Whenever we discussed this journey prior to departure it was always the "Italy trip" and we sometimes forgot there was one week when we wouldn't be in Italy at all. The fates of Corsica and Sardinia began to diverge when the Byzantine Empire lost control of Corsica to the Lombards in the early eighth century. The French first conquered Corsica under the leadership of Charlemagne fifty years later, but Sardinia was still under Byzantine control and Charlemagne never attempted to extend his empire to that island. The Pisans and Genoese soon displaced the French and for several centuries both Corsica and Sardinia were under Italian domination. In 1755 Corsica declared their independence from Genoa, and the Genoese responded by secretly selling the island to the French crown. The Corsicans fought valiantly for their continued independence but lost and were absorbed into the French kingdom. It's quite interesting to see how these two important Mediterranean islands separated by just eight miles of sea became the property of two different nations by happenstance.
The ferry from Sardinia to the southern pole of Corsica took less than an hour. As we pulled into the harbor we were struck by the remarkable appearance of the striated limestone cliffs, appearing as though they had been painstakingly etched by some artistically-inclined giant. Sitting atop the promontory was the fortified citadel of Bonifacio, with walls that appeared to be growing out of the cliffs. I was reminded of our arrival at the Maltese capital of Valletta by ferry eight years previously, although these walls certainly weren't on the same massive scale.
Once we were driving off the ferry I had no idea where to park in order to tour the fortified old town. The citadel of Bonifacio was founded on a long, narrow limestone promontory by the Tuscan ruler Boniface II in the ninth century as an unassailable fortress from which the southern coast could be defended against Saracen incursions. In modern times roads have been carved into the side of the promontory to facilitate transit between the upper and lower levels of the town. At the first fork we made a sharp turn to follow the signs which indicated "Haute Ville" and eventually encountered a series of public parking lots at the top of the ridge. The western half of the promontory was generally uninhabited and the space was used for the parking lots, the town cemetery, and the preserved fortifications. On our walk toward the town we had our first encounter with U Moru, the beloved symbol of the island, on a poster. This disembodied Moor's head originated with the Aragonese and symbolized their victories over the Arabs in Spain. In most early versions of the symbol the Moor was blindfolded but Pasquale Paoli, the eighteenth century father of the Corsican independence movement demanded that the blindfold be raised and turned into a headband. This reflected a change in the perception of the Moor from a submitted enemy to a symbol of strength and independence. Our arrival at the old town was signaled by the crenellated octagonal bell tower of the fourteenth century Gothic church of Saint-Dominique. 
I had never heard of Bonifacio as a travel destination before I began planning for this trip but as soon as we arrived in the old town we realized we were at a very popular spot for domestic French tourists. The narrow pedestrian streets were crowded with visitors and the restaurants and cafes were doing a brisk business. It was somewhat of a relief to see all the signage in French and know that I would be able to communicate a bit more easily for the next week, although I felt like I had been making progress with my Italian.
The citadel had been well-adapted to be a tourist magnet but they had done a good job maintaining the antiquated, picturesque quality of the buildings while maximizing their use as retail establishments. The restaurants had beautiful settings and offered interesting fusions of French and Italian cuisine, but none would open for dinner for at least another two hours. The shopping boutiques didn't have much of interest to us but we did find one fascinating place that brewed a variety of liqueurs in their cellar. The proprietor was friendly enough but I think she detected fairly quickly that I was not a serious prospect. 
We thought we might be able to kill the remaining time before dinner walking around the town but we traversed the small network of streets fairly quickly. We couldn't walk more than a couple of minutes in any direction before reaching a point where we were looking out over the edge of the promontory. On one side was the harbor and on other other was open sea. Towards the direction of the mainland we spotted Le Grain de Sable, a limestone stack that had been completely detached from the coastal cliff by the forces of erosion. 
Eventually we abandoned the idea of eating in the citadel and decided we would find a restaurant closer to our accommodation. We were staying at Maora Village, a sprawling complex of cabins in a rural area about six kilometers east of the citadel. We checked in and our host suggested we eat at the restaurant on the opposite side of the road. I figured the guy probably referred everyone there for a commission so we drove a little further to Maora Beach where there was a chic restaurant by the same name right on the sand. The beach was on a narrow inlet called the Bay of Sant'Amanza on the southeastern shore of the island. I scanned the menu and saw a very dull selection of entrees at eye-watering prices and decided maybe we should try the restaurant across from our accommodation after all.
Whether or not the receptionist at the hotel was getting a kickback, Chez Jean Lo proved to be a good recommendation. Despite its unappealing roadside location the owners had crafted a rustic atmosphere with wooden beam construction and a thatched roof. The open kitchen seemed to be more a function of the restaurant's simplicity than any aesthetic consideration. Most importantly the food was very good, especially with respect to the freshness of the fried seafood. The other patrons seemed to be a mixture of local regulars and tourists, with some tables containing circular felt boards for the dice game quatre-vingt-et-un. 
The cabins at Maora Village were lackluster but the kids were excited to have one entirely to themselves. We sat at one of our patio tables for a few minutes before going to bed, admiring the view of the olive trees and the pool outside the hotel restaurant. In the morning we had breakfast in the restaurant and got a closer look at the pool, a rather impressive infinity design given the spartan nature of the cabins. 
I didn't have much interest in retracing our footsteps through the old town but I did want to see the King of Aragon's Staircase on the seaward side of the promontory. We parked in the same lot as the previous day and walked past the ruins of two ancient windmills to the top of the staircase just outside the old town. There was a booth at the entrance where we purchased tickets for five euros which included the mandatory helmets for the kids. Soon we were beginning our descent down the 187 stone steps that were carved into a channel in the sheer cliff face.
The staircase takes its name from a legend which holds that the steps were built overnight by Aragonese forces who were laying siege to the Genoese defenders of the citadel. Given that this feat of engineering is obviously impossible, it seems more likely that the steps were built by denizens of the fortified town who were seeking easier access to a freshwater well at the base of the cliff. Once at the bottom a narrow path extended another fifty meters or so to the west before reaching a dead end at the foot of the cliffs. There was nothing else to do except go back up the staircase, a substantially more tiring process than the descent.
Having completed the last item on our itinerary in Bonifacio, we briefly poked our noses into the old town and found it decidedly less busy in the early morning than it had been the previous afternoon. It seemed unlikely we would discover anything we had missed on our first pass through the citadel so we returned to the car and drove towards the highway which led north towards Porto-Vecchio. 
It was just a half hour drive to Porto-Vecchio and we were well ahead of schedule so when we saw signs for an adventure park it was an easy decision to pull over. We hadn't done any activities specifically for the kids since the floatie park in Alghero, and ropes courses are one of their favorites. It was somewhat of a confusing set-up with several courses of different levels of difficulty that needed to be done in a specific order. I decided not to rent a harness for myself which was a mistake because Spenser got hung up on the first course trying to move his clip from one rope to another. The operator had to go up to rescue him and subsequently banished him to the little kids' area and the trampolines. 
Cleo and Ian kept on going and completed some courses that I'm not sure I could have finished myself. One particularly challenging task involved riding a tethered bicycle across a narrow plank. Eventually we were in danger of missing the lunch window in Porto-Vecchio and we had to extract the kids and get back on the road. With the Aragon Staircase and an adventure park under our belt before lunch we were off to a pretty good start to the day.
This featured blog entry was written by zzlangerhans from the blog Fledgling Explorers.
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