Cycling Through Provence's Big Climbs

In the autumn of 2011, Provence was hit by apocalyptic weather—torrential rain and a particularly violent east wind, reaching 130 kilometers per hour, whipping up waves as high as seven meters. It wasn’t the best time to venture outside. Yet, I told myself that after the storm, calm would return. I kept an eye on the weather forecast and noticed that starting November 10th, a favorable window should open for a little 600-kilometer cycling trip across Provence. The weather reports promised a high-pressure system that would keep the bad weather at bay over these highlands. That was all I needed to decide to set off. The planned route would take me through Provence’s biggest climbs: Mont Ventoux, Montagne de Lure, the Verdon Gorge, the Massif des Maures, and Sainte-Baume.

And so, despite my doubts, the call of adventure was stronger. The train pulled away, and once again, a journey began at Part-Dieu station. This time, I headed toward Haute-Provence for a cycling adventure. It would be my first solo bike trip. I was a little nervous—cycling with panniers makes you feel vulnerable to theft. I’d already been robbed while traveling in a group in Peru, and that experience left me deeply shaken. Alone, I hesitated. But no need to panic—I’d read accounts from long-distance cyclists who hadn’t been robbed, even if it does happen sometimes. I was particularly thinking of a young schoolteacher who had taken a sabbatical to cycle around the world. Her students had remarked, "Teacher, you’re not sporty—how will you manage to cycle around the world?" This young woman was full of resourcefulness. In South America, before flying to China, she locked her bike to a post to take care of a natural need. When she returned, the post had been torn out, and her bike—along with all her gear—was gone. It was a shock for many, but not for her. She boarded her flight to the Middle Kingdom, bought the essentials (including a new bike) once there, and continued her journey! Remembering this story, I almost felt ashamed of my cowardice. These were the thoughts running through my mind as the Rhône Valley rolled by toward Orange, the starting point of my Provençal adventure through the big climbs.

Day One: Orange to Sault via Mont Ventoux – 90 km

9:30 AM, I stepped off the train. With all my gear, I had to navigate the underground passage—no easy feat, given that my bike and luggage weighed 35 kilos. At this time of year, I expected some areas to be deserted, so I’d packed enough to bivouac comfortably. Once outside the station, the southern light flooded over me. I understood why people dream of retiring in these sun-drenched regions. As always, after disembarking from public transport, I had to get my bearings and decide which way to go. The sun, still low on the horizon, pointed east. The roar of fighter jet engines helped me locate the Air Base 115. That was all I needed to "reset the gyros."

As soon as I started pedaling, all my apprehensions vanished. The joy of discovery and physical effort took over, and euphoria washed over me. It’s amazing how emotions can shift from one moment to the next based on seemingly minor circumstances.

The weather was splendid—the forecast had predicted continuous showers, but it was completely wrong. I quickly left the city behind. Mont Ventoux loomed mysteriously, its dimensions hard to gauge. It was even more enigmatic with its summit hidden beneath swirling, mottled clouds clinging to the ridges. It reminded me of a great South American volcano. I struggled to imagine that in a few hours, I’d be up there under that blanket of mist.

The countryside was shaking off its autumnal nighttime dampness. The vineyards, interspersed with tall cypress hedges, confirmed I was in the magnificent Côtes du Rhône wine region. The distinctive Dentelles de Montmirail were very much in evidence. The air force base wasn’t far. I passed the runway’s end markers. A Mirage 2000 flew overhead in a tight turn, followed by another roaring into takeoff. It came straight at me before climbing sharply with a thunderous roar. Thirty years spent in that captivating world came rushing back. I recalled countless extraordinary human and technical experiences from my time in the service. But the purpose of this post isn’t to promote the air force—though I might post some articles one day about travels among men at war.

I continued on my way, leaving my past loves behind. As I pedaled, delightful names rolled by: Violès, Vacqueyras, Gigondas, Beaumes-de-Venise—the crème de la crème of the Côtes du Rhône Villages appellation. I let myself be enchanted by the vineyards and the little paths crisscrossing them. I started to doubt my route, though the imposing mass of Mont Ventoux in the distance acted like a giant beacon. At a crossroads, a car appeared. I approached to ask the driver for directions, but she didn’t even look at me and sped off, clearly frightened. I’d almost forgotten what a fearful world we live in, no doubt traumatized by all the horrors we see in the news and on TV.

The kilometers started adding up, but was my day’s goal too ambitious? It had been two months since I’d last ridden my bike. True, my last trip had been good training—the Route des Grandes Alpes—but that was two months ago. I can’t just take my bike out for a day trip; I need that sense of adventure to find the courage to exercise.

Two cyclists overtook me. Intrigued by my load, they struck up a conversation. They were skeptical when I told them I planned to cross Mont Ventoux that day. One of them pointed out a small chapel near the summit where I could bivouac sheltered. That motivated me even more to reach the top on this first stage. The chapel also had a mythical name for me—Sainte-Anne, the name of my parents’ villa. It was already noon, and I’d covered 50 kilometers. Malaucène appeared—the sacred village of Ventoux’s mad cyclists. Surprisingly, I didn’t see any other cyclists today. I remembered this place in June, teeming with aspirants for the king of summits. Before tackling the climb ahead, I needed to refuel. I enjoyed a pleasant gastronomic break at Max’s. At 1 PM, I started the most famous climb in cycling—21 kilometers, which would actually be 23. I knew it would be tough, especially with two handicaps: 50 kilometers already in my legs and 20 kilos of luggage. But I was counting on my tiny chainring, which let me climb trees to tackle the steep ramps.

I set off at a brisk pace along a deserted road. My speed held up for the first few kilometers. I quickly rose above the valley, the horizon widening. I was surprised to see no one on this world-renowned route among cycling enthusiasts. During the climb and descent, I’d only see five cyclists—but I’ll come back to that. I passed a sign explaining that the effort would be roughly equivalent to climbing the Col de la Bonnette. Having done the latter in September, I figured I’d be fine. I crossed paths with my first cyclist—a woman speeding downhill. After 12 kilometers, I hit slopes averaging 12%. I don’t know if the number 12 is cursed, but I got such a "bamboo" hit that I’d never experienced before. I thought I wouldn’t make it to the summit today. I stopped. My thighs burned so much I could barely walk—lactic acid overload. I looked for a relatively flat spot to pitch my tent. It was 3:30 PM, with two hours of daylight left. But I found nothing.

I got back on my bike, intending to stop as soon as I found a good bivouac spot. But nothing came up. However, my strength slowly returned, perhaps because the slope eased, though it remained around 10%. I entered the summit mists. A cyclist overtook me. I was in the zone where I had to pass the summit. Dusk caught me in the final difficulties. The atmosphere was downright austere. In the twilight, a kilometer from the summit, a cyclist was fixing his bike. I asked if he needed help. He made it clear he didn’t understand. So I asked, "Do you need some help?" His answer was clear: "No, thank you." He showed me his new inner tube. Inside, I thought, "Phew!" If I’d had to stop, sweating in the falling night with the cold intensifying, I’d have struggled to get going again. But he managed, and I continued into the twilight fog. I could barely make out the summit’s large antennas in the clouds, like immense ghosts trying to evade sight. The bike delivered sensations worthy of mountain racing. My goal was to quickly find the famous chapel in the descent to take shelter. As I glided down the southern slope, two cyclists without lights crossed my path in the night—probably heading to the station above, its lights visible in the fog.

I scanned the roadside in the dark for the chapel but saw nothing. After a kilometer or two, I lost all hope. I stopped to put on more clothes as the cold became intense. I had no idea where I could stop on these steep slopes to set up camp. Between the swirls of mist, I could intermittently see the Rhône Valley below, dotted with illuminated towns and villages. The sight was striking. What was I doing on this mountain at night? Then the miracle happened—the clouds parted, and from the ridge above me to the east, a beautiful full moon emerged, casting enough light to consider a nighttime descent to Sault, 26 kilometers away.

In this eerie atmosphere between the moon’s pale rays and patches of fog, I began my descent through a hazy, almost unreal world. The Ventoux’s characteristic white scree reflected the moonlight faintly, dimmed by the mist. In places, entire mountainsides were plunged into complete darkness, and I lost all sense of the road’s path. Then, around a tight bend caused by a land shift, the light returned. It seemed extreme compared to the darkness I’d left behind. I could once again clearly see the road’s contours, though not its potholes or gravel patches. Still, I let the slope carry me, and the speed felt significant, though the low light prevented me from reading my speedometer. In these moments, concentration was at its peak—all senses alert, reflexes ready to react to the slightest incident that could lead to a fall.

