Corsica markets itself as the Ile de Beauté, and it is very beautiful, but what really stood out for me was the wildness of the land.
The port cities, well established and welcoming tourists, nearly all have a citadel to remind you of their violent past.
Genoan towers line the coast, sentinels against the barbarians.
The sea itself is wild, pounding against steep cliffs, denying access to the land.
Inland, nature rules. Tiny villages dot the steep hillsides joined by narrow curving roads. Travelling between coastal towns often involves a detour inland as the only way to navigate the mountainous landscape.
Lumpy rock formations dot the mountains leaving you wondering if it’s a natural feature or abandoned castle ruins.
Even more intriguing is the maquis, the thick scrubby evergreen growth of the Mediterranean.
It can be hard to find a path through the dense growth ranging from green oak and wild olive trees to spiny bushes and flowering rosemary.
It’s not hard to imagine the resistance fighters hiding out here during the war.
Cyclamen grows wild along the roadsides.
Even in autumn, you’ll find flowering bushes perfuming the air and bushes laden with berries.
Corsica - wild and addictive.