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Taxis and other bummed rides:

a window on Corsica and its people

Altogether, between us we begged or borrowed about half a dozen rides. Without exception, the drivers were courteous and friendly. Some of them were extremely well-informed. We learned about making a living from leather and wool products, and that Corsicans are not anti-French: it was just that they want autonomy. Provided that French imports don't go up in price. They were not sure how they were going to make ends meet without the heavy subsidies provided by the French government, but they were certainly willing to give it a shot. We learnt that the pigs were not wild. They roamed free in the hills, but each one was accounted for. They were fed once a week, and the pigs knew when to come down for their vitamins-sometimes   reminding their owners that indeed a week had elapsed since the last feed. And we learnt that our final beer had been consumed outside one of the best restaurants in Corsica (and the cheapest).

This final piece of news was even more frustrating than it might have been because we were told it by the cab driver taking us to the railway station. He persuaded us to let him take us all the way to Ajaccio, and therefore, if we had known we were not taking the train, we could have spent the afternoon in the sunshine (perhaps taking communion) and waited to sample the restaurant. Oh well.

All our drivers, every Corsican we met up and down the trail, made the same remark: "this is the most beautiful area in Corsica". But you know what? They were all right: every part of Corsica was the most beautiful.



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