Exercice difficile, je vais m’atteler à un carnet de voyage que je n’ai jamais écrit et le faire juste avec les souvenirs. Que reste t’il après 6 ans d’un voyage en Thaïlande ? quel est le filtre des années ?
A cette époque, il ne me serait pas venu à l’idée d’écrire ce que l’on ressentait, voyait, découvrait. Je comptais sur la mémoire. N’allant sur aucun forum, et connaissant peu d’autres voyageurs, cela me semblait inutile.
Le partage de cette petite « aventure » s’était fait au retour brièvement avec quelques anecdotes, puis on parle d’autres choses.
La lecture des carnets des uns et des autres dans ce forum me donne l’envie de me replonger dans cette histoire et de la faire partager.
Le lecteur n’y trouvera peut être qu’un intérêt limité, mais le mettre en ligne me poussera à aller au bout de l’exercice.
Nous voilà en juillet 2002. N’étant pas téméraires, nous choisissons un pays facile sans trop d’embûches. Destination la Thaïlande avec 3 enfants de 16, 14 et 12 ans pour 3 semaines. Peu de préparation au départ, juste les guides classiques en poche, et nous voilà partis. Une envie, partager avec nos enfants le plaisir de ces voyages lointains que nous faisions auparavant à deux, leurs ouvrir les yeux sur d’autres paysages, sur d’autres modes de vie, leurs donner d’autres repères.
Par peur de rater notre premier avion, on arrive très tôt à l’aéroport. Excitation pour tout le monde, les aéroports sont toujours des lieux magiques où se croisent des gens aux destins si différents. On se met à imaginer ce que les personnes rencontrées vont faire. Où vont-elles, vacances, travail, visites de familles ? et on invente des tas d’histoires.
Pas de surprises désagréables, tous nos papiers sont en règle, l’avion est à l’heure …. On peut partir.
Une grosse douzaine d’heures plus tard et un changement à Bangkok, nous voici à Chiang Mai. Les enfants ont les yeux, les oreilles, le nez grand ouverts. C’est leur première rencontre avec l’Asie. Beaucoup de monde, de bruit, et surtout, une grosse et lourde chaleur comme si on avait orienté le sèche-cheveux sur nous.
Première chose, trouver une GH pour la nuit. Merci le LP, c’est rapidement fait et on arrive dans une petite maison tout en bois avec une petite cour intérieure pleine de plantes en pot, des bassins d’eau et des gens adorables. Deux chambres seront bien suffisantes à cinq.
Le lendemain, réveil pour tous avec les yeux vraiment en capote de fiacre. Si cette GH est pleine de charme, les cloisons sont en papier et le bruit est intense. Bruit de la rue d’abord où les motos pétaradent avec force à toute heure du jour et de la nuit. On a l’impression qu’elles traversent les chambres. La Thaïlande devrait davantage subventionner les vélos. Bruit des chambres voisines. On entend même le bruit du briquet qui s’allume et les enfants ont remarqué que leurs voisins étaient très amoureux. Mais on se fait une raison. On n’est pas venu jusque là pour retrouver le silence de notre campagne.
Premier objectif, trouver une petite agence de treks qui nous emmènera quelques jours dans les rizières. Vite trouvée. Une petite agence toute jeune avec un jeune homme à peine plus âgé que nos enfants. Il nous inspire confiance, départ le lendemain à l’aube.
Première approche de la cuisine thaïlandaise, comme chacun sait, un délice même si le coriandre est un peu fort au goût de certain.
Nos pas nous mènent devant des bars à l’intérieur desquels des filles de l’âge des notres, très ou trop maquillées, attendent les clients. Interrogations, discussions … pas toujours facile.
Moi aussi j'attends la suite (même si c'est avec 6 ans de retard ...).
C'est toujours très chouette à lire la "première fois" dans un pays et en plus, ton expérience avec des ados peut en intéresser plus d'un !
@+,
Sabaïdee
J'ai le mal du pays pour un pays qui n'est pas le mien ... (A. David-Neel)
Ah oui l'exercice sera difficile.
Si, par ton carnet, tu réussis à me donner envie d'aller en Thaïlande, alors là, chapeau, parce que, jusqu'à présent, c'est un des seuls pays où je n'ai jamais eu envie de poser mes chaussures...
Le clavier ne permet pas de trouver toujours les mots exacts pour exprimer au mieux le ressenti. Quelques photos pour égayer un peu le récit, mais de piètre qualité car elles sont scannées. Désolée.
On se lève à l’aube, heureux de partir vers l’inconnu et heureux aussi de quitter le bruit très intense de la GH.
On se joint à un petit groupe d’une moyenne d’âge de 25 ans. Deux anglaises, un couple d’américain, un autre couple de hollandais, nous cinq et notre jeune guide qui est très sympa.
Nous voilà chargés sur un camion, et en route pour 1h30 de trajet, au départ sur une route à peu près correcte, puis sur de la piste bourrée de nids de poule. C’est un bon moyen de faire connaissance et de voir les réactions de chacun. Tout le monde est écroulé de rire et on se retient mutuellement de tomber.
Les paysages défilent et c’est notre première rencontre avec la Thaïlande autre que la ville. Des forêts, des rizières, des paysans, des éléphants … tout est nouveau, tout est découverte. Hormis le confort un peu primaire, on voyagerait bien ainsi pendant des heures.
Il est temps maintenant de descendre du camion, de charger nos sacs sur le dos et de partir à pied à travers les rizières. On marche ainsi pendant des heures. Fabuleux, impossible de décrire les paysages. Des verts comme on n’en a jamais vus, de l’eau partout qu’on ne voit parfois que trop tard et trempé, le fameux arbre teck qu’on ne voit d’habitude que scié et transformé en chaise longue … tout cela nous semble un peu irréel.
On n’a pas croisé une seule personne de la journée. Les collines à grimper alternent avec les plaines à traverser.
Le jour faiblit et on arrive dans un petit village kharen. Nos enfants sont surpris, étonnés. Ce genre d’endroit qu’on pense ne plus exister quand on est trop habitués à nos pays modernes. Un petit village exclusivement constitué de maisons en bois sur pilotis, des enfants qui courent dans tous les sens pieds nus, les paysans qui rentrent des champs, les femmes habillées toutes en couleurs portent les bébés sur le dos, les vieux sont assis devant leur maison.
Tous les repères classiques tombent d’un coup. Dans un premier temps, on se croit dans un autre monde, hors du temps. Et au bout de quelques minutes, la vie telle que nos enfants la connaissent reprend son cours. Les mères appellent leurs petits, les marmites chauffent pour la soupe, les chamailleries entre frères et sœurs n’ont plus rien avoir avec le temps ou l’espace. Elles sont juste liées à la vie de famille.
Une vieille femme vient nous voir. Elle a très mal aux pieds, ils sont gonflés et plein de sortes de grosses gerçures.
Nos connaissances médicales sont plutôt faibles, mais on trouve dans nos sac une pommade qui devrait la soulager un peu. Petit massage, elle nous sourit, et on lui donne le tube et une ou deux paires de chaussettes histoire que ses pieds soient un peu moins en contact de la poussière.
C’est notre première nuit, au milieu de ce qui nous semble un peu la « jungle », protégés par de grandes moustiquaires. Pas de bruit si ce n’est celui de quelques animaux nocturnes.
Le matin, un bruit étrange nous réveille. Dans un demi sommeille, on cherche en vain ce que ce peut être. Jamais entendu un tel son, comme un grincement. Peu probable que ce soit un animal. La curiosité nous fait sortir. C’est juste le bruit d’un moulin qui transformait les grains de riz en farine, avec une roue entraînée par deux hommes. On se regarde, échange d’un sourire.
Une pluie fine tombe, mais on recharge le sac pour repartir et quittons le village accompagnés quelque temps par les enfants. Les couleurs sont différentes de la veille sous le voile humide. Une sorte de brume rend les paysages un peu flous. On se rend compte qu’on finit presque par s’habituer aux rizières qu’on traverse. Quand c’est comme ça, je me dis toujours en marchant : profite, profite, rempli tes yeux … tu y repenseras quand les jours seront moins beaux. Et ça marche !
On devient trempé de la tête aux pieds, et Prim notre guide, nous annonce tout heureux qu’une soupe nous attend dans une famille Kharen qu’il connaît. On arrive dans une grande maison, toujours sur pilotis. Une grande salle avec le feu au milieu, et deux chambres sur le côté. Au dessus du feu la vaisselle qui sèche. Une belle femme est là avec ses trois enfants.
La grand-mère est malade, couchée dans une des chambres. Rapidement, d’autres personnes du village sont attirés pas ces gens qui viennent d’ailleurs. On commence à essayer de discuter avec eux, et on se met rapidement à passer aux mimes ou à faire des dessins. Le fait de voir une famille avec parents et enfants semblent les intriguer, mais l’échange est d’autant plus facile. C’est fou comme on se sent bien. On est à l’abri, il pleut dehors, le chat veille dans un coin, l’eau pour le thé et au dessus du feu, et on rit avec des gens que rien aurait pu faire qu’on se rencontre hormis ce voyage.
Mais il faut continuer la route et on fait nos adieux. Drôle d’impression d’avoir passé un aussi bon moment avec cette famille qu’on ne connaissait pas et qu’on ne reverra jamais. Les enfants nous disent au revoir des fenêtres. Petits pincements au cœur. La pluie s’est arrêtée.
STP vite la suite, ton récit est vraiment prenant et je te rassure tes photos ne sont pas si mal et recréent une certaine atmosphère. On a hâte de lire la suite.
A bientôt j'espère. En tout cas, tu racontes très bien.Ginoux😉
Le chemin continue. On a parfois l’impression d’être les premiers à traverser certains lieux. Forêts inextricables, passages sur quelques troncs au dessus de petites rivières et le paysage est toujours aussi varié. Très humide, beaucoup de torrents et toujours les rizières.
Prim nous trouve le soir une cabane en paille de riz pour la nuit près d’un ruisseau.
Pendant ces deux jours, on a fait exclusivement de la marche et on a rencontré que des populations Kharen, le rythme de la journée correspondait à celui du soleil. La journée du lendemain nous donne l’impression de redevenir de parfaits touristes. Après deux petites heures de marche, on arrive à des radeaux de bambous. Objectif, descendre la rivière. Le niveau d’eau est haut, mais l’eau est plus calme que dans bien des films à sensation. Ces radeaux sont simples mais efficaces. Juste de gros bambous attachés entre eux par quelques cordes. L’équilibre est instable, les chutes nombreuses, petits rapides à franchir … et la vie calme le long de la rivière.
A l’arrivée, des éléphants attendent tranquillement le débarquement de ce groupe hilare et trempé. C’est le grand confort sur le dos de ces pachydermes, bien plus stable que sur un cheval ou un chameau. Ces bêtes sont impressionnantes par leur force tranquille. On a l’impression que le moindre arbre ne leur résisterait pas plus qu’un roseau. Trempé depuis le matin, on commence à avoir un peu froid. Il faut savoir que quand on est sur un éléphant et qu’on n’a pas très chaud, il y a un truc génial à faire, c’est glisser ses jambes sous leurs immenses oreilles. Je n’utiliserai aucun terme pour décrire la sensations afin d’éviter les sourires moqueurs, mais c’est un excellent souvenir. Les enfants sont aux anges, ils sont dans un autre monde.
Et puis c’est la fin de notre petite virée de trois jours. On retrouve notre bétaillère qui nous ramène à Chang Maï. L’ambiance n’est pas aussi gaie qu’à l’aller. Tout le monde est un peu triste de se quitter et nos enfants ont le blues. Pendant ces trois jours, ils ont vu des paysages idylliques, rencontrés des gens étonnants et adorables qui vivent dans un dénuement qu’ils ne pouvaient imaginer, ils ont eu une vie comparable à celle des adultes qui les accompagnaient et ils ont même aimé marcher. Ils se sont pris tour à tour pour des aventuriers, des explorateurs, bref de grands voyageurs. Nous parents, on a bu du petit lait. Etre dans un tel endroit avec nos « petits » était un bonheur intense. Mais on a eu la chance de tomber sur un petit groupe avec des gens vraiment sympas, curieux de ce qu’ils voyaient, jamais râleurs et toujours prêts à tout ; notre guide Prim était prévenant et attentionné connaissant bien le coin et les gens chez qui il nous emmenait ; et pas un seul autre touriste que nous mêmes pendant ces trois jours. Je cherche au fond de la mémoire quelques souvenirs désagréables, mais pour l’instant, impossible de les trouver.
Et on retourne la tête pleine de toutes ces images dans notre GH, juste nous cinq, prêts pour d’autres découvertes.
Après cette escapade de 3 jours à pied, on avait prévu de louer une voiture une semaine et aller au grès des envies dans les villages en faisant une grande boucle à l’ouest de Chiang Maï. La voiture nous permettait de nous arrêter en fonction des envies, de sauter des étapes ou de rester plusieurs jours au même endroit.
On retrouve l’agence dans laquelle on avait réservé la voiture, un 4x4. Au départ, on imaginait bien sûr un gros 4x4 comme on en voit dans nos villes, gros et tout noir … c’était pas vraiment notre genre, mais pourquoi pas, pour une fois on pouvait bien assumer nos contradictions.
Arrivés devant la voiture, on était un peu surpris. Non parce qu’elle était blanche, mais parce qu’elle ressemblait plutôt à une 4L améliorée. Les pneus lisses furent changés à notre demande et heureusement, le klaxonne marchait parfaitement, ce qui est indispensable dans ces pays. On se demandait comment on rentrerait à 5 avec en plus nos 5 sacs à dos à l’intérieur. En se tassant un peu, ça devrait le faire. Comme dans les 2CV, une belle barre au milieu de la banquette arrière. Pas grave, on s’échangera régulièrement les places.
Et nous voilà parti, l’Homme au volant comme dans toutes les « bonnes » familles. Ehhhh !!!! Xavier, on roule à gauche en Thaïlande … inutile de crier, la voiture nous arrivant en face fut plus efficace pour le lui rappeler.
Direction Pai. En théorie, ou au moins sur la carte, il y a 135 Km. Avec les détours, on en fera beaucoup plus, histoire de prendre les chemins de traverse. Entre la conduite à gauche et les panneaux souvent illisibles, arriver au bon endroit tient de la prouesse et on essaye de décrypter les signalisations en comparant l’écriture thaï à celle de la carte. Mais cela devient vite un jeu d’enfant.
La campagne nous étonne toujours autant, on traverse de grandes forêts de tecks, des rizières et s’arrêtons régulièrement dès que l’envie nous prend. La traversée des villages est toujours un moment très particulier. Les habitants n’ont pas l’air très habitué à voir une famille débarquer comme ça, mais après les premiers instants d’hésitation, un peu de dialogue peut s’installer.
Pai est une petite ville sympa, plutôt un gros bourg, s’étalant le long d’une grande route principale et l’ambiance est calme. Peu de touristes, quelques restos à l’air accueillant. Trouver de quoi se loger est facile, des petits bungalows autour d’un minuscule lac font parfaitement l’affaire. Il n’y a plus qu’à faire une grande lessive familiale.
Le lendemain, un breakfast excellent nous permet de partir à pied sans trop s’inquiéter de faim précoce. Un truc qu’on aime beaucoup faire dans ces cas là, c’est de partir dans la campagne sans savoir où on va. Il y a beaucoup de villages autour de Pai, et c’est la surprise assurée à tous les coups. Certaines fois, on se sent un peu comme des inquisiteurs, d’autres fois, on nous accueille avec plein de sourires, d’autres fois, on a l’impression d’être presque inaperçus si ce n’est quelques coups d’œil. On nous propose de la ganja … mais nous ne sommes pas les bons clients.
Sur les chemins, mêmes les insectes ont d’autres allures que chez nous et on passe beaucoup de temps assis au bord des chemins à regarder ces énormes fourmis au travail.
On continue comme ça toute la journée, marcher au grès des chemins à travers les rizières et les villages ou découvrir des chutes d’eau derrière un virage.
Le soir, on rencontre une famille avec deux enfants. Ils voyagent comme nous, mais en bus. Plus courageux !!! on a le temps de discuter, il tombe des seaux d’eau dans une nuit noire.
On reprend notre superbe 4x4 direction Mae Hong Son. La route est montagneuse, mais notre voiture monte courageusement les côtes. Premier arrêt aux grottes de Tham Lod. Une rivière souterraine majestueuse (au moins dans le souvenir), qui a creusé dans la roche quantité de chambres où il est facile de se perdre. Stalactites et stalagmites à profusion.
La région est aussi riche en sources d’eau chaudes. L’odeur n’est pas toujours extraordinaire, mais le spectacle vaut toujours le coup surtout si l’on tombe dessus un peu par hasard au milieu d’un champ. Pour imaginer la photo, il suffit de mettre une cocotte minute au milieu d’un tapis vert. Se sont en fait de petites marres d’eau chaudes. Des petits sacs sont immergés dans l’eau. C’est tout simplement des sacs de riz que les paysans mettent à cuire pendant la journée. Economie d’énergie.
Comme d’habitude, repas dans un petit resto au bord de la route. C’est drôle comme on ne s’y arrêterait pas en France parce qu’ils ne sont pas toujours d’une netteté absolue. Mais la nourriture est toujours excellente, et tous les intestins sont en pleine forme.