I was relieved to see Sault’s lights growing closer. In less than an hour, I reached it, considering the final little climb that required one last push. This village, bustling in summer, was deserted at this time of year—almost dead. The first hotel I came across was closed. A quick shadow passed in a small sloping street. Before it disappeared into the darkness at a house corner, I chased after it and asked about accommodation options. Very kindly, I was directed to what was probably the only hotel open in November. I quickly found it, and the reception was open. I entered wearing my black balaclava, bought in the Ayacucho region—the birthplace of Peru’s Shining Path. At this late hour, I saw questioning glances directed at me. I prefaced, "This isn’t a hold-up." Clearly, the owners had a sense of humor—they started smiling. I took off my balaclava and asked for a room. No problem, and from that moment, the pressure eased. I really didn’t feel like going back out to find a spot to pitch my tent in the biting cold.

The stage had been nearly 100 kilometers, and it was the first. It had been two months since I’d touched my bike, and I probably lacked even minimal training, even though my last bike trip had been crossing the French Alps. I really had to dig deep to overcome my weakness on Ventoux’s steep section. I don’t remember ever having to search so deeply for the energy to keep going. I knew the stage I’d set for tomorrow was significant, with the climb up Montagne de Lure’s northern slope—Ventoux’s little sister, whose ascent is reputed to be endless, over 25 kilometers. I hoped this first day wouldn’t leave me too sore to avoid suffering excessively tomorrow.

For now, relaxation—a hot shower did me a world of good, followed by a good meal. I ate a delicious andouillette from Troyes, very fine, with a particularly successful herb seasoning. I loved it, and yet I’m from Lyon and pride myself on knowing a thing or two about andouillette—not just a sausage but a whole category! A bit chauvinistic, I had to admit, though reluctantly, that I found it better than the ones I usually eat in the Lyon region!

Day Two: Sault to Forcalquier via Montagne de Lure – 116 km

This morning, the weather was magnificent—the air clear, still, very fresh, and invigorating, as only the late season can offer on these Provençal highlands. In summer, they’re known for their scorching heat and drought, but often overlooked is how harsh they can be with cold and storms. Authors like Giono or Bosco described them and their inhabitants wonderfully in books like "Les Âmes Fortes."

The miracle of the night had worked. I wasn’t sore anywhere and felt in great shape. I set off well-equipped, but the effort and sun soon made me sweat. It was time to shed some layers—hat and gloves. A gentle warmth replaced the cold, making for excellent cycling conditions. On the road to Trinit, there was no traffic—only the occasional hunters’ cars parked in the distance. These vehicles were recognizable by their large cages, used to transport hunting dogs. Sometimes, the silence was broken by a distant gunshot. The deciduous forests were losing their foliage, taking on that dull brown hue of late autumn, though here and there, a tree or shrub still resisted, displaying vivid yellow or red. The meadows, their grass already scorched by the cold, were damp from the night’s heavy humidity. The low sun highlighted thousands of spider webs that had trapped insects during the warm season.

Behind me, Mont Ventoux dominated these vast spaces. As often, its imposing, stony summit was crowned with a blanket of clouds. What an impressive mountain—it’s always so hard to gauge its dimensions. I struggled to realize that last night I’d been at the summit and descended its immense southern ridge in the dark. I hoped to return one day in favorable conditions—daylight and no clouds—to enjoy the vast panorama from this unique summit.

Leaving the very Provençal village of Trinit, I tackled my first climb of the day—the Col de l’Homme Mort. The road rose moderately for five kilometers in gentle warmth. The view over the region widened, and I felt the sheer joy of pedaling. At a good pace, I overcame this first little challenge. Once at the pass, I couldn’t resist the ritual of photographing my bike in front of the sign, giving the name and altitude—1,213 meters.

The northern slope was austere and still in shadow. The cold bit again. The road was wet and covered with leaves in places. It wasn’t impossible that some treacherous patches of black ice lurked around a bend. I descended toward the Jabron Valley with caution. Suddenly, around a bend in a forest clearing, the freshly snow-covered Alps, gleaming in the sun, leapt into view, blocking the horizon. I thought I recognized the distinctive silhouette of the Écrins’ south face above a multitude of jagged peaks.

This snow and these mountains awakened a flood of memories of great joys, but I also thought of the guide and his client who had just lost their lives on the Grandes Jorasses’ north face, at the top of a route called the Linceul. The name comes from the face’s appearance—a great ice slope bordering the Grandes Jorasses’ north wall. It was first climbed by René Desmaison in 1968. He passed away a few years ago and, in his final wishes, asked that his ashes be scattered in the Dévoluy Massif at the foot of Pic de Bure, not far from here in these immense pre-Alpine folds.

At my feet, the Jabron Valley stretched almost endlessly east toward Sisteron. In the distance, the dark mass of Montagne de Lure’s north face loomed. This mountain shares similarities with Mont Ventoux. It has the same summit scree of bright limestone, the same forests climbing up to the final rocky stretch, and that blanket of clouds adding a secretive, austere touch to the scene.

I turned left past the town of Séderon and headed toward the little Col de la Pigière, which in a few kilometers allowed me to truly plunge into the beautiful Jabron Valley. I passed through several villages with charming local names—Saint-Vincent, Noyer-sur-Jabron. The river offered lovely views of its narrow gorges with clear, cold water. Autumn seemed less advanced here than on the plateau I’d just left. Many trees still wore brilliant colors, some revealing extraordinary hues—mixes of crimson, pink, and bright red.

Arriving in Noyer-sur-Jabron, I took a tiny road on the river’s right bank, leading in a few kilometers to the foot of Montagne de Lure. In the village of Valbelle, I picnicked on leftovers I’d brought from home—an old cheese and a somewhat stale loaf of bread. It was 1:30 PM. I began the long climb of about 25 kilometers. According to a friend who’s a cycling expert in the region, this section is tough. No wonder it’s called Ventoux’s little sister—the Mont Blanc of cyclists. The elevation gain on this side is still 1,200 meters, while Ventoux via Malaucène is nearly 1,600 meters.

I hoped to reach the summit before nightfall and avoid reliving a nighttime descent. The route wound through a vast forest, following the terrain’s folds. There was activity—mushroom hunters were busy searching for the coveted chanterelle. The climb, though never very steep (only one kilometer at 9%), was interminable. Though traffic was practically nonexistent, I was overtaken by a group of Harley bikers—I counted about forty. Perched high on their machines, hands in the air on wildly shaped handlebars, some with their feet nearly in the sky due to the high footpegs, they didn’t even glance my way. What’s this idiot doing, unable to ride a motorcycle and forced to climb these mountains on a bike with big bags! I wasn’t offended—real Harley purists often see other motorcyclists as renegades, so bikes are even lower on the totem pole! But I didn’t want to start a debate about motorcycles. In my youth, when I was a wild motorcyclist (22 accidents on two wheels), clans were divided into Japanese, German, Italian, and British bike owners. The latter, on their vibrating, oil-leaking machines, considered themselves the purest. But let’s not fight—there’s a statute of limitations, and it’s been nearly forty years.

As yesterday, a few kilometers below the summit, I entered the fog, and the light dropped suddenly. What a hostile mountain in these conditions! It heightened the sense of living an incredible experience. The conditions we encounter play a major role in how the adventure imprints on our memory. I realized once again that in France, you can feel like you’re very far away. Finally, after this very long climb, the Pas de Graille sign suddenly appeared out of the grayness. Strange! Below the sign, a kilometer marker indicated this same pass was over three kilometers away. Clearly, the climb continued. In these final kilometers through the scree, I gained another 130 meters of elevation. Finally, the road’s high point was reached—1,720 meters. It was cold and damp. I quickly covered up, added my balaclava under my helmet, and put on warm gloves. As I was about to start the descent, a car stopped at the summit, and one of the passengers was surprised to find a bike there in these chilly, twilight conditions.

