MOTORHOME TRAVELLERS' DIARY FOR SEPTEMBER 1998

CORSICA, ITALY, SWITZERLAND, GERMANY

Barry and Margaret Williamson

01 SEPTEMBER 1998 F CAMPING LE SOLEIL, TATTONE, VIVARIO

In which we write and prepare for a cycle tour

A third month opening at the same campsite - a record only equalled during Greek winters at Ionion Beach! Our electronic organiser schedule for today says 'Dick and Audrey at the Bois de Boulogne Campground in Paris', and they've been to the Greek Islands and back to England since we parted in Sicily! But the weather (and much else) is better here, warming up again after the 'cold' spell. Jean and Richard have fled to the coast, where it will almost certainly be too hot!

A working day, currying the remains of the poulet rôti, completing the August diary and packing and preparing the bicycles for a short tour. Watched 'Far from the Madding Crowd' video, part 1, with pleasure.

A fine day and away at 9.30 am on the bicycles with overnight panniers, food and Camping Gaz stove. The first easy climb was 1198 ft to the Col de Vizzavona (1163 m/3815 ft high) on the main Ajaccio road, then we dropped steeply down to Bocognano where we refilled our water bottles at the enormous public fountain. We soon left the main road to join the D27, empty of traffic as it becomes the rough track on which Alf had turned back on 11 August. Making coffee at the roadside we talked to a young English couple walking by to see the Wedding Veil Cascade. We met no-one else but friendly pigs as the surface deteriorated and we had to walk much of the final uphill mile or so before rejoining the barely hardtopped road over the highest pass of the day, the Col de Scalella (1193 m/3914 ft) having climbed another 1900 ft in the noon heat. We enjoyed the descent to Bastelica where we found water, made tea and ate our lunch in a little dusty square.

We rode on to Cauro, over a series of lower passes - the Cols de Menta, de Cricheto, de Marcuccio, de St Alberto, climbing a total of 330 ft or so - the heat increasing as we descended. A bar in Cauro kindly provided a huge jug of iced water free of charge, then we turned south along the busier N196 - the main road between Ajaccio and Propriano, climbing another 1237 ft past the St George mineral water plant to the Col de St George (747 m/2450 ft). Grateful for the spring at the top we again drank freely and cooled hands and faces, joined by several passing lorry drivers and motorists. Before Grosseto we turned off east onto a quieter road for the village of St Marie Sicche, where we sat on the school steps eating gingerbread and talking to the gnarled caretaker, who said the pupils return tomorrow. There was a rather grand hotel, we had ridden 45 miles and it was the last before Zicavo which lay 17 miles further over another 2 passes. It was 6 pm and it would be dark by 8 - should we stay or ride on? We chose to continue in the cool of the evening, leaving an easier day for tomorrow.

Riding on through wonderful unspoilt inland villages with massive granite churches, the old lads (Corsica is replete with retired returnees) lifted their eyes from obscure board games to greet us as we passed. Than came the emptiness of the Col de Granaccia (865 m/2838 ft), causing another 1180 ft to be climbed. Once over the pass, we took a final break in the village bar of Bains de Guitera (delicious orange juice) then, as dusk fell, we made the last ascent (last legs?) up to Zicavo, its lights hovering like a mirage above the gorge in which we rode. Bats flittered and brushed our legs as we climbed another 623 ft to the Hotel du Tourisme, arriving at 8.45 pm by moonlight. We'd climbed 6468 ft and cycled exactly 100 km in 8 hours riding time. They were delighted to welcome us again after last week's visit on Alf to climb Mount Incudine! Dinner was being served and suddenly there was comfort, light, warmth, food, people. We coped with the sudden transition over a meal of salad, canneloni stuffed with brocciu (Corsican soft cheese from ewe's milk), courgettes and tomatoes stuffed with meat, and fresh pears. No problem sleeping!

Dinner, bed and breakfast: £42.20.

After a light breakfast we were on the road before 9 am, keen to make the most of the morning shade as we climbed the 14 miles and 1815 ft to the Col de Verde (1289 m/4230 ft) constantly passing and being passed by the baker's van on his morning round of the hillside hamlets. We stopped by a ruined stone house and ancient bridge just before the top to make coffee, then up, over and down to Ghisoni, at the foot of the last, longest and highest pass of the tour, our old friend the Col de Sorba. We stopped at the first spring to make tea and eat a lunch of luncheon meat (which Paul Theroux says the once-cannibal South Sea Islanders love because it is so close in taste and texture to human flesh), watched by a crew of firemen who had taken over the picnic table opposite whilst they waited for the next feu. Then we climbed the rest of the 2115 ft to the familiar summit at 1311 m/4300 ft. We were home soon after 3 pm, after riding 38 miles and climbing 3930 ft in 5 hours.

In 2 days we'd covered 100 miles and climbed 3150 m or 10500 ft. Exhausting calculations!

Margaret composed an entry for the BBC World Service bike competition ('What my bike means to me' in up to 100 words - prize, of course, a bike!) and wrote for details of the 'Dog Dazer' dog deterrent mentioned in a walking book. After lunch M took these to post in Vivario while Barry was reading and making (yet more) plans.

