Sunny Sojourns On Two Mediterranean Isles : Sticking to the back roads, two intrepid travelers go in search of untrammeled beaches, mouthwatering local food, places of wild beauty. They find it in. . .

“L’Ile de Beaute,” Island of Beauty, is how the French refer to this Mediterranean outpost they have ruled since 1768. And when they have the occasion to drink Corsican rose wines, they wistfully say that you can taste the sunshine in them. With its near-perfect climate, beautiful landscape, picturesque villages unspoiled by modern architecture, and its long list of culinary specialties, Corsica seemed an ideal place to spend a vacation.

I wanted to visit Corsica since moving to France three years ago. My French boyfriend, Antoine, spent most of his childhood there, and he and his family still talk about the island as if it were paradise on Earth. I knew from them that Corsica is a wild land where the peoplefiercely guard their heritage, language and way of life, and try to protect their environment from mass tourism. And Antoine often described this mountainous island, situated just off the western coast of Italy, as a land of large rivers, deep gorges and brilliant red cliffs overlooking the sea.

Antoine suggested that the perfect introduction to Corsica would be by way of the island’s small and somewhat rickety train. Although only one track runs through Corsica, he maintained that this alone was an overwhelming achievement. To find out why, he said, I’d just have to go and see.

So last summer we found the cheapest fare we could ($150 one way) on one of the many daily Air Inter flights from Paris to Corsica. It flew to the northwestern coastal town of Calvi, one of the two starting points for the train. (The other is Bastia on the northeastern coast.) For two weeks, our only agenda would be to ride the train and get off when the mood struck us. Later we planned to rent a car in Ajaccio, the most populous city on the island,to visit as much of the rest of the island as we could.

Within an hour after our arrival in Calvi, we boarded a two-car train that was just old enough to be uncomfortable, but not yet old enough to be quaint. When the ticket collector noticed my surprise at the antique wooden controls, he assured me that the train ran fine. Nobody bothered to close the train car doors as we pulled out of the station, and some very impressive creaking and cracking noises came from the wheels.

If we weren’t rolling past some of the most spectacular coastline I’ve ever seen, I might have been scared. I looked on a map and saw that the train runs northeast along the red, rocky coastline for about 15 miles up to L’Ile-Rousse, one of the many thin peninsulas that stretch into the Mediterranean, then heads south through the mountains to Ajaccio.

I was contentedly watching the coastline, listening to the fat, gray-haired conductor sing a traditional Corsican folk song (something I would later hear often in village cafes), when I realized that everyone else was looking out the other side of the train. We had started to climb, and on one side were hills covered in brilliant green maquis, brush that grows miraculously on rock and, in the spring, is covered with small red flowers. The hills sloped up to a 3,000-foot peak, and crumbling stone villages and the occasional isolated church appeared on the mountain face. Now that I had seen this spectacular scenery, I understood why Antoine had suggested the train.

Although they are French citizens, Corsicans speak an Italian dialect. In fact, Corsica belonged to the city-states of Pisa, and then Genoa, for 500 years, long before Italy unified as a nation. But in 1729, a tax rebellion changed all that. Corsican rebels, led by Gen. Jean-Pierre Gaffory and a nobleman named Pasquale Paoli, did not achieve victory until a quarter-century later, but in 1755, they declared Corsica an independent nation. Paoli was elected leader, and he declared Corte, a mountain stronghold in the island’s interior, as the new nation’s capital. Today Corte is still the soul of Corsican nationalistic pride, and the cultural center of the island.

French schoolchildren learn that Corsica was one of the first true democracies, and a Corsican man who saw me reading an English-language guidebook insisted that Americans copied their government from Corsica’s. Whatever the case, Corsican democracy was short-lived: in 1768, the Genoese, who had not officially recognized the new republic, ceded the island to the French.

The Corsicans rebelled again, this time against France. Eventually, however, the French took power once and for all, primarily with the help of a Corsican named Charles-Marie Bonaparte--whose son Napoleon would one day become emperor of France.

But Corsicans never really accepted the loss of their independence. Their anger took the form of violence as Corsican bandits roamed the country, attacking the French and giving the island a Wild West reputation the Corsicans take some pride in. Bandits are no longer the problem--terrorists are. With the ongoing Corsican disdain for French rule that has characterized its history, nationalistic organizations occasionally assassinate a political opponent or bomb a French tourist agency, private villa or resort construction site as a form of environmental protest. The bombings have mostly involved unoccupied buildings, and judging from news reports, the nationalists appear to have avoided targeting foreign tourists.

Our train climbed higher and higher into lush mountains, then suddenly stopped. The conductor stopped his singing and started tooting musical rhythms on the train’s horn. I stood up to see that a herd of cows had wandered onto the tracks. We stopped many more times to let goats, sheep and pigs pass along the way.

Although Corsica is surrounded by the sea, its economy is mainly agrarian. Corsicans raise livestock in the mountains, and I saw herds of goats and sheep walking along mountain crevices, their bells ringing through the valley. They were often followed by a lone shepherd, who might earn his living making traditional cheeses (the best-known, brocciu and fromage de brebis, are often for sale at little stands at hiking trail heads).

