, a landing site had been constructed for a very particular use.
They walked in pairs, with the General leading the way alone. Behind him were William and the French President, then the American and Russian leaders, followed by the German Chancellor and the British Prime-Minister. The Chinese Premier finished the procession with his Italian counterpart by his side. They turned left at the Canal and dived into one of the many diagonal corridors which split the gardens into equally sublime parts. Lining the strip of gravel stood the men and women of the Territorial Army, sworn to protect their planet and maintain order in its streets, farmlands and palatial receptions. At once, they raised their hands to their foreheads in an impressive display of simultaneous salute, giving the already impressive scene an aura of outstanding discipline and order, as a Caesar himself were entering the Colosseum greeted by his Praetorian Guard. How often, thought William, had that same guard assassinated their emperor and chosen a new one. Too late for assassinations now, however. The Earth had been pacified and its soldiers an example of duty and obedience.
Chests tightening under the crumpling weight of History, it took all their strength for William and his fellow SEC members to keep up with the General's steady pace towards the open area ahead. Once inside yet another security cordon, they stood side by side with their eyes glued to the steering heights of the atmosphere above. At last, after the fidgety wait in which only the General and the Chinese Premier seemed to have been able to maintain a a resolute stance, a faint spot breached the invisible layers of outer space, slowly growing and rapidly approaching.
A faint melody poured over the treeline behind them, from the August courtyards of the palace, as the orchestra decided on an impromptu performance. The Barber of Seville, William noted, as soon as the booming voice of a usually reserved European King shouted "Figaro!" to the drunken amusement of his audience, but the monarch was soon outperformed by the immense roar of the powerful engines above them. The twin devices, symmetrically placed at the sides of the shuttle, carefully brought the grey windowless craft to a levitating halt above the landing ground before softly touching down with effortless grace.
All the arrangements had been made, the preparations painstakingly decided and carried out by the finest showmasters, conducted, curators and chefs that the French Republic could have summoned to their ancient hall of power. They had come at once, unfaltering in their duty to attend the ancient call of Versailles, instinctively attracted to the regal light of the Palace, just as the Grand Council of the Galactic Union had, the alien creature of the shuttle, which now slowly yet surely descended the ramp of their ship, finally arriving at the planet they held hostage, before the piercing eyes of the Supreme Earth Command.
submitted by Lord_Camberlot to HFY

Corsica. My thoughts and tips after spending 8 days travelling around the rather amazing island.

I just spent 8 days travelling around Corsica and I was rather blown away by how beautiful and interesting it is, and how it is somehow oddly rather unknown.
The landscape is the big reason to go: I was blown away by the landscape - and I have been living in Switzerland for the last few years. There is so much variation: High alpine ranges, dolomite like peaks, gentle valleys, beaches. One minute you could be in rural south Australia, then you come over a pass and it is like the chestnut filled pre- Alps in northern Italy. The water is especially amazing - it is super clear water everywhere. The sea, the rivers, the lakes were all perfect. Plus the interior often feels very wild and often untouched.
The culture is fascinating. The people are very independently minded. I started to forget it was part of France and just started to think of it as its own country. It was pretty common to see the French names for places painted off the road signs leaving just the Corsican names to help guide you. This was a place that took vendetta very seriously once (apparently the last one was due to a stray donkey which set off a chain of violence and death in 1954).
For an island in the mediterranean with Tuscany to one side and the French Riviera to the other it is surprisingly untouristy.
Other than the locals driving on windy roads I felt as safe as I have anywhere else.
Basic itinerary
We just booked flights, car, accommodation in that order, then turned up and planned a day ahead or off-the-cuff as we went along.
  • Day 1. Flew into Ajaccio and explore. Stayed in Ajaccio.
  • Day 2. Picked up rental car from the airport and headed off to Corte for 2 nights.
  • Day 3. Corte area. Hiked high up in the Restonica valley.
  • Day 4. Drove to the coast through mountain passes. Corte - Ponte Leccia - Morosaglia - Campana - Cervione. Down to the coast and stayed at Solenzara for 3 nights
  • Day 5. Scenic drive through mountain passes. Solenzara river - Col de Bavella - Zonza - L'Ospédale
  • Day 6. Porto Vecchio and relaxed by the beach.
