After those two we were satisfyingly full.

Then came a ‘surprise’ dish, slipped in presumably to keep hunger pangs at bay before the main course arrived; a tray of five golden, puffed up brocciu cheese beignets, a common dish on Corsican menus. To eat one was to say au revoir to the rest of dinner.

But, boy, did they look good – fried balls made from flour, yeast, mint, egg and soft sheep cheese. Against our better judgement we ate them all, stomachs stretching to capacity at the effort. They were delicious; deep-fried, savoury, golden wonders that left us happy but groaning.

The main dishes arrived. Two trays of food, enough for a quartet of diners. One was filled with a meaty stew, the other with rich, cheesy pasta.

“You’ve got to eat it all,” warned the waitress. I couldn’t tell if she was joking or was just a culinary sadist.

What was the meat? What type of pasta was it? I can’t tell you. I was operating on autopilot, just trying to survive and hoping to avoid a Monty Python Meaning of Life outcome.

We gave it our best shot, but managed only a couple of mouthfuls before collapsing back in our chairs, utterly defeated and ready to be rolled to bed.

It turned out the chef was known for engineering this Man V. Food scenario. Diners came primarily because the food was excellent, but also to see if they could actually finish a meal. apparently few managed it.

Needless to say, dessert was not ordered.

Osteria a Stalla Sischese (Marine de Sisco) is a small hotel  near the coast in Sisco with an excellent restaurant which is open to the public.

Jack is co-editor, writer and photographer for BuzzTrips and the Real Tenerife series of travel websites as well as a contributor to online travel sites and travel magazines. Follow Jack on Google+

The French Foreign Legion – a mysterious, dangerous band of brothers consisting of men escaping a dodgy past or attempting to mend hearts broken by betrayals in love. I hadn’t thought about them for decades until I found out there was a regiment based in Calvi on Corsica, an island which itself had taken to the forgotten corners of my mind. I was already looking forward to visiting Corsica, but I was as thrilled as a child on Christmas morn at the prospect of visiting the Citadelle de Calvi, one of the strongholds of the men whose motto is Honneur et Fidelité.

Calvi, tucked neatly into a crescent-shaped bay on Corsica’s north west coast, seems an appropriate base for the French Foreign Legion. Sleek, expensive yachts populate the smart harbour whilst the streets behind exude more of the down to earth Corsican character. Lording it above both is the aloof Citadel, the town’s protector since the 13th century. Calvi’s history is as rich as the owners of the yachts lined up like soldiers in the cerulean waters below. The Romans, Greeks and Genoese all enjoyed spells in Calvi. It’s claimed the Citadel was the birthplace of Christopher Columbus, whose mother must have endured a painfully protracted labour which spanned various locations. In 1794 Nelson lost his right eye whilst laying siege to the town. Just outside the entrance to the Citadel are monuments to Columbus, Corsicans killed in the World Wars, and resistance fighters who helped liberate Corsica from the Germans in 1943.

Above the entrance is Calvi’s motto, not unlike that of the Legion, Civitas Calvi semper fidelis – a proclamation of eternal fidelity to the Genoese.

There is an official route with an audio guide which leads visitors around the historic highlights (€7 per person or €11 per couple) but we prefer to explore the network of alleys and cobbled walkways in a more anarchic fashion (more on the lookout for legionnaires than historic edifices in truth).

Entering the Citadel is akin to stepping through a portal if not in time but to a location far removed from the busy town below. It’s difficult to say whether this is the norm, but where Calvi’s sea level streets are bustling with visitors, the Citadal is close to being a ghost town. We encounter only a handful of other wandering souls on our travels. It’s a mystery why, as the old streets are filled with fascinating features. Not only is there historic interest, it’s worth making the trek from the town just for the views from the ramparts.

French Foreign Legion fact: You can’t apply to join online, or by mail. The only way to sign up is to turn up at the door of one of the Legion’s offices in mainland France. From that point they’ll feed you and give you accommodation until you’re accepted or shown the door.

