The eastern coast of Sardinia is studded with isolated beaches, many reached only by boat. The forecast was for sun, so the day was set fair. Sun duely arrived, but so did a howling gale that confined all boats to harbour.
For **** sake.
To cheer up everyone sitting in the front section of the van, as we set off for yet more caves, we had a family sing song. To the tune of 'She'll be coming round the mountain when she comes', we reduced our sensitive firstborn to tears.
We'll be cutting Maddie's hair off when we come.
We'll be shredding Maddie's dresses when we come.
We'll be chopping Perky's* head off when we come.
*her favourite toy.
Note to social services - none of the above is true. And even if it were, Maddie stopped crying to laugh at all the other verses about Chloe and additional van occupants.
Maddie's poetic soul manifested itself this morning in the unlikely surrounds of the port carpark. Caught short once again, she peered between her legs as she squatted and captured the moment beautifully.
"My wee wee is like sunshine falling to the ground."
Thursday, 20 May 2010
Saturday 15 May, Baunei, eastern Sardinia
Today, the sun shone on Sardinia. And on my soul. We visited a beautiful plateau with wild donkeys, isolated churches, atmospheric pools and not a sinner disturbed our peaceful solitude until we chanced upon a mountain tavern showing the FA Cup final.
Even slicing my finger in the evening earned a respite from the washing up.
Even slicing my finger in the evening earned a respite from the washing up.
Friday 14 May Tortoli, eastern Sardinia
Rain, rain. More rain. Some caves, very nice. More rain. Torrential rain.
I will end today's update with Kurtz's dying words from The Heart of Darkness. This novel can be read as a metaphor for this trip, with its subject a man who ventures into the dark interior of a continent, ending up on the edge of sanity.
The horror, the horror.
I will end today's update with Kurtz's dying words from The Heart of Darkness. This novel can be read as a metaphor for this trip, with its subject a man who ventures into the dark interior of a continent, ending up on the edge of sanity.
The horror, the horror.
Thursday 13 May Porto Vecchio to Tortoli, eastern Sardinia
We arrived at 1155 hours for the 1200 hours trans-national ferry to Sardinia. Fortunately, the bureaucracy was Italian rather than French and we had time to buy a ticket and be ushered on before the ferry left dead on time.
101 uses for a campervan #6 Magnet for disturbed children
You know the type. Previously we had been pestered by a 5 year old with a mullet, a leather jacket, drainpipe jeans and an AC\DC t-shirt. After an hour playing with our pair, his skull and crossbones emblazoned skateboard was acting as a transportation medium for 3 pink dolls and a purple pony. Today, it is the 5 year old unsmiling progeny of a nearby camper. This camper treats the adjoining beach as his own private naturist retreat despite the clothed status of all other users. His son stands beside our van staring at us with his had down the front of his shorts. They are not like other people.
101 uses for a campervan #6 Magnet for disturbed children
You know the type. Previously we had been pestered by a 5 year old with a mullet, a leather jacket, drainpipe jeans and an AC\DC t-shirt. After an hour playing with our pair, his skull and crossbones emblazoned skateboard was acting as a transportation medium for 3 pink dolls and a purple pony. Today, it is the 5 year old unsmiling progeny of a nearby camper. This camper treats the adjoining beach as his own private naturist retreat despite the clothed status of all other users. His son stands beside our van staring at us with his had down the front of his shorts. They are not like other people.
Wednesday 12 May. East of Porto Vecchio, Corsica
Another ride and an afternoon spent cooling off by waterfalls.
Now every word of Chloe's ends in 'y'. Every *&%**$ word. Uppy. Downy. Vanny. Forky. Knifey. When she hurts herself she shouts Ouchy. And Maddie is doing it too.
Out of such small irritations in such confined spaces have some dark and evil deeds been provoked.
Now every word of Chloe's ends in 'y'. Every *&%**$ word. Uppy. Downy. Vanny. Forky. Knifey. When she hurts herself she shouts Ouchy. And Maddie is doing it too.
Out of such small irritations in such confined spaces have some dark and evil deeds been provoked.
Tuesday 11 May, Bonifacio to east of Port Vecchio, Corsica
Beautiful boat ride around the southern coast of Corsica. Ask Maddie what she remembers of the day, however, and her answer would be 'the pink curtains on the coach in the car park and the giant jar of Nutella in the shop we didn't go into'.
Startling proof emerged today that, contrary to recent evidence, Maddie does listen to us.But only when we are not talking to her. I had politely enquired if today's driver was going to break with protocol and routinely check for oncoming traffic from the left upon entering a roundabout. Maddie intervened. 'Yes Mummy, it's terrible. Daddy can't even sleep when you're driving, can he?'
Startling proof emerged today that, contrary to recent evidence, Maddie does listen to us.But only when we are not talking to her. I had politely enquired if today's driver was going to break with protocol and routinely check for oncoming traffic from the left upon entering a roundabout. Maddie intervened. 'Yes Mummy, it's terrible. Daddy can't even sleep when you're driving, can he?'
