comme promis à LaFleur, voici mon récit de mon saut en parachute en juillet 99, à 50 km au sud de Moscou, et ce qui s'est passé avant et après. Ce furent 24 heures absolument hors norme.
24 heures de dingue en Russie: parachute et autres aventures...
by Loopkin
This discussion is in French, the community’s main language.
Original post
Bonjour.
comme promis à LaFleur, voici mon récit de mon saut en parachute en juillet 99, à 50 km au sud de Moscou, et ce qui s'est passé avant et après. Ce furent 24 heures absolument hors norme.
comme promis à LaFleur, voici mon récit de mon saut en parachute en juillet 99, à 50 km au sud de Moscou, et ce qui s'est passé avant et après. Ce furent 24 heures absolument hors norme.
Geantropie, Vivre l'espace
http://geantropie.free.fr
Samedi 10 juillet 1999, Moscou
Ca commence par des bruits difficiles à identifier. Non tant du fait qu’ils sont difficilement identifiables en temps normal, mais plus du fait de la faiblesse de ce qui me reste de neurones pour interpréter correctement des signaux sonores. Je parviens finalement à comprendre qu’il y a des voix. Des personnes qui marchent, d’autres qui rient. Peut être que certains parviennent à faire les deux simultanément. Moi, je ne serais même pas capable de marcher, quant à rire, il n’y a pas de questions à se poser. C’est vraiment impossible. Quand tout tourne, qu’on ne désire qu’une seule chose, c’est tout oublier, sombrer, et que « ça » passe, on n’est pas exactement dans des dispositions à rire.
On marche, on piétine, on parle, on rie, on s’affaire. Mais voici un nouveau signal. Transmis cette fois par ma peau : on me secoue l’épaule, enfin, je crois. Ca bouge. Ca tourne encore plus. Et en même temps, je réalise enfin que tous les mots qui sont prononcés sont dirigés vers ma personne : On me parle, depuis peut-être déjà plusieurs minutes. Qu’en sais-je exactement, en fait ? Je saisis au vol des mots que je comprends, quand bien même ils sont prononcés en russe. Il y a « lève-toi », il y a « parachute », il y a « habille-toi ».
Et là, la conscience commence à revenir, doucement. Le temps de démarrage d’un serveur Linux dans les labos de Mécaflu de mon école, en comparaison, c’est de la rigolade. Moi, je sens que je vais mettre plusieurs heures à charger toutes les fonctions de mon système d’exploitation (et d’assimilation…). Avant que cette conscience n’atteigne un niveau suffisant pour user de la parole à mon tour, elle passe par une étape intermédiaire : me faire parvenir des signaux internes à mon organisme. Le voyant rouge de mon estomac est allumé en continu depuis peut-être des heures, et je n’en prends acte que maintenant. Peut-être des heures de répit ? Comme un automate, je me dirige vers le balcon, et je m’applique à le redécorer. Ce n’est pas très beau, un peu grunge-art, avec l’odeur en plus. Une fois mon forfait accompli, l’estomac repasse dans le vert. La conscience monte encore d’un niveau. Je ne suis plus une simple machine à non-assimiler, je commence à penser. Je pense : « me recoucher, vite ». Je me dirige automatiquement vers mon lit. Je manque de planter. En effet, un cas non prévu dans le programme se présente : le lit est devenu, entre temps, inaccessible. Trois personnes assises dessus. Je suis heureux, car je parviens à penser toujours mieux. En effet, j’en arrive à être capable de me dire : « coup d’état ». Mon lit est occupé. Je ne peux plus me recoucher sans heurts. Mollement, j’essaye de forcer le passage. C’est sans compter sur la force des autres, et surtout, c’est compter sur ma propre force, qui m’a déserté ce matin. Deux erreurs qui se cumulent dans le même sens. Je ne parviens pas à passer la ligne des trois personnes assises sur ce qui me sert de lit dans cette chambre d’étudiants. Ca rigole encore plus, puis ça m’engueule : « Allez, dépêche toi. On va aller sauter en parachute. » Je parviens à bafouiller, nouvel exploit : « Ah non, non, non. Ca, ce n’est pas du tout possible. Allez-y sans moi. »
Mais encore une fois, c’est sans compter sur la force de persuasion de Victor. Je ne sais pas comment il fait, peut être est-ce parce que la perspective de se recoucher s’est avérée une fausse perspective à cause de leur putsch, toujours est-il que je me retrouve habillé, chaussures de marche aux pieds, appareil photo dans la poche de mon manteau, en moins de cinq minutes. J’oublie juste mon portefeuille et un briquet. L’oublie de l’un de ces deux éléments aura failli être fatal, la suite le prouvera.
