Gertie in Corsica and Sardinia
Sep 6th, 2013, 05:39 AM
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Gertie in Corsica and Sardinia
Gertie in Corsica and Sardinia
This trip started off inauspiciously. I have always wanted to see these 2 islands, one belonging to France, the other to Italy, but both with a distinctive culture by the look of it. And Napoleon is one of my ‘wish I had met’ historical figures. When I asked for info on Fodor’s no-one replied who had actually been! Put the same query on Travellers To Go and Fodor’s Friends on Facebook (whatever happened to that group?) and guess what: they didn’t know either but an old school friend saw the post and said Yes, she had been a few years ago and loved it. Did I want company?? So, as they say, the trip was born.
We got an Easyjet to Bastia out of Manchester (our hometown) which was at 7 on a Sunday morning. Anti-social though it was, it wasn’t half as bad as flights from other UK airports. And Manchester airport is a dream compared with Heathrow. Am thinking of replanning my comings and goings from the UK on that basis. Several people I chatted to on the flight had already found this out: they had travelled north from Oxford and Birmingham rather than face LHR/Stansted/Gatwick etc!
That early start turned into an early arrival in Bastia and a stroll from the airport bus to our hotel. Bastia is a pretty port, not full of industrial mess, lots of ferries to and from the south coast of France and the west coast of Italy. Streets are wide and straight, French style, buildings are pastel colours. The whole place could have been in the south of France…with prices to match. We managed some lunch in the Place Napoleon (where else?) though a lot of places were closed. It was July 14th, Bastille Day, a Sunday, and France, even Corsica, was getting ready to party tonight. By the time we got down to the harbour for dinner, all the restaurants were opening for business and the place was packed. The sunset was spectacular on the water and all the buildings around the waterfront. Fish was the thing to eat here, and white wine to go with! A fantastic firework display at 10pm stopped the traffic. We were lucky to be on foot and found our way back through the night market and children’s rides on Place Napoleon.
We stayed in the Best Western ‘Bastia Centre’ which was a bit of poetic license: it was a good 10 minutes pull up the hill and not really central at all. It looked like a converted Ibis, a French chain, perfectly acceptable but not fancy. I had booked the hotels with a bit of trepidation at booking for someone I had hardly seen for the past 45 years. But it worked out. Best part was the convenience to the train station, of which more later.
This trip started off inauspiciously. I have always wanted to see these 2 islands, one belonging to France, the other to Italy, but both with a distinctive culture by the look of it. And Napoleon is one of my ‘wish I had met’ historical figures. When I asked for info on Fodor’s no-one replied who had actually been! Put the same query on Travellers To Go and Fodor’s Friends on Facebook (whatever happened to that group?) and guess what: they didn’t know either but an old school friend saw the post and said Yes, she had been a few years ago and loved it. Did I want company?? So, as they say, the trip was born.
We got an Easyjet to Bastia out of Manchester (our hometown) which was at 7 on a Sunday morning. Anti-social though it was, it wasn’t half as bad as flights from other UK airports. And Manchester airport is a dream compared with Heathrow. Am thinking of replanning my comings and goings from the UK on that basis. Several people I chatted to on the flight had already found this out: they had travelled north from Oxford and Birmingham rather than face LHR/Stansted/Gatwick etc!
That early start turned into an early arrival in Bastia and a stroll from the airport bus to our hotel. Bastia is a pretty port, not full of industrial mess, lots of ferries to and from the south coast of France and the west coast of Italy. Streets are wide and straight, French style, buildings are pastel colours. The whole place could have been in the south of France…with prices to match. We managed some lunch in the Place Napoleon (where else?) though a lot of places were closed. It was July 14th, Bastille Day, a Sunday, and France, even Corsica, was getting ready to party tonight. By the time we got down to the harbour for dinner, all the restaurants were opening for business and the place was packed. The sunset was spectacular on the water and all the buildings around the waterfront. Fish was the thing to eat here, and white wine to go with! A fantastic firework display at 10pm stopped the traffic. We were lucky to be on foot and found our way back through the night market and children’s rides on Place Napoleon.
We stayed in the Best Western ‘Bastia Centre’ which was a bit of poetic license: it was a good 10 minutes pull up the hill and not really central at all. It looked like a converted Ibis, a French chain, perfectly acceptable but not fancy. I had booked the hotels with a bit of trepidation at booking for someone I had hardly seen for the past 45 years. But it worked out. Best part was the convenience to the train station, of which more later.
