2023 Corsica GR20 | Today Is Not a Good Day to Die — My First Solo Hike To the North Part 2
(All photos are taken with Pixel 3 or GoPro 10 without filters.)
“So when I was able to redefine labour as thinking, as feeling, and I was not worried about showing my proof to my peers or my family, I realized that, wait a minute, I work all the time. And my work is valuable, even if I can’t prove it to anybody.”
— Ocean Vuong at City Arts & Lectures
This is the continuation of the Southern journey. For the first part, please view 2023 Corsica GR20 | Today Is Not a Good Day to Die — My First Solo Hike From the South Part 1
Only the photos are chronological. The stories jump between the past, present, and future.
Day 7 “GR20, You Need to Calm the Fuck Down”
Vizzavona — Refuge de L’Onda; 11.2km, 7h33m
Being all by yourself in nature is another level of solitude. Stripping off titles, identities, and relationships, what are you? What’s left there in you?
This morning I started out early as I knew I had a long day ahead. The path went through forests, boulders, and endless rocks. I deliberately tried not to read the part about having a more than 1200m ascent in a few kilometers and the red and white stripes were literally on the top of my head. “Where the fuck am I going” was the primary voice in my head. I survived by listening and singing to “Knights of Cydonia” and “Survival” on repeat. Muse has saved me multiple times in my life. By the time I arrived at Refuge de L’Onda, it was 2 hours after I first saw it on the ridge-top. Whatever you see in the mountains doesn’t really mean anything. The descent after a 1200m ascent was killing my knees softly. This section would later be marked as the most painful one on GR20 by me. After this, life just kept on getting better.
I walked to the nearby rock pool with other hikers, dipping myself in the refreshing water and sunbathing on the rock like a lizard. I always liked this part of the day. The dinner was vegetarian lasagna with too much ricotta cheese. The kind of amount that was enough to send you straight into a food coma but let me clean this chocolate mousse with my finger on top of that because this is how much energy you need for this hike.
Day 8 “I Think I Discovered Corsican Men Too Late in My Life”
Refuge de L’Onda — via variant — Refuge de Petra Piana; 7.3km, 6h2m
This was the day that I discovered my food bag was gone. All of my coffee, tea bags, nuts, and energy bars that I’d planned for the entire trail were gone because I’d also put my sausage and a block of cheese inside (days later I would learn from J, a mountain guide, that probably a fox did this because of the meat and cheese). I didn’t allow myself to be mad (at myself and the unknown thief) for too long as I really needed to start walking now but I also wanted to whine and roll on the ground so badly because all the hikers would agree that snacking is life and having a warm coffee in the morning on the trail is a synonym for happiness.
I tried to leave all of this behind, climbing up another hill with yellow waypoints without seeing any other hikers for a while. The view made me almost forget about it until private life came in with the internet connection and I had my first cry on the trail. I’m a strong independent woman who can hike alone but I also cry over some nuts. But we all know it was never about the nuts. Days of taking everything in alone had started to weigh on me. The loss of food upset me. The clash between autonomy and attachment confused me. I resented every adjective people associate with “woman hiking alone.” I was not brave, strong, or courageous. I did it not knowing what would happen. I did it slightly confused. I did it slightly unsure. I still did it but that doesn’t mean I’m immune to frustration, sadness, loneliness, and tiredness while doing it. Just like many other things we do in life. Yet, there is something very liberating about shedding tears while walking. I would be lying if I said I was not looking forward to this moment. Tears evaporated under the Corsican sun. Nature was washing me gently.
If not situated in the mountains, Refuge de Petra Piana looks like a beach bar with music and freshly fried fries. I enjoyed my potatoes with Yves and Brigitte and waved them goodbye as they continued their hike of the day. A was also there, enjoying his time off after finishing leading his group in the south. Perhaps there is no distinct difference between a mountain guide at work and off work.
“Why are you still in the mountain when you don’t need to work?”
“I need some peace so I came here.” Then he proceeded telling me how he had partied at the refuge the night before.
I watched the sun go down, coloring the mountains with pink and orange hues while the men were playing guitar and singing. The place was crowded and loud but it felt nice. It felt nice to be part of something.
Day 9 “I Just Really Need Some Ice Cream and to See Some Guys”
Refuge de Petra Piana — Refuge de Manganu; 8.8km, 6h45m
“I can’t drink too much, I’m walking tomorrow.”
“Where are you going tomorrow?”
“Manganu.”
“Ah, it’s easy. One hour you can walk there and back.”
