Wednesday, 2016/10/05

Corsica: Asco valley – Bastia

The night is getting pretty cold and I have to wear all my clothes available. I estimate that the temperature has already reached zero degree.

No breakfast in the camping in the morning. My buddy from last night isn't there. So I ride the bike up to the end of the valley. There I take breakfast in a hotel. Slowly, the sun comes out over the surrounding mountains.

While packing my stuff on the campground I visit the only other guests on the campsite. Three Germans in a tent. After a bit of conversation I make my way back from the Asco Valley towards the east coast of Corsica.

On the way down, I do a stopover for a cappuccino and the purchase of some honey as a souvenir.

I choose a route to the east, which is not very busy and offers beautiful views. Arrived on the east coast, I'm riding on a small, very beautiful road along the mountains, leading to or through very beautiful places. Quite idyllic.

I don't book a hotel room in Bastia. There should be enough. A research shows, however, that the hotels are quite expensive and I head to one of the cheaper ones. There are already the Swiss bikers, whom I met during the crossing from Sardinia to Corsica at the ferry. They have just checked in front of me and only one room is available, unfortunately not the cheapest. Bad luck.

Then I go on a discovery walk through Bastia, which I didn't visit on the ride southwards.

I stroll around in town until it's time for dinner and then I choose a restaurant, which has a balcony with view to the harbor. As it turns out, sitting at the next table two young Swiss, Tobi and Jeannine, with whom I come into conversation. The two tell me that next year they will go on a two years trip with their aged Toyota Land Cruiser. Great! We will stay in contact!

When I get up to go back to the hotel, I go around one or two corners and suddenly realize a rather unpleasant smell in the air. It takes a while to understand the situation. Students run away from a place where there are disputes with the police, who have obviously used tear gas. Now it also becomes clear what has popped up so loud during the meal. That was probably already some smoke bombs or something. Well, this is the first time in my life that I get into tear gas.

I go around the place where the arguments are taking place and ask a young passerby on another corner what has actually happened and what it is about. After a few sentences she suspects that I'm a journalist and turns away. At least I get the information that it was probably about the arrest of a few separatist students. Everywhere on the island you can find separatist slogans and on the town signs the French names are mostly over-sprayed. Well, what all this is about nationalism in times of globalization, I'll probably never understand.