Sep 6th, 2013, 07:45 AM
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We spent the next day mooching around the old town, in and out of churches, restaurants, coffee shops and bars. There was evidence that the Tour de France had just started in Corsica in the strings of yellow-jersey-bunting festooning the town. We found gorgeous views from high in the old town, lots of interesting crumbly buildings and not-sure-where-they -went back alleys. Very few tourists and not much English spoken. More delicious seafood on the harbor. Several G&Ts.
Next day we were off! My idea of coming to Corsica and Sardinia had been to ride around on the trains. The ones in Corsica had been built around 100 years ago and having fallen into a state of decrepitude, have recently had a complete overhaul, locomotives and track. Had found the very unprepossessing station just down from our hotel and discovered that trains were occasional rather than frequent. And not cheap either. But one left at 9am and we fought our way through countless groups of schoolkids and their minders to buy tickets to Calvi and ensconce ourselves on the little 2 coach train. Lots of people, no chance to spread out. Hot. Long uneventful trip, right over the mountains on a single track rail, death-defying drops to the right, twisty and turny, the train rocking alarmingly, no-one got off and no-one got on. Cows on the track had to be shooed off by the train’s hooter. After 3 hours we wound our way down down down to the coast at Ile Rousse, a kind of Blackpool-on-Med. At this point most people got off the train. Not us though, we were the hardy ones who kept going to Calvi. The train meandered along the coast for the last hour at almost walking pace; a few people got off to be greeted by family and friends who were waiting for them to join their summer holiday. And so we arrived in Calvi for late lunch.
I had booked us into the Grand Hotel Calvi. What a great choice! We fell over it one minute from the station, it was central and best of all it had a terrace on the top with a magnificent view over the town, harbour and surrounding area. Perfect for G&Ts at sunset.
Calvi is an upmarket Mediterranean south-of-France little place. There is a citadel towering over the town and windy narrow streets leading up to it. A nice covered market selling local produce. All the action happens on the harbour which is full of restaurants and shops, boat trips, diving tours and so on. Occasional ferries came and went but not many: apparently the services from Nice and Marseilles were cancelled for lack of interest ( and probably because of the high cost and in-fighting between the 2 ferry companies) and people now use Bastia or Ajaccio. Calvi is very crowded at night when all the beautiful people came out to strut their stuff. Also there were several big fancy yachts, one of which tied up on the quayside to be oohed and aahed over by the tourists. Including us. There was entertainment for the children on the harbour, all the trappings of French family holidays. Probably most had arrived by car judging from the big car parks all around, though there were also lots of groups of schoolkids on summer trips who came on our train. These disported themselves on the beach which is only a few minutes’ walk from the harbour and very shallow and safe for children. Not much fun if you want a proper swim!
Next day we were off! My idea of coming to Corsica and Sardinia had been to ride around on the trains. The ones in Corsica had been built around 100 years ago and having fallen into a state of decrepitude, have recently had a complete overhaul, locomotives and track. Had found the very unprepossessing station just down from our hotel and discovered that trains were occasional rather than frequent. And not cheap either. But one left at 9am and we fought our way through countless groups of schoolkids and their minders to buy tickets to Calvi and ensconce ourselves on the little 2 coach train. Lots of people, no chance to spread out. Hot. Long uneventful trip, right over the mountains on a single track rail, death-defying drops to the right, twisty and turny, the train rocking alarmingly, no-one got off and no-one got on. Cows on the track had to be shooed off by the train’s hooter. After 3 hours we wound our way down down down to the coast at Ile Rousse, a kind of Blackpool-on-Med. At this point most people got off the train. Not us though, we were the hardy ones who kept going to Calvi. The train meandered along the coast for the last hour at almost walking pace; a few people got off to be greeted by family and friends who were waiting for them to join their summer holiday. And so we arrived in Calvi for late lunch.
I had booked us into the Grand Hotel Calvi. What a great choice! We fell over it one minute from the station, it was central and best of all it had a terrace on the top with a magnificent view over the town, harbour and surrounding area. Perfect for G&Ts at sunset.
