MOHO roaming is like life. Not always easy to stay on the straight and narrow. We do our best. Sometimes fall short. Sometimes get our just desserts. Today serves up a portion of each.
We could have stayed one more day at Porto. But don’t. We have a Friday ferry booked. Sardinia in waiting. Lots of miles to be eaten up – today’s meal. Calanques de Piana a supposedly must see. Bastia Airport a definite must do. (Laura’s suitcase expected at 16.10). Followed by an almost top to bottom have to leg, as we leg it to Bonafaccio. The last thing we need is not to keep on our straight and narrow meal plan. But that’s just what we do.
An unusual one way system on the camp site coughs us out further up the side of the mountain it’s perched on. No bad thing. It’s right on the route we need. But as it happens not the route we’re allowed to take – this comes to light a little later. We turn left. Yellow roads are OK for Beastie. Yellow with green dashes. i.e. scenic, usually OK too. This D124 is white with green dashes. Beastie’s alergeic to white and green. Nestled underneath Mont Capu d’Ota it’s in prime position and meanders through its namesake Ota village. Very soon it’s clear this road is not built for vehicles of Beastie proportions. He imitates an ocean liner dwarfing Venice as we enter the village. We draw breath. He draws in his waist. A random pedestrian blocks our way. A deliberate drunk? He’s not a happy chappy. Lets us know in no uncertain French that we are not welcome and not allowed. A wound down window ‘vraiment désolé’ insufficient to cool his rage. We have an option of one. Onwards. Or so it seems. But isn’t. We exit the village and this scenic section at a T-Junction. Over our shoulder his rage is justified . . .
Fifty minutes later we find ourselves passing the entrance to our camp site. Wasted time? Yes and no. Not on the menu, but a welcome starter despite le bonhomme. At least we’re back on the D81 and heading through fantastic scenery . . .
The road up and into the Calanques de Piana is totally unsuitable for Beasties. Yet, coaches come this way. Driven by profit. They form a convoy in the same direction. Turn around at Piana. There is absolutely no way on this earth one could pass the other. Beastie experiences first hand le probleme – as do we. The videos say it all . . .
A boring blast sees us meet Laura’s suitcase. Big smiles and big relief all round. A three and a half hour jaunt southwards finds us checking in seven minutes before Camping des Iles closes its doors for the night at 8pm. All courses completed. Leaves us just enough time for coffees before bed.