I slept well for the most part, but the last few hours before sunrise I spent huddled in my sleeping bag, my tent practically flattened by the wind that was roaring down into the valley. I had pitched my tent perpendicular to the direction of the wind. I rose with the sun, which was a bit delayed because it had to crest Monte Corona and the ridge behind us. As soon as the sun was up, the wind died down but it was still chilly. Markus was getting up too, so we packed our tents and went to the refuge for something warm to drink and a bite to eat. When Markus had looked out of his tent in the early morning, most tents were being tossed around by the wind. One exception was a Quechua tent that was apparently rock solid. The owners of this tent were therefore nicknamed "Good Tent", who as it turns out were my French "translator" and his wife.After hot chocolate (fortified with extra protein) and some bread and jelly for breakfast we took our time getting ready to hit the trail again. Meanwhile everyone else at the refuge seemed to leave en masse, whether they were headed north for their final day on the GR20, or south like us. So we were the last hikers to leave the refuge that morning, with one exception. As we started out we noticed a green tent was still pitched, with no signs of activity from its occupants (we also knew they weren't in the refuge eating breakfast). We didn't recall seeing this tent the prior evening, so we reckoned they were (very) late arrivals and were sleeping in.
Ten minutes on the trail and we'd lost the route among the poplar forest above the refuge ("Refuge d'Ortu di u Piobbu" means "refuge of the garden of the white poplars"). It just required a quick backtrack to find the proper path, and soon we were well above the refuge looking back at what we'd covered the previous day. The green tent was still there, quiet as before. The Mediterranean Sea was in view toward the West as we reached the local height of land, stopped for a snack and some pictures, then checked one last time on the green tent — still there, although just a small green dot at this distance.We descended into the valley, passing one of Corsica's wandering cows along the way. The way up the other side of the valley is alternating scree and slab, and the trail is well marked. We reached the first spectacular vista of the day at Bocca Piccaia just before lunch, and took a break from the strenuous climb up from the valley. Locations like this are why I wanted to hike the GR20. We made the right decision in waiting so long to start out since there was nobody else there (one couple having just left as we arrived). Many of these high gaps don't have much room for hanging around, so fewer people means better views and a chance at a more comfortable place to sit down.
The following section of the trail was completely exposed and very interesting. Lots of up and down through very rocky terrain, but not boulders or slab or scree. We stopped along the way for lunch, then continued on through this amazing landscape to the Bocca Carozzu. Looking down from this viewpoint onto the Forest of Bonifatu below gave a sharp contrast to the rocky scrags we'd just finished. But an even greater difference from the mid-day hike was the rather steep trail going down to the Refuge. We ended the day's hike as we'd begun it — off the trail in a forest of alder and birch, then backtracking to find the proper route.When we arrived at the refuge, our first task was to find good tent sites. This was difficult because, like the night before, we were sharing the refuge with south-north hikers. We grabbed the best spots we could, which technically were probably not real tent sites but we didn't mind and nobody else seemed to care (there was some minor construction going on, perhaps they were expanding the refuge). After that we talked to the guardians about dinner. I did a bit better this time, but maybe that's because one of the guardians spoke a bit of English. Apparently they were somewhat surprised by the crowds, and couldn't give us the normal dinner. Instead they offered a plate of charcutrie and an omelette, but not until after the main dinner was finished since they were very busy. That gave us time to relax and watch the later arrivals. The last pair to come in dropped their packs just across from Markus's tent, then went to pay for their tent "site". We watched as they set up a familiar green tent. By this time, of course we'd nicknamed them "Green Tent", as we'd been wondering about them all day. The tent belonged to the fellow, and I think the woman had a bivy sack.
All of the refuges sell a range of provisions, and this always includes vin du pays (local wine) and Pietra, a Corsica-brewed beer slightly flavored with chestnut. This is an aspect of hiking in Europe that I whole-heartedly endorse. If you hike in the US you generally have to carry your own beer. For example, the AMC huts in the White Mountains are great fun, serve hearty meals (usually with entertainment!) and are very comfortable. But the philosophy is different, they cater to families, and alcohol generally does not fit in with all that. Well, personally, I prefer it when someone else carries up the beer bottles.
So we bought a couple of Pietras while we waited for our dinner. We also met a young couple who I recognized from the trail, and remembered that they spoke English to each other. He is German and a she is Norwegian, and they had just finished university in England. They were staying inside the refuges (as opposed to in a tent), and told us that tents were probably the way to go given the noises and odors inside the refuge at night.
After dinner we watched a beautiful sunset over the Mediterranean, which was still within view down the valley. Our internal clocks were still slightly off, but after a long day hiking in the sun (and a few more beers) sleep came easy.
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