Les côtes s’accentuent et la voiture commence à avoir vraiment du mal à les grimper. On doit être à 10 Km de la frontière birmane. C’est toujours impressionnant d’avoir un pays en destination et d’en frôler d’autres, surtout celui-là. Il faudra attendre encore quelques années pour y aller.
On arrive après bien des virages au village de Mae Lana. Superbe, blotti au milieu des rizières. Un seul regret, ne pas y rester plus longtemps et échanger davantage avec les gens. Mais une fois de plus, la barrière de la langue nous embarrasse et les gestes remplacent la parole, ce qui provoque toujours de franches rigolades.
On retrouve la piste pour redescendre mais avec les pluies, ça glisse un maximum et devient même parfois un peu périlleux. Le chemin disparaît régulièrement sous l’eau qui le dévale. On respire en retrouvant la route principale de Mae Hong Son.
Un certain nombre de cols sont franchis où des femmes attendent les touristes avec quantités de tissus colorés brodés. Les vues sont splendides sur la plaine et les montagnes même si le ciel est bas et on s’arrête de nombreuses fois pour rentrer dans des petits temples.
On trouve une GH splendide tout en teck au bord du lac de Mae Hong Son, vraiment très belle, spacieuse et nickel. Un gros insecte nous nargue dans le coin d’une des chambres, mais on s’efforce juste de le chasser gentiment. Ne pas tuer d’animal, réflexe que l’on a souvent chez nous.
La journée du lendemain est sans surprise au niveau du climat. Comme d’habitude, le ciel est couvert en début de journée, il se dégage ensuite montrant un bleu particulier pour se transformer en douche le soir.
Première envie, aller au marché. Ces lieux sont toujours extraordinaires, la vie de tous les jours est là, on achète, on vend, on discute, on peut trouver de tout. C’est bruyant et coloré, très vivant.
Un dilemme se pose à nous. A quelques kilomètres se trouve le village d’une population de réfugiés qui a une particularité. Les femmes se mettent des anneaux autour du cou, comme les femmes girafes africaines. Enlever ces anneaux leur briserait le cou. Le village des Long Neck Kayan Lahwi, membre de l’ethnie Karen, réfugiées de Birmanie n’est qu’à quelques kilomètres de Mae Hong Son. Fallait-il ne pas y aller comme le conseillait à l’époque le GR, soutenir l’exploitation indécente de ces femmes en y allant sans se poser de question, ou y aller pour ouvrir nos yeux à des coutumes tellement éloignées des notres ? Nous avons décidé d’y aller, en expliquant le sort de ces ethnies réfugiées à nos enfants. Le chemin pour s’y rendre est magnifique. On traverse la forêt en se croyant au milieu de la jungle, on croise un grand nombre d’éléphants et on franchit souvent la rivière à guet. Pour rentrer dans le village, première chose, acheter des tickets. Comme au zoo. Mais cet argent est reversé à la population. Il leur est en effet interdit de cultiver les terres, et le tourisme est quasiment la seule ressource.
Au moment où on arrive, les quelques touristes encore présents partent, et on se retrouve tout seul dans ce village. C’est l’heure de manger. Alors on traverse le village en parcourant la rue principale. Quelques têtes sortent des maisons, et on voit les femmes et les jeunes filles avec leurs anneaux autour du cou. Notre premier sentiment est un certain malaise. C’est vrai que cela donne une tête haut perchée très étrange. Passé la première impression et quelques échanges de sourires, on continue la route comme si de rien n’était pour aller tout au bout du village. On s’assoit et un homme semblant assez jeune vient nous voir, rapidement rejoint par quelque gamins. Il nous intrigue, on l’intrigue, mais au bout de quelques temps, il voit en nous une famille somme toute comme toutes les autres. Alors tout heureux, il nous fait signe de l’attendre et revient quelques minutes plus tard tenant avec précaution un grand panier en osier. A l’intérieur, une petite tête brune dépasse, son premier enfant d’à peine quelques jours, un garçon. Il fallait voir la fierté de ce jeune père.
On est resté longtemps avec lui et les gamins qui, curieux, se rassemblaient autour de nous. Des petites filles sans anneaux, libres de leurs mouvements, et d’autres un peu plus âgées à qui on avait déjà mis ces colliers étranges. En même temps, leur habit change, plus de tee-shirt de toutes les couleurs mais le costume traditionnel blanc brodé et une coiffe. Elles avaient sans doute passé l’âge de la puberté.
Une mamie, avec ses 5 petits-enfants est venue discuter aussi un petit moment.
Il fallu repartir. On a quitté ce village avec un mélange de joie et de tristesse. Heureux de ce moment passé où pendant l’espace de quelque temps, rien de différenciait les deux familles. Des parents, des enfants qui discutaient en riant. Mais un passé et un avenir tellement différent … comment imaginer qu’on puisse rester « parqué » de la sorte, sans liberté aucune, sans autre ressource que celle du visiteur qui vient en inquisiteur, pour voir, et repartir vers des lendemains si loin de leur vie de tous les jours. Cette privation de liberté nous a procuré un malaise bien plus grand que ces femmes au long cou.
C’est bientôt la fin de notre petite virée dans le nord de la Thaïlande. Pour finir, nous partons à la recherche de très belles cascades indiquées assez approximativement sur la carte. Beaucoup de pistes s’offrent à nous, et comptant sur notre flair et le sens de l’orientation de mon homme, après maintes réflexions, on en emprunte une qui paraît être la bonne. Au pire, tout au bout du chemin, à au moins 25 Km, il y a un village, on pourra toujours faire demi-tour. La pente est bien raide et les pluies de la veille lui font ressembler à une véritable patinoire brune, chaotique est pentue. Au bout de quelques kilomètres, impossible d’avancer davantage. La voiture patine un maximum, allant d’un côté à l’autre de la piste en zigzag, frôlant parfois la catastrophe. Mais c’était oublier que nous étions dans un 4x4 et que l’on avait donc 4 roues motrices. Pas de fascicule pour indiquer le mode d’emploi, mais il y avait une manette qui ne devait certainement servir qu’à ça.
Victoire, on se croit sauvé, mais la boue a eu raison de la voiture. Le conducteur manque d’entraînement et ce n’est certainement pas moi qui allais risquer de le remplacer. Courageux mais pas téméraires, on laisse la voiture sur le côté et on part chercher la fameuse cascade à pied. On marche, cherchant, écoutant à l’affût d’un bruit de chute d’eau, vérifions régulièrement la carte … rien. On est sale, crottés, les chaussures ne se voient même plus et le temps menace. Mais un bruit de moteur derrière nous se fait entendre, et quelques minutes plus tard, un vieux pick-up arrive à notre hauteur. Le conducteur prend pitié et nous propose de nous monter un peu plus loin sur la route. La mère et les enfants sur le plateau à l’arrière, le père à côté de lui à l’intérieur. Normal ! Manifestement, il est entraîné à conduire dans de telles conditions et le paysage défile bien plus rapidement qu’à pied.
Bêtement (oui, je sais, c’était stupide), je dis en rigolant aux enfants : « en fait, ce gars là, il peut faire ce qu’il veut de nous. Il peut nous égorger, prendre toutes nos affaires et nous jeter dans le fossé. Personne n’en saura jamais rien et on pourra nous rechercher longtemps. » Panique chez les filles et Marion crie ; « maman, on descend ». J’ai beau lui dire que c’était pour rire, rien n’y fait. Et là, je redeviens plus sérieuse et songe à tous ces kilomètres que l’on fait en voiture et qu’il faudra de toute façon faire à pied pour redescendre. Je toque à la vitre pour faire signe à mon homme qu’il faut mieux s’arrêter là. Remerciement au chauffeur, qui n’avait pourtant pas l’air bien méchant, mais les enfants ont eu un peu de mal à lui faire de grands sourires.
La redescente à pied fut épique. On croise deux jeunes qui essayer de monter en moto. Mais ils riaient tellement que leurs efforts étaient vains. On retrouve la voiture avec bonheur.
La fameuse cascade est complètement oubliée. Tant pis.
On reprend la route, traverse un village où l’on entend plein de bruit, plein de musique venant d’un temple. On y va ? allez … on rentre dans le temple où une cinquantaine d’enfants étaient réunis pour faire la fête. Ils nous font signe d’entrer avec de grands sourires et de nous asseoir parmi eux. Un peu de distance au départ, et au fur et à mesure, les jeunes garçons se rapprochent discrètement de nos deux filles de 14 et 16 ans. Surtout près de Camille qui était blonde. On a l’impression que c’est un jeu, comme un pari entre eux à celui qui ira le plus près. Ils nous offrent des gâteaux, une sorte de riz gluant qu’on a du mal à apprécier. Comment faire pour manger poliment sans faire de grimaces et en gardant le sourire. Aujourd’hui encore, cela nous fait rire.
C’est l’heure de la prière … ils nous font signe de nous mettre sur les genoux. Par manque de réflexe, on était resté assis en tailleurs. On se corrige rapidement.
Une fois de plus, il faut repartir. La nuit arrive vite, et la pluie avec elle.
Le lendemain est une grosse journée de voiture. 7 heures pour 350 Km. La route est souvent dangereuse, les voitures doublent sans se poser la question de savoir s’il y a quelqu’un en face. Mais ça marche. De toute façon, nous, on se pousse pour laisser passer. On s’arrête en cours de route pour réserver par téléphone une GH sur Chiang Maï. La première était sympa, mais décidemment trop bruyante.
Arrivé le soir, on ne la trouve pas très jolie au fond de sa ruelle, mais très vite la patronne très sympa nous conquis. Pourtant, elle ressemblait comme deux gouttes d'eau à la surveillante générale de mon collège. Et quel calme. Petite lessive, et les patrons n’en revenaient pas de voir un garçon de 12 ans frotter ses chaussettes. Là, ils étaient vraiment épatés.
Petit tour le soir au night bazar de Chiang Maï, mais on en n’a vite marre. Beaucoup de monde, et surtout, beaucoup de touristes. Cela nous fait bizarre parce qu’on en avait très peu vu pendant cette virée. Drôle d’impression, parce qu’en fait, nous sommes aussi de « parfaits » touristes.
Dernière journée à Chiang Maï, mais qui ne restera pas notre meilleur souvenir.
La matinée fut le moment le plus sympa, on l’a passée au Warorot Market qui est le marché local de la ville fréquenté principalement par des thaïs. On trouve de tout, beaucoup d’épices, des quantités de légumes et de fruits en tout genre, des tas d’insectes dans de petites boîtes, des fringues … toujours très coloré et très animé. C’est un des endroits que l’on préfère dans les villes. On y retrouve les familles, surtout des femmes avec leurs enfants, la vie de tous les jours, celle qui nous plait. Par endroit on entend des rires, à d’autres des discussions assez animées, des disputes ou des papotes tranquilles.
L’après-midi, Francis, notre loueur de 4x4, veut nous emmener voir les fabriques d’artisanat. Les parents dans une voiture, « les babys » dans une autre, conduite par sa girl friend. La visite commence par les fabriques d’ombrelles -impressionnant- ; puis le tissage de la soie avec ses métiers à tisser gigantesques où on se demande comment ils arrivent à ne pas faire de nœuds. On nous reçoit en grande pompe dans des bâtiments superbes, mais se rendent vite compte que nous ne serons pas de très bons clients.
Vient ensuite le « Palais » des bijoux et des statuettes en jade. Là aussi, accueil comme si nous étions des hôtes de marque. Des bijoux extraordinaires avec des prix à la hauteur du nombre de carats, des aquariums au milieu des pierres précieuses, bref, que de belles choses. On finit par acheter un tout petit truc en argent, histoire de faire comme tout le monde. Faut dire que les autres touristes que nous sont un peu mieux habillés que notre petite famille, et leur portefeuille un peu plus gros.
Puis visite des ateliers de sculpture sur des panneaux en teck et du découpage de la nacre pour y faire des incrustations. Leur dextérité est ahurissante, ils incisent le bois avec une précision prodigieuse. Mais autant leur travail est une pure merveille, autant le résultat est parfois bizarre. Mais c’est juste une histoire de goût. On continue avec les cachemires, l’argent, le cuir …
Assez rapidement, on se sent très moyennement à l’aise. On enchaîne les bâtiments les uns à la suite des autres, tous plus beaux les uns que les autres, avec de magnifiques objets à acheter fait pour se retrouver sur le buffet dans quelconque salon du visiteur. Et en même temps, des hommes et des femmes sont là, travaillant dans des conditions très rudimentaires, juste histoire de montrer aux touristes les méthodes traditionnelles de l’artisanat. Tout semble ce coup-ci totalement surfait, trop organisé et à des prix exorbitants. On devient spectateur d’artisans qui ne sont qu’en démonstration aux yeux du visiteur. Parfois, les conditions de travail semblent acceptables, mais elles sont aussi souvent pitoyables. On est là, à les regarder, et ils nous sourient. Ils n’ont pas le choix.
On est finalement heureux que ces visites se terminent.
Retour sur Chiang Maï assez mitigé sur cette dernière après-midi. Mais on quitte la ville le lendemain pour Kho Chang ou Kho Tao, on ne sait pas bien encore. On a entendu parler de palu sur la première, et la deuxième nous paraît un peu loin, mais on décidera demain. De toute façon, ça fait dix fois qu’on change d’avis.
C’est le moment de quitter le nord de la Thaïlande, notre première rencontre avec ce pays. Ce qu’on y a découvert allait déjà au-delà de notre espérance. Des paysages grandioses, des gens particulièrement attentifs qui nous indiquent la route même quand on ne la demande pas, des gens attachants menant une vie à des lieues de la notre … et une cuisine … même pas la peine d’en parler tellement elle nous a enchantés.
La patronne de la GH nous dis au revoir comme si on était de la famille ou presque. Un visage sévère, un regard empli de gentillesse.
Le trajet sur Bangkok se fait en avion, histoire de gagner un peu de temps. Deux heures où on peut admirer un paysage très structuré. Des canaux parallèles irriguent des champs perpendiculaires tracés à la règle, des routes toutes droites quadrillent l’ensemble. Rien à voir avec les parcelles de la région de Chiang Maï. On a le sentiment de survoler le grenier de la Thaïlande.
Deux heures d’avion, deux heures de voiture pour aller de l’aéroport à la ville de Bangkok (le nouveau n’existait pas encore). Le contraste avec les jours précédent est saisissant, on se croirait parachuté dans une fourmilière. Beaucoup de bruit, du monde partout, des vélos, des voitures, des motos avec des familles entières, des piétons qui tentent de se frayer un chemin au milieu de tout de capharnaüm. Les enfants ont les yeux écarquillés, ils n’ont jamais assisté à un tel spectacle même sur les boulevards parisiens aux heures de pointes.
On va directement à la gare et on s’est enfin décidé pour l’île de Kho Tao, au nord de Kho Samui. L’envie de découvrir les fonds sous marin l’a emporté.
Un train part à 22h50, c’est parfait. Le temps de dîner, de prendre des billets et de passer quelques heures à regarder tout ce monde dans cette gare. Là encore, on a l’impression d’être au cœur même de la vie. Des familles en partance, d’autres touristes, des mendiants …
La nuit dans le train fut un très sympa. On reçoit une petite collation au départ et une couverture pour chacun. Le compartiment est presque vide. Un thaï, un jeune couple d’américain avec un petit chiot et nous. Des fauteuils confortables qui se tournent même en classe économique. Au fur et à mesure des arrêts, le compartiment se remplit. Le thaï qui était avec nous depuis le début organise, place les voyageurs, se renseigne pour savoir si tout le monde va bien. On pensait que c’était une personne de la compagnie de train tellement il était attentionné. Même pas ! Il voulait juste s’assurer qu’il n’y avait aucun souci pour personne.
Le petit matin arrive vite, et les yeux encore mal ouverts, on se retrouve sur le quai de la gare. Direction le port où un bateau part dans l’heure pour Kho Tao.
Il y a très peu de personnes à son bord, le soleil brille un maximum dès le matin, la mer est calme, on se laisse bercer par le bruit des vagues.
Quatre heures après, cuit par le soleil, on approche de l’île et on a du mal à en croire nos yeux. Nous sommes face à un paysage paradisiaque, on est à l’intérieur même de la carte postale ou de ces poster qui recouvrent des murs entiers. Le bleu de la mer et celui du ciel se confondent, un bandeau de sable blanc sépare l’eau azur de la masse verte des cocotiers perchés à flanc de colline. Quelques bateaux de pêche attendent tranquilles que quelqu’un les emmène vers le large. Cette arrivée est magique.
A la descente du bateau, un grand nombre de rabatteurs se précipitent vers nous pour nous amener à leur GH de prédilection. Alors on fait semblant de savoir parfaitement où on va, et donnons à un taxi l’adresse d’une petite GH qu’on avait repéré dans le LP. On ne sait pas grand-chose sur elle, mais on se fie à notre instinct. Elle est tout au bout de l’île, à la pointe sud, et on pense qu’il ne devrait pas y avoir trop de monde.
Traverser l’île prend peu de temps, et on se retrouve devant une petite GH accueillante au bord de l’eau dans une petite crique, composée d’une terrasse protégées par des palmes de cocotiers et donnant sur une petite cuisine construite à même dans la roche. A côté, quelques bungalows, quasiment tous libres. Notre choix se porte sur l’un d’eux qui se dresse sur ses pilotis, face à l’eau. Jamais la vue de notre fenêtre ne fut aussi extraordinaire à nos yeux que celle-ci.
