Is there not some unashamedly selfish appeal in a private stretch of would-be French coastline all to yourself?
A lot of the Corsican coastline is hugged by masses of jet black rock that makes you question all those burning geological questions that you don't particularly know anything about. For the most part, they're surrounded by knee-deep, crystal-clear water and white sand for a few minutes worth of wading before the floor drops off. The cove that forms before the drop, then, is gloriously silent, save for those tiny fish that generously come and nibble your feet, and the odd black bee (more or less on the hour) in search of brightly coloured floral sweets - most in search of idyllic Corsican seaside won't give rock exploration a moment's thought.
Alex and I shot these over the course of our four days in and around Solenzara (so you'll have to excuse the inconsistent light). We explored what I would guess to be fifteen kilometres of seaside, and always found ourselves drawn to the humanless, rocky outcrops behind headlands or down overgrown stairs - granted, we are the hiking type. But is there not some unashamedly selfish appeal in a private stretch of would-be French coastline all to yourself? The water is just as shockingly turquoise as the family beach three kilometres down, the sun is still relentless, Charles Dickens reads just as well and the picnic lunch you packed still tastes freaking awesome.
As I mentioned last week, though, I'm not one for your usual hiking attire (too many extra bits and pieces to pack). So, when the going got tough in espadrilles and floor length jersey, I just took to the water fully clothed.
And there's something liberating about that.
Bring on the week, hombres!