At 10.00 sharp our bus arrives, and a different driver with his seatbelt unfastened takes us - honking his horn before each turn - to Calvi, where we make up for the citadel visit that's still missing from our list of events. I buy a T-shirt (said to be size XL but fitting like M, and I'm used to XXL, I prefer loose-fitting clothes) because I want to wear something on our journey home that doesn't smell like buffalo (99 FF, really nice, I'm sure my sis will sting me for it), and Thomas purchases a bottle of minted lemonade that turns out to be the first liquid on the trip that nobody wants to drink. Just like you don't want to swallow the contents of your mouth instead of spitting them out after brushing your teeth.
Our train to L'Ile Rousse departs at 14.35, and we're lucky: it's our favorite conductor again, so we can enjoy the spectacle once again. During the ride we're taught another lesson in "how do I set Corsica on fire at least efforts?": a group of Italians smoke (disregarding the new doctrine that prohibits smoking in short-haul public transports, but no one gives a damn) and throw the glowing butts through the window into scrub that's dry as a fart. No one seems to care.
Our professional panic-monger
After arriving in L'Ile Rousse (that's The Red Island, btw.) we decide to try to obtain our ferry tickets first, because we want to leave for Nice tomorrow morning. So we walk about one kilometer to the quay with the office of the SNCM, just to find a note at the back door that tells us to buy the tickets at a travel agency at the other end of the town! (Doesn't that remind you of The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy?). Already pretty ill-humored we go to where others have already gathered, we queue up for at least half an hour, mostly because of someone before us who doesn't just buy tickets but lets the woman behind the counter explain the (moron-proof) timetable to him. When it's finally our turn we feel gypped: she only sells us first class tickets (with supplément for comfortable seats) on the grounds that all other tickets have already sold out. And that for a daylight passage during which we'll spend as much time on deck as possible, and everyone takes the seat he likes anyway! We're dumbfounded by anger and lack of knowledge of the language, so we resign to our fate and pay 37 FF supplément (excess fare) in addition to the fare of 199 FF for young persons.
The harbor of L'Ile Rousse
L'Ile Rousse is a town with 2500 residents that's completely dedicated to tourism. Its overwhelming traffic would be a credit to a big city. On our way to the camping site we come to a junction where a policeman does his very best to jam the traffic, not only by gesticulating but also by blowing his whistle in a very nerve-shattering manner. Two of his fellows call two kids on a scooter on the carpet, and judging by the expressions on their faces I'd say it's an expensive experience for them. The two flics (cops) soon search for new victims (there are lots of cars in "no parking" areas), and we continue our march to the camping site "Les Oliviers" (The Olive-Trees) mostly for reasons of health and shortness of breath (in Germany they'd call it smog, and private traffic would already be prohibited).
At the camping site we explain to the man behind the counter that if he wants to get his money tomorrow he'll have to get up early, since our ferry departs at 08.00 and we're going to leave the site no later than 06.30. This makes him disregard the usual customs of depositing a document of identification and paying the fare when leaving the site; we pay immediately and deposit nothing.
You can't praise this camping site enough, and that's even more true if you happen to come from "Camping Idéal": there are several large sanitary blocks that are clean and functional, the warm water is heated by sun collectors on the roofs, and the site isn't more expensive than the last two, just the opposite, we're not charged any visitor's tax here.
Anyway, even the best site has its disadvantages: 'til right after 23.00 we feel like lying on the middle strip of a motorway. It's unbelievable how many people's lifes depend on their wheels sleeping right next to them on plane, soft ground that they leave in a mess, of course.
Sunset at the harbor