Calvi is an upmarket Mediterranean south-of-France little place. There is a citadel towering over the town and windy narrow streets leading up to it. A nice covered market selling local produce. All the action happens on the harbour which is full of restaurants and shops, boat trips, diving tours and so on. Occasional ferries came and went but not many: apparently the services from Nice and Marseilles were cancelled for lack of interest ( and probably because of the high cost and in-fighting between the 2 ferry companies) and people now use Bastia or Ajaccio. Calvi is very crowded at night when all the beautiful people came out to strut their stuff. Also there were several big fancy yachts, one of which tied up on the quayside to be oohed and aahed over by the tourists. Including us. There was entertainment for the children on the harbour, all the trappings of French family holidays. Probably most had arrived by car judging from the big car parks all around, though there were also lots of groups of schoolkids on summer trips who came on our train. These disported themselves on the beach which is only a few minutes’ walk from the harbour and very shallow and safe for children. Not much fun if you want a proper swim!
Sep 6th, 2013, 09:39 AM
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After a couple of days of decadence here we bought more train tickets and set off for Ajaccio. The train was likewise full, it seems this new restored trainline is very popular. I should add here that driving in Corsica is quite hair-raising because most roads have miles and miles of hairpin bends. Stressful. No chance to view the scenery. Friends in the UK who had been (yes, I found some) were glad to hear we were travelling by train.
We ran along the coast again picking up the bucket-and-spade brigade until we headed for the centre of the island through amazingly mountainous terrain until we came to a junction in the middle of nowhere where we had to change for Ajaccio or stay put for Bastia. Basically the line goes from Bastia to Ajaccio with a branch line to Calvi. That’s it. Half way along, at Corte, we were all booted off the train and decanted onto buses: no idea why, maybe there was maintenance on the track that day. This was the most spectacular part of the trip. The mountains rose in jagged fingers to the west, the trainline/road wound through incredibly narrow twisting gorges. It was impossible to get any good pictures. We followed the road (which followed the train track) all the way through the mountains until it levelled out and came onto the west coastal plain and into Ajaccio. All through the mountain villages were yellow jerseys, evidence of the Tour a week or so earlier. Showed what a challenge that is. One advantage of going by road was that we could see the train track and goggle at the bridges seeming to hover in the air, and narrow ledges the track ran along. What an engineering feat 100 years ago.
Arrived in Ajaccio in good order and were congratulating ourselves on a smooth trip. Huh! We didn’t see this coming: the ‘hotel’ I had booked in Ajaccio was a total disaster. I won’t go into the gory details, but if you find yourselves there, don’t book the Hotel Kalliste. Details available on request. We registered and immediately went out for a large G&T to get over the shock. It was only 2 nights we told ourselves….
Found the harbour area full of not-so-posh restaurants and settled in to recover. The next day we spent all over Ajaccio which turned out to be a very pleasant little not-very-glamourous port. Quite run-down in fact. There is a long beach full of sun-seekers, a gaggle of backstreets with Napoleon’s birthplace, a petit train which took us along the bay to the Isles Sanguinaires (so called because they are supposed to look like drops of blood… I didn’t think so but who am I?) and lots of bars and cafes of which we sampled a fair few. Very nice views of the fancy yachts in the harbour which seemed to have come from all over. Apparently the idle rich spend summer in the Med and winter in the Caribbean. Plus the cruise ship brigade were out in force in case the yachties got above themselves. Once I found out what time the monster cruise ship was leaving (5pm), we planned our evening.
We ran along the coast again picking up the bucket-and-spade brigade until we headed for the centre of the island through amazingly mountainous terrain until we came to a junction in the middle of nowhere where we had to change for Ajaccio or stay put for Bastia. Basically the line goes from Bastia to Ajaccio with a branch line to Calvi. That’s it. Half way along, at Corte, we were all booted off the train and decanted onto buses: no idea why, maybe there was maintenance on the track that day. This was the most spectacular part of the trip. The mountains rose in jagged fingers to the west, the trainline/road wound through incredibly narrow twisting gorges. It was impossible to get any good pictures. We followed the road (which followed the train track) all the way through the mountains until it levelled out and came onto the west coastal plain and into Ajaccio. All through the mountain villages were yellow jerseys, evidence of the Tour a week or so earlier. Showed what a challenge that is. One advantage of going by road was that we could see the train track and goggle at the bridges seeming to hover in the air, and narrow ledges the track ran along. What an engineering feat 100 years ago.
Arrived in Ajaccio in good order and were congratulating ourselves on a smooth trip. Huh! We didn’t see this coming: the ‘hotel’ I had booked in Ajaccio was a total disaster. I won’t go into the gory details, but if you find yourselves there, don’t book the Hotel Kalliste. Details available on request. We registered and immediately went out for a large G&T to get over the shock. It was only 2 nights we told ourselves….