Ensuite, c’est un peu flou dans ma mémoire. J’imagine qu’on est sorti du foyer pour étudiants, qu’on a marché au petit matin jusqu’au métro. Je me souviens du métro. Je regarde mes quatre compagnons assis en face de moi sur la banquette. Ils ont tous les quatre des yeux bien rouges. Et ils dodelinent de la tête. Je me sens moins seul. J’ai une vague pensée pour la décoration du balcon : « quelqu’un a-t-il nettoyé ou sommes-nous partis comme ça, sans rien faire ? Dans les deux cas, c’est désagréable. Soit quelqu’un a nettoyé quelque chose qu’il n’a pas commis, soit c’est resté, et c’est affreux. » Ensuite, je m’endors de nouveau. On me réveille, on marche dans des couloirs, un autre métro, je me rendors, on me réveille, un minibus, je me rendors. On me réveille, « allez, viens, on est arrivé ». Je regarde autour de moi. Je suis sur une route dans la forêt. Au loin, le minibus s’éloigne vers son destin. Devant nous, un chemin part en perpendiculaire de la route, pour nous mener vers le notre. L’air est frais. Les autres ont commencé à marcher. A marcher ? A courir. En fait, je me suis dit plus tard qu’ils devaient marcher à une allure normale. Mais sur le moment, j’ai cru réellement qu’ils couraient. J’ai du mal à les suivre. Je dois forcer à chaque pas. Ca tourne toujours beaucoup. Mais l’air frais me fait le plus grand bien.
Ca commence par des bruits difficiles à identifier. Non tant du fait qu’ils sont difficilement identifiables en temps normal, mais plus du fait de la faiblesse de ce qui me reste de neurones pour interpréter correctement des signaux sonores. Je parviens finalement à comprendre qu’il y a des voix. Des personnes qui marchent, d’autres qui rient. Peut être que certains parviennent à faire les deux simultanément. Moi, je ne serais même pas capable de marcher, quant à rire, il n’y a pas de questions à se poser. C’est vraiment impossible. Quand tout tourne, qu’on ne désire qu’une seule chose, c’est tout oublier, sombrer, et que « ça » passe, on n’est pas exactement dans des dispositions à rire.
On marche, on piétine, on parle, on rie, on s’affaire. Mais voici un nouveau signal. Transmis cette fois par ma peau : on me secoue l’épaule, enfin, je crois. Ca bouge. Ca tourne encore plus. Et en même temps, je réalise enfin que tous les mots qui sont prononcés sont dirigés vers ma personne : On me parle, depuis peut-être déjà plusieurs minutes. Qu’en sais-je exactement, en fait ? Je saisis au vol des mots que je comprends, quand bien même ils sont prononcés en russe. Il y a « lève-toi », il y a « parachute », il y a « habille-toi ».
Et là, la conscience commence à revenir, doucement. Le temps de démarrage d’un serveur Linux dans les labos de Mécaflu de mon école, en comparaison, c’est de la rigolade. Moi, je sens que je vais mettre plusieurs heures à charger toutes les fonctions de mon système d’exploitation (et d’assimilation…). Avant que cette conscience n’atteigne un niveau suffisant pour user de la parole à mon tour, elle passe par une étape intermédiaire : me faire parvenir des signaux internes à mon organisme. Le voyant rouge de mon estomac est allumé en continu depuis peut-être des heures, et je n’en prends acte que maintenant. Peut-être des heures de répit ? Comme un automate, je me dirige vers le balcon, et je m’applique à le redécorer. Ce n’est pas très beau, un peu grunge-art, avec l’odeur en plus. Une fois mon forfait accompli, l’estomac repasse dans le vert. La conscience monte encore d’un niveau. Je ne suis plus une simple machine à non-assimiler, je commence à penser. Je pense : « me recoucher, vite ». Je me dirige automatiquement vers mon lit. Je manque de planter. En effet, un cas non prévu dans le programme se présente : le lit est devenu, entre temps, inaccessible. Trois personnes assises dessus. Je suis heureux, car je parviens à penser toujours mieux. En effet, j’en arrive à être capable de me dire : « coup d’état ». Mon lit est occupé. Je ne peux plus me recoucher sans heurts. Mollement, j’essaye de forcer le passage. C’est sans compter sur la force des autres, et surtout, c’est compter sur ma propre force, qui m’a déserté ce matin. Deux erreurs qui se cumulent dans le même sens. Je ne parviens pas à passer la ligne des trois personnes assises sur ce qui me sert de lit dans cette chambre d’étudiants. Ca rigole encore plus, puis ça m’engueule : « Allez, dépêche toi. On va aller sauter en parachute. » Je parviens à bafouiller, nouvel exploit : « Ah non, non, non. Ca, ce n’est pas du tout possible. Allez-y sans moi. »
Mais encore une fois, c’est sans compter sur la force de persuasion de Victor. Je ne sais pas comment il fait, peut être est-ce parce que la perspective de se recoucher s’est avérée une fausse perspective à cause de leur putsch, toujours est-il que je me retrouve habillé, chaussures de marche aux pieds, appareil photo dans la poche de mon manteau, en moins de cinq minutes. J’oublie juste mon portefeuille et un briquet. L’oublie de l’un de ces deux éléments aura failli être fatal, la suite le prouvera.