Ni une, ni deux, la première chose est d’aller louer masques et palmes. Les seuls fonds sous marins que l’on connaissait étaient ceux du nord de la Bretagne. Ils sont très beaux, mais là, c’est quand même autre chose. L’eau est translucide. On y voit des poissons de toutes les couleurs, des bariolés, des oranges, des violets … des oursins énormes avec des aiguilles d’au moins 30 cm, des anémones de mer de toutes les teintes, des coraux bougeant gracieusement avec le mouvement de l’eau. Une vraie palette de peintre. Jamais on avait vu ce spectacle ailleurs que sur un écran de télévision. Mais ce qui nous étonne le plus et nous inquiète un peu au départ, ce sont ces énormes concombres de mer. On ne savait même pas que cela existait et ils sont là par centaines. En fait, ils sont totalement inoffensifs (enfin je crois), et on s’habitue à leur présence.
On est tellement absorbé par le spectacle qu’on ne se rend pas compte que le ciel est devenu noir, et bientôt, une pluie torrentielle s’abat sur nous. De toute façon, on est déjà mouillé et c’est un délice d’être dans cette eau chaude et de se recevoir ces lourdes gouttes rafraîchissantes. La surface de l’eau devient de la tôle ondulée, ressemble à de l’eau qui bout avec des bulles qui jaillissent de partout. Drôle d’impression.
L’orage ne dure pas, mais la fatigue nous tombe dessus. On essaye de rentrer par les rochers, mais échec au 3/4 de la route. Impossible d’escalader des énormes rochers.
Alors on revient par le sentier de bord de mer, dînons, et nous écroulons comme des masses. Ce premier soir, il y a peut être eu du bruit, mais personne ne l’aura entendu.
Première journée sur notre île. On se la fait cool après une grasse matinée, et passons des heures dans l’eau à observer ces fonds fabuleux. On se coupe sur bon nombre de rochers, mais notre peau y est insensible. Un nouvel orage terrible finit par nous interrompre et on trouve une petite paillote en cocotiers pour nous abriter sur un petit bout de rocher surplombant la mer, entourée par un bougainvillier grand comme un arbre. Un vrai petit paradis. Quelle sensation fabuleuse de se sentir quelques instants des Robinson Crusoé tout en sachant qu’on dormira dans un lit le soir.
Le soir, on fait la connaissance d’une autre famille française avec deux enfants de l’âge des notres et on projette de faire le tour de l’île ensemble en bateau le lendemain. On a bien envie des découvrir toutes les autres petites criques de l’île et voir si les fonds sous-marins sont semblables.
Réveil à 7 heures en fanfare grâce à un couple d’allemands situés juste de l’autre côté de la cloison. C’est jeunes sont en pleine forme et décidément, également très amoureux.
On rencontre un jeune thaï, Rung, qui veut bien nous emmener toute la journée sur son bateau. Le temps est superbe, c’est parti pour une journée de rêve qui laissera quelques souvenirs cuisants sur les cuisses.
Après une succession de petites criques, on arrive sur Nang Yuan, situé juste à coté de Ko Tao. C’est un ensemble de 3 îlots reliés entre eux par des bancs de sable. Trois teintes dominent, le blanc du sable, les bleus de l’eau et les verts des îlots. Par endroits, d’énormes rochers tout ronds et tout lisses semblent surgir du sable. Si on veut s’imaginer à quoi peut ressembler le paradis, cela doit être quelque chose de ce genre. Sauf que bien sûr, comme c’est un endroit merveilleux, on n’est pas tout seul, mais il y a suffisamment de place pour tout le monde. Il y a ce couple de japonais qui craint le soleil et qui reste couvert, l’eau jusqu’au genoux, protégés par leur ombrelle.
Surprise, le spectacle sous l’eau, dès qu’il y a un peu de profondeur d’eau, est encore plus impressionnant que celui de notre petite crique. Des poissons de toutes les couleurs à foison, des anémones comme des pierres précieuses et toujours la même danse des coraux. L’eau est encore plus translucide. Nous n’avions jamais vu une telle scène marine.
Rung nous fait signe de partir, on se remplis des yeux une dernière fois et reprenons le bateau pour d’autres rivages moins envahis de monde. Dans d’autres criques, ce sont de gros bancs de poissons qui viennent nous voir, ainsi que des poissons scie.
On s’arrête le temps du déjeuner dans une paillote construite sur un radeau au milieu de l’eau. L’endroit est enchanteur. Une famille thaïe tient ce lieu qui sert de resto et nous sommes seuls avec Rung et elle. Sous la maison, il y a un gigantesque casier à poissons dans lequel la cuisinière pioche au grès du menu. Quelques hamacs multicolores sont accrochés de ça et là.
Un peu de poissons grillés et de riz ont une saveur incomparable dans ce lieu.
Une très grosse vedette vient interrompre cette tranquillité. A son bord, une équipe de cinéma argentine qui vient tourner quelques scènes. Le décalage est trop drôle. Sur la vedette, d’autres vedettes (ou plutôt starlettes) d’un âge moyen de 25 ans, bronzés, lunettés, cheveux gominés pour les garçons et au vent pour les filles, en maillots très échancrés qui se la « pètent » un peu. Un homme avec un gros ventre, sans doute le producteur, semble surveiller ses ouailles. On regarde quelques instants les yeux ronds … mais ces gens ne sont pas très souriants, et finalement, on retourne rapidement vers un autre spectacle, celui de la mer et des bancs de poissons qui tournent autour de cette maison flottante.
Dernière crique de la journée, celle qui sert de refuge à de jeunes requins. On n’est pas très tranquille, mais notre inquiétude ne touche nullement nos enfants qui se jettent vite à l’eau. Les scènes de certains films à épouvante ne se produiront pas. Juste quelques jeunes requins échappés de la surveillance de leur mère tournent doucement et sont interloqués de notre présence. Mais de se retrouver à quelques brasses procurent quand même une drôle d’impression.
Retour vers la GH, pas d’orage aujourd’hui, le soleil reste impitoyable, et doucement mais sûrement, l’arrière des cuisses commence à chauffer. On avait bien prévu pour cette journée de garder des tee-shirt qui protègeraient le dos, mais rien sur les jambes. Entre les rayons ardents et le filtre de l’eau, on s’est bien fait avoir, surtout la mère (sic) et de rester assis sur les petits bancs en bois devient vite insoutenable. De minutes en minutes, mes cuisses prennent une couleur rouge vif, puis virent presque au violet.
La soirée sera difficile, et les crèmes et calmants font peu d’effet. Autant, cette journée fut fabuleuse à tous les niveaux, autant la fin est cuisante.
Le lendemain, on évite l’eau, les jambes brûlent toujours. Première chose, réfléchir à ce que l’on veut faire pour les jours qui restent avant le retour en France. On voulait remonter directement sur Damnoe Saduak mais cela semble vraiment compliqué. On prendra donc un bus après demain pour Bangkok.
En attendant, on part à pied parcourir l’île dont on ne connaît finalement que les fonds marins. Impératif, trouver une crème apaisante. Dans une petite boutique on nous conseille de l’aloe véra, ça tombe bien, il paraît que cette potion offre aussi la beauté et la santé. Alors si en plus, ça calme les brûlures …
Les paysages sont aussi enchanteurs au milieu de l’île que sur son pourtour. Très vert, très habité, avec des collines à grimper débouchant sur des panoramas exceptionnels. On va se perdre de chemin en chemin, mais vue la taille de l’île, pas trop d’inquiétude. La chaleur est terrible, le soleil tape d’une façon insolente.
On finit par arriver au nord de l’île dans l’endroit le plus « branché » de l’île. Beaucoup de jeunes aussi beaux et bronzés les uns que les autres, beaucoup de musique et on finit par trouver un endroit sur la plage où on peut se poser. On avait l’impression d’être au milieu « d’Alerte à Malibu », ce qui n’était pas complètement pour déplaire aux enfants. Mais on en a vite marre et repartons vers des lieux plus calmes. Une nouvelle crique avec des vagues assez fortes, et on peut voir au travers de l’eau des oursins aux épines gigantesques. Impossible pour Paul de ne pas aller les voir de plus près, ça tombe bien, il ne quitte pas son masque, toujours prêt.
Dernière soirée dans notre paradis. Un peu nostalgique de repartir déjà demain. Le nord de la Thaïlande nous avait considérablement plu. On y avait découvert un monde que l’on ne connaissait pas. Le sud nous a enchanté. On avait déjà vu ces paysages paradisiaques, mais seulement par écran ou photo interposés. Là, on était rentré à l’intérieur même de l’image.
J'attendais la fin du récit pour te dire combien je me suis régalée à te lire !
Continuez à faire de beaux voyages en famille et surtout, toi, à les raconter !
Bises béarnaises 😉
La liberté, c'est un cadeau qu'on se fait à soi-même - (L.Gauthier)
Merci mamina ... c'était pas fini.
Nous continuons à voyager, mais sans les enfants. Ils volent maintenant de leurs propres ailes 😉 et ont attrapé le virus.
Et voilà la fin ....
Le retour de cette île paradisiaque se fit dans une ambiance un peu nostalgique, même si notre voyage n’était pas fini. Pour démarrer la journée, trois heures sur un bateau bourré de touristes à craquer, impossible de bouger le petit doigt, le temps est maussade, la mer très agitée et on se fait tremper sur le pont. Autant à l’aller on était seul sur un petit bateau et la mer superbe ; là le retour est tout autre.
On enchaîne avec huit heures de bus. Pas très sympa dans le bus, surtout comparé à l’aller en train. Là aussi, il y a beaucoup de monde, on n’arrive pas à savoir l’heure d’arrivée à Bangkok, ni s’il y a des pauses déjeuner ou pipi. On s’arrête régulièrement, mais sans savoir pour combien de temps. Impossible donc de s’éloigner du bus et de casser une petite croûte.
Heureusement, le paysage est splendide. Des cocotiers, des hévéas, des ananas, des palmiers dattiers. Sur la gauche, les montagnes birmanes, sur la droite, la plaine thaïlandaise et la mer, d’un bleu toujours extraordinaire.
On arrive vers 22h à Bangkok, complètement cassés par la route, et on se retrouve tous les cinq sur le trottoir avec nos sacs sur le dos. Première difficulté, trouver notre GH dans un dédale de petites rues. On tourne et retourne, les enfants essayant de suivre malgré la fatigue, mais on n’a pas le choix.
Enfin, ça y est ! elle est là. Toute petite au milieu de grandes tours qui la surplombent. On tombe de fatigue et dormons jusqu’à ce que les bruits de la cuisine jouxtant la chambre se fassent entendre. Les parois sont tellement minces, qu’en fermant les yeux, on avait la nette impression que la cuisine se faisait dans la chambre.
Aujourd’hui, c’est la fête des vacances à Bangkok. Drôle d’impression de se retrouver au milieu de tout ce monde, dans une ville qui dépasse à nos yeux celle d’une taille humaine. Il y a plein de gamins partout en uniforme. On est surpris par les enchevêtrements de routes, par les très larges avenues.
Les temples aussi nous surprennent. A l’intérieur, on peut tout y faire : dormir, manger, parler, prier. Toute la vie s’y déroule tranquillement. On est loin de nos églises françaises où règne un silence parfois pesant.
On passe ainsi un long moment dans le Wat Pho, son architecture, son ambiance, ses couleurs, ses statuettes recouvertes de multiples feuilles d’or, ses toitures innombrables … tout nous ahurit. Des gens sont recueillis pieusement, d’autres papotent, d’autres font des offrandes ou brûlent de l’encens.
On s’arrache à ce lieu envoûtant pour aller prendre le bus en direction de Damnoen Saduak situé à une centaine de kilomètres au sud-ouest de Bangkok. En bons touristes, on veut aller voir les fameux marchés flottants de cette petite ville, et il semble qu’il y ait moins de monde aux aurores. Le mieux est donc d’y aller dormir.
Effectivement, le lendemain à 6h30, il y a encore peu de touristes. Par contre les thaïs sont nombreux. Ce marché ressemble à un dédale de petits canaux, un vrai labyrinthe. Des centaines de petites barques toutes plus chargées les unes que les autres, et comme dans tous les marchés, tout se vend, tout s’achète après de longues discussions. C’est surtout les femmes qui vendent : des pancakes, quantités de fruits et légumes, des noix de coco et des pamplemousses, des chapeaux de toutes formes en bambous ou paille de riz, et plein de trucs à touristes.
Tout nous surprend, y compris ces énormes pythons qu’ils veulent nous mettre autour du cou. Cette vie sur l’eau est toujours étonnante. Dans cette même eau verdâtre, on y fait la vaisselle, la lessive, on y rince les légumes, on s’y lave.
Retour sur Bangkok, et pour le dernier soir, on cherche un hôtel un peu meilleur en confort que ceux qu’on a eu, histoire d’être réveillés ni par la cuisine, ni par les motos. On trouve une chambre en haut d’une tour, et par la fenêtre, on aperçoit tout en bas notre petite GH précédente. On a presque l’impression d’être dans un palace, avec un groom dans l’ascenseur. On n’est pas très habitué à ce type d’endroit, mais pour une nuit, ce n’est pas déplaisant.
Le reste de la journée se passe en partie dans le quartier de Chinatown. On se croirait quasiment dans une Foirfouille géante, avec des trombes d’eau en plus qui nous tombent dessus. Les montres se vendent par 6, les bagues par 24. On trouve des couteaux comme on en n’a jamais vu, des épluches légumes comme on n’en trouve pas en France. Pendant une très grosse averse, on trouve refuge chez un marchand de tongues, certainement le plus kitch de tout bangkok.
Puis vient le quartier indien. Changement de monde en quelques minutes. Au bout d’une rue, on tombe par hasard sur un marché de gros de fleurs. Des centaines de bouquets multicolores, des fleurs extraordinaires pendant des mètres et des mètres, des orchidées, des roses et beaucoup d’autres aux noms inconnus.
Retour tranquille pour notre dernière nuit dans la petite GH à la cuisine dans la chambre. La matinée suivante, on déménage dans notre nouvel hôtel, dans ce qui nous semble un palace. Les toitures sont superbement aménagées avec de grandes terrasses dominant la ville, des fleurs partout sur un sol en teck. En sus, une belle piscine … vide.
On décide d’aller visiter la maison de Jim Thompson.
Sa maison thaïlandaise à Bangkok, installée dans la verdure le long du khlong San Sap, est le musée d'un Américain tombé sous le charme du royaume au milieu du siècle passé. Cheville ouvrière de la relance de la commercialisation de la soie thaïlandaise dans le monde, cet amoureux de l'art asiatique a fait de sa maison un véritable paradis où s'harmonisent végétation tropicale luxuriante, architecture siamoise et objets d'art prisés. Cet homme avait manifestement beaucoup de goût, et les moyens de ses ambitions artistiques. Autant de beauté dans un endroit aussi enclavé dans une ville gigantesque, un vrai régal.
Le dernier après-midi, petit tour à la ferme des serpents où on assiste à une séance de récupération de venin. Tous les serpents dont on peut avoir peur sont là.
Et changement radical de décor en allant dans cette forteresse de la consommation, le MBK. On ne s’y sent pas très à l’aise. On a l’impression que les touristes viennent y acheter un maximum de choses avant de rentrer. Ils n’ont pas l’air guidé par les objets mais davantage par des prix. On y trouve des tonnes de chaussures, des vêtements, des parfums … et beaucoup de contrefaçon. Un de nos enfants voit les baskets dont il rêvait en France, à un prix défiant tout concurrence. On craque … elles ne dureront pas longtemps.
Le plus surprenant est cet enchevêtrement de voies routières aériennes.
Avant de rentrer en France, dernière balade en bateau sur les klongs On est là à se remplir les yeux, sachant qu’il n’y en n’a plus pour très longtemps.
Des maisons sur pilotis de toutes tailles, de toutes formes, les unes en très bon état, les autres complètement branlantes. Les enfants jouent sur les balcons au bord de l’eau comme dans n’importe quel jardin. L’eau est un élément naturel. L’une d’entre elles était tellement penchée qu’on se demandait comment on pouvait tenir debout à l’intérieur. Sur la petite terrasse, une femme faisait la cuisine.
Le retour dans l’avion fut très calme. Chacun avait la tête plongée dans toutes ces images que l’on venait de voir, dans cette petite aventure. Difficile de dire ce qui nous avait le plus marqué. Ces réfugiés birmans enfermés dans leur village, cette île paradisiaque, l’accueil dans cette maison au bout du monde où nous sommes restés en attendant que la pluie s’arrête ?
Le pilote de l’avion nous sort de nos songes « Nous allons atterrir à CDG, la température extérieur est de 14°C ». En plein mois d’août, drôle de transition.
Six ans après, nous reparlons régulièrement de ce voyage et des rencontres effectuées. Ce sera le dernier « grand » voyage tous ensemble, mais depuis, chaque enfant continue sa route, et manifestement, elle les emmène bien loin. Ils restent avides de ces découvertes d’autres mondes, d’autres peuples … d‘autres paysages.
Bravo pour votre magnifique récit que j'ai adoré lire. Nous partons également en Thaïlande avec nos 3 enfants (15, 14 et 9ans) en juin. Pourriez vous nous dire quelle guesthouse aviez vous à Koh Tao et quelle plage vous nous conseillez.