We awoke to rain and strong winds, a contrast with the recent calm weather. It was a good day for indoor cleaning and maintenance, diary writing and reading. Barry went into Vivario in search of instant coffee, as the own-brand stuff from Casino supermarket proves to be undrinkable (the only sort they sell). He managed to find a minute jar of Nescafe and we're sadly missing the catering size tins of 'Nes' we got in Greece!

The campsite is almost empty, the younger members of Pierre's family who were working here have gone back to college and we may have seen our last Czech bus. The few campers now are from Belgium, Luxembourg and Holland.

A fine morning for a final attempt on Monte d'Oro. Leaving Alf at the Monte d'Oro hotel car park at Vizzavona again, we set off at 9 am along the familiar route, past the Cascades des Anglais, following the GR20 to the ridge. There were still a few long-distance hikers out, and we spoke to Italians, Belgians, Germans and French, but their numbers are dwindling. The autumn flowers are peeping out from under the rocks and tree-roots, especially large drifts of pale purple wild cyclamen, and mushrooms have sprouted in the moister undergrowth.

We made the 7,000 ft ridge in a record time of under 3 hours and ate our lunch resplendent in our eagle's nest - an old walled sheepfold on the windy crest with a view of the Onda refuge far below. Dropping back down to the path, we branched off along the yellow-splodged way for Monte d'Oro, as far as the foot of the Bocca di Porco (if this doesn't mean 'Pig', it ought to!) - the rocky gully we'd reached a week ago on our last attempt. As we hesitated, surveying the cloud level and the difficulty of the climb (this time we'd brought a rope), a young couple from Edinburgh on a 2-week walking holiday appeared. We pointed out the route and they overtook us to set off more nimbly on the ascent. We climbed part of the way on loose rocks with a vertiginous drop, then decided we prefer cycling!

As we deliberated, the young Scots came back down - they'd reached the ridge above but the path to the final ascent was too indistinct to find in mist and they were afraid of being stranded at the top (2389 m/7837 ft and still an hour away) if the clouds came down further. Relieved of the decision to continue, we turned back, satisfied to have found our limit. In the event, the only casualty was in a place where all climbers eventually suffer damage - a tear in the seat of Barry's shorts.

Coming down (as hard as going up on such a rough steep track), Barry noticed a footpath marked by cairns which deviated from the GR20 shortly before the Cascades. Leaving the stream below, It climbed up through the forest and emerged at the ruined fort above the Col de Vizzavona car park, providing a strenuous short cut, an alternative we'd only seen on our 8th walk past it! We reached Alf just after 5 pm, home by 5.30: tea, showers, food, 'Far from the Madding Crowd' Pt 2.

Barry wrote to Rod and Maggy Shaw with a few photos we'd taken of them, and prepared Rosie for the shock of the move tomorrow (subject to contract). After 10 weeks here, she may have other ideas! Margaret wrote to Alan and also rang mum, requesting one further delivery of post to Bastia. There was a phone message from Glen and Steve Swatman, at their daughter's in the UK before going to winter in Morocco then on to the States at the end of next summer. We seem fated to meet again. We also rang Sally Ferries in Ramsgate, as MMM reported them back in business, and were quoted a fare of £50 to take us all from Ostend. We gave Pierre, our patron, a few items we wished to lose and he reciprocated with some fresh peaches and tomatoes. We like the barter system, what would he take in lieu of the rent we now owe?! For further self-sufficiency we filled all our bottles with mineral water at the spring and spent an hour gathering blackberries down the lane. Together with a bag of apples from Pierre's orchard, they'll make a batch of jam (but not until we reach Bastia where we can refill the LPG tank).

Barry wrote to Bernard and Sandra Brett of the Unimog, exactly a year after we'd met them in Istanbul, en route to Calcutta. Then, after 72 days at Tattone, we bade farewell to the Marietti family who gave us a pen and a bottle of liqueur in return for a fat bundle of 200 FF notes. After being a spectator for so long, Rosie was keen to show that she could travel too, started first time, manoeuvred out of the camp site and past the railway station like a Czech bus and took us through Vivario during the lunch-time siesta. The BBC reported striking French lorry drivers blocking roads on the continent today, but not here - although a single lorry often brings traffic to a halt in Vivario!

We had lunch in the layby above Venaco, then stopped in Corte, leaving Rosie at a BP garage on the road out and cycling back into the tight little town. Leaving a load of dhobi at the now-familiar launderette, we collected photograph reprints, posted letters (to Alan and Rod) and raided the bank during the 40-min wash. The BP garage had a brand new LPG tank and pump but it wasn't yet operational.

We stopped to brew up and shop at the Super-U in Ponte Leccia, where both car park and store are bigger and better than Corte's Casino, and finally, as the long mountain shadows lengthened, turned up the Asco Gorge road. There are 3 campsites after the turning for Moltifao village which we'd already checked, the Tizarella being the best. Strangely, though, water is said to be a problem here and a strident Madame would not allow us to top up Rosie's tank, so we have to fill containers at a tap instead, using just the same amount (plus a bit more down the sink when she isn't looking, which isn't often).After a full day we were pleased to settle in, enjoy the rest of yesterday's sweet & sour pork, patch B's shorts and watch 'Far from the Madding Crowd' Pt 3.

