Corsica 2020: the south, from Bonifacio to Propriano

A second visit to Corsica, the "Île de Beauté", this time in the south, the wildest part of the island, where granite mountains drop sheer into the Mediterranean.

I set off from Bastia, the main port in the north of the island. It is a town without tourist glamour: the Old Port with its fishing boats, the church of St John the Baptist on the square, the narrow lanes of the Genoese Citadel and fish restaurants with a view of the sea.

Driving down the east coast I watched the scenery change all the time, from the farmed lowlands of the Plaine Orientale to the first rocky inlets. Porto-Vecchio, the "salt town" for its old salt pans, is the centre of beach life in southern Corsica. The beaches of Palombaggia and Santa Giulia are among the most photographed on the island: very fine white sand, turquoise water and maritime pines down to the shore, a few hours by ferry from Italy.

Bonifacio is the best stop. The town sits on white limestone cliffs sheer above the sea, with houses that seem to grow out of the rock. From the bastion I saw the Bouches de Bonifacio, the strait between Corsica and Sardinia, and on clear days the Sardinian coast. The King of Aragon's Staircase, cut into the cliff, drops to the sea in 187 steps. At sunset the golden light hits the white cliffs.

Inland I went to Sartène, which Prosper Mérimée called "the most Corsican town in Corsica": a village of grey granite, stern, where Corsican traditions are still felt. During Holy Week the Catenacciu procession takes place, one of the oldest events in Corsica.

I made the main hike of the trip to the Purcaraccia Waterfalls, in the Bavella massif: a walk along the stream, between natural pools of clear water and pink granite rocks, up to the main falls, where the water runs down between smoothed boulders. In summer it is a canyoning spot, but it can also be done as a simple hike. The Aiguilles de Bavella, granite spires, are in view all the way down and recall the Dolomites, in a Mediterranean version.

The maquis smells of myrtle and helichrysum and every evening the sunset turns the mountains purple.