24 février - On s’thaï en Thaïlande! Ahhhh, février... L'odeur de la raclette, la fierté se lisant dans mes yeux pétillants lorsque je réussis à descendre…
Ayant beaucoup bénéficié de votre aide sur ce forum, c’est la moindre des choses de faire un petit compte rendu de notre séjour en Thailande et ainsi de…
Carnets de voyage › Thaïlande / Cambodge · 221 replies
Ce récit de voyage est notre second sur voyageforum après celui de l'an dernier où nous avions relaté nos quatre semaines passées au Vietnam. Le but est le…
Carnets de voyage › Thaïlande / Cambodge · 24 replies
Je voulais remercier toutes les personnes qui m'ont aidé à faire ce merveilleux voyage, je vais donc essayer de faire un résumé de notre séjour avec les…
Nous avons l'avantage de vous présenter notre sixième récit de voyage avec photos sur l'Asie du sud-est, celui-ci étant intégralement consacré à la Thailande.…
This trip had been on my mind for about fifteen years.
But the discomfort of overnight stays, the difficulty of communication, and the prices of the few car rentals kept making me postpone the project.
And then, everything fell into place—I told myself, now’s the time!
Preparations took longer than usual; the destination is still far from mainstream.
A bit of Kazakhstan?
Not in the end.
The south or not?
Yes, in the end.
Pre-book or play it by ear?
Only two stops were a leap into the unknown.
To help me find the ideal route, I made great use of this forum (thanks to everyone for patiently answering my questions!), pored over travel journals and blogs (Christian, Jeff), zoomed in on Google Maps and Yandex, and bought the guide published by OunTravela on this destination (the guide has been updated since).
---/---
You’ve got your passport, international driver’s license, bank cards, and euros?
Off we go to Lyon—just one night left before our early morning flight.
Tomorrow night, we’ll be sleeping in Bishkek!
(‘Beefsteak’ for my partner’s mischievous nephews...)
June 2024.
While hiking with my brother on the GR 36 Tour du Morvan, I catch sight now and then of strange rectangular markers fixed to tree trunks. Against a bright orange background, a deep black Greek tau topped with a white dove. My first encounter with the Assisi Way.
The Way of St. Francis: a pilgrimage route linking Vézelay in Burgundy to Assisi in Italy, covering nearly 1,800 km.
It felt like an obvious next step—I immediately knew I’d take it on, attempt the adventure solo.
In the months that followed, I talked about my project to everyone—family, friends, my partner. An avalanche of comments, more or less the same but varying depending on each person’s character and life experiences. But deep down, it all boiled down to one legitimate question: why?
And the answers?
Hesitant, awkward, partial, even confused. I quickly realized they weren’t so easy to find. It was as if my project seemed more like a whim, a kind of intimate caprice, rather than a well-thought-out plan.
Of course, I knew the reasons that pushed me to leave—you always have to give some. Loved ones need to understand to feel reassured, and that’s understandable.
But I fear that when I list them, they’ll sound like the same old checklist anyone embarking on this kind of journey might give.
Of all the reasons I could mention, I’ll highlight just one here: the call of the road, the solo adventure that brings a powerful sense of freedom.
A bit like Monsieur Seguin’s goat, who from her comfortable pen gazes longingly at the unconstrained horizon of the mountain.
But if I’m being honest, I think I didn’t really know what I was looking for—or, more importantly, what I’d find. Deep down, when I reflect on it, one word keeps coming up that explains nothing and everything at once: desire.
Now well past sixty, I know that when I ask myself who I am or where I’m going, two things bring me fully back to myself: hiking and writing.
And my intention was also to anchor this adventure through words, day by day. Writing down my feelings, emotions, discoveries, and reflections each evening. The famous travel journal that grounds the daily experience in reality.
When I discovered the app "Polarstep," which was initially just meant to keep my loved ones updated and reassured, inform them of my progress, and maintain a connection, I found an opportunity to do it a little differently than usual.
No retrospective notes polished up after returning, but spontaneous writing—recounting everything that crossed my mind during the day and publishing it immediately. A journey lived in real time.
This text is the exact transcription of my daily writings. Rereading them, I didn’t change a thing—just corrected a few mistakes and tweaked some awkward phrasing here and there. Short texts, fitting the format imposed by this kind of app. Writing as if addressing others.
Now, all that was left was to walk.
April 18, 2026 – Vézelay.
02 mars — Départ en bus de Latour à 6 h 50. Le trajet n’est pas direct : nous traversons Elne puis Corneilla. À Perpignan je change de bus pour un BlablaBus en direction de la gare routière nord de Barcelone. Avant d’arriver au Perthus, la police française nous arrête pour vérifier les papiers d’identité. Plusieurs personnes ne sont pas en règle, mais après environ un quart d’heure nous repartons. Nous sommes de nouveau contrôlés à La Jonquera : cette fois l’attente dure presque trois quarts d’heure pendant que la police identifie les personnes en infraction et attend qu’un véhicule vienne les récupérer. Le chauffeur essaie ensuite de rattraper le retard ; nous arrivons finalement à destination avec une demi‑heure de retard.
Je me rends rapidement à la station de métro Arc de Triomphe, située à 200 m : il faut traverser le pont le long du parking des bus, puis traverser un grand jardin ; la station se trouve à droite avant l’entrée du jardin. Le trajet vers l’aéroport n’est pas direct : je dois changer à Tomasso et prendre la ligne pour l’aéroport, où j’arrive à 13 h.
Au comptoir d’Emirates j’apprends que mon vol vient d’être annulé en raison de la guerre en Iran ; on me propose un autre vol pour le lendemain. Je dois attendre à l’aéroport jusqu’à 19 h avant d’être conduite à un hôtel ; le lendemain matin je prendrai un vol pour Vienne (avec une escale de 8 h), puis un vol Air India pour Delhi et enfin un vol pour Kolkata. J’accepte : je ne connais pas Vienne, ce sera une découverte imprévue.
À 19 h, un petit groupe est conduit à l’hôtel, à 35 minutes de l’aéroport, où l’on nous sert un léger dîner à notre arrivée.
03 mars — Un taxi vient me chercher à 6 h 30 ; le vol pour Vienne décolle à 9 h 30 et arrive à 12 h. Je suis libre jusqu’à 19 h ; le métro est direct pour rejoindre le centre‑ville. Le temps est agréable et pas trop froid, heureusement, car mes vêtements sont légers.
À la sortie du métro j’aperçois au loin la tour de la cathédrale Saint‑Étienne et je m’en approche : la toiture, faite de tuiles vernissées, est remarquable.
L’entrée est gratuite et l’intérieur, de style gothique et baroque au centre, est grandiose.
Non loin de là se trouve l’église Saint‑Anne
, également baroque, ornée de belles fresques
un concert de musique ajoute une atmosphère envoûtante à la visite.
Je poursuis ma promenade au hasard dans les rues piétonnes aux magnifiques bâtiments : je suis séduite par la ville.
Avant de repartir pour l’aéroport, je fais une halte dans un joli salon de thé. Mon vol partira finalement avec du retard.
Mercredi 4 mars — Delhi et petite frayeur bagages
Nous arrivons à Delhi peu après midi. Le passage à l’immigration est rapide et, bonne nouvelle, mon sac a été enregistré depuis Barcelone pour Kolkata. Je me rends donc au terminal de correspondance et arrive une demi‑heure avant l’embarquement : le vol se déroule sans problème. À l’arrivée, les bagages sortent vite… sauf le mien. Après avoir fait une déclaration, on me signale que mon sac est à Delhi — il faut aller le récupérer avant de prendre un autre vol. Je l’ignorais (ou l’avais oublié) : avec le retard accumulé, je n’aurais pas eu le temps de le récupérer et de prendre la correspondance.
Je prends un taxi pour l’hôtel Ichamati. L’accueil est chaleureux et la chambre propre, mais très petite. Sans mon sac, je me sens un peu désemparée — je n’ai rien pour me changer.
Ce soir je dîne avec Raja et ses amis dans un beau resto, une ancienne maison coloniale transformée en hôtel.
Nous sommes heureux de nous voir et passons une bonne soirée réconfortante.
This travel journal summarizes a trip I took in March to Argentine and Chilean Patagonia. It starts in El Calafate and ends in Ushuaia. During my planning, I considered looking into the Australis cruise from Punta Arenas to Ushuaia, as well as the W trek in Torres del Paine National Park. In both cases, I was put off by the prices. Instead of the cruise, I found two interesting wildlife excursions from Punta Arenas: whale watching in the Strait of Magellan and observing king penguins in Tierra del Fuego. The journey to Ushuaia was by bus. For Torres del Paine, things were a bit confusing, so I reached out to two agencies. In the end, I went with a rental car option, overnight stays on-site, and day hikes. I shared my full itinerary with the agency and ended up being taken care of by a local Argentine agency and a Chilean one.
So, here we go...
After a pretty disastrous weather-wise trip to Gran Canaria, we’re hoping this time the sun will shine in Puglia.
It’s not a sure thing, though—the weather’s been awful all over Europe in early May.
For those who’d like to (re)read the story without the digressions, it’s here.
Saturday, May 16:
This time we’re flying out of Charleroi (Brussels South): the ticket prices, flight times, and proximity all worked for us.
The airport (Ryanair) was recently renovated... but it’s still not very well organized. There are hardly any seats in the boarding areas, and... the restrooms cost money!!!
The flight goes smoothly, though, and we land in Bari a little late.
We quickly pick up our rental car, a very local-looking Pandina (even more so than the Fiat 500 in this region), and hit the Italian roads... and their unique driving quirks (like the fact that the countless road signs along the streets and in towns are purely decorative 😏, and that Italian cars don’t have turn signals 😮... except for rental cars).
About an hour later, we arrive at our first accommodation, right in the middle of the countryside near Monopoli.
The owner isn’t there, but they’ve left us a ton of info via messages and even turned on the space heater, which is a nice touch.
We explore the property:
And the next morning before breakfast, its immediate surroundings:
Sunday, May 17:
After our "seaside" experience in Gran Canaria last weekend (packed with people and locals), we decide to start inland.
After a hearty breakfast,
we head toward Alberobello, a super touristy village famous for its trulli—those stone houses with conical roofs.
We easily find a free parking spot on a street near the Aia Piccola district, where some trulli are still lived in year-round.
We almost immediately come across the Trullo Sovrano (the only two-story one), which you can visit (but we skip it—it’s opening time, and there’s already a line).
From there, we head down toward the Basilica of Cosma e Damiano... but we don’t go in because there’s a mass.
Now we’re on the main Piazza del Popolo, which connects the two districts of Alberobello: Rione Aia Piccola and Rione Monti, the more touristy one.
Come along, I'm taking you to this country where it's so nice to wander and slow down...
This trip was in 2023, but when I wanted to write my travel journal, VF was still closed to contributions...
So, now that I've just finished my Japan travel journal here, I figured it was high time to honor this destination we came back from so enchanted.
Disclaimer 1: This is a written travel journal. There’ll be text! Too much, for some!
Disclaimer 2: This is an illustrated travel journal. There’ll be photos! Too many, for some!
I have to say, every time I try to discipline myself, to keep it shorter, to include fewer photos... I end up adding more. It feels like my dear Aunt Nicole, who exhausted us with her slide-show evenings in the 70s/80s, decided to take her revenge. The upside for you, readers, is that you can slip away anytime without offending Aunt Nicole. I won’t even notice!
Anyway, since I love maps, here’s one to give you an idea of where I’m taking you. As you can see, we only saw a tiny part of Laos (the areas circled in red); we only had 3 weeks for ourselves (my husband’s newly retired, I still work), and we prefer taking our time over rushing around like crazy.
In broad strokes, it was very classic:
First, we “settled in” at Luang Prabang (8 days), because we wanted and needed to.
From there, we took three days to venture a little further north—not far in kilometers, but as we know, distances aren’t just about km!
Then we flew south to Paksé, letting ourselves drift down to the 4,000 Islands while stopping by the pre-Angkorian archaeological sites.
We wrapped up with the Bolaven Plateau.
A few practical notes: We arrived via Bangkok, then took a Bangkok-Luang Prabang flight, having picked up our luggage in Bangkok to check it in for Luang Prabang. No issues—the Bangkok airport, which many of you know, is very well organized.
We got our visas on arrival in Luang Prabang. Quick, but to be fair, we were on a “small” plane, and the big flights had arrived earlier, so we weren’t too crowded in line!
At the end of our trip, we didn’t fly out of Paksé but from the nearby airport in Thailand, Ubon Ratchathani (a 2.5-hour drive from Paksé), then Bangkok and Paris.
You’ll notice we skipped Vientiane to stay longer in Luang Prabang. That said, there’s now a high-speed train between Vientiane and Luang Prabang—good to know—and soon the (Chinese) train will go all the way to Bangkok and even Kuala Lumpur!
With that intro out of the way, let’s dive into the heart of the matter.
To be continued: Slowing down the pace... in Luang Prabang
Here’s a little story about my first trip to Japan with my partner.
We went for our first visit from October 29 to November 13, 2024.
I had planned this entire trip back in November 2020, but given the health situation at the time, I had to cancel...
Here’s the classic route we took:
We booked everything ourselves and got a regional pass for the area from Kyoto to Hiroshima.
The hotels were reserved 3 months in advance on Book... and Agod... (1030 € for 2 people for 13 nights = 80 €/night).
For the flight, we chose a Qatar Airways flight with a layover to break up the long journey (950 € per person).
We also got a pass on the same site (Japan-Experience) to take the train connecting Narita Airport to Shibuya Station (the N'EX Narita Express).
Since the airport is 75 km from central Tokyo, we opted for this mode of transport, even though there are cheaper alternatives.
After reading various posts on VoyageForum, I understood how important it was to have a Welcome Suica card to pay for public transport (subway, tram, bus, boat throughout the country), and we were able to buy one at Narita Airport.
It turned out to be super useful!
After a long but smooth journey, we found ourselves at Narita Airport in the evening.
Even though we had a pass for the Narita Express, we had to go to a counter to make a reservation for the train (mandatory).
Then, once we arrived at Shibuya Station, we took the subway for 2 stops and finally reached our hotel, exhausted (Hotel Asia Center of Japan – 270 € for 3 nights with breakfast included).
I’m inviting you on a stroll through my drawings—a completely subjective, far-from-exhaustive, and totally personal take, since it’s based on my own sketches. I put this travel journal together after returning in late 2024, mostly using felt-tip pens and pencils, with a few collages thrown in. I worked from our personal photos.
Let’s start with the shotengai...
Our first "wow" moment came as we stepped out of the subway in Asakusa, the Tokyo neighborhood where we’d booked our hotel for our first five nights. Exhausted after our long flight, we finally arrived and took an exit that led straight into a shotengai—one of those covered shopping streets that dot city centers and flourished between the 1950s and 1980s.
It was an instant aesthetic shock, like a close encounter of the third kind between the modern city, a typical Asian market with its street stalls, the "vintage" vibe of the arcade, the sheer abundance of goods, and the bustling crowd—a colorful mix of tourists, pilgrims (thanks to the nearby Asakusa Temple), and locals (it’s a very working-class area).
In the end, it set the tone for a feeling we’d experience throughout the trip. Wherever we went, shotengai turned out to be fantastic spots for finding little restaurants, shops, or even fresh produce. Some are real mazes, like in Kyoto, where we spent ages trying to relocate a restaurant we’d loved ;-)
In Kanazawa, the Omicho Market:
And in Kyoto, the Nishiki Market:
With my girlfriend Christelle, we’ve chosen South Africa for our first trip to Southern Africa, focusing on safaris—after a long debate with a Cape Town/Kruger combo.
But that would’ve meant cutting out St Lucia, which would’ve been harder to fit into another trip.
And St Lucia—thanks to Michel and all those travel journals—we really wanted to go there.
So our 11-night itinerary ended up like this, mostly shaped by school holidays:
- 3 nights in St Lucia
- 1 night in Hluhluwe
- 1 night at Mkhaya Game Reserve (Eswatini)
- 1 night at Hlane Royal National Park (Eswatini)
- 3 nights in Kruger (Berg en Dal / Satara / Tamboti)
- 1 night at Shindzela Tented Camp in the Timbavati private reserve
- 1 final night in Kruger at Lower Sabie
All of this in the off-season and rainy season, just a month after catastrophic floods that killed over 150 people and seriously damaged Kruger’s infrastructure.
I’ll jump straight to St Lucia and skip the loooong journey to get there (with a layover in Frankfurt, landing in Johannesburg, a domestic flight to Durban, and the rest by rental SUV—First Car Rental, perfect, no complaints).
To motivate readers—especially some familiar faces here—I’ll drop in a first photo.
If you're looking for great tips and offbeat spots, if you love exploring uncharted parts of a country, if the exotic is your adrenaline, then move along!
Our 15 days in early May in this part of Turkey (a country I first discovered during a city trip to Istanbul in 2017) will only tread well-worn paths and revisit popular routes. Simply because I kept hoping until the very end that our flight to Jordan wouldn’t be canceled. Events in the Gulf proved me wrong, so we left with:
Zero preparation.
Not a single hotel booked (well, except the first one), no visits planned, just a flight ticket bought three weeks earlier. No guidebook, no app—just the desire to explore southern Turkey and Cappadocia, whose images and the chance to stretch our legs had caught my eye.