44 miles. £6.70 inc elec.

A still, hot, sunny day, the weather settled again into 80º days and 70º evenings, at this lower altitude (about 275 m/900 ft). We rode the beautiful gorge road, only built in 1937, climbing gently at first for 6 miles to Asco village where we had a break by the drinking fountain opposite a massive 4-storey school building, now mainly shuttered up but part-used as post office and Mairie. It was a sign of the decline in the population of the mountain villages, along with the overgrown terracing on the sides of the valley. The forest looked sparse along the Asco valley where the Genoese once stripped the pines to make pitch for their fleets.

The road up to Haut Asco, an extension built by the Foreign Legion in 1968, became steeper and narrower for the final 10 miles, passing the Mone Cinto campsite about 3 miles from the top. We reached the ramshackle ski-lifts, GR20 refuge/provisions store, and incongruously pretentious hotel Le Chalet, after 3 hours, at 1420 m/4660 ft (a climb of 1140 m/3740 ft). There were a few GR20-ers staggering over the horizon, a couple of scrambler motorbikes trying to ride up the ski run, and some motorists on scenic drives. The sky was clear and sunny, a good day for the high peaks. After a drink, the descent took just one splendid hour, pausing only to help a French lad who was walking his bike down because he had no brakes (he said it had been no problem on the way up!). Barry fixed his rear brake cable (much of the front brake was missing) and we left him to proceed doucement.

Back for a late lunch, then out on Alf to check Camping 'Griggione' near the America Garage, wanting a site a little nearer our remaining 2 goals - to cycle Corsica's highest Col (de Vergio) and climb its highest mountain (Monte Cinto) from the south side (slightly easier than the north face, from Haute Asco). But 'Griggione' still had gipsies in residence, as it had on 5 August, so we'll look further afield tomorrow. On the way back we shopped and photocopied August's diary in Ponte Leccia.

Directly opposite the Tizzarella campsite is a Tortoise Village, run by the Parc Naturel and open for 3 guided tours a day. Intrigued, Margaret went across after breakfast and had an individual 15-min tour. In France, Hermann's Tortoises are found only in the Massif des Maures (Var, S France) and in Corsica, but numbers are dwindling, due largely to fires in the maquis, along with cars, urban development or farming on their nesting sites. The Village des Tortues keeps a breeding group and releases the young into their natural environment in the lower altitudes of the Parc Naturel. It was a good time to visit, as the eggs, laid in May, hatch in early September and the Nursery Enclosure had some 2-week-old babies, perfect miniature tortoises whose shells were still soft. In the Juvenile Enclosure, some 2-year-olds were not much bigger, growing very slowly. They take 10 years to reach maturity and can live up to 100 years. Those kept in the village for breeding were tame, liked to be rubbed under the chin and given tomatoes, but the young to be released into the wild are not handled. Courting behaviour includes the male following behind the female, nipping her hind legs and knocking on her shell until she stops! All very interesting.

That done, we went on Alf to check the access to Monte Cinto's south face. After 12 miles, south along the main road for Corte, then right at Francardo along the D94, following the Golo River, we passed Camping Campita (not in any of our books) and checked it out. A large peaceful site in oakwoods by the river, it was run by a blind man who was very welcoming, and we promised to arrive tomorrow.

At Pont de Castirla, the entrance to the Scala de Santa Regina gorge, we joined the route from Corte which we'd ridden on Alf's tour from Ghisonaccia back in May. 10 miles of narrow road twisting above the Golo to Calacuccia, once only accessible by the tortuous mule track, the Scala, which we occasionally glimpsed above or below us.

Here we turned up the minor road to the hamlet of Lozzi, where there are 2 rough campsites for hikers, and a very rough steep track continued for 4 miles climbing the south flank of Monte Cinto. Alf worked hard and we paused to let him cool down while we drank our coffee, B removing the windscreen, the better to see the ruts and potholes. After half an hour the path ended at a small cafe (closed) with signs pointing ½ hour to the Refuge, 3½ to the summit. We talked in German to an Italian couple from Bolzano who had just returned from the top after 6½ hrs return, so we decided the expedition would be possible in a day from Campita (weather permitting). Back at Tizzarella we made ready to move early tomorrow and watched the final part of 'Far from the Madding Crowd', very well done.