A 20-kilometer descent led me to the village of Saint-Étienne-les-Orgues. I hoped to find a place to stay for the night. No such luck! Everything was clearly closed—no chance of finding shelter. Tonight was getting complicated. I already had exactly 100 kilometers in my legs and didn’t feel like pedaling anymore, especially at night. But I had even less desire to sleep outside. What to do to avoid it? The town of Forcalquier was 16 kilometers away—I hoped the road would descend. I set off in that direction. The first third was along a beautiful, lightly trafficked departmental road with a slight downhill—I pedaled hard. But it got tougher. I joined a busier road, and night had fallen. A several-kilometer climb finished the journey. I knew my magnetic lights weren’t very powerful—hence the danger. They were even less so on the climb because the slower I went, the less they illuminated. Cars coming the opposite way often saw me late and blinded me with their high beams. After passing, I was plunged into total darkness for a few seconds while my pupils readjusted to the night. I imagined those coming up behind me saw me with little warning, despite my slightly fluorescent jacket. When the roadside was clear, I always positioned myself to quickly jump off the road. But unfortunately, in this long final climb, a guardrail prevented any escape to the right in case of sudden braking behind me. That was even more anxiety-inducing since I was stuck at a snail’s pace. Time seemed long. I pedaled as hard as I could, on the verge of asphyxiation, trying to escape this dangerous situation as quickly as possible. My only reference point was the vehicles in front of me, letting me know the climb wasn’t over. Then suddenly, the ordeal ended—the road’s high point was reached. The town and its lights emerged from the void, and clarity returned. Phew! I glided down toward this little town bathed in light. On November 11th, I hoped to find an open hotel since I’d clearly exceeded 100 kilometers, and the idea of having to leave town to find a bivouac spot somewhat frightened me.

I arrived in the town center. Activity was low. The first hotel was closed, but I spotted a lit sign for another establishment further on. I headed there, got off my bike, and entered. The welcome was immediately friendly—a big cat came to rub against me. For me, that was a very good sign, and the first impression was confirmed. I still had to go out to eat. I covered the minimum distance. A restaurant advertised "Mom’s Cooking." I expected Provençal specialties, but they were Moroccan. I chose a delicious tagine with lime and olives, followed by almond and honey ice cream. Exhausted after this 116-kilometer stage, I returned to my room. As often after intense efforts, it was hard to fall asleep.

Day Three: Forcalquier to Moustiers-Sainte-Marie – 58 km

On this third day, due to the progress made yesterday, the stage would be short. I’d call it a transition between two mountain ranges. Indeed, the next big climb is the Verdon Gorge. I planned to position myself at its foot this evening in preparation for a tough stage tomorrow. I made a few purchases—bread, bananas, and medicine for stomach burns (the midday sausage wasn’t always kind to me). The weather was still perfect. The route began with a long descent toward the Durance. It’s always nice to start a cycling day with a downhill—it boosts morale and allows for a gentle warm-up.

I quickly reached the town of Oraison. Just at its entrance, I crossed the Durance, which still bore traces of last week’s heavy rains along its sandbanks. Indeed, numerous stumps and trunks were scattered along its vast gravel bed, along with less ecological debris like old tires.

A little south of Oraison, I took the D907, a small road heading due east between scrubland and meadows. There it was—the Provence we imagine. This stable autumn weather, with still air, neither hot nor cold, just a fresh feeling when emerging from a shaded valley or a slight warmth under the sun, was ideal for a cyclist. After about ten kilometers at the bottom of a small valley I quickly passed through, the village of Le Brunet appeared on the right. It clung to the slopes leading to the Valensole Plateau. A few steep kilometers along a tiny winding road, and suddenly a vast panorama unfolded as the climb ended.

What a magnificent plateau! Though known for its wind, luckily today was completely calm. Far to the east, the Verdon’s great cliffs blocked the horizon. This allowed me to contemplate part of tomorrow’s stage. This place is full of mysteries—many UFO and extraterrestrial encounter stories are associated with it. Moreover, for about thirty years, France hid its ground-to-ground nuclear ballistic missiles here, grouped in the 1st GMS (Ballistic Missile Group), under the air force. Naturally, these rockets fueled fantasies, and pacifist groups settled in the region to protest this type of armament. This gives many reasons to shroud this austere, deserted land in mystery.

I took a dirt path leading to the heart of this zone and stopped at the forest’s edge for lunch. The silence was total, the view stretched very far. But nothing strange or bizarre manifested. No Martian came to share my frankly moldy cheese, very peppery sausage, or bruised banana—sniff! I resumed my route, and as often when crossing places with strong character, I tended to slow down to enjoy them longer. The immense lavender fields stretched endlessly, not very fragrant at this season. I arrived at a group of truffle oaks protected by a fence, with large red signs warning "Firearm." Clearly, the war for the black diamond was raging in this region. I remembered a novel where an old farmer made buyers believe nothing grew on his land. Every year, he secretly stole the mushrooms from the unsuspecting owners. Then one day, they discovered the truth, catching this "polite" neighbor trying to hide a basket full of beautiful, large truffles!

In these vast spaces, I felt good—a sense of plenitude. It’s strange that I only conceive of cycling through wandering. I struggle to plan a day trip. And if I do, it’s highly likely I won’t get up. I need that sense of adventure to fully appreciate my physical effort. Maybe one day I should get psychoanalyzed, but at my age, it’s probably too late! Today, I had all the time in the world—the stage was half as long as yesterday’s, with very little elevation gain. Not a sound, an impressive calm, a beautiful landscape—I pedaled in a wonderful place. That’s probably happiness!

I reached the village of Puimoisson on the plateau’s eastern edge—only 12 kilometers left to Moustiers. I took my time, sat at a café terrace in the sun, and leisurely enjoyed a coffee while listening to the village come to life. I was delighted by these melodious southern voices, bursting into great laughter. There are places where, despite the anxieties caused by our debt-ridden, dysfunctional societies, some have decided to take life on the bright side and show a saving insouciance.

The rest of the journey was a simple formality—I let the slope carry me toward the pretty little town of Moustiers-Sainte-Marie, clinging to the cliff and famous for its faïence. Arriving early for once, I went to the tourist office to choose a comfortable hotel. Indeed, the Hôtel des Restanques was very comfortable and admirably well-located. But at this time of year, I’d have to return to the village center for dinner. The very kind receptionist reserved a table for me at La Treille Muscate, a restaurant with a magnificently arranged room on the church square. It was only 3:30 PM—I continued to take my time, showering and relaxing in front of the TV. Then I set off to explore—or rather, re-explore—this village I’d visited several times before. But I’d never climbed to its chapel perched in the middle of the great cliff towering over the houses. A stony, aerial path led there. The first mentions of the Notre-Dame de Beauvoir chapel, known in ancient times as Notre-Dame d’Entre-Roches, date back to the 9th century. It’s one of the rare "respite" chapels found in Provence. These are chapels where stillborn children were brought to be revived for a few moments, just long enough to baptize them. They could then be buried religiously, ensuring the salvation of their souls. I was also very moved by reading some ex-votos, like the one from "A mother for her three children returned from the war."

The place was impressive, especially as night fell. I was alone and watched the shadows fill the great cliffs above me. With an old climber’s reflex, I looked for possible climbing routes among these slabs and cracks. But climbing is probably forbidden here, too close to the houses. Then I descended to stroll through the village, admiring the magnificent, finely crafted faïence patterns found in many shops. Finally, dinnertime arrived, and I joined my restaurant, which had been highly recommended. I was delighted by the foie gras ravioli and the pieds et paquets—the chef’s specialty. I’ll come back with family.

Day Four: Moustiers to Fréjus via the Verdon – 122 km

A hearty breakfast prepared me for the day’s tough efforts. Next to me, four Chinese people chatted animatedly. Of course, I didn’t understand a word—it was a language with strange intonations and sounds. I left the dining room and prepared my bike on the terrace. Seeing the volume of my luggage, my Chinese friends rushed over and asked to take turns having their photo taken in front of this funny setup. All laughing, they took photos in front of what they probably considered a French coolie off on some trading business! When they show these photos to their relatives, they’ll likely be perplexed about what motivates some to travel by bike rather than car. For them, the car is a symbol of success—according to an article I read last year, 14,000 cars are registered in China every day!