Ensuite, c’est un peu flou dans ma mémoire. J’imagine qu’on est sorti du foyer pour étudiants, qu’on a marché au petit matin jusqu’au métro. Je me souviens du métro. Je regarde mes quatre compagnons assis en face de moi sur la banquette. Ils ont tous les quatre des yeux bien rouges. Et ils dodelinent de la tête. Je me sens moins seul. J’ai une vague pensée pour la décoration du balcon : « quelqu’un a-t-il nettoyé ou sommes-nous partis comme ça, sans rien faire ? Dans les deux cas, c’est désagréable. Soit quelqu’un a nettoyé quelque chose qu’il n’a pas commis, soit c’est resté, et c’est affreux. » Ensuite, je m’endors de nouveau. On me réveille, on marche dans des couloirs, un autre métro, je me rendors, on me réveille, un minibus, je me rendors. On me réveille, « allez, viens, on est arrivé ». Je regarde autour de moi. Je suis sur une route dans la forêt. Au loin, le minibus s’éloigne vers son destin. Devant nous, un chemin part en perpendiculaire de la route, pour nous mener vers le notre. L’air est frais. Les autres ont commencé à marcher. A marcher ? A courir. En fait, je me suis dit plus tard qu’ils devaient marcher à une allure normale. Mais sur le moment, j’ai cru réellement qu’ils couraient. J’ai du mal à les suivre. Je dois forcer à chaque pas. Ca tourne toujours beaucoup. Mais l’air frais me fait le plus grand bien.
Geantropie, Vivre l'espace
http://geantropie.free.fr
Après quelques minutes de marche forcée, Jean Marie, l’autre français, me dit : « regarde les hommes tomber ! ». Je ne réalise pas qu’il y a réellement là haut, dans le ciel, au moment où il dit cela, des hommes qui tombent. Et pour cause, je suis au pied d’un arbre, et j’élimine de nouveau. Cette fois par le bon côté. Ca tourne toujours autant. Ceci étant fait, je lève la tête. Les hommes, entre temps, se sont transformés en parapentes. Jean Marie me dit qu’ils ont ouvert leurs parachutes, mais qu’avant, ils tombaient de très haut pendant très longtemps.
Un peu plus loin sur le chemin, nous en voyons d’autres. Deux puis trois hommes tombent littéralement des nuages. Incroyable.
Finalement, nous finissons par arriver au terrain. De nombreuses autres personnes sont déjà là. En tout plus d’une centaine de russes attendant au soleil. Il est dans les dix heures. Vient le moment de s’inscrire. Je réalise que je n’ai pas mon portefeuille, donc pas d’argent. Thomas, l’autrichien, me prête la somme. 300 roubles, soit dans les 75 francs, ce qui reviendrait à 15 euros (passage à l’euro oblige, avec l’inflation qui l’accompagne toujours). Il faut remplir un papier. Pendant tout ce voyage qui a duré selon mes estimations, entre une heure trente et deux heures, mes fonctions cérébrales sont presque toutes chargées. Je parviens à lire, à écrire, et à signer. Je signe entre autre, après hésitation, que je n’ai ni bu ni consommé de drogues ces dernières vingt quatre heures. Quand je signe, la feuille a encore tendances à avoir des accès de roulis, et j’essaye d’oublier pour un moment la superbe soirée passée la veille avec nos voisins étudiants russes, sur le toit du foyer…
Commence ensuite l’instruction. On nous regroupe par dix, et un instructeur, genre vétéran de l’Afghanistan, nous explique comment ça va se passer, ce qu’il faut faire, et nous rassure. En vingt ans d’instruction sur ce terrain, il a vu un seul accident : quelqu’un s’était foulé la cheville. Il insiste sur les manœuvres à effectuer pendant le saut : comment sauter, quelle position du corps adopter, vérifier que la coupole est bien ouverte, ne pas oublier de désamorcer le parachute de secours une fois que tout est bon, pour qu’il ne s’ouvre pas automatiquement à 300 mètres du sol, comment tenter de diriger un peu les suspentes, comment atterrir, comment ramasser le parachute, etc… Tout cela prends du temps. Il est midi. Mon estomac est de nouveau dans le rouge, mais le signal est différent. Il a besoin de faire transiter les aliments dans le sens de fonctionnement normal. La pause vient à point nommé. Nous mangeons dans le bar du terrain. Je m’empiffre. C’est bon. Je date le retour à la pleine possession de mes moyens physiques et psychiques à cet instant béni parmi les instants bénis. La soupe et les pielménis à la crème bien grasse sont de redoutables remèdes contre la gueule de bois. Dans le bar, les murs sont truffés de photos plus impressionnantes les unes que les autres. Sur l’une d’elles, on voit une immense grappe composée de centaines de personnes, peut être trois cents, qui font une figure fractale extrêmement complexe. Sur une autre, une autre grappe, composée d’une centaine de personnes. Ils écrivent 1997 dans le ciel. Une autre : sur fond de Russie enneigée, tout en bas, un homme en slip de bain moulant est en chute libre, avec un parachute sur son dos nu. A cette température apparente (genre moins trente plus le vent), il n’y a plus rien à mouler, je pense. S’il avait voulu faire de la pub pour les Smarties, c’était tout trouvé.