Leaving Tizzarella at 8.30 am, an hour later we were installed at Campita, drinking coffee and saddling up to ride 28 miles to Corsica's highest Col. It was cloudy and cooler, but never quite managed to rain. Away by 10 am, we cycled the route taken on Alf yesterday as far as Calacuccia, where we stopped to post Sandra and Bernard Unimog's letter and to buy some quiches and pies for lunch. 6 miles further on (at about 1000 m/3300 ft) we sat by a deserted house and a fountain to enjoy them and were soon surrounded by about 8 young pigs emerging from the chestnut forests. We shooed them off when they began to take an interest in our tyres, but 2 older ones appeared from inside the old house and began to cross the road just as 2 Czech cyclists came fast downhill round the bend. The first cyclist found a way between the pigs but the second one hit a pig firmly in the middle and was thrown into the road. He lay still for a while and then began groaning for several minutes, as the other Czech cyclists in the group arrived on the scene and tended him. We stood in the road each side of the accident to warn the small amount of traffic coming past, after despatching the first vehicle to ring for an ambulance. Some German motorbikers tried their mobile phone, but could get no signal in these mountains. The man eventually recovered enough to sit up and be moved to the roadside but he was seriously hurt. The Czech cyclists, obviously well-prepared, expertly bandaged his head, legs and arms. The pigs flocked round and were even licking up the blood in the road, a gruesome sight. We've lost all sympathy with them and shan't feel guilty at eating them any more. We waited until the ambulance arrived from Calacuccia and saw him taken care of before continuing, somewhat sobered, for another 10 miles to the top of the Col - the highest road pass on the island at 1478 m/4845 ft but certainly not the hardest, a well graded route all the way. We didn't linger on the windy pass, as the cafe only offered cold drinks and pigs were crowding round a bus, being fed crusts by members of the Ajaccio WI. We donned our helmets and turned for the descent, stopping after a mile at the ski station hotel for a warming cup of coffee. We freewheeled cautiously past the scene of the Czech's fall, with not a pig in sight, comforting ourselves that we probably have better brakes and more skill - certainly, they came too fast round a blind corner. After 12 miles of freewheeling and another 3 miles of easy pedalling we needed another coffee in Calacuccia to warm up - the weather has changed abruptly and we even had to wear socks. We were home before 5 pm, the ride having taken 3 hr 45 mins up and 1½ hrs back (in-the-saddle time), climbing about 4000 ft, by far our longest and highest unbroken climb. Quite a day.

12 miles. £9.00 inc elec.

A relaxing day, getting the diary up to date, sorting photos and writing a letter to mum to send with the August diary. Strong winds gusted across the campsite and we hoped they'd be gone tomorrow, for an attempt on Monte Cinto.

The 2 small tents which share the woods with us were both in distress by lunchtime (their occupants out cycling and climbing), so Barry repegged them, disturbing a long black snake in the undergrowth - the Rough Guide does assure us there's nothing poisonous in Corsica. Alf blew over and broke his windscreen.

A brief sortie into Francardo village to phone the Swatman's at their daughter's in Yorkshire but they'd moved on, though still in the UK.

Yesterday the Kenneth Starr report on the Bill Clinton affair hit the Internet (an incredible move), and the name Monica Lewinsky is dominating all the news, even the good old BBC World Service. At least we're escaping the tabloid and TV coverage. Instead we watched the first part of a video from mum 'Seduced by Madness', a strange-but-true story of a murder which we found disturbing.

We'd packed up for a day's hike up Monte Cinto, French corned beef sandwiches at the ready, but had to abandon the idea hearing rain through the night and morning, together with continuing squally winds. Instead we sorted out the stuff which has accumulated in the overcab Luton, cleaning the windows and clearing the cobwebs, and managed to reduce (or, at least, redistribute) the bulk and weight of boxes of papers, books and food. Margaret got out the German dictionary and wrote to Hertha and John in Austria, a letter to be sent with some photos of Sicily, to which they gave us such a splendid introduction.

The patron told us the rain had fallen as the first new snow on Monte Cinto yesterday and today it's still very windy. We decided to leave that climb for another visit and move on to Bastia, hoping the weather would improve enough to cycle round the northern tip, Cap Corse. Starting Rosie is no longer startling her and so we returned to the east coast, along the Golo valley, to join the dual carriageway, increasingly busy as we approached Bastia. The filling station with LPG was on the right, shortly before the Furiani roundabout 3 miles south of the city, and we were glad to fill the tank (32 litres), the first we'd found since Sardinia. Then a right turn at the roundabout, across the railway, and a couple of miles south along the strip of land separating the Biguglia lagoon from the sea, to a huge overpriced commercial campsite. But as the only one suitable for Bastia, we installed Rosie under the tall pine trees, away from the beach where sand and spray were blowing.

After lunch we returned on Alf to the Super-U Hypermarket we'd passed on the main road and restocked with food, film and A4 paper. We continued into Bastia to check the route to the Moby ferry terminal, which was straightforward thanks to a tunnel under the old town, leading to the port. Also posted a letter to mum, with the August diary and photos, and collected one from her with a phone bill.

Back at the campsite, we planned and packed for a 2-day Cap Corsican cycle ride.

39 miles. £10.10 inc elec.

