Cow bet

The center of Corsica is all about hiking (or walks, as our Dutch friends would refer to them). Not ironically, Liza is also all about hiking, having formed a Roman hiking club called the Banana Grabbers or something (wait, maybe it isnt a "hiking" club...maybe they are "climbing something else...). 

So Saturday we set off for one of Corte's most popular, and scenic hikes: to Lac Melu, a glacial lake at the end of the Vallee Restonica. Lonely Planet called it fairly strenuous and said it would take an hour. Now, in New Zealand, they over-exaggerated hike length by a factor of ten. Since we're in Old Zealand, we figured same would be true, and since I now only do snorking activities, it would be perfect. 

We started off in the Corte, getting tourist trapped and buying supplies for our Lac Melu picnic...and maybe having some pre-hiking beers. Both of us were extremely impressed by Corte. We tend to prefer non-cities, but this one is super cute, and super historic. Once we finally made our way out to the starting point, it felt like time for a snack, so we climbed down to some waterfalls off the main road and had some cheese and ham and macaroons. 

It was about 2 km from our parking spot to the start of the point the trail. For the first 10 minutes I was thinking about how perfect of a hike it was for me - lots of boulders to climb over, slight incline a few streams to prance through. Sure enough, after about 20 mins I saw some umbrellas up ahead and said "we made it!!" Turns out that was a shepherds hut that takes care of the wild sheep and mules on the mountain, and also thankfully sells beers and water and cheeses and hams. We continued past, saying we would have our celebratory beers there later. 

That's when shit got crepe...again. Past the shepherds hut, the boulders got bigger, and the incline extremely steep. Having seen many an old, young, and fat person coming down at various points in the trail, I couldn't believe how difficult it was. I was also carrying a backpack with 2 swimsuits, a large towel, a whole picnic's worth of food, cameras, wallets, snorkel gear, beyonces... At least 10 lbs worth (that yes, Liza and I were sharing, but really, feel more bad for me).also note: none of those items were water, possibly the only thing we needed. A couple of times we stopped to rest, and I kept thinking, surely over this ridge...or around that corner....or maybe we passed it? Finally Liza asked and the friendly old lady coming down said 20 more minutes. If she had said anything more than that, might have quit. But we sucked it up, and made it to the top and it was incredible...a massive lake fed entirely by snow melt and literally at the top of a mountain. 

Elevation:1711 meters.  

I had noticed long before the top that no one coming down seemed to be wet from swimming. I soon learned why. The water was cold as fuck (excuse my French but I'm in France). Dangling my feet in was only possible for about 3 mins before they went numb. And you know what that meant: no snorking. We hung out for a few minutes, just reveling in the accomplishment that probably a thousand people achieve each year...again, including an old fat couple next to our resting spot. Seriously - how did they manage!?

Heading back down the mountain was a little more stressful than going up, but I could see beers and water in my future. About ten times on the way I looked back to where we had been and said "if you had pointed to me where we were going, I would have definitely said no way."

We made it to the shepherds hut and had those beers and ten gallons of water. The purveyor was an old farmer man, and he kept the beers inside his house in pool that was fed by spring water. Best tasting beer ever. 

On the way up, we had found a perfect places for frolicking photos, and as we approached it now, we found that we weren't the only ones who had found it - a trio of mules were grazing, giving us the ultimate photo bomb.

We'd waited late enough int he day to go up that leaving the Vallee via the road that's really only big enough for one car was not as terrifying as going in. We stopped back in Corte to check out the Citadelle and ran smack into Gaffory Plaza, which our vintner friend Henri had told us was his ancestor. Gaffory was the first leader of Corsica (or something like that), and the house we were drinking our beers in front of had been inhabited by Napoleon's brother at some point (and was riddled with bullet holes). It then seemed appropriate to have dinner at Gaffory's restaurant where We each ordered from the set menu. We shared traditional Corsican soup, wild boar pate, wild boar pasta and Corsican lasagna (meaning uses their specialty cheese brocciu). It was all so freaking good and rich we skipped the cheese and dessert courses. I would like to take this time to apologize to that cheese for letting it down.

A quick stroll later, then it was back in the car and back into the mountains to our b&b. 

Bottles of wine:

2

Beers:

10

Times I said "fuck" on the mountain:

15

Lbs. worth of unnecessary items we hiked to the top of a mountain with

8

Winner of the cow bet:
Steezer

Winner of hiking:
Liza

Winner of everything else:
Corsica