Found the harbour area full of not-so-posh restaurants and settled in to recover. The next day we spent all over Ajaccio which turned out to be a very pleasant little not-very-glamourous port. Quite run-down in fact. There is a long beach full of sun-seekers, a gaggle of backstreets with Napoleon’s birthplace, a petit train which took us along the bay to the Isles Sanguinaires (so called because they are supposed to look like drops of blood… I didn’t think so but who am I?) and lots of bars and cafes of which we sampled a fair few. Very nice views of the fancy yachts in the harbour which seemed to have come from all over. Apparently the idle rich spend summer in the Med and winter in the Caribbean. Plus the cruise ship brigade were out in force in case the yachties got above themselves. Once I found out what time the monster cruise ship was leaving (5pm), we planned our evening.
Sep 6th, 2013, 10:44 AM
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Next day was separation: she back to Bastia for her flight home, me on to Sardinia. Found a bus that took about 3 hours down to Bonifacio and arrived in good order. It looks like an upmarket French Riviera resort, self-conscious and full of posers. Walked a few minutes to the port where the Moby ferry left for Santa Teresa Gallura on the northern coast of Sardinia. They asked for my passport but I think it was for ID rather than immigration…they are all Schengen now aren’t they? There was a ferry in an hour so no time to sample the delights of Bonifacio …would stop over next time. Looks like a charming old town climbing up the steep hill from the sea. Got a great picture of the precipitous cliffs with the town perched on top as we left on the Moby. Lovely ferry ride in the setting sun with evening light all around.
Got off at Santa Teresa and walked up to the town (about 5 minutes) and found my hotel there. Then set off into Italy. Oh what joy! Passegiata was in full swing, lots of people were sitting in the square, children’s entertainment was going on, I meandered around the town, saw the beach, got reacquainted with gelato, ordered a drink and was overwhelmed with aperitivos to the point I didn’t need dinner! Pinks and reds and golden colours in the sunset; couldn’t be anywhere else but Italy.
No train line here so next day I looked at buses to Sassari. They only ran at 8am and 4pm. Silly me, I got the early one. Should have got the later; it was Sunday and Sassari was closed up tight when I arrived around 11am. On refection I’m not sure why I stopped here at all. It’s an industrial university town but in summer there seemed little industry happening and no studying that I could see. Had a hard time finding somewhere open for lunch and not much more joy in the evening. Not a tourist in sight. Sassari is a long hill from the station to the town centre and nothing special when you get there! So next day I was out on the 11am train to Alghero.
Got off at Santa Teresa and walked up to the town (about 5 minutes) and found my hotel there. Then set off into Italy. Oh what joy! Passegiata was in full swing, lots of people were sitting in the square, children’s entertainment was going on, I meandered around the town, saw the beach, got reacquainted with gelato, ordered a drink and was overwhelmed with aperitivos to the point I didn’t need dinner! Pinks and reds and golden colours in the sunset; couldn’t be anywhere else but Italy.
No train line here so next day I looked at buses to Sassari. They only ran at 8am and 4pm. Silly me, I got the early one. Should have got the later; it was Sunday and Sassari was closed up tight when I arrived around 11am. On refection I’m not sure why I stopped here at all. It’s an industrial university town but in summer there seemed little industry happening and no studying that I could see. Had a hard time finding somewhere open for lunch and not much more joy in the evening. Not a tourist in sight. Sassari is a long hill from the station to the town centre and nothing special when you get there! So next day I was out on the 11am train to Alghero.
Sep 6th, 2013, 11:30 AM
#11
I visited a Corsican friend in Ajaccio once, and he took me to Corte on the train -- very impressive scenery, which made me want to take the line the entire length of the island some day.
Unfortunately I have not been back to Corsica since then, but all of my German and Dutch friends who go there regularly just tell me that I am stupid.
Unfortunately I have not been back to Corsica since then, but all of my German and Dutch friends who go there regularly just tell me that I am stupid.
Sep 6th, 2013, 12:39 PM
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Train! One ricketty carriage absolutely packed. And stiflingly hot. But it got us there and I managed to get a local bus straight into the town centre. I had booked myself into the Albergo San Francesco. This is the only place to stay in the old town and is a still-functioning monastery. My room was a bit monastic too but what a great location. As I was settling in I heard piano music and found someone practicing in the cloister for a concert that evening. Thought I’d died and gone to heaven. Brahms and Liszt… bit of Rach too I think.