A strong wind still blew from the west, so we rode up the east side of the promontory in the lee of the mountains, though still buffeted and slowed by the gusts at times. The Cape is 25 miles long by 10 wide but the road round it is considerably longer as it twists and turns. Leaving the campsite at 9 am, we used the cycle path along the shore of the Etang de Biguglia, until it usefully ended abruptly as soon as it crossed the railway and joined the chaotic main road into Bastia. (Less intrepid cyclists presumably get the train!) The tunnel to the port forbade pedestrians and cyclists, but as the alternative was a steep climb behind the Citadel in city traffic we rode through it anyway - it was well lit, the main hazard being suffocation from the exhaust fumes. We paused in the town centre for another visit to the post with a letter and photos for Hertha and John (still no mail from Alan) and to a bank, then north along the Route de la Corniche. It was built up for the first few miles, with villas, hotels and restaurants, and we had a break to make coffee on the pebbly beach at Pietranera.

The sea on our right had white horses, the mountains on our left had white clouds, the wind blew, but the sky stayed blue and the views were tremendous with the islands of Elba and Monte Cristo clearly visible. Bastia's development soon gave way to little fishing villages in sandy coves and at Miomo we passed the first of many Genoese look-out towers dotted round the promontory (to keep watch for and take refuge from Saracen pirates), mostly ruined but some restored and even turned into houses. We paused again at Erbalunga to explore the tiny harbour and Genoese tower, 'a port since the time of the Phoenicians' exporting wine and olive oil, but pretty quiet now and the only Pirate was a seafood restaurant. The road carried a few tourist cars and coaches, circling the Cape in a day, but the landscape became emptier. A huge statue marked the Convent of Santa Catalina, with 12thC church on a hillside above but we rode on seeking a place for lunch. We found it in Macinaggio, a port since Roman times.

At the northern terminus of the road, it's the largest settlement north of Bastia with a yacht harbour and a busy restaurant or two (a coach tour was paused here). In the Pizzeria we shared a large pizza al uovo, side salad and jug of water. The windswept maquis and rocky coast, stretching beyond Macinaggio to Barcaggio at the very tip of Corsica, is a protected nature reserve with a scattering of ruined Romanesque chapels only explorable on foot along a coastal path cut by Genoese customs officials. The uninhabited offshore islands are a bird sanctuary, with boat trips in summer. But our route, D80, continued west, climbing through the hills to Rogliano on the Chemin de l'Impératrice (taken by Empress Eugenie in 1869 - caught in a storm while returning from opening the Suez Canal she took refuge in Rogliano) and over the 1000 ft Col St Nicolas.

From Ersa we took a 10-mile detour, losing our hard-won 1,000 ft down a steep potholed lane to reach Corsica's northernmost shore at Barcaggio, a tiny harbour with a dozen houses and a Genoese watchtower. Another 16thC tower and a lighthouse crowned the green offshore islet of Giraglia, Corsica's true northern extremity. The pale sand, the clear blue-green sea, a fringe of white foam round the island, wild green hills behind, all made a distinctive landscape. A mile or so west along the coast lay Tollare, an even smaller village of squat fishermen's cottages, the living rooms above the boathouses. As we made tea by the jetty a friendly old woman struggled to speak French with us, amazed that we'd ventured to such a remote place on our vélos and saying how pretty we looked with matching yellow jackets and blue eyes!!

Now the last climb of the day, as the road looped back up the valley to rejoin the D80 before going over the Col de Serra (365m/1198 ft) and turning south down the west coast. We soon forked off to drop steeply (losing our 1198 ft again) to Centuri Port, another Roman settlement, now an active lobster fishing harbour with 4 hotels, a small shop and a campsite. Pleased to find a 190 FF room, we ate the corned beef sandwiches and date & walnut cake we'd carried (originally packed for Monte Cinto and kept on ice), made plenty of tea and coffee (we carried our Camping Gaz stove), and slept well after 58 hard miles and 2200 ft of climbing in the wind.

Unwilling to pay 35 FF each for a hotel breakfast, we made our own tea, bought croissants and jam from the village shop, and set out south down the more rugged western cape by 9am. The road from Centuri Port climbed up to meet the main road at Morsiglia, where we sat in the morning sun making coffee and watching the grapes being picked on the slopes below. The wind had dropped and the sea was calmer - maybe we'll sail tomorrow!

The road on this side of the Cape was a roller-coaster, climbing to the villages set on limestone cliffs, high above the rocky inlets, then dropping down to sea level again. A few miles before Nonza the mountainside was disfigured by a large asbestos mine, closed in 1966 but still with an air of poison about it. The beach below looked dark, toxic and sludgy and we rode quickly on. Nonza itself has a famous watchtower from 1768 and a ruined fortress, perched high above the suspect grey beach, the thick white scum of surf still suggesting asbestos pollution. We enjoyed a downhill run for a few miles until the road for Bastia turned inland to the wine town of Patrimonio. We had our picnic lunch in a little park there below the 16thC church of St Martin, which stands on a hill visible from miles around. Our park was shared by U Nativu, the only limestone statue-menhir found in Corsica, ploughed up by a farmer in 4 pieces in 1964 and re-erected under an open shelter (sadly, a piece from 900 BC deserves better protection from graffiti). It had carved eyebrows, nose and chin, very like the megalithics from Filitosa, and a T-shaped breastbone.

