I must, I must, I must: return to Corsica.

Whew! This is the last stop on my Club Carlson Global Traveler program; a 3-week, 8-country adventure through Europe, paid for and compensated by Club CarlsonSM (now Radisson Rewards). During the trip, I’m exploring the world of hotel points and how to take advantage of accommodations and upgrades with various strategies. 

In all cases, opinions expressed herein are my own; don’t worry – I haven’t sold my soul.

This article was originally published in 2013, and has since been updated for accuracy of links and formatting.

I must return to Corsica.

It’s not because a driver was waiting for me at the airport, like a heavenly beacon of light after the most harrowing series of connecting flights from Kiev that I’ve ever endured.

And not because I arrived just in time for an awesome sunset after a VIP welcome from Radisson Blu Ajaccio Resort & Spa.

It’s certainly not because I had a chance to practice my French – which I actually impressed myself to speak almost in totality without reverting to English.

It has nothing to do with the unexpected tour I received, which allowed me to see the capital city of Ajaccio (pronounced ah-shahxx-ee-oh), the various incredible viewpoints (really no matter where you look the views are awesome), have lunch on the harbour, and even a peek at “the real Corsica” in the old-world mountain village towns, with buildings made entirely of stone (no cement).

Nor my two hours of treatments in the largest spa in Corsica (which just happened to be in my hotel) to unwind and rejuvenate.

And Corsica certainly didn’t lure me in with its  incredible gastronomy (I ate more things-”tartare” than you could imagine in 24 hours).

Nor the props I got from people when I admitted to thinking of Corsica as its own country, which many of the residents would like. Some refer to the rest of France as “zee mainland” with a hint of distaste, given that they are working hard to preserve their own language (Corsican, similar to Italian) in addition to speaking French, and have a long history that has seen it as part of Italy, France, and a short stint as an independent nation.

And I certainly mustn’t return to Corsica because of my unintentional love of “island life” – be it Hawaii, New Zealand, Grenada…and the many others I’ve spent time on.

It’s not because the cost of living is surprisingly reasonable (way better than Oslo, but not quite as good as Berlin).

No.

Well, maybe my fierce desire to return to Corsica (as in to live, for a few months) has a little bit to do with all of the above.

But it’s also something more; something I can’t quite put my finger on (hence, my desire to return).

I had no intention of falling in love with Corsica. In fact, I had very few preconceived notions of the place; only a wicked sense of fatigue after this incredibly hectic 3-week, 8-country extravaganza.

I fell in love with Corsica, much to my own surprise – which is one of my favourite kinds of travel experiences.

And now, I must.

I must return….to Corsica.

1 Minute Corsica

Please enjoy this beautiful (intentionally over-sappy, before you think I’ve completely lost it) minute of pure, unadulterated, Corsica.

Click here to view on YouTube.

Want to learn about the other places I visited on this 8-country, 3-week extravaganza of a trip? Click here.

This post Love in Corsica appeared first on The Professional Hobo. Please click through to read it in full!

No. It had to do with the fact that I love to play the board game called Carcassonne. If the game was that good, there had to be a reason why they named it Carcassonne, right? Surely, Carcassonne was cool.

Lucky for me, it was.

This article was originally published in 2010. It has since been updated for accuracy of links and formatting.

I’ve been to a few walled cities in Spain (namely Toledo and Segovia), and I love their charm and historical significance. Nowhere in North America would we see places with such beautiful old dwellings – that are still lived in and used no less. Most of Europe holds hundreds of years of history in commonplace sights and buildings, but walled cities (for me) take it to a new level.

Carcassonne in particular looks like a giant castle (with 53 towers and fortified double walls) perched atop a hill, surrounded by French vineyards. Just the drive in is stunning.

Although the last stages of fortification happened in the 1200’s, Carcassonne took its initial hold around 100 BC. (BC!) It has fallen under numerous rulers and regimes since then, and by the 1800’s it was all but forgotten and had fallen into quite some disrepair. In fact, it was the public uproar in response to a proposal to demolish the city in the mid 1800’s that actually helped transform Carcassonne into the place it is today (and quite inadvertently brought the game into existence a mere thousand or so years later).

So instead of being demolished and forever forgotten, it was restored and preserved as the historical monument that it is.

Besides the board game (did I say I love the game yet? Well, I do), Carcassonne is known to be a major filming site for Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves, and has wended its way into numerous works of literature and poetry.

Because I made only a short day-trip to Carcassonne, I didn’t have a chance to see it at night, which is apparently quite spectacular. June through August is also a hopping time, with active festivals and over 100 shows (almost 75 of which are free to attend).