There is a rough ‘n’ ready honesty to the world inside the Citadel, this is no immaculately maintained monument to an historic past. Arches are crumbling, plaster peels off walls, wooden doors are rickety, signs are simple and handmade, and graffiti is either artistically coy or oozes bad ass attitude. It’s the sort of place where you could imagine someone with a chiselled jaw and glinting eyes lounging in the shadows digging raw meat out of their teeth with a dagger.

The Citadel is appealingly attractive in a roguishly handsome, world weary way.

Our meandering takes us past Columbus’ alleged birthplace (an unassuming ruin), grand (St Jean-Baptiste Cathedral) and humble (St Antoine Oratory) places of worship and a nightclub I’m probably too much of a wuss and not wealthy enough to enter, Chez Tao. Chez Tao was Corsica’s first nightclub and is located in the house of Napoleon Bonaparte’s grandfather. The club has a motto – ‘be happy today because tomorrow will be too late’. We’ve been told it is the haunt of off duty legionnaires looking to spend generous wages on an awful lot of alcohol (the place is said to be an expensive one to frequent). The motto sounds as though it could have been created for them.

French Foreign Legion fact: When you join you’re given a completely new identity.

There are a few good-looking cafés dotted around the old streets; we stop at one for a couple of small (25cl) Corsican chestnut beers. They’re €4 apiece – not tourist prices, legionnaire prices. Still, it’s worth it to drink ale in such atmospheric surroundings. We continue onwards and upwards to arrive at a wall above a ‘hidden’ car park where there are two seriously chunky looking 4x4s with camouflage paintwork. No prizes for guessing who they belong to.

Steps descending from the Cathedral lead us to a small square and Le Palais des Gouverneurs, home of the Légion étrangère. Inside is a roped-off area with a few photos, a couple of paintings, regiment badges, the legion’s code of honour, and also La Priere du Para, the French Foreign Legion paratrooper’s prayer. It’s probably of limited interest to most people, but to someone who grew up with no doubt unrealistically romanticised notions of the French Foreign Legion, it feels as though I’m standing alongside the ghost of Beau Geste. I take a few moments to absorb the Spartan display and read words I’ll have to translate later, but which convey pride, honour and dedication.

French Foreign Legion fact: The Legion’s code of honour is made up of 7 articles, the seventh of which is ‘In combat, you act without passion and without hate, you respect defeated enemies, and you never abandon your dead, your wounded, or your arms’.

We walk from the dim hallway back outside and into bright sunlight where Andy, momentarily blinded, bumps into a car’s wing mirror. Inside is a wiry, solid looking man wearing a camouflage uniform. Although it was Andy who bumped the car, his emotionless eyes look at the wing mirror and then glide slowly from it to me. A couple of lines from the paratrooper’s prayer pop into my head – ‘I want insecurity and anxiety. I want turmoil and brawl’.

“Forget march or die,” I grab Andy’s arm. “Let’s make a run for it.”

French Foreign Legion unconfirmed fact: One of the entry requirements is applicants shouldn’t be on Interpol’s most wanted list.

That 3% makes a difference.

We regularly walk in the volcanic crater of Teide National Park on Tenerife where routes begin around the 2000m mark. Top of the island is Mount Teide, at 3718m it’s the highest peak in Spain. At 2000m there is approximately 5% less oxygen than at sea level. On Teide’s peak it’s a seriously breathless 8% less. Altitude sickness can kick in around 2400m where it’s about 6% less.

When walking at altitude on Tenerife with friends from Britain, even experienced walkers, we advise them to take it slow. In fact, we especially advise friends who are experienced at walking in Britain. They are the ones more likely to set off at their usual walking pace, which in subtropical conditions at altitude is likely to leave them red-faced and gasping after a few hundred yards.

It’s easy to put into perspective the chasm of difference which lies between walking in Britain and walking at altitude. We always say a variation of the same thing: “we’re starting at an altitude which is as high as Britain’s highest peak,” or, even better. “This is twice (or even three times) the height of Ben Nevis.”

At altitude it’s important to adjust to the surroundings.

Appreciating, or not, the impact of walking at different altitudes is only one example of how being an ‘experienced walker’ can be a relative term.

