It was a bit of a shock going into the house in Brighton. The last time we were there, 2 years ago, it looked pretty and cherished - which was not surprising as so many of us had worked so hard to upgrade it. Now we were there to empty it out. Our son was selling it to move to Ireland. But the tenant had not taken care of it. Everything was dirty and untidy. The lavatories had dark black and brown stains under the water. The kitchen was piled with dirty dishes. There were tears in the wallpaper and everything looked very sad. One of the electric sockets was literally hanging off the wall. It was shocking seeing something so abused.
But everybody worked hard and we soon filled our car and our son’s van with the possessions that needed to be saved. He and his brother-in-law would be driving the van back to Ireland on Monday morning.
We drove home from Brighton to our own house through the ecstatically beautiful countryside, the sun shining on the downs. And then we started preparations for our own trip away to Corsica.
We left shortly after 3 o’clock in the morning. Most of our trips from Gatwick leave from the South terminal but this time we had to go from the North terminal. Somehow the extra few miles to the car park, the poor signage, the patchy road surfaces and unlit bus pick-up stops made it all seem rather grim. However our flight was soon called and we boarded the plane to sit in the very last row of seats. My seat/neighbour was a very large young man whose knees barely fitted into the space in front of him. He wasn’t trying to cause trouble but he did take up a lot of space, and I sat awkwardly on my seat beside him. It wasn’t until we were well into our flight and I stood up to go to the loo that I realised my seat was in fact quite wet. My clothes were sticking to me - my long cardigan, my long shirt, my silky trousers and my undercrackers, all wet through. It was an unpleasant discovery. The cabin crew acted swiftly and found a dry seat cover which they placed over my chair and the flight continued more comfortably, haunted only by dire imagination about what the liquid could have been.
We queued in hot sun to pick up the hire-car at Corsica airport, and made our way up towards the delectable mountains. We could see ragged clouds and mist rolling over the peaks. Of course the higher we got the colder the air became. And I realised that not only did I have to find a way to wash all my clothing but also that I had probably brought completely inappropriate things to wear. My suitcase has a meagre selection of shorts and T-shirts, whereas we were facing rain, wind and a plummeting temperature. By the time we got to Zonza the rain could only be described as torrential. Along the winding route we were very pleased to see wild red pigs grazing along the sides of the road, happy cattle allowed to wander through the woods and a huge horned creature (an Ibex? I do know), something with shaggy beard and wild horns peering at us over a stone wall.
Arriving at last at our destination - a strange residence called me Moufflon d’Or, we had to call to get somebody to open the reception. The young lady assured us that we could only leave our car outside the gates, our villa being about half a mile up the steep hill with the rain sheeting down like a monsoon. Our chalet is an irregularly shaped but spacious building, one of many grouped around a swimming pool in the grounds of what was once a hotel. There are some fine trees, and some truly remarkable huge boulders made of granite dating from 250 million years ago. The centre of the park is crowned by the original hotel building, a four-storey stone edifice of painful ugliness occupying the centre of the view. We were a bit dispirited having come so far and being so tired. But we discovered that the air-conditioner also works as a heater which we turned on to maximum to warm ourselves and dry our belongings, and we went out with the car to the village back up the hill where to our great good fortune we found one single umbrella for sale, and a tiny a epicerie open,where we bought a picnic for supper. We came home and prepared our meal – a powerful tapenade spread in tiny croutons, slightly toasted bread, delicious Corsican sheep‘s cheese, grated carrot salad, and for me a very nice local rosé wine which cost no more than 4 pounds. And so to bed.
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