Hiking Le Mare e Mare Sud

Hiking has been high on my to do list in Corsica. So I jumped at the chance to walk the Mare a Mare Sud, a five day route from Porto Vecchio to Propriano taking in mountains, spectacular river gorges and aromatic macquis.

Branching away from the busier port towns and venturing into the mountainous Alta Rocca region was a chance to see the flora and fauna of Corsica. There was an abundance of irresistible fig trees and terracotta coloured leaves lining the paths, not to mention bearded mountain men and the alarming sight of small Corsican boys with a rifle casually in tow. Standard protocol apparently. Coming from a fairly sun deprived neck of the wood in England, I was probably overly fascinated by avocados and aubergines growing in late October. So fascinated, that I couldn’t stop myself leaning over the fence and picking an avocado from someone’s garden.

For the first couple of days whilst trekking up some steep hills, I wondered what had possessed me to pack an industrial sized bottle of hair conditioner. A friend of mine told me about someone who cut their toothbrush in half on a hike in order to save space; it didn’t seem like such a ridiculous idea when you start developing bruises from the weight of your rucksack. But the incredible views at the top were more than worth it.

On day 3, we discovered that anything claiming to be “waterproof” should be taken with a pinch of salt. Arriving at the gite soaking wet after 4 hours of heavy rain and resembling bedraggled mountain urchins, that cliché ‘look what the cat dragged in’ had never been more fitting. But two hours later, with our clothes drying nicely by the fire and tucking into a delicious lasagne made with the corsican cheese brocciu, the whole day became more of a bonding experience than one to forget.

We made it to the final gite about 7k outside Propriano on Thursday, certainly not having completed any kind of athletic feat but collapsing onto a bed nonetheless and proud of that fact that we walked across Corsica. It felt almost as good as emptying the contents of my bag into the washing machine when arrived back in civilization on Friday. I only hope there’s no bad karma coming my way after stealing that Avocado.

All images are the property of J.Hanley. http://aquariusadrift.tumblr.com/page/3

5 things I've learned this week in Corsica

Living for 3 weeks in Corsica has been a steep learning curve! Upping sticks, making friends and getting to grips with a language will never be a walk in the park. However armed with word reference (anyone whose studied languages will appreciate this gem) and the joys of Skype, it hasn't been as daunting as first envisaged. Here's about some pearls of widsom I've picked up this week...

1. Despite some mortifying language mistakes from my end, I am comforted by the fact that everyone makes them. One of my students started a presentation with "Martin Luther King was a black skin head" REALLY?.

2. Living on your own leaves you in no doubt about how much you eat in one week. There is no-one else to blame for the rapidly disappearing Camembert.

3. Food is the ultimate icebreaker. You only have to ask 'what are you're having for dinner?', or 'what food are you going to buy shopping?' and you find yourself acquainted.

4. Apparently there is a limit to how much bread you can eat. It took me nearly 18 days to reach this point, but I can now confidently walk past a Boulangerie without buying a baguette. A bread detox might be on the cards.

5. The personal space radius here a lot smaller. Regardless of gender, introductions are made by a kiss on each cheek, people talk close to your face and queue in close proximity. This was confirmed by a very intimate aerobics class which involved stretching with lots of bodily contact....I'll say no more.

But one thing I am yet to shed some light on is how French women manage to stay svelte like...

Chesnut flour Cake Recipe

I went to my second athletics training session last night and came face to face with a beep test à la française . Aside from a few serious language problems, (initially the all important word for beep test?!) I knew, just like its delightful english counterpart, it was never going to be a walk in the park. This was confirmed when the coach said "You shouldn't stop until you feel you might die." Having not being prepared for any kind of test, it probably could have gone a lot better and I should have pushed myself a little further.

So after a bit of exertion, I decided to refuel by making a Corsican delicacy, Chestnut flour cake. I borrowed this recipe from a lovely lady next door. Chestnut flour might not be a supermarket regular back home but it's not too hard to track down and well worth the effort http://www.natoora.co.uk/shop/groceries/flour-semolina-and-raising-agents/chestnut-flour/prod16039.html Its also makes for the perfect gluten-free alternative.

