The great citadel of Bonifacio was first built by the eponymous Tuscan Count, who built a castle here in 828. The Genoese won the town in1187. The native inhabitants were massacred or expelled, replaced by loyal Ligurians, and a form of Ligurian dialect is still the language of Bonifacio, rather than Corsican.
There have been all sorts of wars here, but two sieges stand out for romantic bravery. In 1420 Alphonso V of Aragon wanted the place. He led a crack army, who isolated the port in August. The defenders were reduced to starvation but fought with everything they had, from boiling water to pitch. Astonishingly, they held on, even though the army carried the newly invented musket. Their leader was the valiant Margeurite Bobbia, whose ingenuity saved the day. Eventually the townspeople built a boat inside the walls which managed to break the blockade and call on the Genoese for help. The fleet was slow arriving; in order to keep Alfonso fooled, the remaining survivors dressed up in armour and paraded the ramparts, convincing him the soldiers had come. By this time Xmas had come and gone, and the Aragonese were so demoralised that they decamped. One of the greatest armies in the Mediterranean had been held off by civilians, mostly women and children: the kingdom of Aragon never really recovered.
In 1554, over 60% of the population was wiped out by plague. While Bonifacio was still recovering, Henri II of France turned up, helped by the notorious corsair Dragut. (We last met him at
Girolata, which he sacked in 1541 as revenge for having been captured there by Andrea Doria.) Bonfiacio resisted 18 nights and days of cannon attack. They managed to smuggle out an envoy to Genoa, but he was captured by the Turks, who made him carry a forged letter refusing help. This made Bonifacio surrender to avoid worse damage, and for a short while the town was French. Genoa got it back, though, in 1559.
Under the Genoese, who gave the town various tax breaks and commercial advantages, Bonifacio then prospered. Once the French took over Corsica, though, it joined the general malaise of Parisian neglect and many traders left, despite its advantageous position on the strait and the lovely harbour. It is really tourism that now gives it what prosperity it has.
And indeed this is very much another tourist town. Like Calvi, the quay is lined with overpriced bars, and the haut-ville is full of souvenir shops of varying authenticity. Unlike Calvi, it contains at least one very LOUD club, which goes on till about two in the morning. It also has an endless succession of tripper boats, staffed by a range of arrogant jerks. One of them insisted on running his engine for hours last night, filling the cockpits of all the stern-to boats on our side of the quay with fumes. Needless to say, if we do find time to do the tour of the grottoes, we won't be going with that company.
We are taking two nights here to do a bunch of stuff we have had little opportunity to do for a while. We left Calvi marina four weeks ago, and apart from the flying visit to Castlesardo have not been on mains electricity since. We needed to use the printer/scanner, and, much more important, to give Roaring Girl a really good wash in fresh water. The salt builds up and damages the gear.
Plus, we can catch up with ourselves on this blog ... don't' forget that where we mention an album in the post, we've made an associated set of pictures which you can see by clicking on the 'photo gallery' tab to the right of the main blog text. The album will have the same title as the post it illustrates. You can also see where we are by clicking on the map to the right. And if you feel moved to comment, you can do so by clicking on the 'comment' tag at the end of each post - or simply send us an email.
Very last comment this time is to say Happy Independence Day to our US friends, particularly Mike and Linda who are now battling the
new anchoring ban in Mahon and, for yesterday, Happy 50th birthday to Dave, Pip's older brother, down there in Christchurch NZ, and hope the puppy gets well really soon.