So if I had it all to do over again, I might have tried to see a show and stay overnight. But with so much to see in Europe, I can’t possibly conquer it all. Instead, I am thankful for the time I had to wander this beautiful old city and soak in the ambience, and I’ll remember the trip every time I sit down to play the game!

This post Carcassonne: More Than Just a Game appeared first on The Professional Hobo. Please click through to read it in full!

“Yup. I’m sure it’s nice. I’ll take your word for it,” muttered Mum between clenched teeth, eyes tightly closed while squeezing the door handle.

As we navigated yet another switchback up the winding cliffs above Toulon, the passenger seat where Mum was sitting once again faced the hillside. “Okay, Mum. You can open your eyes now,” I said with a bemused smile. She tentatively opened her eyes, one at a time, and breathed out audibly.

I can’t blame her. If I were scared of heights, I might not have fared much better myself. If the impressively winding roads around the south of France weren’t enough, the incredibly narrow width somehow meant to accommodate cars going both ways made the ride harrowing for anybody accustomed to North America’s wide avenues. Add to that the fact that one side of the road entailed a sheer drop with no hope of survival, and Mum’s fear of heights was in high gear.

But the views of the seaside towns in the south of France prevented me from having any such difficulties.

This post was originally published in 2010. It has since been updated for accuracy of links and content. 

Our Intro to the South of France

After exploring Paris for five days with our family friend, we took the high-speed train to the south of France to stay with her and her husband at their house in Sanary-Sur-Mer. The architecture and colours reminded me very much of northern Spain, which made sense as we were pretty close. But something about the flavour of the place made it irrefutably – and charmingly – French.

To show off their beautiful corner of the world, our friends and hosts took us on long drives up and down the coast, exploring tiny towns, old castle ruins and churches, and even the top of the highest cliff in France.

As you can imagine, Mum stayed close to the car while we ventured towards the edge to soak in the view and take pictures. “Don’t go too far!” she yelled from her safe vantage point, fearful that a rogue gust of wind might sweep us off the cliff. And although on this hot sunny day we had a better chance of getting sunburned than windswept, when a mistral (wind storm) kicks up, it’s actually possible and the roads close because of it.

Southern France Market Culture

On much lower terra firma, a highlight for me was the market. During the summer, there is a small farmers market perched on the wharf in the morning (and by “small”, I mean relatively huge with fresh fish, cheese, fruit, vegetables, olives, baked goods, and more), and an artisan’s market every night from 8pm.

And every Wednesday morning, Sanary-Sur-Mer sees the mother of all markets, with everything from fresh food to clothes to local wines to crepes to crafts on display. We had the even better fortune to be attending the Wednesday market on Bastille Day, with nothing but sunshine and thousands of people to mingle with.

The daily farmers markets are a way of life for the locals, who tend to shop for their meals each day, rather than doing a large grocery run once a week or so (as is typically done in North America). I don’t know how many times I spotted people walking the streets just before mealtime with a couple of baguettes under their arm – both baked and bought (and subsequently consumed) as fresh as it gets. And to buy all the day’s foods fresh (and often locally grown) from the market is very civilized indeed.

‘Gourmet’ – to a T

Our French friends were no exception to the baguette-carrying masses, as every morning we awoke to fresh pastries and saw that at least two baguettes were sitting on the sideboard. They were to be the mainstay of our lunches and dinners, but far from the main attraction.

Lunch every day featured an impressive spread of cold cuts, pates, chesses, spreads, and salads, followed by fresh fruit.

Dinner was a multi-course event that required some degree of patience and pacing, otherwise you would eat too much (as happened regularly, to varying degrees). The first course started with pastis (an anise-based liqueur that you water down and enjoy over ice – very addictive) and at least half a dozen different homemade spreads, olives, and dips (served with crackers and bread of course). Utmost restraint was required for this course; to sample everything once would have been more than enough – but at the same time was never enough.

Next came a variety of main dishes (sometimes served at once, sometimes in waves), prepared and served immaculately, along with a perfectly matched wine.

Following dinner came the cheese platter (with another perfectly paired wine), featuring at least five different kinds of cheese. The cheese varied from cow’s milk, to goat’s milk, to ewe’s milk (a delightfully mild cheese), and fresh to aged and beyond. Oh yes, and of course – more bread to go around.

And we couldn’t possibly roll away from the table without having a delectable dessert and accompanying sweet wine or champagne. Most of the desserts were homemade, save for the day we went to a Patisserie and bought just about every mini cake they had on display and gorged ourselves on chocolate mousse, raspberry tarts, cheesecakes, and a variety of individually-sized sweets.

This gastronomical feast took place over a few hours, and became a highlight of each day, not soon to be forgotten.

Bastille Day Celebrations

Besides the swelled crowds at the market in the morning, we saw no real indication that it was Bastille Day. So that evening, we headed back to the wharf and took our place among the hundreds of gatherers to watch the fireworks.

