{"id":687,"date":"2025-06-01T09:18:18","date_gmt":"2025-06-01T09:18:18","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.michelatoschi.it\/?p=687"},"modified":"2025-08-29T13:02:27","modified_gmt":"2025-08-29T13:02:27","slug":"corsica-una-sera-a-plage-de-maora","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/michelatoschi.it\/en\/journal\/corsica-una-sera-a-plage-de-maora\/","title":{"rendered":"Corsica, an evening at Plage de Maora"},"content":{"rendered":"

May 28, 2025, 9:00 PM.
It had been a busy day. The last shots were taken with the drone, which now, alas, rests in an inaccessible place, in front of the small Corsican island, Il\u00ea Piana, in Piantarella Bay. Peace.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We were tired. Monica and I didn't feel like going back to Bonifacio for dinner.
We needed a long shower. To wash our hair. To pack our bags slowly.
It seemed to us that Corsica had already given us everything it could, in eight days of sunshine.
That the week had been full, squeezed to the last drop.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

So we decided to stay at the Casarina residence. A collection of villas surrounded by Mediterranean vegetation, among tall pines and red earth. Each villa is divided into three or four rooms, arranged in terraces along a gentle rise.
From above, you can glimpse the sea. Down below, in the heart of the residence, a manicured lawn, swimming pools, comfortable beds, a wooden structure where breakfast is served, and a delicious street-food-style van. Perfect for a snack or a simple dinner, for those who don't feel like going out.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But the best part is the beach. It's close by. A short walk through the greenery and scents of the scrubland. Wild rosemary, thyme, and mastic trees. The scents accompany every step toward the sea.
After dinner we set off.
The few beach facilities on Plage de Maora open in June. On May 28th, everything was closed. No one around. Just us. And a man on a boat. At first, it seemed empty. Then a shadow moved. Someone was unpacking. Or maybe they were enjoying the quiet, like us.
Later, we met him on the beach, while we were taking pictures. A nod, a smile. And we all took our time.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We stayed there for half an hour, maybe forty minutes.
But they were the most beautiful.
The sand, reddish from the iron minerals, did not dull the blue of the water.
The sky was turning purple, the sparse clouds reflecting the last light of day.
The water was almost still. Slow, hypnotic waves. Everything seemed suspended.
A fragile balance, one we simply wanted to observe. Without altering it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The empty pier. The windsurf boards gathered in a corral. Standing. Patient. Waiting for summer.
A closed factory and the barely audible voices of someone working on the opening.
The sound of sand under your shoes.
Just a few measured words. And then silence. And nature all around.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The movie came back to my mind On the Golden Lake<\/em>.
The sea is different from the lake, yet, that evening, the quiet made it similar.
The tide was so low. The water came and went slowly. As if it wouldn't go away.
I thought about how much I wished I had a serious camera with me. To capture all of this. To carry it with me, in my archive of photographic memories.
So as not to let it slip away. But I only had my phone.
I took some photos, shot a short video.
There was nothing more I could do. Except stay there. Watch. Breathe in that peace. With a hint of melancholy.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Throughout the holiday, we had been lulled into a conscious lightness.
We knew we had unfinished business. But we'd left them there. Buried. Submerged in that sea.
Then, like the low tide revealing hidden shells, in that magical moment, we faced our uncertainties.
The confidences, born from the mutual trust of a great friendship, came naturally.
It was a necessary moment. A useful one. An opportunity to renew our energies. To bring forth new projects. New beginnings.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

In life, there are many endings. And, almost always, new beginnings. At any age.
If an ending isn't followed by a beginning, then you're dead. Or you live in memories. Which, ultimately, is a bit the same thing.
<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Maora Beach was a gift.
An unexpected gift.
At the end of the day.
At the end of the journey.
Of life.
The most beautiful.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

<\/div>\n\n\n\n
\"Corsica<\/figure>\n\n\n\n
<\/div>\n\n\n\n
\"Corsica<\/figure>\n\n\n\n
<\/div>\n\n\n\n
\"Corsica<\/figure>\n\n\n\n
<\/div>\n\n\n\n
\"Corsica<\/figure>\n\n\n\n
<\/div>\n\n\n\n
\"Corsica<\/figure>\n\n\n\n
<\/div>\n\n\n\n