Oh, wait—I did bring along a new guide: Gemini! Yes, my friends, generative AI was my chief advisor throughout the trip for sites to visit, accommodations, routes, and even restaurants! An experiment I wanted to try to form my own opinion on using this new technology. And what better way to test it than a Turkish getaway?
The verdict? You’ll have to wait for the trip recap to find out!
The main idea of the trip is also relaxation.
So, the plan is Antalya for a few days, the Turkish Riviera for a few more, Cappadocia as the highlight, and a return via Antalya to wrap up the trip. And it was all planned by AI!
So, if you're ready, fasten your seatbelts—cabin crew, doors to automatic and cross check—boarding for Turkey now!
After summer 2022 left me with a sense of unfinished business, here I am back in Swedish Lapland in summer 2024, ready to attempt the Sarek crossing again—and this time, to tackle part of the Kungsleden trail too.
After much hesitation, my companion Jean Marie and I decided to start with the Kungsleden, which is, from what we’ve read, stunning but very crowded (and it really is!!), and finish with the wilder option: Sarek! This park is known as Europe’s last true wilderness—sounds like a dream, right?!
The downside of this choice is that there’s no way to resupply in Sarek, and the Kungsleden isn’t exactly set up for long treks either, so we’ll have to carry a lot of food for the first part with the Sarek in mind.
Oh well, we’re motivated!
Our plan is to start in Abisko (classic), head to Vakkotavare (also classic, but with some variations to avoid the official route and the crowds), then continue the Kungsleden from Saltoluokta. Before Aktse, we’ll set off on an east-to-west crossing of Sarek (weather-dependent, since aside from the Skarja hut in the center of the park, there’s no shelter if conditions turn bad).
But at least we’ll be on the right side of the park to climb Skierfe and enjoy the jaw-dropping view of Rappaladen if we have to bail on Sarek.
That adds up to 17 days of trekking, including 1 rest day + 1 buffer day for weather hiccups.
So if you’re interested, come follow our overstuffed backpacks!
08/03 - Abisko – 5km before Abiskojaure
Some info (guides we used for prep, SFT map, sending food to Saltoluokta)
08/04 – 5km before Abiskojaure - on the east shore of Lake Alisjavri
08/05 – East shore of Lake Alisjavri – just before Tjaktja
08/06 – just before Tjaktja – above the Salka hut via Nallo
08/07 - Salka – just past Singi + round trip to Djalson Lake
08/08 - Singi – Teusajaure
08/09 - Teusajaure - Vakkotavare (end of the first section of the Kungsleden)
08/10 – rest day in Saltoluokta + round trip to the Sámi village of Pietjaure
08/11 – Saltoluokta – Sitojaure
08/12 - Sitojaure - Skierfe - Sarek or no Sarek?
08/13 – Skierfe – somewhere above Rapadalen
Coming up:
08/13 – Somewhere above Rapadalen – Above the Skarki hut
We went to Albania in August 2025.
Our itinerary included adventure (sporty activities, site visits), naps on the beach interspersed with swims, incredible natural sites, and a bit of culture.
I booked all our accommodations on Booking.com. Note: almost all places ask to be paid in cash!! You can obviously withdraw from banks, but the fees are pretty high. Luckily, we had plenty of cash, and the country is very safe. You can pay in euros most of the time, which avoids exchange fees.
We started in Tirana. I’d read a really interesting post about Albania’s bunkers (link in my profile). We chose to visit Bunk’Art with a guide from the agency that wrote the post. It was fascinating—not only to better understand the country’s history but also because her grandfather was repressed by the regime, and she shared her family’s experience with us.
Bunkers are everywhere! In Tirana, Bunk’Art is the most interesting and largest. You’ll see the dictator Enver Hoxha’s office, where he would’ve taken refuge in case of an attack on the country. Bring a sweater—it’s really cold in the underground tunnels and their huge corridors.
You can visit other bunkers around the country, in Tirana and elsewhere. Almost all are just abandoned.
The cable car up Mount Dajti is right next to Bunk’Art. The view is stunning—you realize Tirana is so close to the mountains and the sea... But otherwise, it’s not that exciting for older teens (17 and 19) and their parents.
We picked up a rental car in Tirana—it’d be ours for the next three weeks. We used Goalbania’s agency to avoid any hassles. First, there aren’t many cars available in Albania in summer. Second, French credit cards can be a nightmare abroad. So we preferred to sort that out in advance.
After Tirana, we headed to Permet. Just a heads-up: the roads are in great condition except in the mountains. And Albanian drivers aren’t stressful to deal with. Though you might suddenly encounter a herd of goats crossing the road—haha—but if you’re not going too fast, it’s fine.
In Permet, I’d been dreaming of rafting on the Vjosa, one of Europe’s last wild rivers. And we did it with a local agency! It’s beautiful, accessible to everyone, not too physical but still a bit lively—just how we like it. You can even jump into the river in some spots.
In Permet, we also hiked through a canyon and visited a lovely little church.
And we took a workshop to make their local culinary pride: gliko. It’s a jam with whole fruits inside. We’d seen it on Goalbania’s site, and it was really fun. We were with a family where the secret to making gliko has been passed down for generations...
Next, we headed to Gjirokastër. A city we loved: its old traditional houses (Skendulli and Zekate), its grand castle, the Ali Pasha Bridge. Along the way, we stopped for artisanal ice cream at a little shop run by a grandmother who’s been making it herself for ages.
One afternoon, my husband *had* to go to the coast in the south, to Ksamil (he’d read it was better than Sarandë). Verdict: we didn’t like it. Parking is a nightmare, the beaches are super noisy and crowded. The sea is packed with jet skis, boats, pedalos, and ropes. Avoid it.
On the other hand, we really liked Himarë, where we went next. We stayed at a campsite where we rented tents with mattresses and sheets inside. Right by the sea, on a low cliff (about 2 meters high). You can hear the waves at night... Magical!! To swim, you either jump straight into the sea (almost from the tent) or climb down a ladder, which you’ll need to climb back up to get out.
I was a little worried the campsite wouldn’t be very comfortable, so afterward, I’d booked a small place in Gjilek. Turns out, the place was really tiny (one room for four, no kitchen) and pretty expensive (over 100 € a night). We’d drive to the beach or restaurants—it’s on a steep slope, so not very accessible. Parking near the sea is tricky. But the (private) beaches were nice—we’d rent an umbrella not too close to the music and spend the day there. We also went to a wilder beach, harder to reach, via a long path. Behind the beach, there’s an amazing canyon where we’d sometimes climb using ropes (already in place, no need to bring your own) over big boulders rolled around by the stream, which must swell a lot in spring.
So, the sea in Albania: it’s nice if you like swimming and relaxing, but it’s not the most interesting part of the country. There are so many other amazing things to see and discover—so many stunning sites! Maybe an agency could’ve helped us find more practical accommodations and avoid Ksamil and its surroundings.
We left the coast to head to the beautiful city of Berat and its "thousand windows." We explored the city, its fortress, and its icon museum.
Then we discovered the Osum Canyon—it’s incredible. The view from the top is breathtaking. And at the bottom, it’s magical. There’s little water in summer, so rafting isn’t an option. We weren’t tempted by the big-tube descent offered by an agency—it looked fun, but the group had 40 people. We preferred hiking on our own as a family of four. We scouted the area on Google Maps... and found where to descend. We walked in the water, then it rose to our waists, then our shoulders... We weren’t moving fast. And how to get back up?? Eventually, we followed a group with a guide—the path was hard to find.
After that unforgettable hike, we visited the Bogovë Waterfalls. It’s pretty, and we swam, but the water was *really* cold.
We passed through Tirana again and then headed to Shkodër. We explored a bit—its charming little streets, the Rozafa Fortress. There’s a tiny museum where you can see *huge* Ottoman stone cannonballs. And they tell you the (charming) story of the young woman who was walled alive in the castle’s foundations to ensure its strength...
Shkodër is mostly a stopover to head into the mountains and discover Theth. Our goal: hiking in the Valbona Valley, from Valbona to Theth. We organized the trip ourselves, without an agency, but it took some time to figure everything out. So I’ll save you the trouble—haha. Book your tickets on the Komanilakeferry website. The ticket includes:
🙂 minibus transfer from downtown Shkodër to Koman
🙂 ferry ticket from Koman to Fierze. This ferry ride is *gorgeous*—between mountain slopes covered in pine trees, and sometimes a little house with a few fields...
🙂 minibus ticket from Fierze to Valbona. Now you’re in the mountains! The minibus drops you off near your accommodation—pick one as close as possible to the start of the hike (if that’s your goal!). The ones at the far end of the village add up to 1.5 hours of walking. Our choice: Guesthouse Dioni. The host is really lovely, it’s in the woods, and it’s basic but great.
After a day of hiking, we arrived in Theth. What beautiful mountains! Then we explored Theth and the surrounding area. It’s pretty busy, but you can still enjoy the Blue Eye of Theth and its swim. It’s *so* cold! But so beautiful!
🙂 minibus ticket from Theth back to Shkodër.
After a night in Shkodër, we drove to Kepi i Rodonit. A guidebook (I forget which one) raved about its beauty. And it *is* beautiful!
But the view is ruined by plastic bottles and other trash in the bushes, along the paths, and of course on the beaches. The only peaceful spot: the private beach at Kepi i Rodonit, which is cleaned. You can rent an umbrella and have lunch there. That’s where we spent our last few days—very relaxing.
In short... Albania turned out to be perfect for us and our teens!
I’m diving into a recap of our loop—pretty classic, really—Denver-Yellowstone-Denver this past summer, from July 24 to August 17. Given the sheer number of trip reports already out there (or in the works), and since I don’t have the writing chops or the photography skills of many of you, I’ll keep it practical—well, I’ll try, at least—to share our take on some of the less-visited parks and spots.
First off, a huge thank you to everyone whose trip reports, blogs, websites, comments, and more helped us put together this itinerary. Looking back, it could’ve been even better optimized: a few disappointments when we missed out on some great discoveries, often because we were short on time. Plenty of reasons to come back to the area!
We’re traveling with our four (almost) teens—18, 16, 14, and nearly 12 years old. To keep the trip enjoyable for everyone, we had to make compromises on both sides: cutting a visit short to spend more time swimming, waking up at dawn, and so on. But logistics also played a big role—things like laundry, grocery shopping, and keeping luggage organized could’ve quickly become time-consuming without a little planning.
And honestly, I think we visited every Walmart along the way! Blame it on the lack of fridges in some accommodations and, more importantly, the *very* limited space in the car, which made it impossible to bring a proper cooler. I’ll come back to the car saga later.
For accommodations, this year we alternated between basic cabins in KOA campgrounds and Yellowstone (when staying more than one night in the same place) and hotels. Always with a pool (except in Yellowstone, of course), which let the kids burn off energy—because they always have reserves, even after packed days!—and, let’s be honest, gave us a chance to relax. No Wi-Fi issues either; we all had plans with 25 GB of data (a big thanks to Gilles for the amazing deal at 0.99 €). It worked perfectly, even for texts and calls between phones—no extra charges.
Now, onto our route: as I mentioned, a classic Denver-Yellowstone-Denver loop. To avoid rushing through the parks or spending all our time on the road, we prioritized staying as close to them as possible, with at least two nights in each place. And I’ve got to say, it’s really nice to settle in, even if it’s just for two nights. It also helped us deal with the weather, which wasn’t always great during this trip. The trade-off? With vacation time being limited, some driving days ended up being long. We knew that going in, but since we kept a relaxed pace with no time constraints (don’t ask me for timings—I don’t keep track of the clock on vacation, except in the morning to get everyone up before noon!), we sometimes ended up with marathon days.
With that said, I’ll dive into the trip itself in the next post.
We all have two lives. And the second one kicks off the day you realize you only have one, with the determination to spend the time you have left on what truly adds sparkle to your life, Kevin! I like to elegantly introduce a trip with a philosophical quote. First, it gives you the illusion that I’m some kind of deep thinker, and second, it lets me fill up the first few lines of my blank page when I don’t know how to tell you I’m diving back into what really lights up my life: another adventure beyond the horizon! And nearly every other year, like a toxic relationship, my horizon tends to take shape in Uncle Sam’s backyard. And this, despite his cousin Donald calling the shots. Speaking of which, it was partly that impulsive guy who pushed us to be just as impulsive and snag our four flight tickets at a ridiculously low price—a direct result of foreign tourism taking a hit from BetaMax’s repeated antics... Four tickets? Who are the other lucky ones? In this case, our lucky ones are actually lucky ladies: My Flo, always up for exploring the world with me on foot, camelback, or scooter, is obviously in on the fun. The other two seats went to our daughters, Sasha and Luna, both thrilled to be part of this new American adventure...
But what’s the American West like in February?... A gamble. Let’s call it Russian roulette since we’re not landing during peak weather season. That’s why we encouraged our transportation and accommodation to get cozy and produce a little camper van, so we can stay ultra-flexible in the face of any weather tantrums. We’ll be roaming in Kara the van with the motto "Follow the sun!" Bad weather? We bolt. Snow? We speed up. Sunny? We act like it was the plan all along and soak it up.
"Okay, but why keep coming back to the same corner of the globe? After ten American adventures, you must be tired of seeing the same things, right?" But I’m not crazy, you know!... The American West is like making love to your gorgeous wife over and over, always enjoying it just as much. And contrary to what you might think, the American West isn’t just the Grand Canyon, Monument Valley, Las Vegas, and Bryce Canyon. Proof is, after ten trips to the U.S., my retinas are still untouched by three-quarters of the places I scribbled on a napkin for this adventure... Oh, and add to that my wife, who I’ve easily converted to my religion, and boom... relapse is even easier! Because yes, we’ve landed in Los Angeles after a sunny flight over Greenland, still under Danish flag for now. And we’re already heading east through the XXL traffic of L.A.’s eight-lane highways, eager to dive into our first discoveries. But first, night is taking over the sky, and second, we’ve been officially awake for 24 hours, so I suggest wrapping up this intro. I’ll tell you more tomorrow morning. Sound good?
And we still haven’t seen everything!
Before setting off for new horizons at the end of this year, it’s time for me to share my trip to Cape Verde this summer 2025.
I particularly love these spontaneous trips, and our stay in Cape Verde is one of those because it was only at the beginning of April that we decided on this getaway, which had been catching our eye for a while, given our love for the mountains.
As always—well, when it’s open—I turned to VF, and I want to immediately thank Marie, aka ptitortue, who helped me a lot in planning this trip through her travel journals and our exchanges!
Because Cape Verde is both small and vast! We decided not to rush from one airport to another, to enjoy the places and the people, but also to relax, since the work backlog from being stuck in May (see my previous travel journal 😅) had to be caught up on in June.
So, 4 islands will be our winners from 06/28 to 07/19:
Santiago first for logistical reasons, as round-trip flights from the capital Praia were the cheapest (650 €/person from Lyon via Lisbon with TAP, still!)
São Vicente, because it’s the gateway to the next one but ultimately more than that...
Santo Antão, pretty much the main goal of the trip since Marie (and the photos) had really sold it to me.
And finally, Sal Island, for some rest—a non-negotiable condition for my other half—and we’ll see that I should’ve listened to Marie...
That said, what a chatterbox I am—buckle up, flight attendants at the doors, off we go on new beautiful escapes! (Thanks to Sophie for the easy loan)
Last note for my eager fan club 😏: yes, there will be alcohol—how could there not be in the land of grogue!
Hello,
Since I enjoy not only the countryside but also everything related to rail travel, I’m starting this photo thread dedicated to trains in Thailand (I’d guess most of us have taken one at some point...).
Feel free to post your pictures here as long as they fit the theme: rolling stock**, stations**, platforms, tracks (even without a train on them), technical equipment, engineering structures (bridges, viaducts), etc.—all in Thailand.
For each photo, I’ll (or you can) note the station or line where it was taken.
Comments and questions are welcome.
As I’ve mentioned elsewhere, I inherited my love of travel from my parents and some of my grandparents. A strong passion, but one that was unfortunately limited by our family’s modest resources. Back then, living in northern Alsace, a simple trip to the southern part of the region—with the Wine Route as our destination—felt like an extraordinary journey to a land of plenty for the little boy I was in the late 60s and early 70s.
Everything seemed so huge when you were still just a kid.
Back then, I was overwhelmed by countless sensations—I was already highly sensitive, with a keen mind and a nose and taste buds that were developing like a pro’s. Which, as I’d later realize, wasn’t always an advantage.
Those magical days always began with a gentle late-spring or midsummer morning. The interior of the white Peugeot 404, license plate 210 LZ 67, had already soaked up the sun before the engine purred to life, and the cabin gave off a scent I could still recognize today—a fragrance I found so pleasant. Back then, I had no idea it was just the smell of warm plastic from the car’s interior.
Yes, the scents of the 404 on sunny days became my madeleine de Proust...
What’s more, the whole family was unusually cheerful because those moments of relaxation and leisure were rare. Everyone worked, and no one had an easy job or was well paid. Without the *Trente Glorieuses*, these experiences might never have happened.