The night has come to a point where the men started bullshiting around because the next day I’d walked for 6.5 hours, scrambling through boulders, and my knees were whining. But I still drank that whiskey and another whiskey because, after all, a Pietra beer costs 7 Euros here.
“Always step on the rocks. Never between the rocks.”
I was a bit too drunk to hold this conversation. Who is this guy? Ah, another mountain guide. With very good English. But why are we talking about rocks? I don’t know but yes I would like to know more about how to step on the rocks, please.
That night at Petra Piana was filled with laughter, music, and a lot, a lot of singing. Corsican men seem to know how to sing really well. A group of people who know how to hike and sing? Wonderful combination. The refuge staff started to shoot out free drinks and I drank all of them. The night felt like a farewell party. Farewell to what? I don’t know.
After talking about rocks, the next day I would walk on many many many many many many big and small rocks and boulders. In the morning before I left, I said goodbye and gave A a hug. He yelled at someone afar, telling me that person was going to the same place as me. It turned out that person was another mountain guide. Just like that, guide over another guide, he was making sure I wouldn’t die.
“Be careful, Chin. There is a lot of wind.”
That was his last word to me. Then he watched me setting off.
Day 10 “I’m Hungry and Horny All the Time”
Refuge de Manganu — Castel de Vergio; 17.4km, 5h34m
The route was beautiful with a vast green valley that never seemed to end. Hikers were chilling around the famous Lac de Nino, dotting the green valley with different colors. The descent into Castel de Vergio meant the hikers could enjoy a hotel dinner and breakfast. I treated myself to a dinner buffet with Yves and Brigitte because, by the 10th day of my hike, I felt hungry all the time. Hiker hunger is a real thing.
“Hello, Taiwanese girl.”
My friendship with F began when he uttered those words. A few days ago, I crossed my road with another group of hikers. The conversation started and apparently, once you’ve seen someone on GR20, you would keep seeing them for the rest of your hike. It’s just a known fact.
“I just really need some ice cream and to see some guys.”
F was telling me how a few nights ago they had taken a taxi to Corte for some ice cream when we all stopped to admire the beauty of Lac de Rinoso. Same here, my friend. Same here. Coming from Paris, F decided we would have a rave party that night at the refuge. “Do we have a speaker?” I asked. “We will figure it out.” This was just how desperate we were. Upon arriving at Refuge de Manganu, he told everyone there was going to be a rave party tonight but by 9 p.m., no one seemed to have the energy for a rave party. Not even F. I smashed a few tin cans with a heavy hammer before going to bed. This is how you should recycle tin cans at Refuge de Manganu. Cows wandered between tents, mooing around.
“Did you hear someone yelling last night? I slept so well. I didn’t hear anything.” F asked me the next morning.
“Yeah, a name. I thought it was looking for the cow?” Then F exchanged a few words with his companion in French with a hearty laugh.
“He said maybe it’s the swine. Swine. I’ve never used that word in a conversation before.”
Things you do on GR20.
Day 11 “I Brought My Own Tent and My Smile”
Castel de Vergio — Begerie de Vallone; 14.4km, 7h39m
“I enjoy walking with you. Because you’re very focused when you walk. I like that.”
“That’s why for 20 years I’ve only called the rescue team twice.”
“For yourself?”
“Once for myself.”
“What happened?”
“From the tent to the refuge, I tripped myself and broke my ankle on my way to prepare breakfast for my clients. Four thirty in the morning. Couldn’t walk for a month.”
I couldn’t help but laugh in front of the radiant sky illuminated by the golden-orange sunset.
After we talked about rocks a few days ago, I started to bump into J everywhere. On the trail, next to the shower, during dinner. He was taking five clients from Marseilles walking to the north on the same dates and same speed as mine. He walks focused, quietly, smoothly, and steadily despite what’s underneath his feet. That was why I couldn’t picture him breaking his ankle between the tent and the refuge.
The way to Vallone was hot but I got to go through the gorgeous Golo valley. I stopped to dip my feet into the river twice. The heat made the trail longer than it seemed.
“Um hi, I’m with my own tent.” Matt, one of the staffs, came out of the begerie while I was reading the dinner menu by the door upon arrival.
“You brought your own tent? And you also brought your smile with you?” Maybe we all need to grab a taxi down to the civilization to see some people.
The dinner was too much penne pasta with veal. J and I started talking despite sitting at different dinner tables. He told me he’s prepping his clients for the next day because they’re going through Cirque de la Solitude, the section on GR20 that stands with its own name due to the difficulty.
“And you? Still following the red and white stripes tomorrow?” He asked.