This morning, the air was fresh. As yesterday, I started with a long descent, this time leading to the edge of Lac de Sainte-Croix. A strong, biting headwind slowed me down. It wouldn’t last, as it was generated by the gorge’s outlet, which I’d reach in a few kilometers. On this cold morning, the lake’s shores exuded great tranquility. The sun was still hidden behind the Verdon’s mountainous mass. Trees with yellow leaves stood out against the water’s pale blue. The bridge marking the gorge’s beginning at the lake’s edge was an ideal spot to admire this natural splendor. At this early hour, the play of light and shadow on the water and the immense cliffs delivered a grandiose spectacle in beautiful harmony. This first contact with the gorges, which I knew well, amazed me.

Once past the bridge, the wind calmed. A little further on, I began the long climb that would take me to the top of this immense natural gash, which water had taken millions of years to carve. I was in good shape and highly motivated by the splendors to come. First, I reached the village of Aiguines, which offered a magnificent viewpoint over the lake. Then I continued toward the Corniche Sublime, where countless breathtaking panoramas unfolded as I progressed. But the climb was sustained and long, requiring effort—though my small chainring worked miracles. I first passed the Col d’Illoire, already 500 meters above the lake. Seeing all these great cliffs, countless climbing memories came flooding back. The classic routes of the Escalès cliff, over 300 meters high, flashed by. Routes with legendary names—La Demande, Les Écureuils, Luna-Bong, and many others. The one that left me with the best memory was ULA—a crack, vertical or even overhanging, of sheer beauty rising above a 40-meter slab in one go for 280 meters of sustained, beautiful climbing on extraordinary rock. It made me want to return to climb there, to immerse myself in the atmosphere of those past times. But climbing habits have changed—now routes are accessed from above by rappel, and people don’t always bother to do these great climbs in their entirety, focusing instead on shorter but technically much more difficult enterprises.

At almost every bend, I stopped and scanned these great cliffs, searching for memories of past experiences and emotions in these secret rock folds. The road climbed well above the pass, exceeding 1,200 meters. It was cool, especially since I was sweating. Finally reaching the high point of the Corniche Sublime, I couldn’t gain speed on the descent—my gaze was always drawn to this astonishing canyon. Around a bend, two cyclists with funny small-wheeled bikes. Wow! It was a couple of Australians doing a year-long tour of France. We chatted passionately about our two-wheeled experiences for a moment. But time was passing, and if I wanted to reach Fréjus before nightfall, I’d have to pedal seriously.

I stopped at the Pont de l’Artuby, where bungee jumping was in full swing. But I quickly set off again toward Comps. The wind was against me, and it was climbing. I started to doubt whether I’d make it to the coast that evening. At 2 PM, I was in Comps-sur-Artuby. I didn’t stop, knowing that before reaching the coast, I’d have no alternative to bivouacking, and I had 70 kilometers left to cover. Sure, it should be downhill, but a few climbs were on the program. After a descent out of the village, I crossed the Artuby River again on the Canjuers military camp. A several-kilometer climb followed, fortunately not too steep. I took the D19 toward Barjols. From there, despite the late hour, I opted for a tiny road passing through Claviers, a small perched village. Time passed quickly, but the kilometers added up. I regained hope. Fifteen kilometers after this last village, I reached Saint-Paul-en-Forêt via a magnificent forested route. I had plenty of time to observe mushroom hunters. I asked one who clearly had some in a plastic bag. He gave me this hilarious answer with a magnificent southern accent: "I only picked the bad ones." No reply was possible. I moved on with a smile. A little further on, another hunter carried a basket. As soon as he saw me, he quickly hid it—just in case I saw what it contained. Arriving at the village involved a steep climb, and I was close to 100 kilometers. I still had a little over 20 kilometers to go before reaching Fréjus. The race against nightfall had begun. Over there to my right, I saw the sun setting behind Roquebrune-sur-Argens’ distinctive rock. The sea appeared. There it was—I was in Fréjus’ industrial zone. On this Sunday evening, traffic was heavy. Indeed, many had taken advantage of the return of good weather after very heavy storms to go for a walk. After quite a few detours, I arrived at the seaside just as night fell. My odometer showed 122 km for the day. I quickly found a simple hotel, ate just as quickly, and went to bed.

Day Five: Fréjus to Solliès-Pont – 92 km

Once again, the night had done its restorative work, and I prepared to cross the Massif des Maures feeling quite fresh. The weather forecast was still favorable for today, but a deterioration was expected tomorrow. I tended to trust it because the east wind was blowing, and in the region, that’s a sign of rain. For now, in the short term, this wind would be very useful—it would push me generously throughout the day.

I started calmly along the harbor quays, looking at the boats. Then I joined the road to Saint-Aygulf and followed the coast for forty kilometers to Port-Grimaud. All these seaside resorts—Saint-Aygulf, Les Issambres, Sainte-Maxime—reminded me of my youth when we spent all our vacations fishing, whether from shore, underwater, or by boat. Looking at the sea roll by, I knew what the seabeds looked like under that surface hiding them. The marine areas we knew best were now under the parking lots and commercial zones of Saint-Raphaël’s new port. In our youth, these infrastructures didn’t exist, and their construction came at the expense of coastal marine areas. Our wonderful fishing spots were permanently buried. I remember seeing the first big trucks that came to dump their loads of earth and rubble, destroying all those wonderful places—sandbanks, seaweed beds, groups of rocky holes teeming with fish that enchanted our youth. Over forty years later, I can still visualize them in my imagination under those parking lots and stores, with the names we gave them—my brothers and I: le casse-croûte, le casse-pipe, les montagnes, la digue, la grille, la mare à mulets, la petite-plage, le trou, etc.

Let’s not be overwhelmed by nostalgia. I left the coast and took the little road through the Maures to Collobrières. The route led from ridge to ridge following the terrain’s movements. At this time of year, the region was admirable. Due to the heavy storms of recent weeks, water was streaming everywhere. Waterfalls and streams murmured all along the way. I didn’t recognize the Maures, which I knew for their dryness causing apocalyptic fires. Indeed, around a bend, I came across a small rest area where a memorial had been erected for three firefighters who lost their lives here while fighting one of those gigantic fires fanned by the mistral.

This forest holds treasures—first, the cork oak, then the arbutus, chestnut trees, and of course, mushrooms that love this granitic soil:

The cork oak can be found all along the road. It’s the forest’s essential element. You can recognize it by its light bark (before exploitation), which forms large bulges along the trunk. But after exploitation, the trunks are much smoother, less voluminous, and dark in color. The arbutus is a large berry with red skin covered in small protuberances, growing on the arbutus tree. This fruit, common in Mediterranean areas, ripens in November. That means today, there were plenty around me. Its flesh is orange, with the consistency of firm purée, and it crushes softly in the mouth. The taste of this berry is sweet and excellent. I didn’t hold back—I gorged myself on them, which served as my midday meal. Sometimes I had to climb embankments to get them.

The chestnut tree, a true industry of the region, brings wealth to the surrounding villages. They make candied chestnuts, ice cream, and other products derived from chestnut flour. Be careful not to stop just anywhere to pick this fruit, as the tree owners might not agree. They even make this clear with signs and surround their chestnut trees with fences. Mushrooms—saffron milk caps and porcini—are highly prized in the area. I saw a few hunters, but it clearly wasn’t miraculous. Supposedly, there had been too much rain?

There’s no time to get bored along this little road, from which you can sometimes see the sea. I passed the Col de Taillude at over 400 meters. I began the descent to Collobrières, the chestnut capital, whose festival attracts many people. Before entering, about a hundred meters from the first houses, a cyclist—probably an agricultural worker—came toward me. As he passed, he cheerfully called out, "Go on, little guy! It’s almost there!" We both smiled. At the end of November, the village was cold and almost deserted. Dead leaves swept the wet streets of the town. You could feel winter on the way. I continued my route to Pierrefeu-du-Var, on the western edge of the Massif des Maures. So I gave my last pedal strokes in this pretty little massif so characteristic of Provence.

I looked for a hotel in Cuers but without success. I descended toward Toulon and finally found one on the outskirts of Solliès-Pont. It catered to people coming to work in the region, so nothing very bucolic. But if the weather were to deteriorate tomorrow and turn to rain, I could quickly reach Hyères or Toulon station, which was a significant advantage. Indeed, November rains aren’t usually very pleasant on a bike.