Consider wildly differing terrain
We recently received an email asking if an ambitious walking route on Tenerife was feasible; it involved climbing from the south coast to the peak of Mount Teide in a day. It was immediately obvious the route hadn’t been planned properly as it was mostly along main roads making it a) unnecessarily long, b) potentially dangerous and c) dull as hell. All of which told us the person who sent the email wasn’t an experienced hiker. We suggested they probably weren’t ready for such a challenging route to which they came back insisting they were experienced walkers, having walked around their county for charity.
Not understanding the difference between walking in parts of Britain, or anywhere, which is relatively flat and walking on an island where the gradient is such Spain’s highest mountain can cast a shadow on the sea can be a recipe for disaster.

The Canary Islands are perfect as a winter walking destination. But because they’re known in parts of Europe mainly as a winter sun destination means their wilder face can regularly be underestimated. La Palma is known as La Isla Bonita but also lays claim to being the steepest island in the world. That means challenging ascents of descents and anyone more used to gently undulating hills will feel the difference. La Gomera in some ways offers even more demanding walking. As the most popular Canary Island for walkers its rugged terrain, consisting of ravine after ravine, regularly catches out even experienced walkers. It’s immensely rewarding walking but it makes you work for it.

We misjudged the terrain ourselves in Berchtesgadener Land, Bavaria, where mountains act as walls between valleys. Walls which have to be climbed if you want follow the best routes from one valley to the next. Because we’re often mapping out new routes, which involves referring to maps, using GPS, recording notes and taking photos, we don’t use walking sticks as they get in the way. After completing our first route in Berchtesgaden, which involved an 1100m ascent and descent over a relatively short distance, we realised we were unlikely to survive 11 days of similar walking without sticks. Thankfully just about every Bavarian village has an outdoors equipment shop and we picked up a couple of cheap ones which were lifesavers.

Although contours on maps show how steep the terrain is, the 3D aspect you get with Google Earth is excellent for actually showing you the lay of the land before you set foot in a place.

Connected with the terrain is the type of paths walkers are likely to encounter in various destinations. Paths come in many forms. It still surprises when regular walkers aren’t used to the more wild varieties. We met a couple in Leutasch, Austria, who were outraged they’d been sent on a path which they felt was dangerous and not fit to be used. In reality there was nothing wrong with it except it was narrow, steep and uneven. Anyone who has walked extensively in more mountainous areas of Europe will have encountered many similar ‘goat trail’ paths.

Hot walks
Finally, something that can catch experienced walkers out is just how hot walking in parts of Europe can be. In June in Corsica we found our energy sapped by temperatures of 30C+, and we’re used to hot walking. We slow down, wear hats, slap on sun cream, take lots of rests, follow routes where there’s shade and, most importantly of all, drink lots of water.

In the Canary Islands the walking can be hot throughout the year, even in the depths of winter. It might sound like spouting the obvious but it’s essential to take note and adjust to conditions. I say it might be spouting the obvious but I’ve known hiking companies take walkers out during a heatwave on Gran Canaria and experienced walkers take to the hills on La Gomera when a rural hotel owner advised against it. Neither of those examples ended well.

What being an experienced walker means is relative and can vary from person to person. Like everything in life, exploring the countryside on foot involves following a continual learning curve.

Each destination offers something new, something different, which is partly why we love getting out onto that trail as often as we can.

Jack is co-editor, writer and photographer for BuzzTrips and the Real Tenerife series of travel websites as well as a contributor to online travel sites and travel magazines. Follow Jack on Google+

Location
The La Roya lies directly behind the beach of the same name in the bay of the Gulf of St Florent from where its gardens, pool and dining terrace look out over translucent, turquoise bays where languid yachts sway at the edge of the Agriates Desert. It’s a 15 minute stroll into the centre of picturesque St Florent with its buzzing marina, quayside restaurants and characterful, cobbled streets. Regular boats from St Florent ferry people to two of Corsica’s most beautiful beaches, the remote Plage de Lotu and Plage de Saleccia from where a gorgeous coastal path leads back directly to the hotel. In short, it’s a stunner of a location.

