The Englishman and I are planning a trip to Corsica this summer, and I have been getting excited thinking about another visit to what has become one of my absolute favorite places in the world.
On our first trip to the gorgeous French island a couple of years ago, we spent a few of days on the north east coas in the town of Bastia. It’s Corsica’s second largest city after Ajaccio, and sits between the mountains and the sea.
Unlike the idyllic seaside villages on the west coast of the island, Bastia has the feel and look of a hard working port town. With the salty sea air corroding the once grand buildings, and the largely empty tourist spots, it feels like a place stoically clinging to its past. At 20%, the city has among France’s highest unemployment rates, and there is a kind of rough, hard scrabble aura to the cobble stone streets and brightly colored buildings.
I was utterly taken with the eroded beauty of the place especially the rusting and peeling signs in an impressive array of fonts.