Leaving the local Muscat unsampled, the only way now was up and over the Col de Teghime (548 m/1798 ft), after 5 miles of sharp switchbacks, climbing the base of the Cape's mountain spine, the Serra. From the top both coasts were clearly visible - a panorama of Patrimonio backed by vineyards behind us in the west, while Bastia and the Biguglia lagoon lay ahead on the east side.

Luckily a side road to Lupino (past Bastia's spectacular rubbish dump) made a short cut to the coast, avoiding the city centre and tunnel, and we had only a mile or two of dual carriageway before turning off along the spit of the lagoon.

Back by 4 pm, we had time to do some washing and later watched the rest of the 'Seduced by Madness' video.

A fine calm day for a voyage, but Barry began to suffer the cough/cold which M has finally passed on (after 2 weeks). We rang to see if a cabin was left and got a de-luxe en-suite one for 195 FF (half-price for daytime crossings, no cheaper ones left). So we packed and drove to Bastia, made lunch on the quayside and waited for the 3.30 pm Moby Lines boat to Genoa (or Genova or even Gênes). A last visit to the post office, still no mail from Alan, but an inspired phone call to Vivario Post found it waiting there! They offered to send it to Bastia, or return to sender, so back it must go. We rang mum and left a message.

The ferry crossing was fine, no reversing up ramps required, very calm, due in Italy at 10 pm and arriving an hour late. The cabin was an excellent idea: we rested, read, ate our own packed meal and had a shower, all in peace and comfort. Once landed we parked among the lorries at the port, along with 4 other motorhomes (Dutch, Swiss and Germans) and had our first night on 'The Continent' since March.

9 miles. Free night.

This was to be a long day of driving on fine sunny Italian motorways. The route from Genoa harbour to the Autostrada for Milan was well signposted and the A7 took us smoothly through tunnels and over viaducts, across the green hills of Liguria and the high plain of Piemonte, crossing the Po and the Ticino. The service stations were crowded, but there were many quieter rest places for coffee breaks. The tolls were small - 13,000 lire to the Milan ring road, 3,500 along the A8, then 2,500 for the A9 to the Swiss border near Como (a total of under £7). We filled the tank with diesel before leaving Italy, bought our Swiss road pass (still 25 Sw Fr, or 34,000 lire, or about £11 for 7 days) at the customs post, and stopped at the first services after the border to make lunch and get Swiss money.

We intended to spend a free night at Bellinzona services, as we did 2 years ago, but they were crowded and noisy, so we continued, aiming for a campsite just off the motorway at Faido. Between Biasca and Faido we noticed a huge parking area, set well back from the road, with water and toilets, signed for lorries and caravans, practically empty. So we had a quiet free night, with a wonderful view of star-lit peaks.

175 miles. Free night.

The campsite was very near, easy to find, with its own bakery (supplying local shops), set in the valley leading to the San Gottardo tunnel and adjacent to a field of lovely Alpine cows with bells. We're still in Italian-speaking Switzerland, the language changes to German through the tunnel and over the Alps.

M wrote the diary up to date and B re-fixed the front offside wheel trim which had caught on the wall of the narrow entrance while manoeuvring in. It's a good place to break a journey, clear mountain air and fine weather. We found 3 TV channels, one in each language: the German and French stations both devoted the evening to the final of 'Miss Switzerland' (unbelievably banal), while the Italians had dubbed Arnold Schwarzenegger's 'Kindergarten Cop'. So we did some reading!

6 miles. £15.90 inc elec (showers extra!)

It was a fine morning with a touch of autumn on the edge of the wind, we rode through Faido village as the church bells rang for 11 am and by 12.30 we were at the Seilbahn station at Airolo, near the entrance to the St Gotthard tunnel. Our route had climbed 490 m/1610 ft (from the campsite at 685 m/2245 ft to 1175 m/3855 ft at Airolo). The road parallelled the autostrada and the railway, following the River Ticino, climbing through small villages of wooden houses, past the incredibly steep funicular railway at Ritom. We paused to photograph the Strada Alta (the old road, now a footpath) by the entrance to a tunnel we rode through. At Airolo a huge car park for the Seilbahn and a cheese factory looked a good place to park Rosie while cycling the old St Gotthard Pass (which we've done from the other side, but not this one).

Downhill all the way home (the direction all the other cyclists out today were taking - perhaps they came up on the train), and a late lunch. Then we turned the Tattone blackberries and apples into 6 lb of jam and a crumble pudding.

1276MONDAY 21 SEPTEMBER 1998 CH CABLECAR STATION, AIROLO

In which we move to Airolo and visit a Swiss cheese factory

On a bright fine morning we drove back to the motorway, stopped at the St Gotthard services to make coffee, then turned off at Airolo (just before the tunnel) and parked on the Seilbahn car park. After lunch we cycled into Airolo village to shop and check out the route for cycling up the St Gotthard pass tomorrow. In addition to the new 10-mile tunnel, there's a new road and an old road over the col, the old being the quieter choice. This is an ancient and still important Alpine crossing, linking Germany and northern Europe to Italy and the Mediterranean.

