I am sitting on a beach on an island in the middle of the mediterranean (Corsica) surround by a mass of blubber slowly turning white into pink, skin into leather, smooth into wrinkles and moles into melanoma's.
What is it about the human species that it cannot be happy in its own skin?
The sea, sand and warmth is a pleasant change from England although the beaches are not exactly in the same league as Croatia or Greece.
After leaving Barcelona we headed for the French Pyrenees going up the pic du Midi and following the tour de France path across col du Tourmalet (2200m). This is a serious 19km grunt up. There were a lot of cyclists on the road and the "egoistical Les" was tempted to hire a bike but the "practical Les" did a true assessment of his fitness levels and we drove on to Marseille to catch an overnight ferry to Corsica.
A really nice crossing with a top deck cabin just under the bridge facing fo'ard. A bit of luxury.
We have a week left in Corsica before crossing back to the mainland where we part with Bruce and Carol and head to Paris to sort out a passport.
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