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Royal clipper vessel8/16/2023 Add the interest of islands less-traveled, a bagpipe-playing captain and a mix of European and American travelers and you have yourself a truly wonderful sailing experience. Each time the Royal Clipper slips its mooring and sets sail for new shores, this traditional Star Clippers send-off awakens in its passengers a sense of adventure, anticipation and awe. the silent Caribbean night is filled with the powerful music of Vangelis' "Conquest of Paradise," making goose bumps rise on my arms. Time doesn’t allow so I return to the ship.A gentle sea breeze, a star-studded sky, billowing white sails then. I enquire about hiking trails but the tourist office tells me that I need to take a boat. The town is pleasant enough, but is almost entirely dedicated to tourism with souvenir shops, cafes and restaurants. Overnight we sail back to Corsica and anchor off Portovecchio, standing proud above the port. It’s an exhilarating morning, although I’m looking forward to the morning yoga to soothe my aching shoulders. There we transfer to kayaks and, after paddling through sunken caves, pull up on a deserted beach for a swim. We cycle along the coast, dodging the traffic, for about an hour before reaching a beautiful bay. No hiking today as I’ve signed up for a bike and kayak excursion. The Villa dei Mulini is where Napoleon lived during his exile here, before making his comeback at Waterloo, and his death mask rests in the Chiesa della Misericordia. Narrow winding alleys climb up from the harbour to the double fortifications of Forte Falcone and Forte Stella, where there are glorious views from the 16th century ramparts. Portoferraio, the island’s capital, is probably the most attractive town of the entire voyage. As we majestically make our way under sail towards Elba, I feel proud to be on board. As we leave, all 42 sails are hoisted for the first time, to the sound of Vangelis. This time the boat is moored at the port, so there’s no need for tenders, and I make it with plenty of time to spare. It takes around four hours to walk to Bastia, a picturesque town with a recently restored citadel, home to an excellent museum. I point out that I will be on the beach, following the shore so, grudgingly, he gives his permission. After a hurried conversation, she tells me that he advises against it, as he says the road is blocked. Perhaps the story reaches higher command because next day, when I’m planning to leave the ship and join it later in Bastia, the purser says she has to check with the captain. I celebrate my narrow escape with a large beer and regale anyone who’ll listen with the story of my escapade. I make the final tender with minutes to spare. Fortunately, the second family takes pity and drives me directly to the port. I approach a couple of parked cars and beg them to give me a lift. Worse, my phone has died so there’s no way I can communicate with the ship. My thrusting thumb doesn’t work as nobody stops. It’s too far to walk all the way back to L’Isle Rousse and panic is now setting in. Of course, five minutes afterwards, I hear the sound of the train arriving and see it vanish into the distance. The station is unmanned, with no information, so I set off to the main road to try my luck hitch hiking. I’m now beginning to worry as the last tender leaves port at 5.30 and there’s no sign of any train. From here I can see the railway line wriggling its way along turquoise coast below.Ĭonscious of time, I pick up the pace, and manage to reach the station just before the scheduled departure of 4.45. It fully deserves its title as “one of the most beautiful villages in France”, its rectangular stark stone buildings silhouetted against the sky. The way is marked by yellow flashes and I climb steadily reaching Occiglioni, at around 400m, only a cluster of houses, before reaching the 9th century hilltop village of Sant’Antonino.
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