Rooms
What rooms lack in floor space they make up for in comfort. Simply but stylishly decorated with funky touches like a gold, zebra pattern mirror and lilac interior doors. Standard rooms have free wifi, effective and quiet aircon, and tea and coffee making facilities. Small balconies have a view over the mountains. Ensuites are very spacious with fluffy towels, lashings of hot water and generous toiletries. Upgrade to a superior room for more floor space and a view over to St Florent.

Food
From its chic and elegant terrace overlooking Plage La Roya and the Gulf of St Florent, the Hotel La Roya’s Michelin star restaurant serves creative cuisine featuring local ingredients and traditional dishes served with contemporary panache. When we were there we enjoyed their half board set menu which was excellent.

The breakfast at the hotel was also top notch, with fresh, exotic fruits, fromage blanc, Corsican cheeses, buttery croissants, and eggs made to order, all served on the sunny outside terrace.

The details
Hotel La Roya; Route La Plage, 20217 Saint-Florent, Corsica; +33 495 370 040; double room on bed & breakfast basis from £177 per night.

Andrea (Andy) Montgomery is a freelance travel writer and co-owner of Buzz Trips and The Real Tenerife series of travel websites. Published in The Telegraph, The Independent, DK Guides, Wexas Traveller, Thomas Cook Travel Magazine, EasyJet Traveller Magazine, you can read her latest content on Google+

Small groups of people are milling around the abbey, most having arrived by car, few making the journey on foot along an ancient muleteer path lined by olive groves, as we have done. But over here on our rocky grandstand, there’s only us, the warm sun on our backs, the gentle breeze on our faces, and at our feet, the north west coast of Corsica.

The largest tourist centre in north west Corsica, Calvi is a bustling, seductive blend of biscuit coloured, stone houses; narrow, cobbled alleys lined by pavement cafés and chic bars with garden courtyards; and aromatic delicatessen shops packed to their wooden beams in savoury salami, pungent cheeses and dried mushrooms. It’s also the destination of choice for cruise liners who moor in the gulf, and for yachts and super yachts who line the marina, brandishing their opulence to wide-eyed tourists strolling the promenade. The bars and restaurants that line the sea front are a magnet for day visitors, their tables ebbing and flowing throughout the day. Behind the marina, the charismatic Rue Clemenceau also attracts visitors to its boutiques and artisan shops but its menu prices are more competitive and it’s a compelling place to spend time browsing or sitting at one of the restaurants, watching the tide of people who wash by.

Above the town sits its imposing citadel, built by the Genoese in the 13th century. Home to a garrison of the French Foreign Legion and one of the many claimed birthplaces of Columbus, its walled streets are a fascinating maze of crumbling churches and palaces, a Baroque cathedral, and a handful of bijou restaurants with panoramic terraces. Amazingly, other than tour groups, few visitors bother to climb its ramparts, preferring to spend their time in the bustling streets below and leaving it remarkably crowd free.

Descending from Notre-Dame de la Serra, we detour to the splendid, expanse of La Plage de la Pinède which runs eastwards for 5km from the town. Considered one of the most beautiful beaches on Corsica, its fine vanilla sand stretches around the bay, backed by the sandy tracks of the ‘little train’ that follows the coastline to L’Île Rousse.

Leaving the busy streets of the town, we head out to the beach and then divert from the sand, cross the railway line, and head out along the boardwalk that runs parallel around the bay. To our left is the single track railway line, its rails completely covered in sand, brown grass growing between its tracks, as if long abandoned and given over to nature to reclaim. Yet as we walk, a train trundles towards us, travelling barely faster than we are walking, its occupants gazing out the windows at the warm white sand that will soon be enveloping their toes.

At regular intervals, small crossings are placed over the lines at the rear access to beach cafés and restaurants, forming a bridge between the boardwalk and the beach. At each one, a gate or an archway announces the establishment, and their design ranges from chic and trendy to simple and rustic depending on the prices of the menus beside them.

On the other side of the boardwalk, forming a visual and sound barrier between us and road, is a fragrant forest of eucalyptus and 100 yr old pine trees. As we walk, a handful of strollers and joggers accompany us, their numbers dwindling the further along the boardwalk we progress until, by the time we reach the campsite at its furthest edge where we turn around and retrace our steps, we are once more all alone.

