Think of Corsica<\/a>, and you might picture the glitzy marina of Porto-Cervo, with the garish megayachts and designer boutiques that have earned it a reputation as the French island\u2019s very own Saint-Tropez. Or the glamorous five-star hotels clustered around the port town of Calvi in the northwest\u2014and, perhaps, its four-mile beach, a crescent of powdery white sand with a historic citadel perched on a rocky outcrop at the end. Or, if you\u2019ve visited before, it might be the scent of the maquis that springs to mind: the herbaceous perfume of the island\u2019s scrubland\u2014honeysuckle, lavender, myrtle, and mint\u2014that clings to the salt air. As the island\u2019s most famous son, Napoleon Bonaparte, who was born and raised in the then-sleepy fishing town of Ajaccio, once said of the place: \u201cEverything there was better, even the smell of the ground. I would know it with my eyes closed.\u201d<\/p>\n When I visited in early October, I actually didn\u2019t have much of a picture in mind. A few months earlier, I read The Bombshell<\/a>,<\/em> a novel set in 1990s Corsica that made the place sound like a kind of fever dream; newly determined to visit, I reasoned that perhaps, after a week there, I would feel the same way about it that Napoleon once did. While I\u2019d visited Corsica once before as a teenager, my memories of it were a little hazy, and in truth, I wasn\u2019t sure what to expect at all.<\/p>\n But I had heard wonderful things about the corner of the island I was heading to: the stretch of coastline that extends along Corsica\u2019s southernmost tip, from the idyllic medieval haute-ville<\/em> of Bonifacio, which perilously perched on the edge of a dramatic limestone cliff, to the shallow turquoise waters of Piantarella Bay, whose picture-postcard beaches could be mistaken for those of a Caribbean island.<\/p>\n What I had also<\/em> heard, however, was that this particular region was fiercely guarded by locals and (predominantly French) long-time holidaygoers alike, the majority of whom descend on the area every summer for at least a month from Paris or one of the other major Gallic cities. One particular phrase had been relayed to be in hushed tones by more than one person, in fact: \u201cIt\u2019s one of France\u2019s best-kept secrets.\u201d<\/p>\n The streets of Bonifacio\u2019s lower town.<\/p>\n <\/span>Photo: Getty Images<\/span><\/div>\n<\/figure>\n I didn\u2019t necessarily want to blow up said holidaygoers\u2019 spot, but I did want to find out more. So I headed with a couple of friends to Domaine de Sp\u00e9rone, a sprawling, 120-hectare private estate of holiday homes, restaurants, and a world-class golf course, with the intention of discovering what all the fuss was about. And to do so, I also made sure to enlist the help from a team that I could rely on to be truly in the know: in this case, Le Collectionist<\/a>, the design-forward villa rental platform known for its rigorous selection process\u2014only around 3% of houses inspected by their team are accepted into the collection\u2014as well as its emphasis on services for the genuinely curious traveller, such as a dedicated concierge for each booking that helps craft a personalized itinerary.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/picture><\/span><\/div>\n