Ensuite, on nous fait passer dans la salle des parachutes. On nous fait nous mettre en rang, et du fait de notre retard, nous passerons les derniers. Nous risquons d’attendre des heures. On nous donne à chacun une sorte de combinaison en toile de jute qui nous fait ressembler en grenouilles, et aussi, il faut bien le dire, deux parachutes. Un parachute normal, en forme de sac à dos lourd, qu’il faut mettre dans le dos, et un parachute ventral, un peu moins lourd (mais tout est relatif) qu’on fixe au niveau de mon ventre bien rempli. J’ai presque vingt cinq kilos sur le dos, plus du tiers de mon poids. Je me sens lourd. Je me dis déjà à ce moment là que si je saute avec ces lestes attachés à moi, ma course vers le sol n’en sera que plus brève.
On nous fait passer dehors, où les centaines d’autres sauteurs débutants attendent, tous déguisés, comme nous, en parachutistes en herbe. Nous nous y installons, dans l’herbe, au soleil, et nous attendons patiemment notre tour. Il est Quatorze heure. Je fais un rapide calcul. Avec les autres français du foyer étudiant, nous avions prévu d’aller en boîte ce soir. Normalement, on devrait y arriver. La relique qui sert d’ascenseur à mes congénères qui ont la chance (la chance ?) d’être avant nous fait ses allers et venues, régulièrement. C’est un Antonov II. Il paraîtrait qu’il s’agit du plus gros biplan monomoteur actuel dans le monde. Certes. Mais cela ne le fait pas monter plus vite. Cette libellule apathique est dotée d’un taux de montée des plus minables. Même pas 500 pieds par minute, je pense. Pendant ce temps là, les énormes hélicoptères de l’armée, reconvertis en hélicoptère d’entraînement au parachutisme pour les professionnels, tournent dans tous les sens. Il doit y en avoir trois, et chacun de ces engins peut emporter plus de cinquante personnes, sur des vitesses de montée supérieures à 2000 pieds par minutes. Les champions sautent à tout va, et nous, nous attendons, au rythme de dix personnes toutes les vingt minutes. Nous nous armons de patience.
Les heures passent, passées à regarder les débutants tomber, d’un peu plus haut, et les champions tomber par grappes, de très très haut. Pour passer le temps, je chronomètre. Je fixe un point dans le ciel, situé au moins quatre kilomètres au dessus de ma tête, en forme d’hélicoptère minuscule, rien à voir avec les léviatans qui décollent devant nos yeux. De cet hélicoptère presque translucide dans le ciel nébuleux, se détache, à la verticale du terrain, un point, qui commence à suivre sa trajectoire propre. C’est le top initial. Ce point grossit rapidement. Au bout de quinze secondes, on peut dores et déjà distinguer que ce point n’est pas insécable. Il s’agit en fait d’un noyau, composé de nombreuses particules. Entre vingt et cinquante individus forment ces grappes, selon les sauts. Ils forment parfois des figures. C’est très impressionnant. Parfois, des électrons libres gravitent autour du noyau, avec un surf attaché aux pieds, et s’amusent, de manière indépendante, en free style, suivant des orbitales atomiques erratiques, de quoi conforter l’incertitude d’Heisenberg et ses copains de la mécanique quantique. Ils font aussi des figures, mais individuellement. La grappe grossit, grossit, jusqu’à devenir un ensemble réellement distinguable d’humains tombants à grande vitesse vers la Russie. Au bout d’un certain temps, tous ces individus s’écartent simultanément les uns des autres par une poussée des bras, puis continuent encore quelques secondes leur course folle vers une mort certaine, nonchalamment. Et d’un coup, des mini parachutes se détachent d’eux, tirent un fil vers leur haut, puis font surgir la grande voile. Et tout ce beau monde se retrouve en même temps suspendu dans les airs. C’est le signal du second top. Une minute. Parfois un peu moins. Une minute de chute libre. C’est incroyablement long. A raison de 200 km/h, ce qui correspond en gros à 55 m/s, cela revient, si on néglige le temps d’accélération des cinq premières secondes, à plus de 3000 mètres de chute. A cela, se rajoute la hauteur de 1000 mètres destinée à l’ouverture des parachutes et à la descente toutes voiles dehors, et cela nous fait nos 4000 mètres bien tassés. Ma cuite est définitivement hors de combat, j’arrive à calculer. De toute façon, vu comme le temps passe lentement, je n’ai que cela à faire.