The following day we follow the coastal path westwards around the Gulf of Revellata to reach the pretty Plage De L’Alga. Bereft of regimented rows of sun loungers for hire, this small, sandy cove is popular with those who prefer their beaches a little less groomed and more in keeping with the maquis scented cliffs that rise behind it. Continuing along the Sentier de Revellata, we trace the contours of the coast all the way to the lighthouse on the tip of the headland from where we look back over the Gulf of Calvi and the distant town topped by its citadel. This evening we’ll join the ranks of visitors strolling the promenade alongside the yachts and enjoying a cocktail as the sun dips below the horizon before choosing a table at one of the restaurants along Rue Clemenceau.

But for now, we’re happy to enjoy another side to Calvi, one that most visitors will probably never see.

We flew to Corsica via Nice from where we picked up a connection to Bastia with Air Corsica. We flew out of Calvi, again using Air Corsica and connecting to our return flight in Nice. We visited Corsica on behalf of Inntravel, the UK Slow holiday specialists, in order to put together their Contrasts of Corsica holiday which launches in spring 2017.

Andrea (Andy) Montgomery is a freelance travel writer and co-owner of Buzz Trips and The Real Tenerife series of travel websites. Published in The Telegraph, The Independent, DK Guides, Wexas Traveller, Thomas Cook Travel Magazine, EasyJet Traveller Magazine, you can read her latest content on Google+

Lots of open-mouthed, hands on hip moments have proved welcome distractions and reminders that despite the best efforts of a media, mainstream and otherwise, which appears to revel in pouring fuel on the worst elements of human nature, the planet remains a wondrously beautiful place.

To choose only twelve scenes which have wowed and humbled us this year isn’t a fair reflection on the pleasure travel has given us. To try to make the selection process easier, I’ve picked a scenic highlight from each month.

January – Teide National Park, Tenerife

In over a dozen years of living on Tenerife, the vistas inside Teide National Park have never lost their impact to put an appreciative smile on my face. It’s a vast volcanic world with a surprising variety of colours. If Turner had ever captured it on canvas people would have believed he’d embraced the abstract style. This view of Mount Teide and Roque Cinchado is such a popular image it once featured on a Spanish banknote. It’s a view millions of visitors to the park will enjoy, but that doesn’t make it any less special.

February – Las Salinas, La Palma

Caramel salt pans bordered by miniature white hillocks with a backdrop of the Atlantic on one side and a brace of lighthouses towering above a stark volcanic landscape on the other. Man and nature must have shared a joint to come up with the ingredients that make up the area around Las Salinas on La Palma in the Canary Islands.

March – Los Tilos, La Palma

We helped create two slow travel holidays on La Palma in 2016 so the island featured a lot on our travels during the first part of the year. As it’s also known as La Isla Bonita (the beautiful island) it’s more than able to supply a variety of wildly diverse landscapes. One of the most magical is the lost world scenes found in dank, dark and delectable ravines in the Los Tilos Forest, a land of giant ferns and a gentle birdman.

April – the path to Artenara, Gran Canaria

We also visited the walking Nirvana known as La Gomera in April; however, one of our favourite routes of the year was on a neighbouring island during the month, walking from a frontier-like crossroads above Tejeda at the heart of Gran Canaria to the cave village of Artenara. I could have chosen any number of images which stopped us in our tracks on a regular basis along the route. The island’s original inhabitants chose to live in caves at this spot. It doesn’t take a genius to see why.

May – Drago tree forest, La Palma

Our third visit of the year to La Palma rewarded with even more surprises than the previous two trips as we explored parts of the island that were new to us. This included a trippy, hippy valley trail near Las Tricias which was full of curios like this alien-esque drago tree forest.

June – cerulean Corsican seas

Amidst a tsunami of beautiful scenery, the coast around Saint Florent on Corsica stood out like a sparkling jewel. Quite simply one of the most stunning coastlines we’ve seen in a long time. We bitterly regretted not packing swimming costumes in the rucksacks.

July – classic Spain, Segovia

A charming, historic city surrounded by rolling, golden fields. All that was needed to complete a package which was a banquet for the eyes anyway was a gorgeous masterpiece of Roman engineering skills to view the luscious landscape through. Segovia is picturesque in the extreme.

