The Steps of Bonifacio

From Santa Teresa Gallura to Bonifacio, we're on a ferry with the large blue whale – Moby – A bit too jovial (and blue) for its namesake. The gas fumes and rocking make me sick but it’s cold and raining outside.

We play a connect the dots game and suddenly Bonifacio is upon us or we are upon it.

This city is a fortress clinging to sparkling white cliffs…where, in the past, a sentinel would have marked our arrival, now, in this 21^st century, bands of tourists look down at our approach.

We start the sweaty ascent into the heart of the city, unsure of our movements as only newcomers can be – soon we will know each windy, narrow street like the backs of our hands, but now we come to our hotel Santa Teresa by the back way, straddling a fence, me, white-knuckled, sure we will plummet off the cliff to our deaths.

(Merci Rich, Dawn, Chris & Alex)

The sky breaks open and unleashes a torrent of rain. Guy de Maupassant writes of Corsica’s torrents and wildness in a way that suggests he, too, has looked out of a room in despair at the falling rain blown in sheets against the cliffs of Bonifacio.



When the rain subsides a little, we make our way out onto the cobbled streets of Bonifacio, where we find a true local restaurant...Casa Doria. It is proper Corsican home cooking with tomato sauce and potatoes that stick to the ribs...and the first of what will be several chevre-on-toasts salads. This one is the best, within the cozy walls decorated by old Corsican farm tools.


(Merci Katherine, Kevin, Imogen & Scarlett)