The journey from airport to hotel would have been so much better undertaken in the dark. We'd arrived mid-morning, had been greeted by a cheery holiday rep who put us in a cab and waved us off, all the while trying to smile a happy smile even though she was getting thoroughly soaked to the skin. Apparently it hadn't rained in Corsica since May, and whoever or whatever controls the weather over there certainly knew how to pick the best possible moment to welcome us with a storm of monsoon proportions, with raindrops so large they could hit the ground and bounce back up your trouser legs, soaking you up to the knees of your jeans in ten seconds flat. Trying to make us Brits feel at home, no doubt. How kind.
Sitting back in the taxi my husband reached for my wet hand. I didn't look at him. Instead I continued to gaze through the steamy cab windows at the passing vista of crumbling high rise flats, industrial yards and derelict concrete buildings. I bit my lip to stop it quivering and wished I'd packed an umbrella and cyanide pill.
We arrived at the hotel which was surprisingly pretty considering it's urban surroundings, and my spirits began to lift. I gave myself a bit of a mental telling off for being so defeatist and silly. Maybe it was going to be OK after all. At reception we asked about getting some lunch, we'd been up since 4 a.m. and had avoided the in-flight cold bacon ciabbatta on the grounds that it looked like a bit of a health hazard, and now we were starving.
The bad news that this particular hotel had no food service at all apart from breakfast came as a bit of a shock to us, ditto the revelation that everything in the village would now be shut, it being Sunday lunchtime, and wouldn't be opening again until that evening. Perhaps. The only place we would be able to eat at this time of day was back in town, from where we had just come, and as we weren't due to pick up a hire car until the following morning, we were, quite frankly, buggered. And no, sorry, even though this is indeed a hotel in wine making country, we don't actually have a bottle of Corsican red in the so-called bar for you to take up to your room to help pass away the time until dinner.
So we started our holidays tired, wet and hungry. And just a little bit grumpy.
Things could only get better, right?
Yeah, yeah, yeah.