Day Six: Solliès-Pont to Cassis via Sainte-Baume – 85 km

This morning, contrary to the weather forecast, the weather was beautiful, and the latest bulletin seemed to contradict yesterday’s. So no escape to Toulon—I resumed my route toward Sainte-Baume. I left the hotel via a tiny road that, through ups and downs, led me via shortcuts to the road to Belgentier. My body had gotten used to intense daily efforts, and I felt in Olympic form. At a good pace, I launched into a long climb with a moderate slope. The road was busy, but fortunately, the side lane for cyclists often made the exercise more pleasant. The villages rolled by—Méounes, La Roquebrussanne. Near the latter, I observed a Tiger combat helicopter in training. It hovered motionless for long periods—perhaps the pilots were training to master their increasingly sophisticated weapon systems, requiring even more learning?

I left the busy road and headed via an almost deserted route toward the village of Mazaugues. The climbs became steeper. A long descent, and there I was in this pretty village. A grocery store, which besides selling a few ingredients also served as a café. I sat near the electric heater—it was cold, and I was sweaty. I watched customers come and go and listened to the shopkeeper tell me about village life. The name Mazaugues comes from "water mass," which is why drought doesn’t usually affect this area. Apparently, you can even find mushrooms here in summer! I had a good time, and as I was leaving, a local cyclist started a conversation and told me about her dreams of long bike trips, currently limited by her situation as a mother of terrible children. She settled for day trips with her club, which was already good in this very hilly region. I told her the story of a man who, at 73, cycled solo around Morocco. So no panic—she still had thirty or forty years to realize her wildest dreams!

I was warned that it would be a tough climb to reach Sainte-Baume’s northern slope. Indeed, over eight kilometers, the average slope was sustained, but the landscape was wonderful. Here too, water was streaming everywhere. I passed one of those famous icehouses that used to supply Marseille with ice throughout the year. This northern slope of Sainte-Baume is very cold, and this characteristic was exploited in previous centuries to produce ice. Large cylindrical structures, well-protected to the north and semi-buried, received large quantities of water in late autumn, which froze during winter and was kept cool for months until the following winter. Ice blocks were cut and delivered by cart to the city. That’s how, in ancient times, ice was available in summer to keep fish fresh in Marseille. Did pastis exist at that time? If not, the ice cubes must have been bored!

Once the climb was over, the long ridge of Sainte-Baume appeared, and I could see its characteristic antennas. Nestled at the foot of the cliffs, the magnificent millennial forest revealed itself with its autumn colors. I stopped at the monastery. I’d been there several times before and had even slept there during a long walking trip. The welcome had been first-rate by the Dominicans, especially the sisters in their long immaculate robes. They radiated a serenity that was very contagious. Don’t hesitate to stop there for the night. I struggled to get back on my way—some places have a special spirit.

I was soon at the end of my journey. I continued along this magnificent mountain to the Col de l’Espigoulier. To the north, another immense wave of white limestone rose—Montagne Sainte-Victoire, a high place in Provence that painter Cézanne made world-famous. Once at the pass, the entire city of Marseille spread out at my feet, the Mediterranean coast revealed itself from the Calanques to La Ciotat, passing by the famous Cap Canaille, Europe’s highest sea cliff. Above me, bathed in sunlight, Bartagne’s northwest face, very popular among climbers, showed all its reliefs. With an old climber’s reflex, I spotted the many climbs I’d done there. I let myself be carried into a steep, winding descent toward the village of Gémenos in a beautiful setting full of cliffs.

A few more kilometers of climbing toward the Col de l’Ange, then toward Roquefort-la-Bédoule. In this last climb, I raced with two cyclists, admittedly not very young. Then, in a six-kilometer descent, I reached Cassis station, the endpoint of my six-day journey through this wild Provençal land between sea and mountain. I experienced great pleasure during these 570 kilometers through these renowned yet wild French massifs. As always, when a beautiful project comes to an end, you feel a bit orphaned by a beautiful dream come true. You have to quickly envision the next one to avoid a vague sense of emptiness taking over. My next adventure is already taking shape in my mind, but that’s another story.

Hi there,

First attempt at a travel journal for me and first post after 7 years away from this forum. 😮 I went to La Palma island for 15 days in September 2025. After visiting Lanzarote in February, I was looking for a different and greener island. Well, I wasn’t disappointed. 😎

RETOUR DES CANARIES -Ténérife-La Palma-La Goméra en 15 jours L’île de Ténérife vaut le détour pour voir le Teide (3718 m) et le spectaculaire cirque de Las Canadas qui le précède. Il y a plusieurs routes d’accès pour atteindre le site. On a choisi la route de Guia de Isora (38 km-1h de montée). On arrive au col « Boca de Tauce » où commence le cirque de Las Canadas et les autres formations géologiques toutes plus belles les unes que les autres. Il faut impérativement être dans le cirque le matin car la lumière est idéale entre 9 et 10h. Avant, il y a trop d’ombres sur les montagnes, après il y a trop de soleil qui écrase les reliefs. A Ténérife, on a choisi de séjourner 3 nuits dans le Nord Est à Buenavista del Norte, loin du flux touristique d’où on a pu explorer toute la jolie côte de Puerto del Cruz à Los Gigantes, marcher dans le Parc de Téno et faire en voiture le parc du Teide. Nous avons logé dans un airbandb chez Juana Lecuona Martin dans un logement magnifique que nous recommandons : meubles de famille, très belle terrasse donnant sur la bananeraie, grande qualité de la prestation pour un prix plus que raisonnable. A Buenavista, essayez de trouver le restaurant familial « La Cabana » calle el Puerto 26. Il n’y a pas de terrasse mais on y a vraiment très bien mangé pour 40 euros à deux. Ensuite, nous avons pris un avion pour l’île de la Palma (5 nuits) pour laquelle nous avons eu un vrai coup de cœur. Là encore, nous avons été bien inspirés dans le choix de notre hébergement sur AirbandB chez Montse Plata : une maison en pierre dont toutes les pièces sont rondes et les plafonds en bois, construite au milieu d’une coulée de lave datant de 1949, à Todoque au centre ouest de l’île. Une jolie terrasse dans un jardin paysager où nous dégustions le soir des vins achetés à la cave de Todoque. Cette région qui est située autour de Las Manchas est sillonnée par plusieurs coulées de lave créant une atmosphère étrange et envoutante. Le centre volcanique tout nouveau est gratuit et beaucoup plus intéressant que les autres centres de l’île, plus anciens. Ils ont aménagé des pontons au milieu des coulées. Si vous logez à Todoque, vous pourrez aller jusqu’au tunnel volcanique interdit dans la journée au grand public mais le soir, il n’y a plus personne et les jeunes du village viennent s’y promener. C’est vraiment un site volcanique très sympa à voir. Sur la Palma, on a découvert la caldeira de Taburiente, site de toute beauté. Mais là encore, il faut y monter impérativement le matin car la mer de nuage monte inexorablement chaque jour et à partir d’une certaine heure, vous n’avez plus du tout la même visibilité. Prenez un casse-croute et de l’eau et prévoyez d’y marcher en crête : randonnée facile en aller-retour avec des points de vue à couper le souffle car vous êtes à 2426 m au Roque de Los Muchachos. Vous découvrez alors toute la caldeira de 7 km de diamètre, l’île de la Palma, de la Gomera et El Hierro, llos LLanos de Aridane et cerise sur le gâteau, dépassant des nuages (que vous n’aurez pas encore épais puisque vous y serez le matin entre 8h30 et 9 h maxi), le Teide, magnifique apparition vous scotchant sur place. Dieu, que c’est beau. Ne la manquez surtout pas. Par contre, nous vous déconseillons de perdre votre temps au Col de la Cumbrecita à 1833 m d’altitude que l’on fait pour atteindre à pied le Lomo de Las Chozas d’où vous pouvez avoir une vue sur le cirque de Taburiente. Il faut réserver votre place de parking et respecter une tranche horaire, ce qui est contraignant. Le panorama est extrémement décevant par rapport à celui du Roque de Los Muchachos. Vous voyez la caldeira de face et d’en bas. Vraiment rien de comparable. Un autre conseil : ne manquez pas la randonnée qui mène au sommet du volcan Teneguia né en 1971. Vous trouverez une piste qui descend vers le volcan. Soyez encore une fois matinaux car la piste est très longue, interdite aux voitures de tourisme. Prenez votre casse-croute et n’hésitez pas à monter au sommet du volcan. C’est peut-être impressionnant d’en bas pour ceux qui ne randonnent pas habituellement mais franchement, il est aisé d’y monter. Vous admirerez de très belles formations géologiques, des couleurs de roches très photogéniques et vous vous croirez un moment donné sur lune. On a eu la chance d’y être seuls, les autres randonneurs s’étant levés plus tard que nous… Nous nous sommes inscrits par le net pour une observation des étoiles sur l’île avec Cielos la Palma dépendant de l’observatoire du Roque de Los Muchachos. Comme nous l’attendions avec impatience cette soirée à la belle étoile. Mais l’après-midi, on a été averti par téléphone que la météo n’était pas bonne et que c’était annulé. Très déçus mais nous avons été remboursés automatiquement sans aucun problème. Le volcan de San Antonio est facile à faire mais on vous fait payer 5 euros pour accéder au parking et au Centre volcanique dont la qualité nous a déçus. Si vous n’avez pas le temps, squeezez le et privilégiez le volcan Teneguia. Dans cette même zone de La Palma, il y a la très petite station balnéaire de Puerto Naos, agréable avec sa jolie anse de sable noir et sa pâtisserie allemande où nous nous sommes goinfrés de bons gâteaux. Santa Cruz, la capitale, vaut aussi le détour. Beaucoup de charme pour y flâner et ressentir l’ambiance canarienne d’une toute petite cité architecturalement bien conservée. Nous y avons passé la journée tellement on s’y sentait bien. Très bien aussi les piscines de Charco Azul. A découvrir, Un joli restaurant bleu avec terrasses dans un adorable petit port à Puerto Espindola de San Andres y Sauces, le « Meson del Mar ». Dernière chose : les bananeraies ne sont pas forcément jolies dans le paysage. Par contre, je vous recommande les bananes. Ma recette de petit-déjeuner canarien : 2 bananes écrasées à la fourchette, quelques gouttes de citron, de la cannelle et une cuillère de yaourth et à fond la forme pour la matinée. De la Palma, nous avons pris le bâteau pour La Gomera où nous avons choisi de séjourner dans la région la plus vivante touristiquement, celle de Valle Gran Rey qui présente bien des attraits sans affluence touristique.