Ingredients
475g Chesnut flour
2tsp Baking powder
160g sugar
180ml milk
75g sultanas
The zest of 1 lemon
3 eggs, separated
60g butter, melted
1/4 tsp salt

Preheat the oven to Oven 180 degrees and line a loaf tin with grease proof paper.
Beat the egg yolks with the sugar until nice and fluffy. Then fold in the flour, baking powder and salt and gradually add the melted butter, milk and lemon juice. Then stir in the raisins. Whisk then egg whites until they stand up in stiff peaks and carefully fold them in. (I didn't have an electric whisk handy but its do-able so long as your in no hurry and you're arm is feeling strong) Pop it in the oven for 30 mins. It makes a lovely moist cake that works a treat with a dollop of Crème Fraîche mixed with a little lemon zest. Voilà!

A French Sunday

Sunday in Britain feels a lot like saturday. For me, it normally revolves around shopping, going to gym or out for coffee.

So as you can imagine, discovering that the French take Sunday very seriously has come as somewhat of a shock. Making my way through the old town at midday in search of some civilization, the streets were deserted, shutters closed and even my footsteps seemed to reverberate and disturb the silence. After landing in this French town toute seule, out of sheer boredom I hate a whole baguette today.

On one hand, I can see how we Brits are losing out. Without anything else to do, families and friends have to spend the day together catching up over delicious food (which they've been organised enough to buy the day before) in the early autumn sunshine. Besides, do we really need to trawl the isles of Tesco seven days a week with glum looking souls plodding away at work on the day of rest? Probably not.

After 8 hours of no human contact, I was forced to introduce myself to the neighbours next door who turned out to be very friendly. I came back armed with a recipe and a kilogram of peaches. A little random but maybe proof that the the day of rest is more fruitful than I realised.

Breaking the Ice

So it's been nearly a week since I've been in French territory. There have certainly been some highs points, lying on a beach in Ajaccio, eating my bodyweight in bread and cheese and discovering that school dinners in France are to die for.It's easy to understand why there is not one single McDonald’s on the Ile de Beauté And undoubtedly, plenty of situations where I've had no idea what's going on in a conversation so I've just nodded, laughed or stroked any nearby pets by way of avoiding

saying "Pardon" for the upteenth time. Yesterday one of my students likened me to Paris Hilton, I would like to think that has more to do with the fact that blonde haired people are few and far between in this neck of the wood and less to do with what the fact I'm making a career out of being pointless.

Landing in a foreign town knowing literally no-one is definitely a sink or swim situation! In the short time I've been here, I've realised people are very willing to help you, but you have to make the effort and break the ice, however painstaking the small talk is in a foreign language.

On the running front, I was disappointed to discover that the beautiful beaches are not in easy reach braving the concrete jungle, I've run along roads complete with hair-raising drivers careering around every bend. Not ideal but needs must when you're surrounded by incredible food. However I've discovered a running track about 10 minutes away which should make for a much better run.


A bientôt!

The Corsica Adventure Begins

After a marathon journey through Marseille and across the Mediterranean, I have finally made it to Corsica. I didn't quite consider the pitfalls of lugging my monstrosity of a suitcase through an airport, train station, up steps and across town. It took some serious mind over matter in some instances. That aside, it was worth fighting against sleep on the ferry and staying up to watch the sun set over wild, jagged cliffs plunging into Mediterranean waters.

I spent the weekend in Ajaccio. It may not boast the hustle and bustle of an average cosmopolitan capital city, but it oozes elegance and the late October sunshine bathing the beaches and town centre is the perfect backdrop for a weekend away. Sitting in a cafe one evening alongside the sea, studded with palm trees I couldn't help but make a sweeping observation: the women looked immaculate with acutely, angled cheekbones, blazers and poker straight hair somehow resistant to frizz. The men are skinny, sit smoking cigarettes and looking depressed.

In the absence of any willpower at the faintest sniff of a boulangerie, I ate a horrendous amount of bread and cheese which I compensated for slightly with a brief swim in Ajaccio's beautiful sea. But I'm not quite ready to embrace the laissez faire attitude to nudity just yet!

Now I'm back in Porto Vecchio, I can't think of a better way to get my bearings and work off the weekend of feasting, than a run.