Set off to look at the old town, not much of it, but very atmospheric. Quite a bit of the old city walls survives and there are various churches in various states of open-and-closed…as usual for Italy. Had a good walk along the bastions along the sea, found a coffee place, then set off along the beach which stretches south. This is full of families doing the summer Italian thing: beach umbrellas almost on top of each other, everyone packed into a tiny area, bars and ice-cream stalls along the prom and children splashing and wailing at the edge of the water. I tiptoed along when things looked a bit quieter and had a swim among the seaweed at the rocky end of the beach. For dinner I walked a few yards along my street to a little family-run trat for some fresh fish. The posh places on the seafront were probably no better and certainly at last twice the price.
I stayed in Alghero for 2 nights and did much the same both days. Churches, back streets, lots of sitting watching the world go by, another little train, gelato of course ( I try to ration myself to 3 a day) and organizing my onward journey. I had chosen to go down the western side of the island because the transport looked better and I reckoned I would get good sunsets. No trains down this coast, so found out bus times to Bosa and got myself down there.
Set off to look at the old town, not much of it, but very atmospheric. Quite a bit of the old city walls survives and there are various churches in various states of open-and-closed…as usual for Italy. Had a good walk along the bastions along the sea, found a coffee place, then set off along the beach which stretches south. This is full of families doing the summer Italian thing: beach umbrellas almost on top of each other, everyone packed into a tiny area, bars and ice-cream stalls along the prom and children splashing and wailing at the edge of the water. I tiptoed along when things looked a bit quieter and had a swim among the seaweed at the rocky end of the beach. For dinner I walked a few yards along my street to a little family-run trat for some fresh fish. The posh places on the seafront were probably no better and certainly at last twice the price.
I stayed in Alghero for 2 nights and did much the same both days. Churches, back streets, lots of sitting watching the world go by, another little train, gelato of course ( I try to ration myself to 3 a day) and organizing my onward journey. I had chosen to go down the western side of the island because the transport looked better and I reckoned I would get good sunsets. No trains down this coast, so found out bus times to Bosa and got myself down there.
Sep 6th, 2013, 01:09 PM
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Good to see a Corsica trip report, we love it. We are off for our 5th visit in a few days time.....
You can get a ferry from both nice and Marseilles to I'lle Rouse which is about 20 minutes from Calvi
You can get a ferry from both nice and Marseilles to I'lle Rouse which is about 20 minutes from Calvi
Sep 7th, 2013, 05:53 AM
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The road ran along the coast the whole way and the scenery was stunning, even if the road was very twisty and the driver drove far too fast! Bosa must be one of the prettiest towns in Sardinia if not in Italy. It’s situated on a river which goes along to the sea in another couple of kilometers. I didn’t make it to the beach but I gather it’s a big centre for watersports. There were tourists but they were individuals, no groups and certainly no cruise ships. Not much English spoken; I don’t think Bosa has made it onto the circuit yet. Get there quick! My hotel was right on the river with spectacular views and it was tempting just to sit on the balcony. However, I climbed up through the narrow streets to the citadel perched above the town, went in and out of various churches and sat in the picturesque main street drinking coffees and G&Ts. Found some wonderful restaurants for fresh fish and took far too many pictures of the sunset reflected on the water and the pastel buildings. Gorgeous.
Then it was on the bus again south along the coast. One of the idiosyncrasies of Italy is buying bus tickets. You can’t buy them on the bus so you have to get them beforehand. But where to get them?? You ask and they say ‘go to a bar’….but which bar? It could be one of several. Don’t make the mistake of thinking it will be the one nearest the bus stop. I got grumped at twice by irate old Sardinian bar-owners for presuming I could buy a ticket at their bar. Finally in desperation and by now doubting my dodgy Italian/Spanish which had served me well so far, I asked a young person in English. Magic! He directed me down the street to a bar on the far corner and I procured the ticket and got on the bus in the nick of time. Phew! Does it have to be so complicated? I guess it isn’t if you live there and know the system. Tourists are not supposed to travel by public bus and I certainly didn’t see any others the length of Sardinia!
