Corsica, during the off season, is empty. Porto vecchio was nearly a ghost town. After a few of days (and a couple of problems) there, I hitchhiked my way west to a slightly larger town, Ajaccio, on the western coast. I met several locals, heard about how Corsica is part of France only in name and in language - but whose heart beats italian, and camped in the area during the nights. One day, I noticed two backpackers in town, and looked them over. They did the same. Who else would be wandering Corsica in the middle of the winter, with a look about them which said that they, too, were sleeping under the stars? Quebecers - two girls. We hooked up and travelled together for a little bit, hitchhiking our way out of town, squatting a little abandonned fishing hovel on the seashore, drinking wine and talking into the wee hours of the morning. In the daytimes, we would hitch back to town to restock our food (and wine), and spend our evenings in the hovel, occasionally trying to set a camp fire with varying success. When the 23 of december rolled around, they convinced me to go with them back to the mainland, to celebrate christmas with a friend's family. We took the ferry back to Marseille, and took a short train to a nearby town - Arles. There, we took up residence in the side-house of a castle.