Le temps d’arrêter le chrono, et de calculer ces soixante secondes, et j’entends d’un coup un grand bruit d’oiseaux qui s’envolent. En fait, c’est le bruit que font les trente voiles qui s’ouvrent simultanément, huit cent mètres au dessus de ma tête, qui me parvient avec un retard de mexicain. Le son ne se propage vraiment pas vite dans l’air. Ensuite, tous ces hommes redevenus oiseaux pour un temps, s’amusent. Qui à descendre en vrille à une vitesse se rapprochant de la vitesse de chute libre, vers leur matrie, ce qui les fait arriver au bout de moins de vingt secondes, qui à prendre leur temps, pour admirer leur patrie, de haut. Ces derniers arrivent plus de deux minutes après les premiers. Ceux qui ont une planche aux pieds ont un système qui leur permet de la larguer quelques mètres avant de se poser.
Et pendant ce temps là, toutes les vingt minutes, nous assistons au largage des débutants. L’Antonov, péniblement hissé à 1000 mètres d’altitude, jette ses paquets quatre par quatre, ou trois par trois. Nous voyons notre destin dans celui de ces malheureux. Nous les voyons tomber de l’avion, et toujours, l’impression persistante que leur parachute ne s’ouvre pas, ou toujours trop tard, nous est donnée. Parfois, plus de trois secondes se passent avant que l’individu ne soit freiné par son parachute. De là où nous sommes, nous voyons l’avion déjà bien au dessus de lui.
Le vent se lève un peu. Certains sont emportés au delà du terrain. Les contrôleurs prennent la décision de suspendre les sauts des débutants. En effet, les coupoles avec lesquelles nous sautons ne permettent pas de se diriger réellement. Pendant ce temps-là, les champions continuent à nous narguer avec leurs hélicoptères puissants, leurs chutes libres, leurs figures, leurs voiles facile à diriger, leurs surfs. Les heures continuent de passer. Parfois, la radio annonce tout haut qu’elle félicite Tatiana ou Andreï pour son quatre centième saut. Bravo. Nous, nous attendons toujours notre premier. Et non sans appréhension.
Les heures passent. Je recalcule régulièrement le temps, pour savoir si nous parviendront à rejoindre Antoine et Frédéric pour la sortie en boîte de ce soir. Et plus les heures passent, et plus la réponse négative se fait évidente, comme le nez au milieu de la figure.
Les heures passent. C’est impressionnant comment le temps passe. Même quand cinq minutes paraissent une demie heure, qu’on ne se parle pas, parce qu’on est chacun enfermé dans son stress, qu’on n’a rien à faire d’autre qu’à faire les lézards dans l’herbe au soleil, même alors, le temps finit toujours par passer. Les sauts des débutants reprennent. Je compte. Encore quatre, peut être trois va et viens, et ce sera à nous. Il est neuf heures du soir. Il est plus que temps. Déjà onze heures que nous sommes arrivés à ce terrain.
Un peu plus loin sur le chemin, nous en voyons d’autres. Deux puis trois hommes tombent littéralement des nuages. Incroyable.