The cheese factory nearby had a restaurant and shop, and windows to watch the cheese-making from 9-11 am. We bought 3 pieces which M liked (B prefers 'blue' cheese, not allowed in Switzerland!) We had a fine view of the railway, motorway, road passes and Airolo village from our perch on the hillside, and as darkness fell saw an unusual phenomenon - the tunnel closed at 8 pm for the night (roadworks) and the traffic took to the pass, lights climbing way out of sight.

12 miles. Free night.

We woke to find thick cloud obscuring the peaks, and the half-hourly cable car disappearing into mist. We sympathised with the hikers, walking up from the railway station to take it - yesterday we could clearly see its entire run to the mountain station way above. They had left it a day too late, and so had we - there was no point in cycling over 3000 ft up St Gotthard in mist and drizzle. We waited till noon, hoping it might lift, while M went to look at the cheese-making (a vat of grey goo being churned by a computer watched by 2 workers in white wellies and overalls).

Eventually we drove on, through the busy 10-mile tunnel, followed by countless shorter ones, towards Lucerne. Barry was keen to see the Eiger again so rather than driving straight to Basel and Germany we turned off on the N8 for Interlaken, now a motorway as far as Lake Sarnen (completed since our visit 2 years ago). As yet, there's no tunnel below the Brünig Pass, but Rosie climbed the 1002 m/3287 ft with ease, pausing in a very scenic layby for lunch. We turned into the quaint village of Bönigen, 3 miles before Interlaken, for a splendid campsite right by the Brienzer See, with a cycle track/footpath from our door along the shore into Interlaken (or Meiringen in the other direction).

Swiss German is a strange dialect which sounds rather like Dutch. And they say merci instead of Danke, greet you with Grüße, and call their small coins Rappen.

96 miles. £12.82 inc elec.

The mist had lifted by early afternoon and we cycled along the lake to Interlaken, then followed a cycle route for Grindelwald/Lauterbrunnen on minor roads, gravel tracks through woods and cow meadows, paths through villages of wooden chalets and short strenuous climbs. After 15 miles and 2 hours 5 mins riding, we arrived in the tourist centre of Grindelwald, having climbed over 1700 ft (from 565 m/1854 ft to 1085 m/3560 ft). The tourist town was overshadowed by the 13,000 ft Eiger, majestic as ever, with the Monch and the Jungfrau at its shoulder. We didn't linger among the crowds since we had an appointment with McDonalds's, a one-hour descent away in Interlaken - our first since Cagliari, Sardinia, back in May!

Refreshed, we rode back along the lake to the campsite, about 10 minutes away, and watched a video of 'Inspector Frost' called 'An Appropriate Adult', in which the acting ability of 2 Downs Syndrome teenagers was remarkable.

Again early mist cleared after noon as warm sunshine broke through. Alf took Barry for a closer look at the Eiger and to work out a new route (for Rosie to reach its foot). Margaret, a North Face Widow for the day, walked round the village, famous for its medieval wooden houses (now much restored), and sat by the lake in its cloak of autumn colours reading (Dilys Powell's 'Villa Ariadne', the fascinating story of the house Arthur Evans built at Knossos and its successive occupants).

Another fine day, in which Barry did some maintenance and exterior cleaning of Alf and Rosie, while M cleaned inside. We also did some photocopying in the village and renewed the 7-day road tax at the post office (who had no experience of the form but gladly took our 25 Sw Fr!) Reading and walking in the sunshine by the lake could become a habit, if the weather forecast were not predicting cold and rain next week.

Following the route checked out 2 days before, the dual carriageway bypassed Interlaken and took Rosie to Wilderswil. Then she had to climb up the Lutschine valley, forking left at Zweilütschinen for Grindelwald, where there is no such thing as a free night! The large inviting car parks at the Männlichen cable-car and Grund railway stations both forbade overnighting and had meters during the day, so we manoeuvred between the trees onto the nearby campsite. Expensive, but the views of the Eiger north wall on one side and the green meadows dotted with music-box-chalets on the other are truly priceless.

After lunch we cycled up the hill from the Grund to the Dorf to shop at the Co-op and collect information on trains and mountain paths. The top hike (in every sense) is the new Eiger Trail, and we planned and packed for this tomorrow.

15 miles. £15.39 inc elec.

Clad in trousers, warm socks and fleece tops, carrying waterproofs, mitts and hats, we were uncertain what weather would prevail on the Eiger Trail. It began with the 8.56 am train, climbing hard from Grund, via Brandegg and Alpiglen to Kleine Scheidegg in 30 minutes. Here we changed to the Jungfraujoch train for a 10-min ride to the Eigergletscher station (just before the train disappears into the incredible 6 km tunnel for its final 40 minutes). No-one else alighted there, the young couple sitting opposite said 'Good Luck' in amazement, the station was deserted, its buffet closed (no coffee to fortify us), the sign for the recently cut Eiger Trail pointed to a narrow bleak footpath disappearing across dark rock, and the thin crisp air was filled with wolf-like howling from the husky breeding kennels by the tracks. The train had brought us from 943 m/3093 ft to 2320 m/7614 ft, so we had a descent of more than 4500 ft!