“Yes, because I’m alone and I don’t want to die yet.”
Cirque de la Solitude is still not officially opened after announcing its closure a few years ago due to a serious accident that resulted in the death of 7 hikers. Old waypoints were covered, the chains were removed, and a new route was created, it’s no longer part of the official GR20 route.
“Maybe next time if I have the chance I’ll go with a guide. Or with you.” I didn’t forget there was one sitting in front of me.
He didn’t think for too long.
“Do you want to come with us tomorrow?”
Day 12 “Cirque de la Solitude”
Begerie de Vallone — via Cirque de la Solitude — Haut-Asco; 7.9km, 7h10m
I never said no to spontaneous adventures. After obtaining the casual approval of all of his clients, the next morning at four minutes past seven, we departed.
“Are you sure you’re taking me?” That was the first thing I asked in the morning.
“Yeah. What? You think I’ll change my mind?” He replied lightheartedly.
Combining two groups of hikers, I was the only woman among ten other men. I followed J’s steps piously, knowing this would be the most effortless way to hike. The route started with steep ascending and descending and then again steep ascending and a very very long descending into Asco with almost only rocks underneath our feet. There was no path. What path? There were some nearly vertical sections that required us to go down one by one with all four and I got to be the first one after J. It was fun. It was very very fun. My inner child was happy. Watching him walk through the Cirque de la Solitude and assist each hiker made me realize he had probably done this route countless times in his life. It took us 7 hours to arrive at Asco with a few mini breaks but my body was filled with excitement and a sense of achievement.
“It’s not GR20 without her. She’s everywhere. When you open your tent, when you come out of the toilet. She’s there.” I took it as a compliment when F said it a bit too loudly to the crowd while waving his hand at me. We were all now finally dancing.
Everyone was staying in the Chalet at Asco. The party mood was in the air by nightfall. Two other groups of hikers I befriended on the way were going to finish their GR20 at Asco so we needed to celebrate. The night unfolded itself into music, dancing, late-night conversations with the bartenders (that’s how you know the night is really good), and a lot of free alcohol passing around. Where did they come from? I don’t know but cheers. Even today, from time to time, I still think to myself how it would probably be very nice to party around on GR20 if none of us needed to walk 6 hours the next day early in the morning. When I say us I mean me.
Day 13 “To Regular Hikers, Do You Still Have the Energy to Have Sex on GR20?”
Haut-Asco — Refuge de Carozzu; 5.3km, 4h55m
“Do you girls speak English?”
After that steep ascent more than an hour, I couldn’t hold it anymore. I turned to four other girls, now sitting on the rock resting, that I just passed on my way up.
“Yes, we do.”
“I drank too much last night. You wouldn’t want to know what it’s like to climb that with a hangover.”
You know that feeling when you go clubbing until 6 in the morning and then you go home to sleep and then you wake up and for a moment you aren’t sure who you are and where you are anymore? Sometimes I believe hedonism is just another way to cope with human existence. I dragged myself up at half past six, brushing my teeth frantically, trying to get ready by 8 to start my walking.
I sat my ass down on a rock, absorbing all of this. The cloudy grey sky, the chilly temperature, the hangover, the climb, and the descent ahead of me. The atmosphere felt different as fewer people were continuing the last three stages to the north. The day remained chilly. It was a very long descent over boulders after the steep ascent. The route was quiet and mellow as if tuning in to what I was feeling. I wasn’t sure how to feel about the last few days of my hike on GR20. It felt surreal that it was going to end soon.
You know that feeling after the moment you aren’t sure who you are and where you are anymore, a very faint sense of loneliness just creeps into you?
Day 14 “Last Sunset Last Goodbye”
Refuge de Carozzu — Refuge de l’Ortu di u Piobbu; 7.7km, 6h6m
“It’s a very funny refuge. Where people that just started and people who are about to finish meet together.” J said to me over the sunset.
The scenery was gorgeous on the way to Refuge de l’Ortu di u Piobbu but it did come with a price. A lot of rocks to climb through but my body enjoyed the rocky terrain already by this time on the trail. You could see the sea now. Calvi is not so far away from here. The guidebook indicated a 6h45m walk and I surprised myself with a 6h hike. I was never a fast hiker but I was in a great flow stepping through the rocks.
I set up my tent right in front of the refuge, dancing to the music coming out from the hut. P was in charge of the music so I made sure he played the music the whole afternoon. I sunbathed until the last minute before I headed down for my last pasta dinner and a Pietra. After dinner, I got too sentimental to organize myself. I looked for J, who was now talking with a staff behind the counter. He remained the only person I knew on my last night of GR20.