Finalement, nous finissons par arriver au terrain. De nombreuses autres personnes sont déjà là. En tout plus d’une centaine de russes attendant au soleil. Il est dans les dix heures. Vient le moment de s’inscrire. Je réalise que je n’ai pas mon portefeuille, donc pas d’argent. Thomas, l’autrichien, me prête la somme. 300 roubles, soit dans les 75 francs, ce qui reviendrait à 15 euros (passage à l’euro oblige, avec l’inflation qui l’accompagne toujours). Il faut remplir un papier. Pendant tout ce voyage qui a duré selon mes estimations, entre une heure trente et deux heures, mes fonctions cérébrales sont presque toutes chargées. Je parviens à lire, à écrire, et à signer. Je signe entre autre, après hésitation, que je n’ai ni bu ni consommé de drogues ces dernières vingt quatre heures. Quand je signe, la feuille a encore tendances à avoir des accès de roulis, et j’essaye d’oublier pour un moment la superbe soirée passée la veille avec nos voisins étudiants russes, sur le toit du foyer…
Commence ensuite l’instruction. On nous regroupe par dix, et un instructeur, genre vétéran de l’Afghanistan, nous explique comment ça va se passer, ce qu’il faut faire, et nous rassure. En vingt ans d’instruction sur ce terrain, il a vu un seul accident : quelqu’un s’était foulé la cheville. Il insiste sur les manœuvres à effectuer pendant le saut : comment sauter, quelle position du corps adopter, vérifier que la coupole est bien ouverte, ne pas oublier de désamorcer le parachute de secours une fois que tout est bon, pour qu’il ne s’ouvre pas automatiquement à 300 mètres du sol, comment tenter de diriger un peu les suspentes, comment atterrir, comment ramasser le parachute, etc… Tout cela prends du temps. Il est midi. Mon estomac est de nouveau dans le rouge, mais le signal est différent. Il a besoin de faire transiter les aliments dans le sens de fonctionnement normal. La pause vient à point nommé. Nous mangeons dans le bar du terrain. Je m’empiffre. C’est bon. Je date le retour à la pleine possession de mes moyens physiques et psychiques à cet instant béni parmi les instants bénis. La soupe et les pielménis à la crème bien grasse sont de redoutables remèdes contre la gueule de bois. Dans le bar, les murs sont truffés de photos plus impressionnantes les unes que les autres. Sur l’une d’elles, on voit une immense grappe composée de centaines de personnes, peut être trois cents, qui font une figure fractale extrêmement complexe. Sur une autre, une autre grappe, composée d’une centaine de personnes. Ils écrivent 1997 dans le ciel. Une autre : sur fond de Russie enneigée, tout en bas, un homme en slip de bain moulant est en chute libre, avec un parachute sur son dos nu. A cette température apparente (genre moins trente plus le vent), il n’y a plus rien à mouler, je pense. S’il avait voulu faire de la pub pour les Smarties, c’était tout trouvé.
Ensuite, on nous fait passer dans la salle des parachutes. On nous fait nous mettre en rang, et du fait de notre retard, nous passerons les derniers. Nous risquons d’attendre des heures. On nous donne à chacun une sorte de combinaison en toile de jute qui nous fait ressembler en grenouilles, et aussi, il faut bien le dire, deux parachutes. Un parachute normal, en forme de sac à dos lourd, qu’il faut mettre dans le dos, et un parachute ventral, un peu moins lourd (mais tout est relatif) qu’on fixe au niveau de mon ventre bien rempli. J’ai presque vingt cinq kilos sur le dos, plus du tiers de mon poids. Je me sens lourd. Je me dis déjà à ce moment là que si je saute avec ces lestes attachés à moi, ma course vers le sol n’en sera que plus brève.
On nous fait passer dehors, où les centaines d’autres sauteurs débutants attendent, tous déguisés, comme nous, en parachutistes en herbe. Nous nous y installons, dans l’herbe, au soleil, et nous attendons patiemment notre tour. Il est Quatorze heure. Je fais un rapide calcul. Avec les autres français du foyer étudiant, nous avions prévu d’aller en boîte ce soir. Normalement, on devrait y arriver. La relique qui sert d’ascenseur à mes congénères qui ont la chance (la chance ?) d’être avant nous fait ses allers et venues, régulièrement. C’est un Antonov II. Il paraîtrait qu’il s’agit du plus gros biplan monomoteur actuel dans le monde. Certes. Mais cela ne le fait pas monter plus vite. Cette libellule apathique est dotée d’un taux de montée des plus minables. Même pas 500 pieds par minute, je pense. Pendant ce temps là, les énormes hélicoptères de l’armée, reconvertis en hélicoptère d’entraînement au parachutisme pour les professionnels, tournent dans tous les sens. Il doit y en avoir trois, et chacun de ces engins peut emporter plus de cinquante personnes, sur des vitesses de montée supérieures à 2000 pieds par minutes. Les champions sautent à tout va, et nous, nous attendons, au rythme de dix personnes toutes les vingt minutes. Nous nous armons de patience.