After an hour, passing over high stone bridges and winding along the mountains, we decided by whim to get off at a village called Vizzavona.

We found ourselves in the midst of a deep pine forest, where 600-year-old lariccio pines often surpass 100 feet in height. Rising in the distance was Mont d’Oro (Mountain of Gold), its rocky peak a glowing golden-green. About a minute’s walk from the train station, we found the Hotel Moderne, a large converted country house with a garden restaurant surrounded by flowers and the forest just beyond.

Vizzavona is a good base for hiking. One can visit the Cascades des Anglais, a long series of thin waterfalls, walk along the Agnone River, with its large flat rocks and wide swimming holes, or, for a more difficult climb, go up Mont d’Oro. We settled in and spent our days hiking clearly marked trails straight out of an Impressionist painting: small white falls; clear blue, deep pools; small yellow daisies growing in the cracks of the rocks along the river. At dinner, we chatted with some of the other guests, who were mostly from France and Italy. One young Frenchman had just come from a five-day backpacking trip, and told us that you could go trout fishing in four rivers, and, in the winter, ski.

After three days in Vizzavona, we hopped back on the train to Ajaccio. Climbing even higher than before, the gorges grew deeper and waterfalls fell into large rivers. It was hard to imagine how the Corsicans had built the railway supports hugging the impossibly steep ravines, which seemed to drop straight under us. The scenery consumed us, and by the time the train descended into the plains around Ajaccio two hours later, we weren’t at all interested in spending time in a city. We decided to bypass Ajaccio’s crowded beaches and expensive hotels and restaurants immediately so we could spend more time in the island’s interior. The mountains, one woman in Vizzavona had told me, were the “real Corsica.”

Renting a little Fiat from Hertz for $300 a week, we headed back up north to explore the region that stretches between the western coast town of Porto directly east to the heart of the island at Corte.

But first we had to get there. Corsicans never tell you the distance from one place to another in kilometers. They speak in hours. And rightly so, for what may seem like a short distance on the map can take hours on harrowing, snake-like turns. What’s more, the roads, carved out of the mountain between cliff and rock, are barely wide enough for two cars, and there are rarely barriers on the cliff side. Coming around a bend, it is not unusual to find a goat or cow in the middle of the road.

It took us three hours to get to the northwest region around the Gulf of Porto, which has a totally different character from the rest of the island. The area, Les Calanche, is known for its strange red rock formations that fill Corsican folk tales with scenes of dark, monster-filled nights.

Maupassant called Les Calanche “one of the marvels of Corsica, one could say, I believe, one of the marvels of the world.” Between the coastal towns of Piana and Porto, stretching over two kilometers, Les Calanche (pronounced ka-LAUNSH) are giant granite cliffs that take on fairy-tale shapes. It’s easy to identify some of the more famous ones pointed out in all the guidebooks--the Dog’s Head, the Priest, the Eagle--but along the route one can also make out as many petrified forms as the imagination can invent.

We stopped at the Chalet des Roches Bleues, sat on the terrace overlooking a bay, and had coffee as the sun set into the Mediterranean and red cliffs deepened in color.

From there, we continued east for an hour to Evisa, where at least five families (of a population of 285) earn their living raising pigs and making famous Corsican hams and sausages. Most are young couples who went to mainland France as university students or to work, but later returned to try to revive their grandparents’ way of life.

Unfortunately, economics have worked against them, and now 90% of the pork used for Corsican specialties comes from the mainland. Also, with the advent of European Community economic laws, the export of their charcuterie is virtually impossible.

We spent five days between Piana and Evisa, which are only about an hour and a half apart, but would have liked to spend a month, eating more of the freshly made cheeses and charcuterie, swimming in the rivers and the sea, and exploring the Aitone Forest. But we were also anxious to see Corte, the historical and cultural soul of Corsica.

It was from Corte that Pasquale Paoli ran his democratic Corsican government in the 1700s. A free university was opened in 1765, and Corte became a center for the arts and intellectual and religious thought, a culture still alive today. In 1985, the University of Corte was reopened (the French had closed it in 1769), and now specializes in Corsican studies. The town also has many artisans’ shops and a museum showcasing Corsican art.

One warm evening, we sat on the outdoor terrace of the restaurant Le Gaffory and ordered a “menu Corse” that included typical local dishes of blackbird pate, brocciu ravioli, large white beans with wild boar, and Corsican lemon cheesecake. The cost: $16 per person, including a half-bottle of wine.

As we ate, we looked out over the Place Gaffory, a square in the center of the cobblestone-paved old city, and gazed up at the ancient citadel, surrounded by an amphitheater of mountains. The city has not changed much since the 1800s, the people still speak mostly Corsican, and I certainly didn’t feel like I was in France.

By now practiced at driving Corsican roads, we decided to venture further north, stopping in Bastia on our way to the Cap Corse, the most rural and wildest part of the island.