Wednesday, 19 May 2010
Monday 10 May, Ajaccio to Bonifacio via Filitosa
Filitosa is a Stone Age marvel set in breathtaking Corsican countryside. The visitor walks through meadows containing a riot of spring flowers, taking in this engineering and artistic wonder from a long past age. Mysterious statues and stone dwellings challenge the archaeologist's imagination, all framed by forest clad mountains. Crickets chirp, birds sing, but the French think something is missing. Piped music. What better way to evoke the Neolithic than ensure that the guest is always within earshot of a din of panpipes and lutes.
What a useless shower of aural vandals.
Bonifacio. Another beautiful Corsican town, another white tourist road train. Careful observers would have noticed the air of ironic detachment I have cultivated for just such kitsch activities.
The first newspapers of the trip were purchased today. Unfortunately, it coincided with a campsite that had not embraced such modernities as the western toilet and 15 minutes of guaranteed peace to read them was deducted from my day.
What a useless shower of aural vandals.
Bonifacio. Another beautiful Corsican town, another white tourist road train. Careful observers would have noticed the air of ironic detachment I have cultivated for just such kitsch activities.
The first newspapers of the trip were purchased today. Unfortunately, it coincided with a campsite that had not embraced such modernities as the western toilet and 15 minutes of guaranteed peace to read them was deducted from my day.
Sunday 9 May, south of Ajaccio, Corsica
Another day which the Corsican barometer tappers had got gloriously wrong. Another day's biking, cavorting in the hills, cooling feet in the Med at the end.
Saturday 8 May, south of Ajaccio, Corsica.
Once upon a time lived a man in a campervan. He lived there with his two beautiful daughters and his wicked* wife.
The man was happy, but something was missing. His fairy godmother visited him in a dream and reassured him. "Don't worry," she cooed, "tomorrow the sun will shine and you will discover true happiness"
The next day the man, seeking mountainbike trails, visited a shop. The shopkeeper touched his arm in a conspiratorial fashion and handed over a bound tome of Corsican routes, and one started just a stone's throw away. Tears of happiness clouded the man's eyes but when he blinked the shop had gone. And so had the 20 Euros in his pocket. He had been robbed, but robbed in a way that felt like a privilege.
The trail wound upwards from the sea. The man stopped for a time and took in the view. The sea was as blue as Cinderella's eyes. The beaches were as golden as her hair. The pine clad hills were as green as the envy of her step sisters when the glass slipper nestled onto her foot.
The man continued on. Emerald green lizards darted across his path. The scent of pine filled his nostrils. Colourful butterflies fanned his perspiring brow. Things couldn't get any better, could they? He rounded a corner. A comely French maiden had taken advantage of the perceived isolation and had discarded her blouse in the heat of the day.
At the top of the mountain the man paused. A thought struck him. It was transitory, but a feeling he hadn't had before had been there for a fleeting second.
He...he...he...LOVED CAMPERVANNING.
*Wicked in the sense of the modern street vernacular 'it was wicked man.' Obviously. What did you think I meant?
The man was happy, but something was missing. His fairy godmother visited him in a dream and reassured him. "Don't worry," she cooed, "tomorrow the sun will shine and you will discover true happiness"
The next day the man, seeking mountainbike trails, visited a shop. The shopkeeper touched his arm in a conspiratorial fashion and handed over a bound tome of Corsican routes, and one started just a stone's throw away. Tears of happiness clouded the man's eyes but when he blinked the shop had gone. And so had the 20 Euros in his pocket. He had been robbed, but robbed in a way that felt like a privilege.
The trail wound upwards from the sea. The man stopped for a time and took in the view. The sea was as blue as Cinderella's eyes. The beaches were as golden as her hair. The pine clad hills were as green as the envy of her step sisters when the glass slipper nestled onto her foot.
The man continued on. Emerald green lizards darted across his path. The scent of pine filled his nostrils. Colourful butterflies fanned his perspiring brow. Things couldn't get any better, could they? He rounded a corner. A comely French maiden had taken advantage of the perceived isolation and had discarded her blouse in the heat of the day.
At the top of the mountain the man paused. A thought struck him. It was transitory, but a feeling he hadn't had before had been there for a fleeting second.
He...he...he...LOVED CAMPERVANNING.
*Wicked in the sense of the modern street vernacular 'it was wicked man.' Obviously. What did you think I meant?
Monday, 17 May 2010
Friday 7 May Corte to south of Ajaccio, west Corsica
We were reduced to seeking entertainment in a charitable Tortoise Refuge this morning during the admittedly stunning drive to Ajaccio. Having spent some time with them, I started to feel a kinship. They too are doomed forever to carry their home with them where'er they roam.
A rare lapse into violence from Maddie this morning prompted me to ask her if she thought Cinderella had ever hit anyone. She thought not. I may get Maddie an armband with the initials WWCD on it. What Would Cinderella Do? A philosophy for life we would all do well to pay heed to.
A rare lapse into violence from Maddie this morning prompted me to ask her if she thought Cinderella had ever hit anyone. She thought not. I may get Maddie an armband with the initials WWCD on it. What Would Cinderella Do? A philosophy for life we would all do well to pay heed to.
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