  • Day 7. Attempted to visit Bonifacio, gave up due to traffic and went to the beach. Stayed at Monacia-d'Aullène for 2 nights.
  • Day 8. Bonifacio and beach.
  • Day 9. Sartène, drove back to Ajaccio through the mountains and flew out.
No towns are very big or require more than a few hours to see. Focus on the nature.
Do not expect everyone to Speak English. My attempts at speaking a few words in French at least amused people and generally got the basic message over.
Tourism is very seasonal. Rammed in august, but almost nothing open in winter. If possible stay well away in august, at least from the coastal spots.
Interestingly it was mostly French and German tourists. Corsica is the only place outside a German speaking country where I have seen the German speakers vastly outnumber the English speakers.
Getting about
Drive. Public transport is very very limited. That said driving is a bit of an experience….
Local drivers can be utterly fucking mental (even for a rural/mountainous place). Overtaking is basically the local sport. Watching it from a safe spot is really entertaining, having someone swerve out in front of you is not so much fun. Any gaps in traffic going with you are tempting targets to overtake into, and any gaps in oncoming traffic are fair game no matter how small. Needless to say blind corners can mean nothing and cutting corners is common, even when you are right in front of the oncoming car. My girlfriend from the rural and windy Black Forest thought they were mad.
Parking Is a case of park wherever you fit: on the pavement, over multiple spaces, putting on hazard lights apparently means you can stop anywhere for however long. Anything goes so long as the road is mostly passable.
Getting into or even past the coastal towns can be a nightmare as the main roads tend to be limited in size and go right alongside or through the towns. Getting past Porto Vecchio took us far too long for such a tiny town. Bonifacio was an utter cluster fuck as it bottlenecks down to a single point, we actually gave up twice when we found 5km queues each time and went back early the next day. Inland at least where the population is less dense was mostly fine.
Goats, cows and pigs are often let to just roam at will in the mountains. It was not uncommon to turn a corner on a mountain road to find a herd of goats sat in the road.
I actually did really enjoy driving there, and the roads are almost all absurdly scenic with constant mountain or sea views.
Generally a bit expensive. Think France plus the cost of being an island. 20-25E for a meal with desserts and drinks (3 course menus from 15-25E are pretty common and good quality). 4E for a coffee and pastry in a cafe. Breakfast in hotels seems to be a fairly steep at 8-10E per person, if you opt for it (I didn’t at that price).
I didn’t keep too careful an eye on the prices other than to avoid anything that seemed overly expensive . But if you keep the food and accomodation simple it should be easy to do without breaking the bank.
There is camping everywhere which should help keep costs down.
One of the most interesting things about Corsica is the rejection of international chains. Other than a few European supermarkets like Spar there were no chain shops, and not one McDonalds in sight. They even have local coke.
The flip side of this is that food choices can be a bit limited There are mostly two types of restaurant: Corsican and Pizza. In bigger places there might be a few French restaurants too. It was not unusual to walk down a street past 3 or 4 Pizzerias in a row.
Chestnuts are very popular. Chestnut biscuits, chestnut bread, chestnut beer, chestnut cake, chestnut ice cream (amazingly good).
Oddly for France it seems that beer is more popular than wine (again hardly feels like France). Pietra beer is everywhere and pretty good, Colomba is less common but also pretty good.
The local meat and cheese is very good.
Thoughts on places
  • Ajaccio. Nice for a few hours. The claim to fame (and face of most of the tourist tack) is it is the birthplace of Napoleon - though sadly we arrived too late and left too early to see his family house on the inside. But there was at least the Micro brasserie impériale around the corner did a good beer. The old-town isn’t amazing, but could be much worse. The area between Napoleon house and Place de Gaulle seemed to have the best atmosphere at night. The airport is boring and tiny, but it is only 400m walk from the beach at least.
  • Corte. A bit of a disappointment at first, though it grew on me. The town is bigger and less mountainous than most photos make it look, and the Citadel whilst holding an impressive position really does have ugly bland buildings inside. Chestnut ice cream from the Delair Jean-Luc at the Gaffory square is a must try.
