The GR20 route that more or less crosses the Mediterranean island of Corsica is apparently the toughest long-distance hike in Europe, but you wouldn't know it from Brian Bouldrey's diverting account of his attempt. While he doesn't make it seem like a walk in the park, he makes it seem like a person in decent shape could wander along at leisure. He doesn't exactly advocate this, but admits that he himself has often "happened upon" some of his toughest extreme trail hikes, like the one in the Dolomites that he more accurately translates as "the Way of the Rusty Ladders Precariously Nailed into Sheer Cliff Walls Half a Century Ago and in Great Need of Repair." The GR20 also has its share of affixed ladders, but the guide book recommends a snorkel and a compass as neccessities (which he ignores) so Bouldrey doesn't worry too much about the mention of ladders. Until he is chased down the ladders by "extreme sport" types. Oh, and a friendly labrador. Oh yes, and the perverse guy going South to North instead of the usual route. In fact, it's quite crowded on the trail, inversely related to the difficulty of the particular passage.Like the Appalachian Trail in the States, you can leave parts of the GR20, and occasionally Bouldrey can hear traffic from the roads, but having experienced Corsican roads (and, more specifically, Corsican drivers), I'm sure it's safer on the trail-- sheer cliff laddered walks and wild pigs be damned. But the proximity to the occasional road and the appeal of the wild scenery brings all sorts of people to the hike.
The "types" Bouldrey meets, or his descriptions of them, make up a lot of this book. He says trails offer all sorts of Dickensian characters. There are, of course, the extreme sport guys who seemingly can't function with shirts on and leave each campsite before daybreak, eschewing fortifying coffee in favor of coffee-flavored goo sucked out of a packet. There are the teen girls who are in waaaaayyyy over there heads. The day-trippers, joyfully under-equipped, and sliding down scree in an effortless way. The foreigners (though not many Americans), very few Corsicans hike themselves, though Bouldrey meets them running the gites along the way, the chatters, the taciturn, the bickering couples. I suppose it's like any travel destination--just more physical work.
The hike through Corsica is merely a vehicle for Bouldrey to talk about why he walks and some of this was interesting and some of it wasn't. I think he went on a bit too much about his past and his relationships, but when he stays in the present, it's quite entertaining. He has amusing repartee with his German walking partner and he makes fun of her, himself, and various other events or fellow-hikers, but never in a mean-spirited way. Mostly, it's about himself, so he talks, for instance of failing to live up to most hikers/writers who claim to do their best thinking while walking. He mentions Rousseau, Rimbaud, Kierkegaard as examples. Bouldrey is more of the obssessive bad thought walker or, if he's lucky, he merely thinks inane thoughts, like "Where is a water source?/God I'm thirsty./ Where is a water source?/That guy has one of those high-tech canteens./ Did I mention I was thirsty?/...Why does that Belgian need two walking stick and why is he making all that clicking noise with them?/Why that annoying clicking?/The clicking!/ That damnable clicking!/ Now I must kill somebody!" If he's not lucky, he's stuck singing "I know an Old Lady that Swallowed a Fly" ad nauseum. In fact, this song becomes short hand throughout the book for bad hiking moments.
My father-in-law, who is planning his first trip to Corsica this May (to visit my relatives) was disappointed that Honorable Bandit didn't give him enough sense of the culture, but I thought there was quite a bit. You get the landscape, of course, which is so amazing that it is hard to describe. As one of his friends remarked on a photo Bouldrey showed later, "This looks like the place where you made an appointment to see the Devil." That sort of sums it up on some days. Bouldrey also remarks on the chronic Independence movement in Corsica. He attempts to explain his love of Polyphonie, the peculiar Corsican musical style, and of course, the food and the beer! My mouth watered from the mention of brocciu cheese and lonzu smoked ham. Even Pietra beer gave me a case of nostalgia, and I'm not much of a beer person. He does get some of the French wrong which always bugs me in books, though I don't blame the authors. I just wonder what editors are for if they can't get languages right.
I'm sure I'll never walk the GR20, though perhaps I'll be a day-tripper someday. Bouldrey gave me that much confidence, at least. I'll be sure to wear the right shoes--the debate is open in this book--, bring my snorkel, and be prepared to micro-analyze just why that old lady swallowed so many animals.
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