Nous avons passé 5 jours aussi sur la Goméra. Vu de la Goméra, le Teide est saisissant de grandeur et de majesté, se dressant seul au milieu de l’océan. Quand vous avez quitté le port et que vous prenez la route pour Valle gran rey, vous vous arrêtez au bord de la route et vous siffler d’admiration. Ce Teide que vous avez vu de près sur l’ile de Ténérife vous apparaît soudain sous un autre angle, seul et immense dans l’océan Nous avons apprécié de séjourner à Valle Gran Rey car il y a beaucoup de sentiers de pays très pittoresques qui grimpent les hauts ravins de la vallée. Certains sont très aériens, d’autres plus tranquilles, tous demandent quand même de bons genoux en descente parfois en escaliers. Il y a aussi des tronçons de GR que l’on peut prendre en aller retour. Par contre, les sentiers du Parc sont souvent dans la brume et assez ennuyeux. Au niveau location de voitures, on a pris Avis et Cicar sans problème pour les deux sauf pour la remise des clés à Cicar à La Goméra. Leur boite aux lettres est une petite fente à côté d’un distributeur de billets, très difficile à repérer. Ayez l’œil !

Bonjour, je pars le we prochain pour 15 jours sur la région de Valencia, exactement à Cullera ou j'ai pris une location. Bien sûr il y a la mer, mais j'aimerais découvrir Valencia avec les jeunes. Que me conseilleriez vous ? je me suis renseignée déjà sur le musée océanographique mais le tarif est vraiment cher, et multiplié par 3 je ne vais pas pouvoir. Si vous avez des suggestions, je suis preneuse de toutes infos. merci par avance Marie,

15 JOURS SOLO EN ANDALOUSIE fin Mars/Début Avril2017

Cette fois-ci, je pars seule en Andalousie mais n'aimant pas la solitude forcée, je réserve une semaine de cours d'espagnol à Séville avec logement chez l'habitant et demi-pension. Puis Cordoue et Grenade seront au programme de mes visites.

En résumé : 1 semaine à Séville, 2 jours à Cordoue et 4 jours à Grenade Climat : fin mars frais le matin, il fait chaud à partir de 12h, dans les 24 degrés, idéal pour les visites. les deux premiers jours nuageux mais après grand soleil. Transports : avion pour aller de Paris à Séville, train pour aller à Cordoue et car pour se rendre à Grenade et retour en avion de Grenade à Paris Dépenses : moins cher qu’à Paris. On peut manger pour 10 €. Je me suis nourrie en ville mais j'ai bien mangé dans ma famille espagnole.

SEVILLE ou mon GROS coup de coeur :

Déplacements dans la ville : Je parle de la Vieille Ville qui est très étendue et faite de ruelles et de jolies places ou placettes. Tout se fait à pied. Ou alors louer un vélo. Des cours d’espagnol dispensés de façon ludique (enfin il y a quand même le subjonctif espagnol et tous ces temps qui se mélangent dans ma tête) avec 9 autres élèves venant de Chine, Corée, Allemagne, Angleterre, Pologne, ... L'après-midi est libre et après quelques tapas... bof, je ne suis pas très fan, cuisine grasse, pas raffinée mais par contre entrer dans les bars, voir leur décoration dont les gros jambons qui pendent du plafond... Une atmosphère bien agréable y règne, surtout le matin, à la pause des cours. Le soir, hébergement chez l'habitant, en demi-pension chez des Sévillans charmants. (organisé par l'école Giralda)





Les bars sont très animés l'après-midi, les Sévillans sont des gens très conviviaux, à en croire le remplissage des bars, et pas seulement à l'intérieur mais dehors; ils empiètent même sur les trottoirs. En passant, j'entends souvent comme un énorme bourdonnement dans les rues, à l’abord des places, ils sont tous à parler, une atmosphère que je ne connais pas à Paris.

LA CATHEDRALE & LA GIRALDA :

Je ne vous apprendrais rien si je vous disais que l’Andalousie fut autrefois et longtemps habitée par les Arabes et que donc l’art mudéjar (mosaïques et stucs, entre autres) est très répandu dans cette région.

La Cathédrale est absolument magnifique et il ne faut pas hésiter à monter en haut de la Giralda (montée longue mais douce car ce sont des pentes et non des escaliers, ça fatigue moins !) quelques photos pour vous en convaincre.





La Giralda, c'est la tour que l'on voit à gauche. Du haut de la tour, vue imprenable sur Séville et bien sûr la cathédrale et son jardin d'orangers.



L’ALCAZAR et ses jardins :



C’est un palais fortifié (alcázar) construit à Séville par les Omeyyades d'Espagne et modifié à plusieurs reprises pendant et après la période musulmane. Il est considéré comme l'exemple le plus brillant de l'architecture mudéjar sur la péninsule ibérique. En voici un exemple ici.



En fait, par les effets du hasard (quoique !), je me retrouve très vite dans les jardins. Une merveille, si !!! Ayant très faim, je me dirige tout de suite vers la cafétéria qui se trouve dans la partie du jardin la plus tranquille. Face aux orangers et aux palmiers, je prends la pause, une longue pause en admirant le paysage et goûtant au bonheur d’être là



Il faut au moins une heure pour visiter les jardins. Bien sûr, ce n’est pas prévu pour cela mais y manger (discrètement) est également possible. La visite du palais en lui-même nécessite également du temps.







Orangers et Palmiers sont omniprésents dans Séville et, en ce moment, le doux parfum de la fleur d'oranger (ressemble à l'odeur du jasmin) accompagne les visiteurs, et pas seulement dans ce merveilleux jardin.

Spectacle de flamenco au Musée de la Danse (Museo de baile) La visite du musée du flamenco avec partie interactive est intéressante et on peut ensuite assister au spectacle. Réserver plusieurs jours à l’avance pour le spectacle, dans les 24 € avec la visite du musée.



On peut passer son temps à se balader dans les ruelles de Séville, se perdre, jeter un œil sur les patios, souvent très jolis. Juste marcher et découvrir.





Beaucoup de maisons sont ouvertes sur des patios :





La Casa de Pilatos : Palais aristocratique de style mudéjar. Intéressant et je crois le mercredi après-midi visite gratuite pour les ressortissants européens (une bonne initiative !)







Le Palacio de las Duenas : encore une très belle demeure avec de beaux jardins. Il appartient à la Maison d'Albe et fut construit entre le XVe et le XVIe siècle. Composé de plusieurs édifices séparés par des patios et des jardins, son architecture allie les styles gothico-mudéjar et Renaissance.



