I've enjoyed my time at the Hotel L'Alivi, especially swimming in the clear blue sea. Must admit I'm missing being on my bike, but all good things must come to an end. After breakfast I pack-up my belongings into the Ortleib panniers and load on he bike for the last time. A short uphill ride back to Madame Vignon's house on Rue de Philippines. I hope she is OK? When I left 3 weeks ago, she wasn't in the best of health.

The weather today is very humid and overcast, so sweating profusely by the time I complete the short climb. There is no response when I knock on the front door. Looking over the garden wall, I can see the kitchen windows are open, so I wheel my bike to the garden gate and down the path. I peer through the open kitchen window. Madame Vignon is sitting at the kitchen table, she looks up and greets me with a big smile. "How are you?" I ask. "Much better, thank you" she replies. She is busy (as always) but stops to make us a pot of tea and, of course, out come the biscuits and cakes.

There are no 'vacancies' at the Chambre d'hote on the Montee Philippina. There are a couple from Belgium in one room, an Italian lady in another and a couple from Canada staying in a building in the garden (which I didn't know existed). After our tea and a chat it's time to pack away the bike and panniers back into the cycle carrier which is on top of the wardrobe where I left it all those days and kilometres ago.

At around 4pm I walk down to the Internet cafe in the town and spend about 1/2 hour clearing all the 'junk' from my inbox and replying to some of unanswered emails.  On leaving the cafe it begins to rain and I can hear rumbles of thunder in the distance. The weather has been very kind to me - these are the first drops of rain during the entire trip. I walk to the far end of the harbour, I'd spotted, what looked like, a good restaurant on my first visit 3 weeks ago but, having already eaten, made a mental note for my return visit this eve ing. I did indeed prove to be a good restaurant and an English couple on the table next to me provided good conversation. He is a keen walker and she, a landscape gardner. Well, Corsica will surely tick both boxes!

The light is fading as I climb the streets back to Madame Vignon's house. My last evening on Corsica, so I savour the moment sitting in the garden watching the aerial acrobatics from the flocks of swifts over the Town of Bastia below. Listening to the sounds  of the insects in the orchard and the fireflies glowing amidst the shrubs. I flip a top and raise my bottle of Pietra to it all. One more beer and a few songs on my iPod to round off the evening. Around 10pm I call it a day. Madame Vignon is still busying herself in the kitchen.  "What were you listening to in the garden?" She asks. I pass the headphones to her and click 'play'. A broad smile appears on her face and tears in her eyes as she enjoys 'Cavalleria Rusticana - Intermezzo'. "Ah! Now I know why you were sitting so quietly on the patio watching the sunset."

I'm in no hurry to get out of bed. However, three weeks waking up between 6:30am and 7:00am has become a habit. So by 8:30am I'm packing away the last bits 'n pieces and back out on the patio for breakfast. The bike is now packed away in its travel case along with the panniers. There's still some time before the taxi is due to take me to the airport, might as well explore the overgrown garden and its many terraces.

There are seven terraced levels in the garden, on the lowest level there is an entire family of tortoises. I believe the collective term is a 'creep' of tortoises. Makes sense, I suppose, although the word 'creep' to me suggests a sinister undertone which is certainly not the case with these wonderful creatures. There are more of them on the other levels; adults and hatchlings.

Back at the house, Madame Vignon explains the history of the 'tortoise garden. Unfortunately - and not for the first time - my French (or lack of) let's me down with the translation. From what I understand her husband found a small tortoise on the top terrace in the garden about 40 years ago. One  of its legs was deformed. A couple of years went by without any further sighting. They assumed it had died. Then, one day, her husband re-discovered it on the next terrace down, a drop of about a metre. He carefully picked it up and carried it down to the lowest level to avoid any further falls. Now, 40 years on, a thriving community ofabout twenty tortoises! I could listen to Madam Vignon's stories all day, she is such a charming host and quite a character. Her husband died 26 years ago and she has lived in this house for over 47 years. However, it is finally time to say our goodbyes. The taxi driver helps me load the bike and suitcase into his car and take the 25-minute drive to the airport.

As the plane climbs away from the airport, banks and heads North, I'm able to view this truly beautiful island one more time. Soon, Corsica is a small speck of land dwarfed by the Mediterranean. Settling back in my window seat I wonder if I will ever step foot on the island again? Maybe somethings are best kept as fond memories - very fond memories.