Les heures passent, passées à regarder les débutants tomber, d’un peu plus haut, et les champions tomber par grappes, de très très haut. Pour passer le temps, je chronomètre. Je fixe un point dans le ciel, situé au moins quatre kilomètres au dessus de ma tête, en forme d’hélicoptère minuscule, rien à voir avec les léviatans qui décollent devant nos yeux. De cet hélicoptère presque translucide dans le ciel nébuleux, se détache, à la verticale du terrain, un point, qui commence à suivre sa trajectoire propre. C’est le top initial. Ce point grossit rapidement. Au bout de quinze secondes, on peut dores et déjà distinguer que ce point n’est pas insécable. Il s’agit en fait d’un noyau, composé de nombreuses particules. Entre vingt et cinquante individus forment ces grappes, selon les sauts. Ils forment parfois des figures. C’est très impressionnant. Parfois, des électrons libres gravitent autour du noyau, avec un surf attaché aux pieds, et s’amusent, de manière indépendante, en free style, suivant des orbitales atomiques erratiques, de quoi conforter l’incertitude d’Heisenberg et ses copains de la mécanique quantique. Ils font aussi des figures, mais individuellement. La grappe grossit, grossit, jusqu’à devenir un ensemble réellement distinguable d’humains tombants à grande vitesse vers la Russie. Au bout d’un certain temps, tous ces individus s’écartent simultanément les uns des autres par une poussée des bras, puis continuent encore quelques secondes leur course folle vers une mort certaine, nonchalamment. Et d’un coup, des mini parachutes se détachent d’eux, tirent un fil vers leur haut, puis font surgir la grande voile. Et tout ce beau monde se retrouve en même temps suspendu dans les airs. C’est le signal du second top. Une minute. Parfois un peu moins. Une minute de chute libre. C’est incroyablement long. A raison de 200 km/h, ce qui correspond en gros à 55 m/s, cela revient, si on néglige le temps d’accélération des cinq premières secondes, à plus de 3000 mètres de chute. A cela, se rajoute la hauteur de 1000 mètres destinée à l’ouverture des parachutes et à la descente toutes voiles dehors, et cela nous fait nos 4000 mètres bien tassés. Ma cuite est définitivement hors de combat, j’arrive à calculer. De toute façon, vu comme le temps passe lentement, je n’ai que cela à faire.
Le temps d’arrêter le chrono, et de calculer ces soixante secondes, et j’entends d’un coup un grand bruit d’oiseaux qui s’envolent. En fait, c’est le bruit que font les trente voiles qui s’ouvrent simultanément, huit cent mètres au dessus de ma tête, qui me parvient avec un retard de mexicain. Le son ne se propage vraiment pas vite dans l’air. Ensuite, tous ces hommes redevenus oiseaux pour un temps, s’amusent. Qui à descendre en vrille à une vitesse se rapprochant de la vitesse de chute libre, vers leur matrie, ce qui les fait arriver au bout de moins de vingt secondes, qui à prendre leur temps, pour admirer leur patrie, de haut. Ces derniers arrivent plus de deux minutes après les premiers. Ceux qui ont une planche aux pieds ont un système qui leur permet de la larguer quelques mètres avant de se poser.
Et pendant ce temps là, toutes les vingt minutes, nous assistons au largage des débutants. L’Antonov, péniblement hissé à 1000 mètres d’altitude, jette ses paquets quatre par quatre, ou trois par trois. Nous voyons notre destin dans celui de ces malheureux. Nous les voyons tomber de l’avion, et toujours, l’impression persistante que leur parachute ne s’ouvre pas, ou toujours trop tard, nous est donnée. Parfois, plus de trois secondes se passent avant que l’individu ne soit freiné par son parachute. De là où nous sommes, nous voyons l’avion déjà bien au dessus de lui.
Le vent se lève un peu. Certains sont emportés au delà du terrain. Les contrôleurs prennent la décision de suspendre les sauts des débutants. En effet, les coupoles avec lesquelles nous sautons ne permettent pas de se diriger réellement. Pendant ce temps-là, les champions continuent à nous narguer avec leurs hélicoptères puissants, leurs chutes libres, leurs figures, leurs voiles facile à diriger, leurs surfs. Les heures continuent de passer. Parfois, la radio annonce tout haut qu’elle félicite Tatiana ou Andreï pour son quatre centième saut. Bravo. Nous, nous attendons toujours notre premier. Et non sans appréhension.
Les heures passent. Je recalcule régulièrement le temps, pour savoir si nous parviendront à rejoindre Antoine et Frédéric pour la sortie en boîte de ce soir. Et plus les heures passent, et plus la réponse négative se fait évidente, comme le nez au milieu de la figure.
Les heures passent. C’est impressionnant comment le temps passe. Même quand cinq minutes paraissent une demie heure, qu’on ne se parle pas, parce qu’on est chacun enfermé dans son stress, qu’on n’a rien à faire d’autre qu’à faire les lézards dans l’herbe au soleil, même alors, le temps finit toujours par passer. Les sauts des débutants reprennent. Je compte. Encore quatre, peut être trois va et viens, et ce sera à nous. Il est neuf heures du soir. Il est plus que temps. Déjà onze heures que nous sommes arrivés à ce terrain.