Mes impressions : En une semaine, je n’ai pas tout vu … mais j’ai beaucoup marché et tellement aimé Séville. Je suis tombée sous son charme et je compte y retourner l’année prochaine pendant la Semaine Sainte en Avril, d’autant plus que, par hasard, j’ai assisté à une procession (préparatoire à cette grande fête) et c’était beau, si solennel, avec une musique pesante, tragique.

Mon voyage se poursuit, je prends le train pour Cordoba (env. 20 € le billet et env. une heure de trajet)

A suivre ...

Bonjour,

ayant comme projet de passer 15 jrs aux alentours de la ville de Dénia, je souhaiterai savoir si quelqu'un a des infos pour prendre le bateau/ferry à Dénia pour passer 1 journée aux baléares. A priori, ca n'a pas l'air d'être loin (sur la carte, c'est en face) et je pense qu'il doit bien y avoir moyen de passer une belle journée à Palma par exemple.

merci pour vos réponses et surtout pour vos bons plans.

fred

Bonsoir, après beaucoup de recherches sur notre destination pour cet été, 15 jours fin août avec un bébé d'un an, j'ai trouvé éventuellement comme destination possible (chaleur, température de la mer....) les Baléares et plus précisément Majorque. Je me pose juste la question à savoir si 15 jours ça ne fait pas trop sur place, car nous aimons faire des choses, voir de beaux paysages......... si vous êtes déjà parti 15 jours sur cette ile, j'aimerai bien connaitre votre ressenti ??? Si vous avez d'autres idées ??? MErci d'avance

Je pense me rendre en Provence une quinzaine de jours en novembre. Je croyais répartir ce temps entre Aix-en-Provence, Arles, Cassis et les derniers jours à Marseille pour reprendre le vol. Je voyagerai par train, car j'imagine que les déplacement entre ces destinations sont faciles. J'aimerais bien avoir votre opinion sur ce projet.

Bonjour, Avec mon ami nous souhaiterons partir 15 jours fin juin a cadiz !!! On aimerait avoir différents avis sur ce lieu .. On a lu a plusieurs reprise qu'il y avait beaucoup de vent. Est ce vraiment gênant? est ce tout le temps? Merci.. Aussi nous serions interessés de louer un appartement est ce que vous auriez des adresses ? merci a bientôt.

Bonjour

Nous sommes un couple de retraités et nous désirons visiter cette région à partir du10 juin. Quels sont les circuits sympas , aires de stationnement et commerces ? Hors terrain de camping , où passer la nuit en toute sécurité ? Merci par avance de vos astuces , conseils .

Bonjour tout l'monde!

Nous sommes deux routardes a sac a dos et avons décider de passer 15 jours pour découvrir l'espagne plus précisémment Barcelone! pouvez vous nous donner quelques conseils de visites a ne pas louper! pour l'hebergement (ayant un petit budget en poche) connaissez vous quelques auberges de jeunesse? c'est avec grand plaisir que nous vous lirons.. A bientot!

Bonjour à tous, je viens d'arriver sur le forum dont je me sers depuis quelques temps. Malheureusement je n'ai pas trouvé les renseignements que j'attendais concernant mon prochain voyage. Je pars 15 jours avec ma copine en Andalousie fin septembre. Nous prévoyons de nous arrêter 4 à 5 jours à Séville puis de louer une voiture et de partir vers Grenade, Cordoue, la Sierra Nevada. Je cherche des idées d'itinéraire pour notre durée de séjour, sachant que nous ne sommes pas vraiment branchés plage mais plutôt excursions culturelles et paysages. J'ai vu qu'il existe différents types d'hébergement et je me demandais aussi si vous aviez des conseils. Nous pensons arriver en avion à Séville, puis faire une boucle et repartir de Séville. Je cherche aussi et surtout des conseils sur combien de temps consacrer aux différentes villes. Merci de votre aide.

bonjour tout le monde, 🙂

Je voudrais avec mon homme partir en juin pour longer la cote espagnol (coté mediterranée) et faire un periple pendant 2 semaines, mais je n'ai pas trop comment m'y prendre, on pense plutot partir en camping....mais je voudrais savoir si quelqu'un l'avis deja fais pour recolter des petite info (budget, coin a ne pas rater.....

merci d'avance 😛

Bonjour,

Ayant l'intention de partir 15 jours début septembre à Barcelone, pour visiter un peu le patrimoine, j'aimerai savoir ce que vous me conseillez durant ces quinze jours /ou si vous n'aviez pas des adresses (blog ou autres...) retraçant une petite visite guidée de ces lieux...

Merci d'avance,

bon week!😉

je pars le 10 oct 2014 à Cadix pour 15 j, dites moi l'essentiel de la vie là bas, la vie est elle moins chère qu'en france ? quelles visites sont à faire ;

merci

bonjour!! je suis un jeune étudiant d’Alger , je compte bien passer les vacances de cette année en Espagne, et je compte y aller avec un ami ;pour cela je veux bien profiter des expériences des autres , espérant que je vais avoir des réponses et des conseils sur tous ce que je dois savoir pour passer des vacances inoubliables; à commencer par les villes à visiter comme ça on va bien fixer notre itinéraire, le moyen de transport le plus idéal, si la voiture nous serait d'une utilité quelconque, les endroits les moins chers pour se loger, se nourrir (on est deux jeunes étudiants de 24ans). merci d'avance!!

Bonjour!

Mon conjoint et moi passeront 15 jours en France vers la fin mai (j'exclus les jours d'arrivée et de départ). Nous louerons un gîte pendant 7 jours en Provence, puis passerons un maximum de 3 jours à Nice. Comme nous aimons faire de la route, nous voudrions passer les 5 derniers jours à explorer une partie des Alpes (nous aurons une voiture), peut-être même jusqu'à Annecy et Chamonix. Est-il réaliste d'y songer? Je sais que nous pourrions facilement passer notre séjour en entier dans le sud, mais nos visites en Europe sont très rares alors nous voulons en voir le plus possible :)

Si quelqu'un a déjà parcouru la route des grandes Alpes, que suggérez-vous comme étapes? Et les paysages sont-ils plus spectaculaires en faisant la route vers le nord, ou vers le sud?

Je crois comprendre qu'il faut prévoir deux jours pour franchir, par les Alpes, la distance entre Chamonix et Nice. Serait-il possible de faire une boucle à partir d'Avignon (monter rapidement jusqu'à Annecy et Chamonix en une demi-journée, voir le mont Blanc le lendemain, puis revenir à Nice en 2 jours)? Ou serait-il plus avisé de faire la route de montagne à partir du sud et de prendre l'avion de retour à Genève?

Merci à l'avance!

Hi, We’d like to visit the Alpes de Haute-Provence for 2 weeks with our 2 (adult) kids. Any ideas for things to see and do? Where should we choose our accommodation (house only) to be centrally located for sightseeing? We’re looking for villages with restaurants and bakeries. Thanks in advance for your tips! Best regards

Bonjour Nous aimerions partir en Andalousie au mois de mai prochain , pour une période de 15 jours , enfin 13 jours pleins je ne compte pas les jours d'arrivée et de départ. Location de voiture évidement . Nous décidons de faire une boucle , mais nous ne savons pas encore dans quelle sens.🙂 Arrivée : Séville Cordoue Grenade Ronda Mijas Gibraltar Tarifa Cadix Départ : Séville Merci en attendant votre aide François

Bonjour, je souhaite partir en Espagne quelques jours, plus précisément faire la côte en Andalousie, j'ai pensé à prendre juste un vol allé et je prendrais le vol retour sur place car ayant un peu de temps, je me laisse la liberté de rester un peu plus si le climat, budget me le permettra. Je voyagerais en bus de villes en villes, j'irais de préférence dormir chez l'habitant. Je me fais un itinéraire approximatif et je réserverais les logements au fur et à mesure si possible. J'ai pensé attérir à Alméria, puis me rendre à Almunecar, puis Malaga, Marbella, Barbate ou Cadix et reprendre un avion à Séville. Cela se fait il en 15 jours sans courir ?

Salut à tous les amateurs de randonnée, j'aimerai faire un trek de 15jours- 3 semaines en Espagne sachant que je voudrais partir fin septembre prochain, que me conseillez vous ?? Merci pour vos nombreuses réponses !

