Instagrammed: Enchanted by Corsica

The moment Corsica came into view from our plane, I was mesmerized.

Snow-capped mountains appeared out of nowhere, its edges jutting into the sea, quickly followed by forests and fields; greens and blues blended together seamlessly and endlessly beneath the airplane wing.

From above it looked near uninhabited — I felt like an explorer who’d suddenly discovered a new land (an image immediately shattered by the Air France hostess telling me to stow my tray upright. Ponce de Léon probably didn’t have to deal with such micro-management).

This is Corsica: wild, rugged, sauvage.

Corsica was never on my list of places to visit. But when some friends proposed the trip as a last hurrah before we all left Paris this summer, I agreed to give it a go. I had two weeks off anyway (bless working on the French school calendar), and the idea of staying in rainy, gray, freezing Paris was not appetizing in the least.

And thus, I ended up on my first (but let’s be honest, I’m far too much of a tomboy for this kind of thing, so probably also my last) ‘girls holiday’.

I have a few stories to tell from Corsica — but first, a teaser via the instagram shots I snapped throughout the trip. Above is the Vieux Port (Old Port) in Bastia, Corsica’s second-largest town and our base for the week. Vieux Port harbors not only boats but also a bevy of restaurants with a view, and tourists clearly trying to take artsy reflection photos.

Bastia’s a pretty town, if you’re into the chipped-paint, faded-windows, run-down kind of vibe. Which I totally am. Homey, rustic, colorful — you could definitely sense the Italian influence here. I could hardly put my camera down, the place was just so damn picturesque.

The beaches around Bastia were varied: from rocky Miomo, a tiny stretch of land just a ten-minute bus ride north of Bastia…

…to the sandy Marana beach, a ten-minute taxi journey south of the town center. I’m not really a beach person, but judging by the locals relaxing, playing volleyball, and sunbathing for hours on end — not to mention my friends’ ecstatic reactions upon seeing La Marana — Corsican beaches aren’t too shabby.

We also took a day trip to Ajaccio, the Corsican capital and Napoleon’s birthplace. The three-hour train ride through the rugged countryside played out like some kind of IMAX nature movie.

It was almost a surreal beauty, especially from high up in the mountains where snow-capped peaks were at eye-level and we could peer down into verdant valleys. I half expected David Attenborough’s voice to start streaming over the speakers.

Whoever planned the Corsican trains to have ceiling-to-almost-floor length windows, I salute you.

For our few short hours in Ajaccio, we strolled through the Old City and the boardwalk, pictured above (where I kept thinking, Napoleon grew up with this?!) after which we took a tour through the Bonaparte home, picked up a few Corsican souvenirs, and went back to Bastia.

All in all, I’d say a day trip here is worth spending six hours on a train — but then again, with views like that, it’s not really a hardship.

While I enjoyed wandering around Corsica’s alleyways, soaking up some much-missed sun, and relaxing in general, the highlights of my week, without a doubt, were my encounters with the Corsican people.

They showed a special kindness you usually only find in innocent children. It was a hospitality I’ve never seen before, as if they lived in a land without strangers, but just friends you haven’t met yet.

But I’ll get to that.

Follow me on instagram at @expatedna