Once we crossed the canton’s borders, I felt like I was light-years away from my everyday surroundings, and every kilometer plunged me deeper into *terra incognita*. It was thrilling. Far from my so-called "medium-sized" town, wheat fields, cornfields, and cabbage patches stretched out, punctuated by tall poles connected by long wires and topped with vegetation—like giant clotheslines without laundry, where magical beanstalks might grow to touch the sky. Back then, I was still far from tasting their product, which was simply beer. At the time, there was still a significant local hop production. Fun fact: it wasn’t until 2002 that Anglo-Saxon scientists proved hops and cannabis belong to the same biological family.
After the fields, the landscape took another step up as it rolled past the little boy’s eyes, often glued to the windows. First came modest hills, then a succession of rolling slopes that soon formed an unbroken chain. Their 700 meters in altitude felt like Himalayan peaks to me—impressive, inert giants, a whole new world. Gazing at them, an intense emotion welled up somewhere between my stomach and lungs, nearly taking my breath away. What mysteries, what treasures did these heights hold?
And then there were the cherries on top—the crowning touch that made the scene even more magical: proud, majestic castles perched on the summits like impassive sentinels. Monuments from the past, yet firmly rooted in the present on their rocky spurs.
The little boy’s eyes sparkled—he’d been given a castle for Christmas, complete with battlements, towers, a drawbridge, and fully armed knights. He’d watched and lived *Ivanhoe* on the only French TV channel that existed back then.
Only once did my paternal grandfather join us on one of these trips. A tall, intelligent man with a face that could shift from stern to mischievous, clearly full of humor and charisma. Sadly, his relationship with alcohol had taken a toll on his life and, by extension, those of his loved ones. He had a strong personality—if his boss crossed the line, he wouldn’t hesitate to punch him, which meant he went through a lot of different jobs. Back then, you could quit one job and easily find another. It was quite something to see him in his final stages, hallucinating pink elephants and even drinking perfume when he had nothing else left. The last time I saw him, he’d slipped away from the doctors and nurses while hospitalized in pretty bad shape—at least, I assume his liver was the issue. We were sitting down for a family lunch when the door burst open, and there he stood in his pajamas, eyes twinkling with mischief, clearly pleased with the dramatic entrance. That theatrical moment didn’t spare us from burying him a few months later at the age of 71. One day, my mother told me the family doctor had quietly remarked that it was a shame—with his robust constitution, he could’ve lived to be a hundred. Yes, the family doctor—this was the man who’d come treat you any day, at almost any hour, just for a phone call. It really existed, it’s not a myth!
That day, his wife—my paternal grandmother—was also along for the ride. Everyone agreed that Jeannette was a good woman. She worked as a waitress at *Le Tigre*, the biggest brasserie in town, right in the center. Most customers preferred to be served by her, including local dignitaries and even the mayor. As a kid, I didn’t find her very fun, open, or warm—she seemed a bit stern. Back then, women in their fifties already had the face and build of grandmothers. Same went for men, don’t get me wrong. I had no idea about the struggles she faced because of her husband. I didn’t know that 30 years earlier, she’d had to flee Alsace while pregnant, under threat from Nazi fighter-bombers. I didn’t know she’d had several miscarriages, and that my father—her only surviving child, born prematurely in March 1940 at the other end of France—weighed less than a kilo at birth and was so tiny he could fit in a shoebox. Hard to imagine he’d grow into a strapping man nearly 1.80 meters tall, tipping the scales at 100 kilos.
When you come back from summer camp in early August and ask why she didn’t pick you up with your parents, and they gently tell you she’s "in heaven," you don’t realize she passed away at 54 after suffering greatly from stomach cancer that had spread.
Back to that family outing, that enchanted parenthesis. I even remembered where we’d had lunch when I passed through Dambach-la-Ville decades later. One of those charming, flower-filled towns Alsace produces in abundance—and preserves so well. This one sits high on a hill, and I was a bit stunned on the parking lot because the view stretched far, revealing the Alsace plain below—its fields, villages, hills, and forests. The world seemed so vast and enticing that day, even though I was only glimpsing a tiny fraction of it.
The region was already very touristy, but I wouldn’t notice the downsides until much later. That Sunday noon, I discovered a large restaurant filled with diners. I can still see the enormous piece of meat they served me, decorated with a little wooden skewer topped with a flag. I kept that one for a long time. Those were the golden days of rich, flowing, thick sauces—so flavorful—and the era of the world’s best fries, made on the spot with the best potatoes. To top it off, I was *exceptionally* allowed a small bottle of apple juice, Orangina, or—even better if possible—Sinalco. Yes, Sinalco—like Orangina, but better. A brand that must’ve disappeared in the 70s, but why, and what a shame! Since then, Orangina’s little bubbles have taken the brand to the other side of the planet—it’s now Japanese.
Year after year, I’d eagerly await that ecstatic moment when the most beautiful castle in Alsace, the Haut-Koenigsbourg, appeared in my field of vision. The perfect model, the archetype that blended into the landscape at the height of a child’s dreams.
The trip home always felt like a reality check—less jarring than an alarm clock, but more diffuse and melancholic. From then on, there was only one wish: *When do we leave again?*
Hi there,
Here’s a recap of a trek through the Balkans covering three countries: Albania, Montenegro, and Kosovo. I was with a friend, and we didn’t do the full route (only one day in Kosovo).
It was a wonderful trek through snow-capped mountains and vast flower-filled meadows, meeting incredibly welcoming people.
At the end of the travel journal, I’ll share what I loved and what I liked less.
Day 1: Flight from Paris-Beauvais to Tirana with Wizz Air.
Since Albania isn’t part of Europe when it comes to phone service (at least not yet! :-)), we had to buy a physical SIM card—otherwise, the bill would’ve been sky-high if we’d used our French plan! We got one from Vodafone AL at the airport. You can buy online before leaving with a virtual SIM (e-SIM) for compatible phones, so you don’t have to swap cards. But given the uncertainty about choosing a plan online, we preferred buying one directly at Tirana Airport. Cost: 31 € for 100 GB. That’s way too much—100 GB is overkill. For 40 GB, it’s 27 €, and the plan lasts 21 days. The price difference isn’t huge, and it was cheaper than online. This plan covers all the countries along the Balkan range.
Money tip: All guesthouses and accommodations accept euros. The local currency in Albania is the LEK. In Montenegro, it’s the euro. Bank fees for withdrawing money from an ATM in Albania are pretty steep: 8 € for a withdrawal of 600–700 LEK (about 200 €)! So it’s better to withdraw cash (euros) in France. Oh, and we booked all our accommodations before leaving, but payment is always in cash. Budget around 400–500 € for 9 days of trekking.
Then, a transfer the same day to Shköder, about a 2-hour bus ride. Cost: 10 € per person. Tickets bought directly on the bus. We spent the night in Shköder at a very clean guesthouse, Open Doors B&B. It had a small balcony overlooking the city.
I really liked Shköder, especially its pedestrian street lined with restaurants and lit up at night. It’s a great place to stroll and eat. The food isn’t expensive—two big salads and two beers: 14 € :-) . Fruit prices are also very reasonable: 3 € for a kilo of cherries, compared to 9–10 € in France.
Religions coexist peacefully in these countries—Catholics and Muslims. From our balcony, my friend heard the call to prayer for the first time, coming from one of the city’s mosques.
Day 2: Bus ride to Theth, about 1,100 meters in elevation gain, the starting point for our hike the next day.
The trip took 2 hours and 40 minutes with a break in the middle. The bus was affordable, but taxis also make the trip—though they’re very expensive.
We slept in the heights of Theth at a new guesthouse, "Mountain Vista Shkafi," with an amazing view.
The family was adorable. The husband is a handyman and built almost everything himself. Their baby is named "Sky"—such a cute name, right? :-) Throughout the trek, I found the guesthouses very clean, and the hosts think of everything—no need to bring soap or shampoo; they provide it.
Lunch in Theth at a traditional restaurant on the main road. We tried "Tave Dheu," an Albanian dish with beef, cabbage (very common), and cottage cheese. Delicious but not quite filling enough. For dessert, a honey cake that was perfectly moist—such a treat! Desserts like this are rare; sometimes they serve watermelon instead.
We took a small private bus for 5 € to the "Blue Eye" parking lot, then walked for about 45 minutes to reach a stunning natural site—a kind of lagoon with incredibly blue water. The bravest can swim, but the water’s freezing!
That evening, we dined at "La Montagne Blanche"—excellent! A delightful mix of grilled meats with potatoes and grilled peppers. Some watermelon slices (which I’m not a fan of) and the famous Raki, a brandy served in Turkey and the Balkans! It was my first time drinking brandy "bottoms up." 😉
I’d like to share my family trip to Colombia with kids aged 8. After spending hours browsing the forum and only having two weeks there, we decided to focus on two regions: the Coffee Zone for one week and the Caribbean coast for another. We traveled from August 8 to 23.
Day 1 – First stop: Bogotá
We arrived in Bogotá in the evening on an Air France flight—nothing to complain about, decent service, comfortable, and on time. However, the first night was a miss. We’d booked a hotel near the airport (Abitel Prime) for convenience, but the soundproofing was almost nonexistent; we heard planes as if we were on the runway. Luckily, exhaustion helped us sleep well anyway.
Day 2 – Off to the Coffee Zone and Salento
The next morning, we headed to the airport for a domestic flight to Pereira with LATAM. No issues: punctual and efficient, and in 30 minutes, we landed in Pereira. The landing already set a different mood: lush valleys, endless plantations, and humid air.
We picked up our rental car from Localiza. Unfortunately, the experience wasn’t smooth—the paperwork took forever, and the wait tested our patience. Finally free, we hit the road to Salento, one of Quindío’s gems.
We arrived in the late afternoon and discovered a colorful village bustling with artisan shops and cafés. Our first stroll helped us soak in the atmosphere before dinner at Bambú restaurant—a great surprise with careful cooking and local flavors. We spent the night at Casa Serafín, a charming little hotel, nicely decorated and well-located… but unfortunately very noisy.
Day 3 – The magic of Cocora Valley
This was one of the trip’s highlights. We set off early for Cocora Valley, famous for its giant wax palms, Colombia’s emblem. We chose the 12 km loop recommended by the *Routard*. The landscapes were spectacular: towering palms, rivers, suspension bridges. It felt like walking through a postcard. The weather was perfect.
That evening, we dined at Barnabé restaurant—pleasant setting, decent food, but the bill was a bit steep for what it was. Back to Casa Serafín.
Day 4 – Coffee and panoramic views
The plan was a visit to Finca El Ocaso. For 1.5 hours, we followed a passionate guide who explained the entire coffee process, from harvest to cup. Very educational, accessible for both kids and adults, all in a stunning setting. The tour was in English for us, and we translated for our kids, who aren’t bilingual yet.
In the afternoon, we climbed to Salento’s viewpoint. The valley view was superb. That evening, we ate at Veggie Garden, a simple and pleasant spot that was a nice change from the heavier meals of previous days.
Day 5 – Horseback ride to Santa Rita Waterfall
We booked a horseback ride with Cocora Magic. It was a real success: calm horses, a beautiful trail, mountain and meadow landscapes, and finally the refreshing and wild Santa Rita Waterfall. Without a doubt, one of the best moments of our time in the region. We even got a bonus ride up a 300-meter hill.
We then headed to Filandia, less known than Salento but just as charming. We spent the late afternoon enjoying the pool at MuchoSur Filandia. The hotel is beautiful, in an idyllic setting. However, we also had soundproofing issues and could hear our neighbors.
Day 6 – Rainy detour through Filandia and Manizales
Rain caught up with us in the early morning: torrents of water made it impossible to go out. We stayed at the hotel, reading quietly. By noon, the rain let up: a quick walk in Filandia, a quick lunch, then off to Manizales. We chose to stay at El Otoño hot springs. Great choice: as soon as we arrived, we plunged into the hot pools, perfect after hours on the road.
Day 7 – Hiking and hot springs
In the morning, we hiked the Camino de Super Coco (found somewhat randomly on Google). A pleasant trail with mountain views and a peaceful atmosphere. The afternoon was spent in the hotel’s thermal pools, with a short marked hike down to the river. Dinner on-site at the hot springs’ restaurant. A simple but very relaxing day.
Day 8 – Rain, jacuzzi, and games
We continued to Finca Los Alpes. The rain greeted us again, but this time it turned into an asset: nothing like a steaming jacuzzi with a view of the misty mountains. The kids enjoyed the facilities too: mini-golf, ping-pong, billiards. Dinner and night at the hotel, cozy vibes.
Day 9 – Off to the Caribbean coast
Back to the airport to return the car (still a bit long). Flight to Cartagena with Avianca: punctual and comfortable. Upon arrival, we picked up another car and headed straight to the Hyatt Regency, a modern hotel with a pool. That evening, we dined at the hotel—practical after a travel day.
Day 10 – Colonial Cartagena
We set off to explore Cartagena’s old town. It was enchanting: colorful facades, flowered balconies, colonial charm—just magical. However, the heat was stifling and very humid. Afternoon relaxation by the pool. Dinner at Gestlani, a good restaurant in town.
Day 11 – Road to Barú
A hearty breakfast, then one last swim in the pool before heading to Barú. We checked into Las Islas Hotel. The setting was enchanting: wooden cabins nestled in the vegetation, a private beach, turquoise sea, impeccable service. Dinner at the hotel’s restaurant.
Day 12 – Beach and relaxation
A full beach day in Barú. Warm water, white sand, coconut trees, peace and quiet. A real postcard scene with iguanas and birds.
Day 13 – On to Santa Marta
Another morning at the beach before hitting the road to Santa Marta. The drive was a bit long (6 hours), especially with traffic jams in Barranquilla. It was the longest car ride of the trip. We spent the night at Villa María Tayrona, a beautiful place near the park.
Day 14 – Tayrona Park
We left early for Tayrona Park. We entered through **El Zaino**, parked the car, and set off on a hike to La Piscina (about 2 hours). We stopped along the way at Playa Arenilla, a stunning little beach, to rest. Lunch on-site, a swim, then back by 4 PM. The hike was a bit tiring, but the nature was spectacular: dense jungle, the sound of waves, and even a monkey encounter along the way. Evening and dinner at the hotel.
Day 15 – Last swim and return flight to Bogotá
Our last morning was split between the pool and the beach (the hotel has direct access via a 7-minute trail through vegetation and flowers)—hard to leave this paradise. We drove to Santa Marta’s airport to return the car, then flew back to Bogotá. We spent the night at Casa Dann Carlton, a comfortable hotel. We simply ordered room service, arriving too late to go out.
Day 16 – Bogotá and the end of the trip
Our last day in Colombia. After a good breakfast, we explored La Candelaria. Its cobbled streets and colorful houses were worth the visit. We visited the Botero Museum (free) and the Gold Museum, both fascinating. Back to the airport for our 11:55 PM Air France flight.
That’s a wrap on a varied trip—lush mountains, colorful villages, dream beaches, and tropical jungle.
The pace was pretty relaxed, well-suited for our kids. They absolutely loved the trip to Colombia.
Driving in Colombia was very easy, and we didn’t regret renting a car at all—it gave us more freedom to get around.
If I were to do it again, here’s what I’d change:
- I’d spend less time in the Coffee Zone to stay a bit longer on the Caribbean coast, which was more relaxing for the kids. Or I’d head to Medellín, but I didn’t think the city was very kid-friendly.
- Bogotá is a city that deserves a day’s visit, but it’s not a must-see. Maybe I’d have taken the KLM flight from Cartagena to Amsterdam instead.
Since I didn’t have time to write a proper travel journal, I thought I’d share a few photos of Bologna—a really lovely city I discovered in 2017 while stopping on my way to Tuscany.
Around Piazza Maggiore, which was packed with a stage and chairs for a show, stands the Basilica of San Petronio, massive and Gothic in style, with an unfinished façade (a common sight in Italy).
Another building near the square:
But Bologna’s real charm lies in its porticoes, which were added to the UNESCO World Heritage list in 2021: 62 km of arcades running along buildings, letting you walk sheltered from the sun or rain. Back in 1288, the city required houses to include private arcades for public use. In the city center, you can stroll under 32 km of porticoes in all sorts of styles—some plain, some ornate—with a strong presence of red tones.
Okay, it wasn’t a total disaster either. Actually, I hesitated before starting this travel journal: is it even worth writing about a holiday that won’t leave an unforgettable memory?
In the end, I went for it (there aren’t many recent travel journals about this destination).
So, read on... or don’t .
Every time we’ve been to the Canary Islands, it’s been by default (basically: where can we go in winter or early spring when we only have a week—so not too far, not too much jet lag, but with decent weather?).
This time, we had two weeks, but the winter plan kept changing: first Thailand (dropped for personal reasons), then Martinique (dropped because of work leave dates that weren’t up to me), and finally, the Canary Islands.
We’ve already been to Tenerife (which we really liked) and Lanzarote (which we liked a little less).
This year, two options: Gran Canaria or one of the smaller islands west of Tenerife (La Palma, or even La Gomera or El Hierro).
We chose Gran Canaria... not sure it was the right call!
Whose fault is it?
Storm Thérèse’s!
Yes, Storm Thérèse followed us on arrival, and its effects lasted quite a while. We had to adapt, cancel visits, change activities...
But even without Thérèse...
Saturday 21/03
Departure from Orly at 6:10 AM with Transavia.
The plane took off on time and landed a little early, tossed around by strong winds before touching down.
It had just rained, but it was (almost) no longer raining.
We quickly picked up our luggage and then the car at the Cicar counter.