  • The Restonica valley is utterly stunning. I want to go back to Corsica just explore some more of the middle parts of this. The road in starts right at Corte but it is mostly single lane with some sections being almost devoid of passing points. Oh and there are rather large drops, sometimes without barriers. Worth it though. We drove up to the end car-park and hiked up to the Lac de Melu and Lac de Capitellu. A swim in the later was cool but very nice. The road and car park were filling up by 9am on a weekday at the start of September (mid-July to mid-August the top of the valley is only open to buses). At the lower parts of the valley there were endless attractive pools in the river to swim in. The middle part is dominated by towering steep rocky walls, and the top is alpine like.
  • Scenic drive (Ponte Leccia - Morosaglia - Campana - Cervione). The first part is on very narrow very windy roads - we had locals tearing down dangerously fast against us. The views start of the dry internal region with rocky peaks from the central range sticking up. Once you pass over the Col de Prato the world changes to green chestnut tree filled valleys with views down to the ocean and tiny villages that cling to the ridgelines. A particular highlight was the ruined but still quite intact Le Couvent d'Orezza which you can wander through at your own risk. Highly recommended (mind the goats and cows wandering the roads).
  • Solenzara is pleasant if uninspiring. Basically just a town built along the main road for tourism (think standard forgettable med tourist town). A range of shops, hotels, and places to eat. Makes a fantastic base for the Solenzara river, mountains and beaches. Plenty of free and easy parking too.
  • Scenic drive (Solenzara river - Col de Bavella - Zonza - L'Ospédale). Stunning landscape and views. The road was almost always nice and wide double-lanes so driving was very relaxed. We joined the G20 route for a bit at Col de Bavella to climb higher for some better views and quiet from the road.
  • Porto Vecchio. The old town is very small and mostly given over to tourist shops/restaurants. It features possibly the ugliest church decoration in Europe (Eglise de Saint Jean Baptiste) complete with creepy statues that are possibly better described as “cutesy” uncanny-valley dolls. Worth a look if you are in the area, but don’t go out of your way for it.
  • Bonifacio. Simply amazing. Getting there can be a pain as the traffic can be an utter mess (limited parking and VERY limited roads going in). We tried twice one day and found 5km queues so we gave up and went back before 9am the next day (christ knows how the locals put up with it). If you buy a boat ticket you can park at the SPMB car parks (a 5 min walk from the port) all day for free. Normal car parking is expensive so it is probably worth it as it is, also taking a boat to see the grottos along the cliffs and the town from below is really a must do there to appreciate the place. The lower port area and upper citadel are worth a good look around and feel like two very different places. Walk along the end of the peninsula to visit the surreal town-like graveyard at the end, and along the cliffs across from the citadel entrance for more nice views. The nicest old town of any big town that I went to in Corsica. There are also the King Aragon steps, but those seemed a bit pointless after the boat and cliff walks.
  • The south west coast. An area almost devoid of humanity, just a few villages and roads. Plage de Roccapina is very nice, the track down is a little bumpy but you can do it in a normal car. There are plenty of other small beaches with varying degrees of ease to access.
  • Sartène. Pretty much the model Corsican town: tightly packed stone houses clinging to the mountainside. There isn’t much to it, but what there is is very nice.
Things I would do with more time
  • The G20 hike. Or at least a few sections of it.
  • Piscia di Gallo (near Porto Vecchio). A waterfall we drove near near, but as it was the end of a very dry summer (the fire service were constantly driving around as if it would discourage fires from even thinking about starting) we didn’t even bother with the walk to see this.
  • The north east as a whole. The mountains crashing into the sea look amazing there.
  • Occi. An abandoned village in the north east.
  • Filitosa. A site filled with megalithic statues in the south west.
The art work of Edward Lear is slightly over-the-top but rather striking and gets the right mood.
Granite island: a portrait of Corsica. A book by Dorothy Carrington, an author who became rather obsessed with Corsica and the people. An interesting (if sometimes heavy/dull) read about the country and the culture.
Colomba a short novel by Prosper Mérimée about a vendetta
Travel blog 1 http://www.francethisway.com/regions/corsica.php
Travel blog 2 - with some slightly strange language, not always accurate (a col is not a peak), and a little outdated. But still a bit useful http://peak-exposure.com/adventures/2013/8/15/corsica
submitted by travel_ali to TravelNoPics