Ajaccio, Corsica and Napoleon and so on

The Port of Ajaccio, Corsica

Ever been to Corsica?  Me either.  Up until a cruise took me there in July. The ship docked at the port of Ajaccio, pronounced Ah-ya-cho.  Ajaccio, the Capital of Corsica, is a city of near 65,000 people, on the west coast.

You don’t hear much about the island, other than your high school European History class when Napoleon Bonaparte was mentioned in passing.  Yep, he was Coriscan-French.

Fourth largest island in the Med, the top three being….go ahead…take a guess.        

Sicily, Sardinia, Cyprus.

Corsica still feels raw and open, without the neon flash of tourism.  Take a trip back into the hinterland and you’ll find yourself in mountains, and small villages, with narrow roads in between.  Family businesses spring up here and there.  Honey. Essential Oils.  Wines. Nougat factories.  These are small, proud affairs, nestled back in the trees, true to the centuries, and eschewing the twin vices of modernity:  Faster and Cheaper.

The Nougat factory was not much larger than a couple of living rooms in an American house.  The owner and four people worked there and had been turning out confections for fifty years.  One lone machine churned up the sugar and fluffed the egg whites.  On a couple of long, stainless steel tables, slabs of tan or white nougat, flavored with pure vanilla or brandy, and embedded with nuts, or candied orange, were hand cut and hand packaged.

The owner said he was contemplating his own version of Nutella.  Why?

“The original was wonderful stuff, but they’ve gone to using 60 % sugar, instead of the 20% it used to be.  That changes the flavor and the texture.  I like it the way it was.”

With all the wild flowers and herbs, you’d think Corsica would be a center for perfume.  You’d be right, sorta.  There is big business in essential oils and the perfumers buy a lot of it here.

Chaparral

Corsica is often called ‘The scented isle’ because of the abundant flowers and herbs.  The rugged mountains of the interior are splendid with color and fragrance.  Napoleon said he could smell Corsica far out to sea because of the redolence of the Chaparral plant.  A dozen varieties of wild herbs also spill out over the higher elevations.

 

With the hilly countryside, much of the plant-life demands to be harvested by hand.  In the essential oils factory I visited, great bags of fresh flowers sat in rough burlap bags, awaiting the extraction machine, which works through pressing and steam distillation.  You need lots of herbs.  For example, it takes about 11 pounds of lavender plant to make a jigger full of essential lavender oil. 

Pickers go out every morning and trek the steep hills for hours.  Everything is seasonal and mornings are the right time to pick.

What more is Corsica known for?  Wine.  Went to a winery and tried a few.  The reds were forgettable, but one of the whites was quite nice, in a slightly sweet, summertime kind of way.

Bacchus as a child?

Down below, along the water’s edge, lie long stretches of unblemished sand, including Palm Beach, close to Ajaccio.

But, let’s get down to Corsica’s favorite son.  Was Napoleon really French? That could be a complicated answer, or a simple one, depending on if you just want to know, or have a round at the bar riding on it. 

The year before Napoleon was born, 1768, Genoa ceded the island to France.  So, in his birth year, 1769, the year (his birth year has been much disputed) the island was French and so was Napoleon.  His birth name was Nabulione Buonaparte.  Detractors aside, 1769 seems to be dead on.

Of course, Europe has changed with the tides and we could discuss all sorts of other complications.  Citizenship or Nationality was a matter of which King was in control.  Nationhood was a bit different than it is today.  Italians weren’t Italians yet.  Germans weren’t Germans.  Genoa was powerful. So was Pisa.  Ah, we could go on forever, but let’s leave it uncomplicated:  Napoleon was French.

But, as with most of the rich and famous, Napoleon’s fame is a mixed bag.  Corsican, but he also returned to the island to lead French forces in putting down a rebellion for Corsican independence.  See, even his legacy is a bit complicated.

But, in the end, business is business.  Statues to the Little Corporal are everywhere.  By the way, under modern measurements he stood 5 feet 7 inches tall (170 cm) and at the time, the average height for a male was 5 feet 5 inches (165 cm).  Under the old measurements (I’ve been told), he came in at 5 feet 2 inches, hence the vertical misunderstanding.

The house where he was born is now a museum and the place where he played as a child is now Place d’Austerlitz.

A little trolley from the main market square will take you past his house (now a museum) and on up the slope to Place d’Austerlitz.  Big open space and steep stone steps that lead up to a statue.  The steps recount all the General’s victories.  Waterloo isn’t mentioned.

But, don’t rush.  The market square still has a very nice market.  Lots of cheeses and smoked meats and wines and fruit preserves.  I sampled a few.  The ham compares favorably to those of Italy and Spain.  Also tried the fig preserves and wish I’d brought a case back with me.

Corsica is one of those places you know little about, which makes for a reluctant visit.  Then you step ashore, mingle in the marketplace, wander the streets, go into the mountains, sip the wine, see how unspoiled the island is, and find yourself asking:  Now if I came back, where would I want to stay?