We got a Seat Arona instead of the Corsa we’d booked. Well, while the driving position didn’t feel great at first (I got used to it), the engine’s smoothness and power were much appreciated on the island’s winding and sometimes steep roads.
It was only 10 AM, and we couldn’t theoretically check into our accommodation until 3 PM (the owner promised to message me if it was ready earlier).
So, we headed to the (big) *Jardín Botánico Viera y Clavijo*, where we planned to spend a few hours.
We found a huge parking lot... empty.
The passenger in the car in front of us (yes, we weren’t the only ones at the closed gate—there was a car in front and one behind) went to ask for info: it was closed due to the storm 😕.
So, we calmly headed toward Puerto de las Nieves, on the northwest coast of the island.
The plan: go to a restaurant, visit the village, and do some shopping while waiting for early afternoon.
As soon as we got out of the car, it started raining... we took shelter under the awning of a shop, waiting for it to pass. But the rain turned into a downpour, and within minutes, awning or not, Gore-Tex or not, we were soaked!
Since we were already wet, we might as well go to the restaurant—they weren’t far! But here’s the thing: contrary to what Google Maps said, they all opened at 1 PM, not noon!
Back to the car, wading through 5 cm of water because all the village streets were flooded .
The rain let up, we did some shopping, went to eat, and I got a message from the owner saying the accommodation was ready 🙂.
So, off we went to La Suerte, a few kilometers north of Agaete.
The downside of the place, especially with luggage, is that you have to climb several flights of stairs via an outdoor staircase (after parking more or less far away on a steep street) to get there 😛).
Of course, on the way from the car to the apartment, it started pouring again—the bags got soaked!
Enough rain for today! We settled in quietly, and by late afternoon, we could (finally!) go admire the view from the terrace.
Trip Planning
My partner and I are heading to the Canary Islands for a week at the end of September, specifically to Lanzarote. We chose this island over the more crowded ones for its volcanic landscape and the variety of hikes it offers.
I booked everything through Expedia: our hotel stay, car rental, and Ryanair flight tickets departing from Marseille. It was the only way to get a direct flight. To make getting around easier during our stay, I picked a hotel located in the center of the island from the wide selection available. It’s part of the Barceló chain, specifically the "Barceló Teguise Beach Adults Only" in Teguise Beach, which turned out to be an excellent choice.
The Trip
Sunday, September 21 - Monday, September 22
Departure
It’s 2:15 PM, and we’re at the Avignon TGV station. Danielle picked us up earlier due to the weather—thunderstorms and heavy rain all the way to the station. The TGV was on time, and it only took 30 minutes to reach Marseille Saint-Charles. The shuttle to the airport is quick and convenient, right behind the station.
The bus leaves for the airport in the middle of the storm, with flooded roads and cars stuck in some spots.
We get soaked making our way to the terminal. Two hours to wait before the flight. The plane finally takes off at midnight, but just before landing, the pilot announces that the destination airport is closed, and we’re being diverted to Tenerife. Ryanair will re-route us as soon as possible.
We end up waiting 2 hours, and Ryanair kindly gives us a 4 € voucher.
We re-board around 5:15 AM and take off at 6:00 AM. About 45 minutes to reach Lanzarote. After collecting our luggage, we head to the car rental desk. The counter in the terminal is closed, and we’re directed to parking lot P4—it takes us a while to find it.
I’m a bit worried about the rental company’s reaction since the car was supposed to be picked up 7 hours earlier, but it’s not a problem. A woman next to us is furious because she’s in the same situation, and her rental was canceled. Anne-Marie translates for her, but nothing changes.
We pick up a brand-new Toyota Aigo and head to the hotel.
After checking in, we cross the garden, walking alongside the large pool to reach our room.
A lovely first-floor room with a jacuzzi and a sea view.
It’s early, so we head to breakfast—a generously stocked and varied buffet with everything you could want.
Afterward, we drive to Cueva de los Verdes, but it’s packed with people and a long wait. We decide to come back another day.
Next, we visit Mirador Del Rio. This rocky viewpoint at the edge of the island has breathtaking cliffs plunging 500 meters into the ocean. The view is stunning and impressive.
A panoramic bar lets you cool off while enjoying the scenery.
We return to the hotel for a short walk around the neighborhood and enjoy the beautiful pool with its pleasant water temperature. Relaxing by the pool, sun loungers, and all.
In the evening, a very varied buffet at the restaurant. Then early to bed to recover from the sleepless night before.
Tuesday, September 23
After a restful night, we enjoy another varied and hearty breakfast. The terrace seating is very pleasant. We take an inland road leading to Timanfaya National Park.
The road near the park runs alongside vineyards where the vines are surrounded by lava stone walls to protect them from the prevailing winds.
Our first stop is at the visitor center, where the island’s volcanic activity is well-documented. Next, we stop at an area where you can take a short camel ride—two seats are installed on either side of the camel’s hump. This little ride offers a great view of the volcanic landscape from a higher vantage point. A fair price of 11 € per seat for a 20-minute ride.
We then head to the park entrance via the road leading to the parking lot, where only authorized buses can take the winding route inside the park.
It’s crowded, and we wait about 45 minutes with several stops before reaching the parking lot.
We board the bus, and the route offers beautiful views of this volcanic area and its many craters. The journey is very interesting, with several stops for photos.
At the parking lot, a guide shows us how the heat from the rocks beneath the surface can ignite dry vegetation. Water poured into holes in the ground immediately creates geysers and jets of steam.
The building next to the parking lot has a restaurant where meat is cooked using the heat from a well dug into the volcanic rock.
On our way back, we drive to Playa Blanca, a seaside town with a small sandy beach.
Back at the hotel in the late afternoon for dinner.
Wednesday, September 24
We wake up early and have a quick breakfast—few people are around at this hour. Two days ago, we booked a 10:00 AM visit to Los Verdes, lava tunnels created by eruptions and lava flows from the La Corona volcano, which extended all the way to the coast.
When the lava came into contact with the air, it solidified on the surface while continuing to flow underneath. The lava tunnels stretch for 8 kilometers to the volcano, but we only walk one kilometer.
The inside of the tunnel is impressive, with narrow passages and larger chambers.
You can see traces left by the flowing liquid lava—varied colors and twisted shapes.
At the end of the path, a large chamber has been turned into a concert hall with perfect acoustics.
Next, we visit Jameo Del Agua.
This is a continuation of the lava tunnel, developed by Manrique.
There are beautifully designed bar and restaurant areas, as well as an underground lake where you can see small blind white crabs—a protected species in this very pure water.
Higher up, there’s a lovely space with a central pool that could double as a swimming area, surrounded by beautifully designed white pathways that contrast with the blue water.
Further on, you reach a large space inside the lava tunnel, set up as a performance hall with perfect acoustics.
Stairs let you view this beautiful space from above. A gap in the lava landscape reveals the ocean on the horizon.
We head back toward the village of Yé, at the foot of the La Corona volcano.
A 160-meter walk from the church, a path crosses vineyard plots and then climbs to the top of the volcano’s crater in about 30 minutes. It’s the island’s highest volcano.
When you reach the edge of the crater, you see how deep it is, with steep slopes inside forming a large circular opening. The place is breathtaking and awe-inspiring.
We drive back to the hotel via a road that climbs quickly, offering a beautiful view of the island’s northern part.
Thursday, September 25
After another enjoyable and varied breakfast, we head to the center of the island toward the volcano park and stop at a roadside parking lot where a path leads to the Montana Cuervo volcano.
This is a crater that opened on one side. During an eruption, an explosion created a breach in the crater.
Huge blocks of rock were thrown dozens of meters away. The path goes through the breach and descends into the crater, allowing you to walk around it. It’s impressive, and you really feel small and fragile in this environment.
The crater walls, with their different colors, highlight the rock formations. The crater is surrounded by a sea of lava with sharp, jagged rocks.
You can walk around the outside of the crater, but it’s not very interesting. We then head to the west coast, stopping at a spot with a small green lake next to a beautiful black sand beach.
Next, we stop at Salinas de Janubio, a lovely viewpoint overlooking the salt marshes with different water colors. A small shop sells various local products.
We then head to the famous Papagayo beach.
The road ends at a booth where they charge 3 € to continue.
From here, the land is private, and you have to pay to drive down a 3-kilometer rocky dirt road.
Quite a few cars are driving along it, kicking up clouds of dust. The car gets a dusty makeover.
We arrive at a large parking area, with several paths leading to different small beaches.
We go to Papagayo, a small blonde sand beach surrounded by red rocks.
The beach slopes gently into the water, which is a pleasant temperature. The setting is charming and peaceful.
We stay for a while before heading back to the hotel.
Friday, September 26
We start with a visit to the César Manrique Foundation in Tahiche. This was originally one of his homes. The modern construction spans several levels and is integrated into the lava flow, using the gaps to create living spaces. Large windows make the rooms bright and open to the scenery. The place is pleasant, with flower-filled gardens outside. It’s well worth a visit.
Next, we drive to Las Grietas, where a path leads to a narrow crack in the volcanic rock, forming a tight passage where only one person can walk at a time.
The passage isn’t very long, but progress is slow due to the endless selfies being taken here.
We then stop at Casa Del Camposino, a renovated farm that houses several artisan shops.
We taste a local wine recommended by a charming woman and buy two bottles of Lanzarote red wine on her advice.
Now, we head to Tamara beach, a beautiful and wide beach at the foot of high cliffs. There are always great waves here, making it a surfer’s paradise.
On the way back to the hotel, we stop at the cactus garden, César Manrique’s final creation. Designed with a great sense of aesthetics around an old windmill, it features 4,500 varieties of cacti in various shapes, all in a beautiful setting.
We return to the hotel in the late afternoon for the evening.
Saturday, September 27
After another hearty breakfast, we head north to Haria. We stumble upon another of César Manrique’s homes, where he lived for a long time. This house is more traditional than the previous one but still has large, modern, and very pleasant rooms. At the back of the garden is his large studio, where he created his works.
Next, we visit the craft market—this was our original plan. Various stalls offer local items, and it’s very crowded. No room at the café terraces to sit down.
We then return to Famara beach for a long stay. There are always great waves here, much to the surfers’ delight. The water temperature is pleasant, and we enjoy it.
On the way back to the hotel, we stop at a gas station to refill the car, which has been very fuel-efficient. Gas is also much cheaper here than in France—1.16 € per liter of SP95.
We also wash the car, which was very dusty after the long dirt road to Papagayo beach.
At the hotel, we enjoy a farewell cocktail before dinner.
Sunday, September 28
We spend the morning by the hotel pool before checking out at noon. For lunch, we go to a restaurant called "Dona Lola," near the hotel, with a terrace offering a view of the coast. We order tuna carpaccio, which is delicious.
We then head to the airport, just 15 minutes away.
We return the rental car and go to the airport.
A long line to check in our luggage.
The return flight is on time.
A shuttle bus takes us to Saint-Charles station.
We then head to our overnight rental. The boulevard slopes down, making it easier with the suitcases.
The rental is between the old port and the train station.
Once there, we pick up the keys and make one last effort to carry the luggage up to the third floor.
The studio is nice, clean, and simply equipped—perfect for one night.
This travel journal is therefore intended solely for my photos, to present a consistent style.
All the shots were taken with a simple Samsung Galaxy smartphone and with whatever was at hand.
All stays combined, I’ve spent the equivalent of a year at most in Thailand, and I’m no great expert.
However, after many trips, lots of reading on VoyageForum and other sites, and conversations with many locals as well as expats, my view of the country is becoming clearer, though it’s constantly evolving. You never stop discovering and learning.
I guess I wanted to deliver a puzzle, mainly for those who want to get an idea of the country here and for those who feel nostalgic about it.
I don’t know if this minimalist sharing will interest anyone, but it’ll do me good to put it together. After so many months without traveling and then these other long months with VF closed, there’s plenty of material available.
There’ll be a mix of places, periods, and subjects, but it might well be intentional.
I suspect many Thais have dogs because they make excellent guardians for the home. Nothing better to deter burglars or to signal the presence of a snake. You’ll often see Thais tapping the top of their dog’s head, but don’t be fooled: it’s a sign of affection from them. Judging by the dogs’ reactions, they’re used to it.
Thailand is one of the countries on the planet where rabies is still present, so keep that in mind. It’s not just bites that can be dangerous, so don’t let just any dog lick you. Especially on a wound, of course.
Even though dogs often fear humans—this dangerous and unpredictable predator—we still need to stay cautious.
Be careful when walking into alleys because the dog will defend its master’s big yard. Be careful at night, and be careful when they’re in packs.
It sometimes crosses our minds that Thailand isn’t all that made for walking around, and dogs are one of the reasons.
That said, it’s not uncommon to see them chasing bikes or scooters. Cars, though? Much rarer—they’re too big.
It seems Thais prefer to give their dogs freedom by not locking them behind gates. Though sometimes the gate is closed, the little side door is wide open. Oh, and sometimes there’s no gate in front of the property, or it’s been full of holes for years.
You’ll often see dogs sleeping on the roadside, sometimes right on the road. When you approach, they move aside nonchalantly—or not at all. It’s less funny when they suddenly appear from thick vegetation, reminding visitors not to drive too fast. As a result, you’ll notice that dogs with injuries or missing legs aren’t that rare.
Since they believe in reincarnation and respect for all forms of life, they don’t chase dog packs away too much, and they don’t sterilize them enough. When you see a small pack roaming freely in the countryside, you think twice about running into them at the edge of a field.
A darker side of this is that euthanasia isn’t often practiced. Twice, we saw dogs at death’s door in temples, enduring terrible suffering with no one to help. The image (and the smell) of one of them, agonizing and exuding the stench of death, still comes back to me sometimes.
Some of you may have seen the YouTube vlog of a French woman living in Phuket who was given a little pig by her Thai friends. The animal, well-fed, quickly became a happy and enormous beast with its own garden. Yet it didn’t take long for it to fall seriously ill and become incurable. In her video, the French woman described how difficult it was to find a vet willing to perform euthanasia.
You’ll often see bowls by the side of the road. Thais leave food and water there for stray cats and dogs. Overall, they have a big heart for animals.
If you ever pop into a shopping mall, you might see people pushing their small dogs in strollers. It’s not just for fun—these strollers are provided for customers to put their pets in, otherwise you can’t bring them inside. It looks a bit odd when you expect to see a baby.
I’m a newbie to this forum, passionate about wildlife, the landscapes of East Africa, and Tanzania in particular.
This June 2024 trip/safari is our 7th visit to Tanzania and our 5th in the south, which has drawn us more than the north ever since we discovered it in 2015.
In 2024, the entrance fees for the reserves and services have gone up again since our last visit.
I chose to return first to Mikumi Reserve, which was the very first one we visited in the south. Then, we’ll head to Selous (J. Nyerere N. P.) as usual.
Initially, we wanted to spend 2/3 days on Mafia Island at the end of the trip, but it made the total cost too high, so we gave up...
We usually go to Ruaha and Selous, but I wanted to mix it up a bit—also to save some money...
As for the timing, June is a new experience for us. I thought it might be interesting to come just after the lodges reopen... hoping for some great wildlife encounters??
The trip starts in Marseille with our first flight on Ethiopian Airlines to Addis Ababa, then continues to Dar es Salaam, where we’ll finally set foot on Tanzanian soil again.
In Addis... "our" A-350.
.....
After arriving in Dar, we spent one night at a hotel near the airport. The next morning, we headed to the domestic flights terminal, which hasn’t changed in years.
By mid-morning, we boarded a Cessna 208B Caravan with Safari Air Link, heading to the Kikoboga bush airstrip in Mikumi, which we reached 45 minutes later.
Fun fact: the pilot was the same one as on our return flight two years ago.
Welcome on board:
Of course, a driver/guide team from our chosen lodge was waiting for us upon arrival:
I was surprised to see so many aircraft parked there... even twin-engine Embraer Brasilias??
As a fan of vintage planes, I loved it...
On the other hand, the light was incredibly harsh.....!!
Our guides only speak English. We knew that in advance. In the south, it’s very rare to find someone who speaks French. This’ll force us to dig into our high school English memories... from 60 years ago... at least.
It’s noon, and we head toward the lodge.
Near the airstrip, next to the Mikumi rangers’ base, there are quite a few herbivores. They find a bit more peace here—the big cats don’t venture this way...
Our first encounter was a group of Masai giraffes.
Rarer (for us), a savanna monitor lizard basking in the sun right in the middle of the track...??
A large gathering of impalas (mostly males) along with a few blue wildebeest:
Also unusual: a African crowned hornbill taking a dust bath in the middle of the track...!!
When it comes to identifying mammals or birds, I don’t know everything... so I might make mistakes. Please forgive me.
I’m counting on my friend Blesl’s active participation... 😉
Last February, I made a trip using "public transport" from France to southern Senegal via Spain, Morocco, Western Sahara, and Mauritania.
It’s a journey of about 5,000 km, where I took trains (as far as Marrakech), ferries (to cross Gibraltar and then to reach Casamance from Dakar), and mostly buses on the long desert straightaways. I hadn’t planned any stops in advance or booked any hotels, except for the very first train to Spain, which left plenty of room for the unexpected.
Why travel by land and sea? In recent years, flight-free travel has been gaining popularity. On social media, posts explaining how to cross Europe by train as quickly as possible go viral. Traveling without flying—and making sure people know about it—has become a great way to earn a badge of eco-responsibility: an essential totem for anyone wanting to prove both their dedication to the ecological cause and the wisdom of slow travel.