Our first reaction to this godforsaken place was to walk straight back down to Kleine Scheidegg, where there had been signs of life! It was only 9.45, no sun had got through the overhead cloud, but it was dry with no wind. We set off, the track climbing briefly, then contoured across steep scree right across the foot of the Eiger, just below the snow line, the closest views possible of the north face short of actually climbing it. We saw nobody else walking down but (strangely) passed 2 groups hiking up into the gathering mist which we were leaving behind. The rock faces, the watercourses, the ice fields, the ever-present threat of the weather coming in, were all forbidding but as we gradually descended towards Alpiglen we had glimpses of the railway line and barns in the meadows below and of Grindelwald in the distance.

The Eiger Trail was cut 3 years ago by the pick and shovel of Grindelwald's Wanderwegmeister, leading from the Eigergletscher station to Alpiglen, with suggested times of 2 hrs down and 2 hrs 50 mins up. The last 20 mins dropped steeply, crossing streams, woods and meadows, across a footbridge and down a flight of steps, leading through the garden of the only restaurant/hotel to Alpiglen railway station, at 1616 m/5300 ft about half-way down to Grindelwald. We ate our sandwiches on the platform, watched a train pass in each direction, running every 30 mins on the single track rack railway, and decided to walk the rest of the way back to Grindelwald, after a welcome cup of coffee at the restaurant. The broad path down is used as a winter toboggan run (they come up on the train) but narrower footpaths sometimes provided steeper short cuts through the woods. The route was not difficult (a Wanderweg rather than a Bergweg) but was so steep that we took to walking backwards to ease the pressure on the ends of the toes!

Our timing was impeccable, arriving back soon after 2 pm just as the few drops of rain turned into a steady downpour. We had a delightful afternoon watching the cloud envelop the scene of our adventure and also saw 8 of the plumpest, sturdiest, woolliest sheep ever seen arrive in the adjacent field to mow the lush green grass.

The Eiger remained under cloud all day and the rain had fallen as snow on its flanks. Dry today, but noticeably colder - time to put our shorts away? Our leg muscles were protesting at the memory of yesterday's downhill marathon (despite all the climbing in Corsica) and we had an easy day writing the diary, reading and watching our last unseen Inspector Frost video, 'Dead Male One'. We used Alf to go into Grindelwald (running well since Barry changed his sparking plug yesterday) in search of a bookshop and found an English translation of Heinrich Harrer's classic account of the first ascent of the North Face of the Eiger in 1938, 'The White Spider'.

The political news is that Helmut Kohl has lost the German elections and the new Chancellor is Gerhardt Schröder of the SDP, who is said to be modelled on Tony Blair. A coalition with the Green Party will give him a working majority.

M used the campsite washing machine and mixed a bran loaf while B checked the bicycles for an afternoon assault on Große Scheidegg. Both front tyres were found to be cracking (after the summer heat) so we Alfed into Grindelwald to check out the 2 cycle shops. Hidden amongst the fashionable wintersports and mountain bike accessories were some narrow tyres, almost the right size. Barry managed to squeeze one onto M's front wheel but had to put a Greek spare onto his.

At 2 pm we left to ride to the top of the Große Scheidegg pass, climbing for 4 miles out of Grindelwald past many of its picturesque chalet hotels to the car park for the glacier. A narrow road wound its steep way for another 5 miles to the pass, open only to cows, walkers, bicycles and post buses and, today, the army on firing practice. Their shots echoed from the mountains opposite, bringing snow down, and we passed a box of ear plugs with a sign in 3 languages to 'serve yourself'. Oddly, they were made in Stockport! The gradient required granny gears all the way, and we had to dismount regularly to let the post buses by (carrying rather more tourists than post). The views were magnificent and after 2 hrs 15 mins we reached the top, a climb of 1020 m/3347 ft (from 942 m/3090 ft to 1962 m/6437 ft). The descent took just 40 mins, with a pause at the glacier car park to listen to a man playing a huge Alphorn to a crowd. Its sound was wonderful, in the open air in such a setting, and he earned a round of applause (as Robert Robinson always says) before dismantling it to fit in his car! By 5.30 we were back in Rosie getting warm - we had climbed up in shorts and T-shirts, but needed warm clothes and gloves to come down again.

On a wet misty morning as we packed up to leave, Barry found his front cycle tyre flat and broke a tyre lever getting the Greek tyre off, so back to the Grindelwald cycle shop. We bought new inner tubes and tyre levers and a Michelin World Tour tyre, so hope for no further problems. We also sent a postcard of the Eiger to Pierre at Tattone and set the camera tripod on Rosie's roof for our own photos.

After lunch we took to the road, back to Interlaken and along the Thuner See, to join the wet motorways and tunnels past Bern to Basel. There were no border formalities, except changing our remaining Swiss Francs into Deutschmarks, and we continued, with the intention of spending the night at Bad Bellingen services as we did when driving in the opposite direction 2 years ago. But that service station was only south-bound and we drove on until we saw a quiet Rastplatz about half-way to Freiburg, where we joined a couple of Czech lorries for the night.

124 miles. Free night.