Bastia, although a large city, has kept at its center the old port. It’s highly reminiscent of many of the small Mediterranean ports I had seen on Italy’s Amalfi Coast.

We arrived in the evening and checked into the Hotel Posta Vecchia, where all rooms have sea views. At a restaurant called A Scaletta, we sat on a balcony overlooking the postcard-perfect port and feasted on the most copious Corsican meal we’d had yet: a large salad, pasta in a cream sauce, fish served with mounds of shrimp and mussels, dessert and excellent Corsican wine, all for only $20 per person.

The next day, we wandered the city, stopping at the Casa di Artigiani, a cooperative that sells traditional Corsican handicrafts. We bought thick, blue pottery and handwoven cotton cloths that resemble raw silk.

On the Cap Corse, a mountainous peninsula almost 25 miles long, a road skirting the water’s edge allowed us to discover white-sand and black-pebble beaches, villages perched on steep cliffs and tiny fishing ports wedged into coastal crevices.

Hiking on a clear day to the summit of the highest peak on the peninsula, we had a view extending over the entire Cap Corse, west to L’Ile-Rousse and Calvi, where we began our journey, and east across the Mediterranean to Italy, about 40 miles away.

The Cap Corse is dotted with 15th-Century Genoese towers, once placed all along the mountain tops of the island and used in a warning system. When a boat arrived from any side, the first tower to spot it lit a torch. From one tower to the next the torches were lit, and within two hours the entire island was alerted to the attack.

We visited the tower at Nonza, which has its own history. In 1768, the tower survived a heavy French siege. Corsican cannonballs flew out from every side of the tower, perfectly timed so that no troops could advance to Nonza.

But the Corsicans couldn’t hold out forever. The French cut them a deal: out of respect for their opponents’ extraordinary defense system, the French would allow the Corsican soldiers to depart the tower freely, and with honors.

Much to the surprise of the French, however, out limped an old Corsican named Jacques Casella. He had been alone in the tower, but with an ingenious configuration of cables, had defended an entire village gloriously.

It is local lore like that, told by Corsicans who are still fiercely proud of their traditions, as well as the breathtaking natural beauty of Corsica, that made me want to stay much longer.

Instead, we boarded a boat to Marseille, on the French mainland, our bags packed with cheese, sausages and wild boar pate. If we couldn’t be in Corsica, at least we could eat like Corsicans for a while.

GUIDEBOOK

France, of Corsica

Getting there: Air Inter offers frequent flights from Orly Airport in Paris to Bastia, Calvi and Ajaccio on Corsica for about $150 one way. There is boat service from Nice, Toulon and Marseille to various ports in Corsica for about $50; overnight excursions, with beds, are offered.

Getting around: Trains run from Calvi and Bastia to Ajaccio. In the summer, there is frequent bus service on the major routes, but don’t count on it during the off-season. Hertz and Avis both have offices on Corsica, with Hertz assuring the best service (free 24-hour assistance, maps in the cars, and even tourist cassettes available from some cities on the island).

Where to stay:

* In Bastia, the Hotel Posta Vecchia (Quai des Martyrs, 20200 Bastia; from the United States, telephone 011-33-95-32-32-38). Open year-round and offers a view of the port from each of their very charming rooms. Very clean and comfortable. Cost: about $40-$60 per night for a double.

* In Corte, Hotel Chez Colonna (3 Ave. Xavier Luciama Corte, 20250 Corte; tel. 011-33-95-46-01-09). Run by the family of Corte, it is very clean and recently renovated, but noisy during the busy month of August. $35-$65 for a double; the more expensive rooms have a balcony.

* In Evisa, Hotel du Centre (Route D84, 20126 Evisa; tel. 011-33-95-26-20-92), open April-October. This small, unpretentious hotel is run by a young brother and sister team. They make their own charcuterie , and the restaurant overlooks the church and the valley beyond. $25 for a double; bathrooms are in the hall.

* In Vizzavona, the Hotel Moderne (20219 Vizzavona; tel. 011-33- 95-47-21-12). Run by the same family for 60 years, the rooms are furnished with family heirlooms and have a view of the forest from their large windows. $35 double; bathrooms are in the hall.

Where to eat: * Bastia: A Scaletta (4 Rue St. Jean). A small restaurant with a balcony overlooking the old port. In the summer, fish is served with mussels and shrimp. In the winter, patrons sit around a fireplace and are served a traditional Corsican meal. Generous meals for under $20, including excellent Corsican wine. You will be well taken care of here; it’s highly recommended by Bastians.

* Corte: Le Gaffory (Place Gaffory). Where I ate in the heart of town.

* Piana: U Spumoni. On the way out of town when coming from Porto, it offers a delicious introduction to Corsican specialties. The most gourmet of the family-run “Restaurants Corses.” Figure on about $20 per person, not including wine.

For more information: Contact the French Government Tourist Office, 9454 Wilshire Blvd., Suite 303, Beverly Hills 90212, (900) 990-0040 (calls cost 50 cents per minute).