Making use of things

From the beach we had carried a large piece of flotsam - a chunk of cactus in the form of an animal with many legs, beautiful to look at either in standing position or on its back. This I decided I would like to bring home, so we had to find a way to pack it. Our journey south along the east coast was thus interrupted by a search for packing, which we found at last in a small brico, where a very helpful lady found us a cardboard box which fitted, and some Fragile tape to seal it all up.
We were also keen to find the Graeco-Roman site at Aleria, and made several wrong turns due to discrepancies between satnav and road signs.  One diversion, to the southern end of the Etang de Diane, led through huge vineyards extending as far as the eye could see. Gangs of workmen were busy on a huge drainage ditch.  Birds of many unknown kind swooped and sang.  Kites wheeled overhead.  The light, reflected from the sea and the lagoon, was incandescent.  Wildflowers were spread like a colossal embroidery along the verges. We found a resto up on a small hill, where the superb views had encouraged a hippy-entrepreneur to start up - his little house was extended with terraces, sheds, canopies, gardens, signposts and sculptures, with an extreme emphasis on driftwood (like our cactus).  The ornamentation was eye-boggling.  This place is called Veni et Posa. We waited for ages and ages before a young waiter arrived, very cool. He'd done some training or work experience in Mayfair and thought Queensway in London was cool too.  We had a coffee and moved on. Lunch there would have been very expensive indeed - about €60 pp. Too much for us, anyway, despite the views.
So, heading to the archaeological site at last we decided to picnic, and settled under a huge ancient olive tree. In the distance we could see the sea. Butterflies danced over the flowers. A cat as big as a small lamb strolled past. It was all quiet. We feasted on last night's bread, some terrine in a jar, the last of the superb tapenade from Zonza, some cheese, pears, carrot salad and water. This was perhaps the finest lunch you could command and cost us 'nothing' in the way of further expenditure.
Then we wandered up into the citadel which overlooks the huge site - it has a small church (nice outside, Victorianised inside), a Genoese fort from the early 1500s (now an excellent museum), and admired the superb view.  The Greeks were here at the time of the Persian War, the Romans came in waves. Imagine if you were posted here, instead of (say) Hadrian's Wall. You'd be delirious.
The site was discovered in the 19th century mostly because there was one half-arch standing alone in a field, once part of an arcade. Various illustrious excavators have been and done a reasonable job of exposing and explaining the history. Their work is not done yet. This place, along with Mariana which we visited a couple of days before, represent the largest Roman remains on Corsica.
Then we turned up into the mountains again, passing not far from Vizzavona as it happened, so we could see where the railway made its way through the precipitous landscape - and where we had been the day before, in rain and cold. Today, it was breezy but fine, and sunny. Such a difference. It is hard to know what to wear here, as the weather and temperature change so rapidly and so much.
I have run out of superlatives to describe the beauties of the roads. I think one of the attractions is that is is all protected - development is strictly controlled. Patriotism and environmentalism are inextricably linked - so the views are unimpeded, and the land remains green. It is profoundly restorative - whether you are looking at distant peaks and valleys, or tall pine forests, or gorges with rushing rivers, or tiny villages clustered tightly on hilltops.
Our arrival in Ajaccio was a horrible shock, to be honest. Noise, scruburbia, traffic, fumes, delays, congestion, something rather debauched about it all.  We eventually found our Ibis hotel far up on the outskirts, and having established ourselves in the little room headed back down to the water to explore and find supper.  We were fortunate to find a parking place really quickly. We sauntered through the market, and eventually walked a further mile or so around the old port to choose a meal from one of hundreds of restos. It's a bit of a gauntlet manoeuvring past all the greeters on the pavements, keen to lure you in. It makes it hard to read the menus on display when they seize on you and start telling you what's best for you.
However, we chose, we ate, we were entertained by two pretty but irritating little sisters who shouted and played between the tables, we watched the ferries glide out of the harbour, and we watched the darkness arrive on the water.  As this was where Napoleon was born, no wonder he developed a sense of 'the rest of the world' with this harbour to watch. A place like this is a kind of world birth-place, where everything is on offer, everyone has been here (bringing something, taking something), and it remains fantastically attractive. We were both very tired, and the little room at Ibis was calling.