August – a shanty town at the end of the world on El Hierro

Las Calcosas is one of El Hierro’s oddities, of which there are a few. Basic houses with thatched roofs give the settlement a shanty town appearance. It remains hidden from sight until you stand on the cliffs directly above it, giving it a slightly illicit feel. Deserted in winter it comes alive in summer months when locals head to the coast to enjoy the fresher breeze and to cool down in volcanic sea pools.

September – a Bavarian fairytale

If we’d spent one more day in Berchtesgaden in Bavaria I’d have been able to choose an image for October as well, although that still wouldn’t do justice to a part of Germany renowned for its outstanding beauty. Almost top in more ways than one was the Eagle’s Nest, a scenic vantage point which was a birthday present for Hitler. However, Obersee secreted away a shortish walk from the bottom of Lake Königsee was a vision from another realm.

October – a month at home, Tenerife

With work schedules piled up we spent the month banging away at keyboards in our house in a bid to catch up. One rare venture out was to pay the quarter’s taxes on a typically warm and sunny day. Trips to the bank are no hardship when it happens to be located beside the harbour in Puerto de la Cruz.

November – Mother Nature’s got Photoshop, Quelat, Chile

Another month where picking a single image proved a nightmare. We haven’t written much about Chile yet, but it was a roller-coaster of unforgettable experiences with side servings of knockout views. The route to this milky, turquoise lagoon was exceptional, but crossing a ridge to view waterfalls cascading from a brilliantly white glacier into a luminescent lake was worth travelling across the Atlantic for in itself.

December – through the icebergs, Tortel, Chile

Appropriately the standout experience and scenery of the year came at the end of 2016 in a small boat negotiating an ice field to get close to another Chilean glacier near Tortel. In one direction the views were lush rainforest, looking the opposite way it was a wintry wonderland of ice fields and snowy peaks. We toasted the world with whisky and ice hacked from a mini iceberg. It was one of those travel experiences which will be difficult to top.

But we’ll endeavour to try in 2017.

Jack is co-editor, writer and photographer for BuzzTrips and the Real Tenerife series of travel websites as well as a contributor to online travel sites and travel magazines. Follow Jack on Google+

An eleven kilometre coastal walk with hardly any undulations to speak off. It was a stroll in the park surely?

Two ingredients turned that idea on its head; searing 30C heat combined with no shade.

The distraction from the march or die conditions was the coastal path from Lotu Beach back to Saint Florent fell into the ‘stop every few hundred yards and exclaim WOW’ category of coastal walks. What we’d seen of Corsica to this point had already convinced us it was more than deserving of the L’Île de Beauté name given to it by the French.

The boat which dropped us at Lotu Beach was packed to the gunwales (appropriately in this case) with typical beach seekers – French/Corsican families laden down with umbrellas, bags bulging with baguettes, towers of towels and with children and dogs in tow. It was a pleasant voyage with interesting moments – you don’t expect to get buzzed by a flying Zodiac. But where most routes start with us escaping the crowds this one was more like going on an excursion with half of Saint Florent.

That feeling dissipated in the breeze almost as soon as we alighted at Lotu Beach. Whilst we got our bearings, everyone else was swallowed by dunes and the low scrub surrounding the beach. They were clearly people with plans which didn’t include Lotu itself as the long crescent of white sand was crowd free, even though it was exactly the sort of beach you dream of escaping to on a cold, dreary day.

You have to allow me one ‘lapped by crystal clear turquoise water’ or I’ll never have the words to describe what the sparkling scenery along the coast was truly like.

We were so hooked by the scene we had to sit for a few minutes simply to acclimatise to the extreme beauty. If that sounds overly gushy, go stand on the edge of Lotu and then tell me I’m overselling it.

From Lotu we left everyone behind, our route crossing rocks and sandy paths through low bushes, occasionally unlocking the unmistakeable aroma from curry plants, known more romantically as l’immortelle d’Italie in Corsica. Every couple of hundred yards we’d wind around a corner to be faced with another tiny, sandy cove. Idyllic is another no-no word in travel writing but guess what pops into the mind when you stand on a rock looking down at pure, white sand and water with the clarity of tinted glass?