I haven’t flown in years, and this journey to West Africa could easily be filed under "responsible travel." But it wouldn’t be honest to say that: in reality, it wasn’t really my aversion to flying that motivated this long trek. I see overland travel primarily as a way to experience the world’s geography at a grounded, earthly pace—the pace of the locals. Besides, I’ll be flying back, which disqualifies any claim to being a model of sustainability.
So no eco-badge, and no adventurer’s badge either: you won’t find any heroic tales of camel rides in lost lands or mineral train wagons in this account (popular with influencers, the Mauritania iron ore train now attracts tourists from all over the world, turning "the experience" into something you "have to do at least once in your life"). This five-part story, written on the road, has no other ambition than to recount a journey through places and people, and to share the thoughts they inspire in me. As simply and, I hope, as humbly as possible.
I’m posting the episodes here, which you can also find on my blog (with more photos) at the following links:
Episode 1: Spain, from Avignon to Algeciras
Episode 2: Morocco, from Tangier to Tarfaya
Episode 3: Western Sahara, from Tarfaya to Guerguerat
Episode 4: Mauritania, from Guerguerat to Nouakchott
Episode 5: Senegal, from Rosso to Saloulou
To help those who might want to make the same trip, I’ve also put together a summary of the route with recommendations—you can read it at the end of the story and on the blog:
From France to Senegal Without Flying: Route and Itinerary Recommendations
This time, I landed in Monastir on a direct flight from Nice, again with Tunisair. We left about ten minutes late, and the flight lasted around 1 hour 30 minutes. A meal was served on board (cucumber salad with Edam-like cheese, carrots, and two small portions of dishes I couldn’t identify—semolina with peppers, olives, and parsley, two small rolls, a square of processed cheese, and a chocolate cake). It’s worth noting because it’s not common on flights this short.
In February, France and Tunisia were in the same time zone, but now Tunisia is one hour behind. This time difference and the flight duration work perfectly for a short 15-day trip since it takes me a few days to adjust to jet lag.
Luckily, I’d asked my hotel about the taxi fare from the airport because the drivers (there were several around me) didn’t hesitate to quote outrageous prices. The actual fare is 20 dinars, but one asked for 120 dinars. I refused, and another offered 60 dinars. I replied, "That’s too expensive—I’ll take the metro!" (Having tried the Tunis metro, I had no desire to repeat the experience in Monastir with a suitcase!). I started walking toward the metro, and one of the drivers caught up with me, saying, "20 dinars is fine!" I’ll skip the details, but the negotiation took a little while.
When I arrived at the hotel, I told the receptionist someone had asked for 120 dinars. He put his hands to his head and said, "They’re awful!" He remembered our phone call two days earlier when I’d booked (he’s the one who told me I could take the metro).
The Mezri Hotel isn’t expensive. I got a sea-view room for 75 dinars (22 €). (I’d booked a balcony room for 90 dinars but wouldn’t have had time to enjoy it.) It’s well-located but noisy because there’s no double glazing.
The receptionist is a very kind older gentleman. He called a friend whose wife is from Tozeur to find out if I should take a bus or a *louage* tomorrow and what time.
I arrived at the hotel around 7:00 PM and had time to stroll along the corniche to the ribat. Despite some run-down buildings, the seaside seemed livelier and cheerier than Sousse’s.
Monastir is the hometown of former president Bourguiba. I passed his mausoleum by taxi. There are Tunisian flags along the avenue by the sea because every year on April 6—the anniversary of Habib Bourguiba’s death—the president of the Republic visits the Bourguiba Mausoleum in Monastir to pay respects.
The taxi driver mentioned other Tunisian presidents. He complained about rising prices and insecurity, blaming President Kaïs Saïed (I’d already heard that security was better under Ben Ali).
At the end of my stay, I’ll take time to explore Monastir, but tomorrow morning, I’m off to Tozeur—a long bus ride awaits me.
Just back from two weeks in Andalusia, and I wanted to share this experience with you—maybe it’ll help with planning a trip. I’ll start with a quick recap in this post and try to add photos and day-by-day details later (still sorting through them). Hope I don’t bore you too much! 😎
Trip details:
April 20 to May 4, 2019:
7 days on the Costa de la Luz (El Puerto de Santa María) in an Airbnb,
4 days at the junction of the Costa del Sol and Costa Tropical (Salobreña) in an Airbnb,
3 days at Cabo de Gata for some rest at a campsite in Los Escullos.
Two families of four, each with our own car: three 9-year-old boys and a 6-year-old girl. One family was more into city exploration (not us, but we’re working on it), and the other preferred relaxation and nature (that’s us). We speak a little Spanish.
Over 5,000 km, including 2,500 km for the round trip from Carcassonne.
The weather: Variable, but we expected better for this region in late April. The first week on the Costa de la Luz was sometimes chilly (< 20°C), and the second week was warmer but not excessive (< 25°C). At least we didn’t get much rain!
Our budget: Around 2600 € per family:
700 € for accommodations, about 50 € per night,
1000 € for meals and restaurants. We usually spent around 50 € per family at restaurants—we ate out for lunch (except for 2–3 picnics) and cooked at home in the evenings, trying to be back by 6 PM.
600 € for activities: Río Tinto, a flamenco show, visits to the Alhambra, Giralda, and Alcázar, Oasis Park with meals, and a kayaking trip.
300 € for gas and tolls.
Preparation: A few months ahead with bookings for accommodations and tickets for the Alhambra, Giralda, and Alcázar. We used a few travel guides—I like the *Évasion* guide for initial planning. *Géoguide* was okay, but our friends’ *Routard* was the most useful. We also spent three months brushing up on Spanish with Mosalingua (a great spaced-repetition method, max 10 minutes a day). Downloaded Maps.me and the Andalusia map in advance—essential. And we used Tricount to track shared expenses with friends—super handy.
What we did/saw:
3 city visits (Seville, Granada, and Cádiz) + Málaga for our friends (we vetoed Córdoba—too many cities for us).
4 white villages (Vejer de la Frontera, Arcos de la Frontera, Grazalema, Ronda) + Tarifa for our friends.
Beaches (Tarifa and Bolonia, Matalascañas, Nerja, Cabo de Gata).
Nature and fun moments: Doñana National Park, a kayaking trip along the rocky coast near Nerja, and the Wild West/animal park in the Tabernas Desert.
A little culture: Río Tinto mines, the archaeological site of Itálica, Columbus’s caravels, Nerja Cave for us, and the Picasso Museum in Málaga for our friends. Plus, seeing the ham-drying process in the Alpujarras (for our friends).
Our highlights
Nerja and the surrounding villages: The rocky coast was amazing, and we loved the kayaking trip, even if the water was freezing for snorkeling. The beaches are sheltered from the wind, the town is charming, and the cave is incredible.
El Rocío and Doñana National Park. El Rocío has a timeless, almost Wild West vibe—we could’ve stayed a day or two. The quiet and pine scents reminded us of the Landes region.
What we didn’t love as much:
Río Tinto mines: Not super exciting, and the guides’ nonstop chatter kind of ruined the "nature" experience.
Our little regrets (for next time):
Forgetting our passports and missing a day trip to Tangier from Tarifa.
Not having an extra day around Nerja to go snowboarding in the Sierra Nevada—just 1.5 hours away (the kayak guide suggested it).
Not spending at least one night in El Rocío to explore Doñana National Park at dawn.
Antequera with the Guadalhorce reservoir and the Caminito del Rey (but it would’ve meant 2 more hours of driving, and we didn’t have the energy).
My general impressions of Andalusia and Spain
Landscapes: A feeling of extreme concentration of a single activity in some areas—endless olive groves, wind farms on the Costa de la Luz (which I thought were well-integrated), rows of buildings along the Costa del Sol (yikes, glad we didn’t stop there), greenhouses around Almería (a shame to have frozen the coast for so many kilometers), and the massive industrial port of Huelva.
What surprised us compared to France was the lack of small hamlets—villages are clearly defined, and people cluster there, leaving vast landscapes without human presence. In France, you find houses scattered everywhere.
Roads: Relatively few tolls. Sure, rest areas aren’t as nice as in France, but the roads are in good condition, and our wallet was happy. The roads are pretty straight with countless bridges and tunnels—the upside (besides fast travel) is that there aren’t many secondary roads disrupting the scenery.
Tourism and activities: A huge variety and richness. Feels like everyone can find something they like, and 15 days barely scratched the surface. It’s amazing how quickly you go from the coast to snow-capped peaks (Sierra Nevada) or from farmland to desert (Tabernas). And the mix of European and Arabic architecture in the same city is really special.
One small regret: Not interacting more with locals. We didn’t luck out with our Airbnbs. But shopkeepers were great—very patient with my broken Spanish! :-)
Overall, I think our choice to stay on the Costa de la Luz and then near Nerja worked well. We could explore pretty easily (even if we logged a lot of kilometers), and the settings were fantastic. The 3 days of total relaxation at Cabo de Gata were perfect.
If you prefer shorter stops, you could try staying in El Rocío (easy access to Seville and great for an early visit to Doñana National Park) or maybe Grazalema for a hike in the mountains (weather-dependent). And of course, Tarifa for a day trip to Tangier or Gibraltar.
Sometimes fantasy and a change of scenery are right near home! I love exploring the four corners of the planet, but there can also be a whole world just a little farther than the end of your street—or even the tip of your nose! So I’ll share with you in pictures the beautiful kermesse of Ath, which we only discovered last August, even though we’re neighbors (we live in Lille).
I could have subtitled this travel journal: "Ferme eut’bouc tin nez va quer eud’dans"; it’s an expression in Picard language, literally “Close your mouth or your nose will fall in,” said to someone who’s amazed—and amazed I was!!!
Ooooooooh, giants!
Oh, how I love them! In the North, we have lots of these giants, like Reuze Papa and Reuze Maman in Cassel, or Gayant, Marie, and their children Binbin, Jacquot, and Fillon in Douai, and many more.
Huh? What? You don’t know what a Géant du Nord is?
Well, it’s a benevolent hero, a legendary figure, a protector, a symbol tied to a city that parades through it, walking and dancing during carnival or the local festival. The tradition is said to have originated in Portugal in the 13th century (at least that’s where we have the first records), then we see them in the Netherlands starting in the 15th century. In the North, the oldest are Gayant and Marie of Douai (16th century), but many new ones have appeared since the 1980s with the revival of carnivals. In practice, it’s a large character (or animal figure) several meters tall; the structure is made of wicker, the body is often papier-mâché, but the head can be wood, as in Ath (lime wood), and the clothes and accessories are made of fabric, leather, and wood. The flared robe (for both male and female giants) allows one or more carriers to slip underneath to move it using only their arms, shoulders, and legs—and even make it dance! There are over 1,500 giants in Belgium and 450 in Hauts-de-France, mostly in the Nord and Pas-de-Calais departments.
In Ath, there are giants—LOTS of them! I’ve never seen so many at once. And each one is carried by only one man at a time (except for Bayard, you’ll see why later), even though the structure weighs over 100 kilos—so the carriers take turns quickly! The Ducasse of Ath and its giants have been inscribed on the UNESCO Intangible Cultural Heritage list since 2008, as part of the "Processional Giants and Dragons of Belgium and France."
What’s more, the Ducasse of Ath is remarkable for its age and local roots; a procession was first mentioned in 1399, and today the many musical groups are still local (Ath and surrounding towns). The event is extremely popular: a good part of the population is there, all generations mixed together. Everyone knows the groups, floats, and giants, and each has their favorite! Originally, religious groups paraded, illustrating episodes from the Bible or the Golden Legend. Gradually, the parade became secular and kept evolving by adding new giants, historical figures, or allegories linked to local history (Ath, Belgian Hainaut, Belgium).
Finally, the beautiful floats are all pulled by magnificent draft horses, and that’s extraordinary! The town council itself rides in fine carriages that close the parade.
To wrap up this long introduction, know that the Ducasse of Ath lasts several days, but the highlight is the highly codified procession that takes place on the 4th Sunday of August (actually, the procession passes twice, once in the morning and once in the afternoon).
So, let’s go!
On this Sunday, August 26th, we’re in Ath in the early afternoon to see the procession. What a popular enthusiasm! Everyone is wearing the city’s colors (purple, yellow, and white), often with a twisted fabric necklace. Everyone is happy, smiling, from the giggling toddler to the sprightly centenarian sipping beer with her rosy-cheeked cousin and the pretty freckled blonde niece. People call out to each other, laugh, hum, and congratulate each other all around.
People start positioning themselves at strategic spots along the route—wider areas where the giants stop to perform a dance to the tunes of the brass bands accompanying them. And there are brass bands—at least one per giant and float!
The wait passes quickly in this joyful atmosphere. Suddenly, the music grows louder, and here comes the first giant at last! It’s the "two-headed eagle," with a child (a real one) sitting safely on a little chair.
Present in the procession since the late 17th century, it originally had only one head (normal, right?) and accompanied the tailors’ guild. It gained a second head during the royal visit of 1854 (go figure why!). It’s 3.30 meters tall and weighs 115 kilos (without the child). All the men you see in white are carriers taking turns.
Its dance consists of spinning the bird around—you’d think that little kid up there must be getting dizzy!
Next is the "Neapolitan fishermen’s boat." It’s a magnificent float representing a ship, with handsome sailors clinging to its rigging. This float first appeared in the parade in 1856.
It’s followed by a human giant on stilts: "Saint Christopher of Flobecq," holding a flowered staff and carrying Christ on his shoulders (this time, not a real child!). It appeared in the 19th century, then disappeared from the procession before being reintroduced in 1976.
Now here come the "Blues," dressed in French uniforms. This group is the heir of the former cannon-arquebusier company, and they punctuate their parade with gun salutes!
Come along, I'm taking you to this country where it's so nice to wander and slow down...
I’m inviting you on a stroll through my drawings—a completely subjective, far-from-exhaustive, and totally personal take, since it’s based on my own sketches. I put this travel journal together after returning in late 2024, mostly using felt-tip pens and pencils, with a few collages thrown in. I worked from our personal photos.
And in Kyoto, the Nishiki Market:
A little sneak peek?
Since Albania isn’t part of Europe when it comes to phone service (at least not yet! :-)), we had to buy a physical SIM card—otherwise, the bill would’ve been sky-high if we’d used our French plan! We got one from Vodafone AL at the airport. You can buy online before leaving with a virtual SIM (e-SIM) for compatible phones, so you don’t have to swap cards. But given the uncertainty about choosing a plan online, we preferred buying one directly at Tirana Airport. Cost: 31 € for 100 GB. That’s way too much—100 GB is overkill. For 40 GB, it’s 27 €, and the plan lasts 21 days. The price difference isn’t huge, and it was cheaper than online. This plan covers all the countries along the Balkan range.
Money tip: All guesthouses and accommodations accept euros. The local currency in Albania is the LEK. In Montenegro, it’s the euro. Bank fees for withdrawing money from an ATM in Albania are pretty steep: 8 € for a withdrawal of 600–700 LEK (about 200 €)! So it’s better to withdraw cash (euros) in France. Oh, and we booked all our accommodations before leaving, but payment is always in cash. Budget around 400–500 € for 9 days of trekking.
I really liked Shköder, especially its pedestrian street lined with restaurants and lit up at night. It’s a great place to stroll and eat. The food isn’t expensive—two big salads and two beers: 14 € :-) . Fruit prices are also very reasonable: 3 € for a kilo of cherries, compared to 9–10 € in France.
Religions coexist peacefully in these countries—Catholics and Muslims. From our balcony, my friend heard the call to prayer for the first time, coming from one of the city’s mosques.
We slept in the heights of Theth at a new guesthouse, "Mountain Vista Shkafi," with an amazing view.
But Bologna’s real charm lies in its porticoes, which were added to the UNESCO World Heritage list in 2021: 62 km of arcades running along buildings, letting you walk sheltered from the sun or rain. Back in 1288, the city required houses to include private arcades for public use. In the city center, you can stroll under 32 km of porticoes in all sorts of styles—some plain, some ornate—with a strong presence of red tones.
Ooooooooh, giants!
Oh, how I love them! In the North, we have lots of these giants, like Reuze Papa and Reuze Maman in Cassel, or Gayant, Marie, and their children Binbin, Jacquot, and Fillon in Douai, and many more.
What’s more, the Ducasse of Ath is remarkable for its age and local roots; a procession was first mentioned in 1399, and today the many musical groups are still local (Ath and surrounding towns). The event is extremely popular: a good part of the population is there, all generations mixed together. Everyone knows the groups, floats, and giants, and each has their favorite! Originally, religious groups paraded, illustrating episodes from the Bible or the Golden Legend. Gradually, the parade became secular and kept evolving by adding new giants, historical figures, or allegories linked to local history (Ath, Belgian Hainaut, Belgium).
To wrap up this long introduction, know that the Ducasse of Ath lasts several days, but the highlight is the highly codified procession that takes place on the 4th Sunday of August (actually, the procession passes twice, once in the morning and once in the afternoon).
It’s followed by a human giant on stilts: "Saint Christopher of Flobecq," holding a flowered staff and carrying Christ on his shoulders (this time, not a real child!). It appeared in the 19th century, then disappeared from the procession before being reintroduced in 1976.