Then it was on the bus again south along the coast. One of the idiosyncrasies of Italy is buying bus tickets. You can’t buy them on the bus so you have to get them beforehand. But where to get them?? You ask and they say ‘go to a bar’….but which bar? It could be one of several. Don’t make the mistake of thinking it will be the one nearest the bus stop. I got grumped at twice by irate old Sardinian bar-owners for presuming I could buy a ticket at their bar. Finally in desperation and by now doubting my dodgy Italian/Spanish which had served me well so far, I asked a young person in English. Magic! He directed me down the street to a bar on the far corner and I procured the ticket and got on the bus in the nick of time. Phew! Does it have to be so complicated? I guess it isn’t if you live there and know the system. Tourists are not supposed to travel by public bus and I certainly didn’t see any others the length of Sardinia!
Sep 7th, 2013, 02:50 PM
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Next stop Oristano. I had chosen to stop here so I could go to the ruins at Tharros. They are beautiful, right on the coast with a long sandy beach nearby. This is a Phoenician/Roman city which has only been excavated in the last 50 years. It’s right on the edge of the sea, some of it under water. The area is called San Giovanni in Sinis, a long flat peninsular stretching out into the water with quiet roads and beaches. Almost like a secret hideaway. Beautiful little church of Byzantine origin from the 6th century . I got there uneventfully by bus and found all the other tourists there on group tours. But there were not many of them and as I slowly wandered around the ruins, they came and went and left me in peace. Pity I didn’t take my swimming things, a cool bathe would have been just the job: it was hot hot hot.
I was a bit underwhelmed by Oristano despite the write-up in the guidebooks. ( I had Lonely Planet, AA and Cadogan. AA is good for drivers which I wasn’t, and Cadogan is always good for history and sideways comments). Oristano is a baroque town with imposing buildings and a very helpful tourist information office. It was there that I found out buses to and from Tharros and a train for my final stage. It’s a long spread-out town and the station is right on the edge. Took me about 20 minutes to walk there. 5 euros for a train ticket to Cagliari and when it came in it was a brand new smooth airconditionned job, quite unlike the bone-shaker I had expected. Thus to my final destination.
I was a bit underwhelmed by Oristano despite the write-up in the guidebooks. ( I had Lonely Planet, AA and Cadogan. AA is good for drivers which I wasn’t, and Cadogan is always good for history and sideways comments). Oristano is a baroque town with imposing buildings and a very helpful tourist information office. It was there that I found out buses to and from Tharros and a train for my final stage. It’s a long spread-out town and the station is right on the edge. Took me about 20 minutes to walk there. 5 euros for a train ticket to Cagliari and when it came in it was a brand new smooth airconditionned job, quite unlike the bone-shaker I had expected. Thus to my final destination.
Sep 8th, 2013, 06:15 AM
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Cagliari. I had booked myself a little place right in the Marina district, a block from the harbour. Perfect location. Only 5 minutes from the station and bus station too. Only slight drawback was the noisy neighbours downstairs in the street who hung outside their houses yelling at each other from about 10pm until the small hours. Just like a soap opera. Still, local colour I told myself, and I had soundproof windows when I felt like shutting them.
Spent a day walking all over Cagliari, along and along streets, up and down steps, in and out of churches and museums, trying to see as much as possible from my guidebook. It is a very interesting city without having any remarkable sights. Lots of nooks and crannies. The Roman amphitheatre was commandeered for summer concerts, the museums are mainly grouped together in a Museum Quarter and I seemed to be the only person there apart from legions of staff sitting around doing nothing which is a familiar sight in Italy. The buildings are pretty colours and mainly in good shape, tall houses with shuttered windows against the heat. Which was intense. I found breakfast and lunch in harbour cafes and dinner of fresh fish in the back streets near my albergo. There is a magnificent gelato shop right at the end of the arcaded street along the harbour. At one point there was a cruise ship in but only a small one, not the monster we saw in Ajaccio. Still. Mainly the people out and about in Cagliari were local Sardinians. And you pronounce it CAliari not caliAri as I had been doing!
Spent a day walking all over Cagliari, along and along streets, up and down steps, in and out of churches and museums, trying to see as much as possible from my guidebook. It is a very interesting city without having any remarkable sights. Lots of nooks and crannies. The Roman amphitheatre was commandeered for summer concerts, the museums are mainly grouped together in a Museum Quarter and I seemed to be the only person there apart from legions of staff sitting around doing nothing which is a familiar sight in Italy. The buildings are pretty colours and mainly in good shape, tall houses with shuttered windows against the heat. Which was intense. I found breakfast and lunch in harbour cafes and dinner of fresh fish in the back streets near my albergo. There is a magnificent gelato shop right at the end of the arcaded street along the harbour. At one point there was a cruise ship in but only a small one, not the monster we saw in Ajaccio. Still. Mainly the people out and about in Cagliari were local Sardinians. And you pronounce it CAliari not caliAri as I had been doing!
