This is the most exciting photo I took in Oristano.
It was a mistake to go there, or at least
half a mistake.
I wanted to take a trip
out of Olbia to see a bit more of the island.
At first I planned to take the train down to Cagliari the capital, where
incidentally I once applied for a TEFL job back in the day, but that seemed too
long a trip so I decided on Oristano halfway down the west coast.
Sadly I didn’t investigate a bit further.
The trip down was pleasant with a variety of scenery,
vineyards, olive trees even evidence of cereal crops. Maybe that’s for their Sardinian whisky. I saw bottles on sale but didn’t buy nor try.
The town though was disappointing. On the coast it may have been but actually a
wee bit inland and the beaches according to Google were an hour away by
bus. Google also told me that a bus was
expected any minute in the piazza that I was in. I looked around for a bus stop, couldn’t see
one, so asked a couple of locals who were idling in the shade.
They declared that the stop was down a street off the piazza
and argued about which street.
Eventually they reached a consensus and I set off down the street eyes
peeled. As I peered up an even sider
side street the whoosh of a bus came from behind. I’d missed it.
Well my spirits flagged.
I wandered about a bit. There
didn’t seem to be any town centre to this place and no signs pointing
anywhere. There was incessant vehicle
traffic but no pedestrians. I found a
little café and had an uninspiring tuna sandwich on plastic bread and a coffee.
I decided to cut my losses and get the next train back and
headed for the station. It was now
breakfast time in Houston so I gave Ewan a ring to say Happy Birthday. As a consequence of having returned to
employment he was at that moment driving
to his office poor chap.
Next day was moving day.
After a fair amount of palaver and hanging about I got on a bus heading
for Santa Teresa Gallura. It was a
lovely trip, beautiful coastal scenery, blue skies and seas strewn with little
islands. The Aga Khan had taste as well
as money and business acumen when he fixed on this part of north eastern
Sardinia. Pictures snatched through dirty bus windows wouldn't have given you the proper impression. So no pics sadly.
From where the bus stopped in a rudimentary bus station, ie
a bit of a carpark I walked down a very steep hill towards the ferry port
thanking my lucky stars that I wasn’t walking up. Why doesn’t the bus go down there?
Now I was a few hours before my appointed ferry but there
was one from a different company on the point of leaving so I abandoned my
already paid for crossing and stumped up 30 euros rather than hang around,
there being nothing of interest to hang around for.
It's a short trip across to Bonifacio and the entry into the
port is spectacular. Steep rugged cliffs
and a narrow seaway,
then what doesn’t seem more than a creek packed with boats.
When you disembark a sign points up a near
vertical hill saying Haute Ville. There’s no bus-stop (not room), a taxi space
(empty) and cardiac arrest waiting for me if I tried to drag my bag up the
hill.
So I struck out through the forest of bars and restaurants
that lined the creek which was obviously the marina., packed as it was with
super-yachts, motor cruisers and the occasional sailboat. I looked one of them up later; yours to rent
for $196,000 a week plus expenses.
At the end of the line of commerce and riches (what a
contrast to the one small bar and a diving school on the Santa Teresa
waterfront) there was a bus-stop, a taxi stand and a little tourist train but
no buses taxis or trains.
Eventually a chap put me on the road to my hotel,
fortunately almost entirely flat and only a short walk away.
The receptionist was very helpful, in the first instance by
giving me a nice cool glass of water to ease my obviously knackered state. Then he spent some time checking out buses to Ajaccio for the
next day. This had proved ambiguous back
in Edinburgh. He began with something
of a tale of woe. There aren’t usually
buses on a Sunday and one of the bus companies has been in difficulty and
various other unpromising bits of information.
But in the end he seemed satisfied that there would be a bus the
following morning at 10.00, and so it proved.
It was a bit of a struggle up to the second floor with my
bags, no lift. But like rock climbing I inched
my way up one hold at a time.
After some rest I had an enjoyable evening stroll through
the marina and a nice bit of fish.
It took about four hours in the bus to get to Ajaccio. We passed through beautiful mountain scenery. The French don’t call Corsica l'ÃŽle de Beauté
without good reason. It’s impressive.
My hotel was minutes away from the bus station and indeed
from the train station and from the port and the market and everything
else. The town centre is crowded along
the gulf. In the evening I strolled and
watched and ate.
The following day I did an open top bus tour around the town
centre and along a stretch of coast where as well as residential blocks there
are also hotels and beaches and so on, including a large deserted plot in which
stands Tino Rossi’s equally deserted villa.
You’d think that since after Napoleon he’s probably Ajaccio’s most
famous denizen they’d have made it into a museum of popular song or something. In the evening I escaped the heat in a little
park where I enjoyed the sort of lounging chairs that they have in the Luxembourg
gardens in Paris.
Another thing I’ve been able to do here is catch up on the
Olympics on TV. Naturally the focus is
on French competitors but I saw the British win the men’s relay in the pool and
with my coffee this morning watched Duncan Scott beat the French star Leon
Marchand in a swimming heat. Not sure
what it was for but maybe I’ll catch the final on the boat to Marseille tonight.
Yesterday I had a much more satisfactory outing by train
than my trip in Sardinia. I went to
Corsi which is in the middle of the island.
It was a major place, indeed at one time the capital given its position
at the intersection of north to south and east to west routes way back when.
You had to be tough in those days or just stay where you
were born because the island is very mountainous and heavily forested. They’ve got a special forest fire brigade
which I’m sure has its work cut out when misfortune strikes.
Corti itself was lovely.
It’s quite small but is a university town where 4000 students take
courses so it probably gets quite lively.
The station is a couple of hundred metres below the old town and the
citadel that was so important in the past.
Fortunately one of those little tourist trains is available to take you
up and even bring you down again. I took
it up but walked down. While I was up I
had lunch in a restaurant with a misting system so I was periodically gently
sprayed with water. And welcome it
was. Now I’m whiling away time in the shade waiting for my boat to
the continent.
Speaking of boats I made some unsuccessful attempts to go on
a wee cruise. They were either full up
or too early in the morning or focused on snorkelling or just not the relaxed
activity I was after.