Some coves were virginal, in others the water was broken by a handful of dinghies or a couple of small yachts. I was envious of bronzed people who could step from their floating beds into a refreshing natural bath like those calm waters.

By this point it still felt like a sun-kissed saunter. A lone rock jutting out into the sea offered slightly more of a challenge. Rock steps dissecting it gave it the appearance of a sacrificial altar. We had to investigate.

At one time there had been a Mortella tower on top, it was a natural lookout point. The tower had long gone, but the 360 degree views allowed us the opportunity to absorb in one slow spin just how stunning the north Corsican coast is. However, the short but steep climb kick-started the waterfall under my hat.

A couple of hundred metres more and there were more man-made additions to the coast. First a relatively modern semaphore above a small lighthouse, and then a Mortella tower which was actually still standing, at least half of it was. The story goes these robust, rotund Genoese defences so impressed Nelson, he had similar ones built around Britain’s coast.

At some stage the sun had swapped kissing our faces for blasting us with furnace heat. The lack of shade was taking its toll. Subsequent picturesque bays still warranted a pause in order to make suitable noises of appreciation. But the pauses became noticeably shorter as we ploughed onwards to our goal.

A descent on a soft path through scrub led to a barrier we’ve rarely encountered on walking trails – a wide estuary between us and the rest of the route. The estuary itself wasn’t a surprise, its width was. We sat on a rock at the water’s edge, removed our boots and scanned the transparent water. We knew it was shallow enough to easily cross in parts, the trick was knowing which parts these were. A woman sunbathing on the opposite bank drew a helpful curve with her hand to outline a route which would keeps the parts we wanted to stay dry out of the water’s reach.

The first touch of the only-just-cool Mediterranean was positively orgasmic, a feeling which intensified as it crept up our legs, passing calves, knees and teasingly touching lower thighs.

The woman’s advice was sound. The water stopped its advance just below short level and we emerged on the opposite bank with dry clothing.

It was the most invigorating element of any walk I can remember. Feet and legs felt as though they’d just enjoyed an expensive spa treatment, the result of which left the whole body feeling totally refreshed and raring to go. We were more than ready to tackle the final few kilometres to the beach bar where a couple of ice cool chestnut beers with our names on them waited patiently for our arrival.

Jack is co-editor, writer and photographer for BuzzTrips and the Real Tenerife series of travel websites as well as a contributor to online travel sites and travel magazines. Follow Jack on Google+

Emanating from the dense, aromatic shrubbery that carpets a fifth of the island’s surface area, the maquis includes such potent perfumes as l’immortelle (or curry plant as it’s better known); cistus, fennel, aster, rosemary, thyme and rue, and has provided food and herbal remedies for the Corsicans for centuries.

Admittedly I forgot about the maquis when I got there, distracted as I was by the drama and allure of the scenery, but I would surely have remembered it if my nostrils had been instantly assailed by it. Maybe it was too hot, or too dry. Maybe I was in the wrong part of the island. Or maybe I just didn’t recognise it for what it was, being stopped in my tracks more than once by its singular components; the sweet smell of figs, the savoury scent of curry plant, the fragrant aroma of fennel.

And maybe I was just too distracted by the edible bounty that surrounded me. Plump and shiny cherries hanging in fat clumps, so close to my table I could just reach out and pick them; dusty-coated salami sausages hanging on red strings above the counter of a deli shop; small, open baskets of fresh, organic fruit and vegetables displayed like trays of jewellery.

Corsica may well be famous for the scent of the maquis, but if I was Corsican and forced to live in exile, it’s the tastes of the island that I would most yearn for.

Brocciu
A soft cheese made from goat or ewe’s milk whey and boiled milk, Brocciu is Corsica’s national cheese and appears in pasta dishes, tarts and cheesecake (see Fiadone below). But when we were told there was also a Brocciu ice cream, it just had to be tried. One warm evening, after enjoying a sinful burger, we resolved to consign calorie counts to the trash for one night and finish off with this creamy, rich dessert. Sitting on the waterfront, eating Brocciu ice cream, is one of many endearing memories of pretty, Saint Florent.