Sep 8th, 2013, 07:41 AM
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My final adventure was a trip to Nora. This is similar to Tharros, a Phoenician/Roman town right on the sea. Found out bus times, got on the correct bus at the correct time. Only problem was that I didn’t get off at the correct time and was soon a prisoner in a bus driving at 100km along a non-stop motorway in the wrong direction with no bus stop in sight. I prevailed upon the driver to let me off at a gas station where I talked a couple of German tourists into giving me a ride back into the town of Pula where I should have got off. Thence smoothly by another bus to Nora. Which was a bit of a disappointment: everything was roped off and visitors had to go with a group on strictly designated pathways. All a bit of a rush and a scramble. Was glad I had already seen Tharros at leisure.
The end of this wonderful trip, 18 days after the beginning, saw me on the airport bus to Elmos airport about 10 minutes outside Cagliari. Easyjet again, but this time to Stansted in the rain.
Random thoughts:
• I ordered Dorothy Carrington’s Granite Island, an account of her life in Corsica in the second half of the 20th century. Beautifully written and well worth a read.
• Buses in Sardinia are run by a company called A.R.S.T. Honest.
• I think Sardinia has become quite a tourist island recently and good luck to them. Easyjet and the dreaded Ryanair fly there from UK, probably other cheapies from other European countries. But in fact I didn’t meet many other tourists, probably because of my eccentric method of travel. Also I went down the wrong side of the island and therefore avoided the crowds.
• There are also quantities of megalithic menhirs and statues in Sardinia. These are mainly inland and hard to get to without a car so I didn’t see them. Unlike Corsica, Sardinia looks like it might be easy driving.
• Before I went I read Sea and Sardinia, D.H. Lawrence’s account of his travels there with his wife on public transport in the 30s. A good read.
• Would I go again? Certainly yes, I would go to Sardinia with pleasure. It was a joy to travel there. It was one of the highlights of my summer. It was the right mixture of pastel coloured slightly decrepit Italian towns, fresh seafood and charming easy-going friendly people. Corsica probably, but not as certainly. Those mountains are spectacular and would probably reward hiking. The coastal area was a bit too south-of-France-like for me, rather expensive and, well, French. Though I could probably be talked into it. Not having better fluency in either language, I missed the nuances of culture, though Sardinia certainly had a rougher edge than much of Italy; not as rough as Sicily though! And Corsica had a rough edge to its Frenchness too, though less so.
End of story.
The end of this wonderful trip, 18 days after the beginning, saw me on the airport bus to Elmos airport about 10 minutes outside Cagliari. Easyjet again, but this time to Stansted in the rain.
Random thoughts:
• I ordered Dorothy Carrington’s Granite Island, an account of her life in Corsica in the second half of the 20th century. Beautifully written and well worth a read.
• Buses in Sardinia are run by a company called A.R.S.T. Honest.
• I think Sardinia has become quite a tourist island recently and good luck to them. Easyjet and the dreaded Ryanair fly there from UK, probably other cheapies from other European countries. But in fact I didn’t meet many other tourists, probably because of my eccentric method of travel. Also I went down the wrong side of the island and therefore avoided the crowds.
• There are also quantities of megalithic menhirs and statues in Sardinia. These are mainly inland and hard to get to without a car so I didn’t see them. Unlike Corsica, Sardinia looks like it might be easy driving.
• Before I went I read Sea and Sardinia, D.H. Lawrence’s account of his travels there with his wife on public transport in the 30s. A good read.
• Would I go again? Certainly yes, I would go to Sardinia with pleasure. It was a joy to travel there. It was one of the highlights of my summer. It was the right mixture of pastel coloured slightly decrepit Italian towns, fresh seafood and charming easy-going friendly people. Corsica probably, but not as certainly. Those mountains are spectacular and would probably reward hiking. The coastal area was a bit too south-of-France-like for me, rather expensive and, well, French. Though I could probably be talked into it. Not having better fluency in either language, I missed the nuances of culture, though Sardinia certainly had a rougher edge than much of Italy; not as rough as Sicily though! And Corsica had a rough edge to its Frenchness too, though less so.
End of story.