“I’m here to say a proper goodbye.”
“Ufff, what is a proper goodbye?” The refuge staff let out a question with genuine concern.
“Like, I say it.” I was never good at saying goodbye but I’m practicing it. Like I did for many other things in life.
“In case I don’t see you tomorrow.” I opened my arms and gave him a long hug.
That night, I set my alarm around half past midnight so I could wrap myself up in my quilt, lie on the bench next to my tent, and stargaze. Listening to my own breathing and the faint music coming out from the refuge door, I hummed a few songs I liked. Apart from that, everything else was so quiet, so far, so alone.
Day 15 “On the Sea”
Refuge de l’Ortu di u Piobbu — Calenzana; 4h20m
In hind of sight no peace of mind
Where you begin and I’m defined
Daughter of unconscious fate
Time will tell, in spite of me
In hind of sight no peace of mind
Where it begins and we’ll be fine
Shadows bend and suddenly
The world becomes
And swallows me in, me in
During the last few days on GR20, my backpack was the color of shit (I meant soil but they look the same), two holes in my panties, and my food bag got stolen the second time because I was busy partying. Well, not exactly the reason but you got what I meant. But I couldn’t care less. I was very determined to finish the hike, regardless of what happened. There was a wildfire warning. Hikers were advised to start walking as early as possible.
I met a lot of hikers who just started their GR20 on the way down. J was right. It was a funny section. The route was short and easy, marking the end of my GR20. The last few steps were nothing but ordinary. A stone path going down gently by a church. No special signs or posts. The red and white stripes were now appearing on the ground, taking me all the way into the center of little Calenzana. Just like how it had guided me through the entire 180 kilometers for the past 15 days.
“It’s me. I’ve finished the hike.”
I took out that piece of paper and dialed the number. He sounded he was truly happy for me then he proceeded to tell me that it was very windy in Calvi. And indeed it was. Just like how he used to watch out for me in the mountains. I finished my Aperol Spritz and pasta with veal, now carrying all of my luggage with a Duffel bag, stepping into another random car that would take me into the windy Calvi.
“Something to write
somewhere to go
with a little dance
and I’m the happiest person in the world” — brief jotting in my notebook
Post Script
Ocean Vuong once said, “The work of writing is a practice of care.” I’ve rewritten this pool of words multiple times and ruminated in my head throughout the day and night, hoping each time when I come back to write or rewrite it, something will become clearer in me. Will I become clearer? To care means to look after each word. What is there after each word?
On the last day of GR20, I set out at half past six when most of the hikers were already gone due to the wildfire warning. “On the Sea” was playing on repeat, accompanying me descending into Calenzana. I was walking alone, feeling sentimental yet I didn’t know what to do except keep on walking, although each step brought me closer to the end. I knew I had to keep on walking. Don’t stop. Don’t look back. Even when you think you’ve stopped and looked back, life still goes on.
After each word is a self, someone, a person. A topic that I keep coming back to these years. Caring for each self means how much you’re willing to reveal yourself, how much you’re willing to let others affect you, and how completely you’re willing to let them go. That walking in this world, you collect, drop, and re-collect countless people in your life. The scenery shifted because of someone whose name you don’t even know. Isn’t it achingly beautiful? How powerful we can be for each other and how much it weighs until you drop them for the last time without knowing that it was the last time. But you drop them anyway.
I did not set out hiking GR20 hoping to find something or because of some catastrophic life events. I did so to enjoy the walk and nature just like most hikers do. Yet, something always shifts as you set out to do new things. Writing is my way of getting to the core, hopefully, the blurred outlines now have become slightly clearer.
After arriving at Calenzana, I hitchhiked to Calvi, enjoying my time at the seaside and a few drinks with Yves and Brigitte. Still camping. I marked down these words when I was on the trail, at the campsite, at the boarding gate, in my school library, at a random cafe in Berlin train station, and in my dormitory, weaving together a narrative that I might be able to share and recognize but mostly because it has been a precious experience that I simply couldn’t hold it to myself only. It has weighed something. And I’m dropping it line by line.
I wrote an email to Natalia a few weeks later, telling her it was all because of our conversation. She sounded happy and told me about her wonderful travels for the past two years. I reconnected with several people I met on the trail, with whom I didn’t exchange contacts, amazed by how the universe arranged people. Perhaps people do meet twice. I made sure I sent them the photos they asked for, the let’s-keep-in-touch they wished for, and the greetings. And I made sure they knew how much I enjoyed their company because it takes guts to be gentle and kind.
Over and over.