The 20-minute display of fireworks set on this relatively small cove was impressive, and after the show was done, people immediately and relatively unceremoniously dispersed. Although many stayed on the waterfront to enjoy the market, buskers, and a glass of wine on a patio, many more simply made their way home. This area of the south of France (and I might surmise France in general) is not home to gregarious flag-wavers; patriotic they may be, but overbearing they are not.

We stuck around for a short while to allow the crowds to thin out and to check out other distant fireworks displays in neighbouring towns and bays along the seaside. Then we headed home to enjoy a homemade dessert in celebration of the incredible day – and our glorious journey through southern France.

This post Winding our Way Through the South of France appeared first on The Professional Hobo. Please click through to read it in full!

This post was originally published in 2010. It has since been updated for accuracy of links and content. 

See also: Best Walking Tours in Paris, written by my friend and travel colleague Nomadic Matt.

Visiting with family.

My family doesn’t live in Paris however; instead, my Mum and her partner flew to Paris from Canada when they discovered that I’d be in Europe for the summer! It was a thrill to see them (since it had been a year since our last reunion), and even more so to travel with them.

Visiting with friends.

We have family friends who moved (back) to France from Toronto a number of years ago and had been yearning for us to visit them. They have an apartment in Paris and a house in the south of France, so not only did we have knowledgeable “local” guides for our travels through France, but we also had a place to stay and some great companionship. And as I’ve said before, I prefer to choose my destinations based on where I have friends, because I find the experience to be more culturally (and emotionally) satisfying.

Lunch and a stroll on the Champs Élysées.

Even though the “Metro” subway system is quite sophisticated, Paris is best seen on foot. You can cover a lot of ground quite easily, and it’s a great way to soak up the culture (and a little bit of the rampant sunshine and heat we had during our visit). And the Champs Élysées is a great place to start.

The museums and art galleries.

I’m not much of a museum person. There. I said it. Please don’t hate me for it. But since I was with family, my personal style of travel (which involves heavy walking/hiking until I’m lost on city side streets or nature trails) needed an adjustment. Instead, we did more of the “touristy” Paris highlights, and I was surprised at how much I got out of the experience.

The Louvre was huge and served to impress me with so many of the world’s most famous works of art – both two and three-dimensional. **begin rant** (And yes, I saw the Mona Lisa. Yes, it was small – but not as small as I thought it would be. What bothered me were the teeming masses of people taking pictures of it – and everything else in the museum, despite explicit requests to the contrary – and preventing people from simply enjoying it. Do you think your crappy photo will come out better than the millions of prints out there you can buy for a few bucks? C’mon, folks). **end rant**

I was delighted at how much I enjoyed the Musée D’Orsay as well, which featured so much beautiful Impressionist and Post-Impressionist artwork. I got lost in the visions created by Monet, Renoir, Van Gogh, and Cézanne. Having seen so many of these images as prints, I felt a surge of pride and privilege in seeing the originals.

Dinner at a Michelin-rated Restaurant

For our first night in Paris, our friend took us to a local restaurant that rates very high in the Michelin guide. Yes, Michelin are the tire people, but they also provide restaurant and hotel reviews in major cities around the world, and in Europe are the most known resource for the best places to eat and sleep. And I can now attest to the fact that if a restaurant rates high in the Michelin guide, there’s a good reason why. We ate a meal to die for with white-gloved service and many a merci beaucoup from us.

Boat Tour

Just about every trip I take with my family involves a boat trip of sorts. In New York city, it was a river tour. In Cape Cod, it was whale watching. In Muskoka, it was The Segwun. And in Paris, it was the Seine.

As with most water-based tours we’ve taken, this was not a disappointment. We chose a night ride and enjoyed dramatic lighting revealing many of Paris’s sights to behold, which of course, included the Eiffel Tower in all its lit-up glory. Every hour on the hour, the Eiffel Tower elicited many an “ooh” and “ah” as it lit up with sparkles no less.

Pain au Chocolat

I love food. And I love sampling local food. While volunteering in Spain, I developed a minor addiction to the chocolate croissants served at breakfast, known in France as pain au chocolat.

So of course, on arrival in France, I had to sample the “real deal”…many times over. A favourite breakfast routine for our entourage quickly became an exercise in sending me out to find a local patisserie or boulangerie and return with a sampler of croissants, pain au chocolat, and just about any other French delicacy that could be remotely justified as breakfast.

Unfortunately however, starting my delightful gastronomical adventures in New Zealand at Mana Retreat, continuing them with three-course meals in Spain, and further prolonging the ecstasy in France, I’ve gained a few pounds and my pants almost don’t fit. Future travels will involve a little more moderation in my enthusiastic sampling of local foods!

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