Lilie

mon époux et moi désirons passer 15 jours en Espagne en septembre dans un endroit calme et reposant .Vous nous conseillez d aller où? et pour la location ( de préférence une maison indépendante) avez vous des suggestions. ( la langue n' est pas un barrage) merci

Bonjour, Cet été nous souhaitons découvrir Majorque. Les avis sont partager selon les gouts de chacun. Nous connaissons Minorque que nous avons apprécié, ile sauvage auxeaux limpides. Nous comptons partir 15 jours doit on prendre des hebergements dans 2 lieux differents ou pouvons nous rester dans une meme location et vadrouiller car nous aurons une voiture. Nous partons avec nos 2 filles de 16ans aussi nous recherchons un lieu animée avec restos et bars, commerces pour les soirées avec de belles plages, pouvez vous m'aider car entre Soller Alcudia cala d'Or, je suis perdue. Quelqu'un connait il cala Millor? Faut il faire une semaine sud une semaine Nord? le Nord ou le Sud? Merci à tous ceux qui voudront bien m'éclairer.

Bonjour à tous!

J'utilise ce site pour la première fois, j'espère que mon message sera vu par quelques personnes qui pourrons nous apporter des réponses...

Nous partons en Andalousie avec ma femme et ma fille (2 ans et demi lors du voyage) au mois de juin pour 15 jours du 12 au 26 Juin.

Nous louerons une voiture pour toute la durée du voyage. Nous prenons l'avion jusqu'à Malaga. Nous envisageons de faire Madrid (3 jours) Cordou (1 ou 2 jours) Grenade (3 jours) et la semaine qui suivra nous poser vers Malaga ou Marbella pour nous reposer en mode plage et randonnées éventuelles.

Que pensez-vous de la durée de visite pour chaque ville ? Nous ne souhaitons pas faire un marathon et nous stresser mais nous souhaitons nous enrichir de la culture de ces villes.

J'ai un peu peur d'être pénalisé par les grosses chaleurs l'après midi, nous sommes avec notre petite fille de 2 ans et demi.....

J'aimerai également faire el caminito del rey mais pour l'instant les résas son en standby donc ce n'est pas sur....

Conaissez vous des plages un peu sauvages, des petites criques sympas ?

Ma femme et ma fille sont Mexicaines je souhaiterai les épater...

Nous souhaiterions également visiter un parc naturel mais lequel ??? l’Andalousie semble regorger de parcs naturels et je suis un peu perdu... à quel moment caler une visite dans un parc naturel....

Quels sont vos conseils ? bons plans ? Je souhaiterai faire plaisir à tout le monde mais bon je ne connais pas du tout cette région....

Merci d'avance pour vos conseils qui nous seront c'est certains précieux!!!!

Bonjour à tous,

ma conjointe et moi prévoyons un voyage les 2 premières semaines de septembre 2016. Nous voudrions visiter ville et village dans l'axe Barcelone-Nice en passant dans la cote du Rhône pour aller dans les vignoble (2-3 jours).

Pouvez-vous nous aider à trouver les meilleurs destinations possible pour ce type de voyage. Nous savons que nous devons aller à Marseille et les grosses villes, mais nous aimerions connaitre les petits villages où il y a des sentiers piétonnier, bon petit restaurants/café abordables, etc...

Merci pour vos commentaires constructifs, nous les prendrons tous en considérations.

David et Marie-Anne:)

Bonjour,

J'ai 22 ans et, pour un premier voyage en solo, j'aimerais visiter l'Andalousie en août. J'ai beaucoup voyagé au préalable, souvent en mode "backpacker" mais toujours avec des amis ou de la famille. Mon seul voyage seule était à Montréal mais je n'ai pas itinéré la bas et je connaissais déja la ville, y ayant vécu dans le passé. J'aimerais donc un peu préparer mon voyage, histoire de ne pas stresser par cette première expérience, et disposer de vos précieux conseils. Dans l'ensemble, je souhaite faire un voyage "facile", culturel, économique et ouvert aux rencontres!

Voici mes questions: - l'Andalousie est-elle une région sûre pour une fille seule ? - l'Andalousie est-elle une destination fréquentée par des voyageurs seuls ? J'appréhende un peu de me retrouver seule, entourée de groupes et de familles - Le trio Sevilla/Cordoba/Grenada vous semble t'il cohérent vue la durée de mon séjour ? Combien de jours par ville ? - Connaissez-vous une petite ville en bord de mer un peu sauvage (pas Malaga quoi), mais tout de même accessible et vivante ? - Avez-vous des auberges à me conseiller dans les villes que je souhaite visiter ? Faut-il réserver en avance (mois d'aout = saison haute j'imagine..) ou peut-on arriver le jour même ? - Les transports entre villes sont-ils faciles ? - Je suis preneuse de tout autre conseil/avis

Merci d'avance et très bon été à tous ! :)

Bonjour à tous,

La semaine dernière j'ai réservé un vol A/R avec la compagnie VUELING pour aller à Majorque. Le voyage à lieu le 21 mai 2015. Mais problème, hier, suite à un article dans le journal parlant de l'extension de validité des Cartes Nationales d'Identités (CNI), avec ma mère nous nous sommes mis à vérifier la date des notres. Moi aucun soucis, elle se périmera en 2019. Par contre, celle de ma mère vient de se périmer en mars 2015, mais grâce (ou pas) à la nouvelle loi, la validité de sa carte se ralonge de 5 ans. Elle est donc théoriquement encore valable, malgré que ceci ne soit pas indiqué sur sa CNI. Jusque là tout va bien, après quelques coups d'oeil sur Internet j'apprend que des pays ont déclaré officiellement accepter ou refuser ces CNI. Et évidemment l'Espagne, elle, ne s'est pas prononcée. 😐

Ma question est donc, ma mère va-t-elle pouvoir voyager sans soucis avec moi, ou va-t-elle être recalée à l'aéroport ? 🙁

Nous ne pouvons pas changer les dates du voyages, car tout est déjà réservé sur place, ni refaire de CNI car elle est, comme je le disais, théoriquement valable en France, et nous n'avons pas le temps de faire un passeport, le séjour étant dans 3 semaines.

Est-ce que quelqu'un a déjà été dans ce cas, si oui, comment cela s'est-il passé ?

Merci beaucoup de votre aide !🙂

Bonjour, Je pense faire un voyage cet automne entre Séville et Porto. J'ai ciblée ces 2 destinations, car elle sont bien équipés de transport en commun et ont des aéroports. De plus ca semble un bon mélange architecture, paysages et histoire. Je voyagerai avec ma grand-mère (75 ans, très en forme) et nous hésitons entre 10 ou 15 jours. J'ai lu a plusieurs endroit que Séville était extrêmement chaud en septembre, mais qu'en octobre ce n'étais vraiment pas le meilleur temps pour visiter. Pour ce qui est de Porto, ca ne semblait pas changer beaucoup de chose.

Bref, est ce que ca semble un bon choix de villes? Vous suggérez combien de temps de voyage au total et de diviser en 2 les villes? Meilleur moyen de voyager entre les 2 c'est l'avion? Si oui Iberia est un bon choix?

Merci de vos précieux conseils!

Bonjour, Je suis à la préparation d'un voyage de 15 jours en juin 2015. Voici mon itinéraire actuel:

Arrivée: Nice, Monaco et Menton, St-Paul de Vence (3 nuits) (transport: train ou autobus) Départ de Nice en train vers Marseille ou Aix en Provence (s'il y a un train ?) De là, location d'une automobile pour: Moustiers Ste-Marie Baux de Provence Avignon, l'Isle-sur-la-Sorgue, Gordes-Roussillon Corbières Châteauneuf du Pape ? Nîmes Marseille (les Calanques - Port) et départ pour Montréal

Ce trajet est-il réalisable? Avez-vous des suggestions quant à l'ajout de villages ou autres? Plusieurs me disent qu'il ne faut pas manquer Carcassonne, mais ça me semble loin. Si oui, devrais-je prendre le vol de retour à Toulouse et en profiter pour visiter Montpellier. Nous serons 3 nuits à Nice. Quel est le meilleur endroit pour louer un appart entre Aix en Provence et Avignon? Notre but est de se balader à pied dans les villes mais également voir de beaux paysages. Merci beaucoup pour vos suggestions, c'est très apprécié.🙂