Corsican Navigation

After our first day’s approach epic, we decided to use a more proactive strategy. The navigator, torso out our little rental car’s sunroof, guidebook in hand, would scout the crags. (Note that the 12 guidebooks, most the work of the “Boss” of Bavella, Jean-Paul Qulici, are the subject of much debate — as in, the 12 together might comprise a useful tome, but individually, they are quite vague.) Meanwhile, the driver, avoiding errant pigs, cyclists, and oncoming RVs, did his best not to kill the navigator.
A typical exchange, then:
Majka (scout): “I think I see it.”
Eli (driver), careening his neck to the left: “Where?”
Gabe (passenger), looking at the trip odometer, which reads 1.6 km: “I thought it was supposed to be 3.5 kilometers past the col.”
Majka: “It looks kinda like the picture.”
Eli: “Branches!”
Majka, ducking into the car just in time: “Think maybe next time you could slow down, too?”
Eli: “Think anyone would believe us if we said the driving was as stressful as the climbing?”
Gabe, pulling over, turning off the stereo, and unfastening his seatbelt: “Rotate.”