Chestnuts
For almost two centuries of the Genoese occupation of Corsica, farmers were required to plant four trees a year, one each of fig, chestnut, olive and mulberry. That legacy remains today and these four trees are prevalent across the island. Chestnut in particular became indispensable to the Corsicans who used the nuts to grind chestnut flour, assigning it the nickname ‘arbre à pain’, the bread tree.

Fiadone
A crustless cheesecake made from Brocciu cheese and chestnut flour, this savoury treat is usually served chilled. Ours was temperate, having been purchased from a small deli in Saint Florent where it sat alongside stacks of pizza, cheese bread and bruschetta, and eaten while sitting on a wall alongside the frog fountain in Place Doria.

Wild boar
Although it’s known as ‘wild’ boar, in fact Corsican boar are more vaguely annoyed than wild, long having inter-bred with domestic boar. Feeding on chestnuts, the pork of the wild boar has a very gamey flavour and is highly prized. Civet de sanglier, wild boar stew prepared with chestnuts and fennel, is practically the national dish. This one was in a great little restaurant in Calvi.

Pietra beer
Made from chestnuts growing in the highest chestnut grove in Europe, every autumn the nuts are carried down the hill on donkeys and sorted by hand to produce organic chestnut flour. Added to the malt, this is what gives Pietra craft beer its colour of autumn in a glass. Smooth and thirst-quenching, this beer became our best friend at the end of hot walks.

Beignets
Lightly fried, golden doughnuts of chestnut flour wrapped around cheese, often Brocciu, appear on most menus in the north of Corsica and are delicious, if filling. In one restaurant in Sisco we were served six, large cheese beignets as an interim course between starter and main. We had to send most of our main course back untouched. At L’Osteria in Olmi Cappella we were persuaded to try the beignets by two elderly, elegant and erudite ladies. How could we possibly refuse?

Vin D’Orange
“Vin d’Orange?!” I had to read the label twice. In many, happy years of wine drinking, I have never encountered orange wine yet here it was, standing proud alongside the reds, whites and rosés at Clos Culombu vineyard outside Montegrosso. An aperitif produced from a wine base, macerated with the zest of oranges, it tasted like Cointreau meets Malvasia and I regret not buying a bottle to bring home.

Moules-frites
Wandering the marinas of Saint Florent and Calvi as dusk fell and the lights of restaurants reflected across the water, the evening would resonate with the clatter of chairs pulling up against tables, and conversation and laughter rising from diners while the irresistible scent of moules frites permeated the night air. We succumbed to their delights at a chic little restaurant behind the waterfront in Saint Florent and they tasted every bit as good as they promised.

Tiramisu
We had been told the tiramisu on Corsica was very different from the Italian variety and that the hotel we were staying in did a particularly good one but it didn’t appear on either of the two nights we stayed there.
“Did you try the tiramisu?” asked our guide as we drove to our next destination. “I saw it in the breakfast buffet this morning when I came to collect you.”
Tiramisu for breakfast? That’s like cornflakes for dinner. I had assumed it was some kind of milk pudding and gave it a wide berth.
After that, we did get to try the tiramisu in other places and it was good, but if I’m honest, it tasted pretty much like tiramisu. I guess you have to have it for breakfast to really appreciate it.

Cap Corse
We ran into the chef in the village. It’s a very small village. “I’ve got some beautiful veal fillets for you tonight,” he said. “Marinated and cooked in a Cap Corse cream sauce.”
We smiled and said we’d look forward to it, even though we’d promised ourselves a pizza reward that day after our walk. But the veal was sensational. And when we’d finished it, the chef insisted we end with a glass of Cap Corse, to aid the digestion. A bitter-sweet vermouth infused with herbs; maquis in a glass. I may not have smelt Corsica’s famous aroma, but it certainly tasted good.

Andrea (Andy) Montgomery is a freelance travel writer and co-owner of Buzz Trips and The Real Tenerife series of travel websites. Published in The Telegraph, The Independent, Wexas Traveller, Thomas Cook Travel Magazine, EasyJet Traveller Magazine, Wizz, you can read her latest content on Google+

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save