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Tout s’accélère. On nous demande de remettre nos parachutes, de nous mettre en rang devant l’entrée de la piste (en herbe aussi, c’est préférable pour la réception). Les parachutes sont vraiment très lourds, et rester debout avec est un calvaire. Je compte encore : L’avion décolle, il reste un groupe devant nous, et ensuite, ce sera nous. Tout cela est-il bien raisonnable ?
Neuf heures trente. Le groupe devant nous a été largué. Dix coupoles sont ouvertes et touchent l’horizon. L’avion est en finale pour la piste en herbe. On nous demande de nous poster près de l’endroit où il s’arrêtera, sur le bord de la piste. Je répète : tout cela est-il bien raisonnable ?
L’avion arrive dans un grand fracas. Il s’arrête, mais laisse le moteur et son énorme hélice métallique quadripale tourner. On nous fait faire le tour par derrière, et nous montons par la porte latérale, celle par laquelle nous iront à la mort dans quelques minutes. Un surfeur blond nous accueille à bord et nous fait prendre place. A peine le temps de s’asseoir qu’une forte accélération nous plaque tous vers le fond de l’appareil, nous déséquilibrant (nous sommes assis latéralement par rapport à l’axe du fuselage). Le temps de se remettre sur les deux fesses, et nous apercevons déjà la campagne russe en bas, à travers les hublots. Les couleurs sont magnifiques.
Cette pensée est la dernière, dans mon souvenir, d’une perception rationnelle des évènements. A partir de maintenant, la peur commence à prendre de plus en plus de place. L’avion continue à monter. Il fait des circonvolutions. Je me dis qu’il était finalement préférable d’attendre quelques heures avant de monter dans ce truc là, histoire d’être définitivement débourré. Je me dis aussi que cette antiquité peut faire la maligne, ce n’est pas grave, on a des parachutes, on ne nous la fait pas. Nous nous regardons tous, en nous efforçant de sourire, comme si nous étions parfaitement détendus. Ce sont plus des grimaces que des sourires. Pendant la montée, l’instructeur nous attache les crochets de nos parachutes aux rails placés au plafond. Il retourne à sa place près de la porte, en face de laquelle, plus ou moins, je suis assis. Et puis d’un coup…
D’un coup, ce maître nageur tout sourire depuis le début du vol, tout en gardant ce sourire colgate énervant et rassurant, ouvre la porte sans crier gare. A partir de cet instant fatidique, l’irrationnel devient majoritaire dans mes perceptions. Une autre échelle de temps devient nécessaire pour les descriptions qui vont suivre, où la linéarité n’est plus de mise. Deux évènements simultanés pourront m’apparaître à deux instants distincts, et deux évènements successifs pourront m’apparaître au même instant, voire de manière inversée. Lorsqu’il ouvre cette porte sur le vide, le vent s’engouffre d’un coup dans toute la cabine. Le vent frais du soir et de l’altitude. L’ouverture de cette porte provoque en moi un réel effroi. Je me trouve d’un coup en prise directe avec le sol. Il n’y a plus d’obstacle entre lui et moi. Il ne dépend plus que de moi de le rejoindre, si j’en ai la volonté. L’aurai-je ? Les maisons apparaissent bien petites, tout en bas. Les forêts sont certes magnifiques, mais elles sont en bas. L’instructeur nous gueule des trucs, encore et encore, qui ne sont que des rabâchages destinés à focaliser notre concentration sur autre chose que sur la peur. Sur l’ordre des sauteurs, sur la position à adopter au moment de sauter, sur celle à adopter à l’atterrissage. A cause du bruit assourdissant du moteur et du vent, nous n’entendons rien.
L’avion tourne encore. L’ampoule verte se met d’un coup à clignoter, au rythme d’un signal sonore éloquent. L’instructeur, comme prévu, désigne les quatre premiers sauteurs. Il y a un homme très gros, un autre, Victor et Jean Marie. Les quatre plus lourds du groupe, dans l’ordre décroissant des poids. Je vois ces quatre personnes se lever avec des têtes de condamnés à mort. Ils se dirigent lentement vers la sortie, se mettent en rang, puis tout va très vite. L’instructeur tape dans le dos du premier, qui disparaît bel et bien, sans autre forme de procès. Le second subit le même sort, puis Victor, mon ami Victor. Diantre ! Reste en vie Victor ! Jean Marie ne tarde pas à le suivre dans l’inconnu.
Ca crée un vide. A priori rien ne s’est passé, le moteur continue de tourner comme un horloge, l’instructeur est toujours aussi calme, les visages des sauteurs toujours aussi livides. Simplement, au lieu d’être dix stagiaires, nous ne sommes plus que six. Et l’avion continue à virer, et à virer. Et la porte reste ouverte. Et mon cœur bat la chamade. Et la porte est toujours ouverte, et je sais que ça va être à moi, là. Je tremble de tous mes membres. Je jette immédiatement un œil par la porte, qui est restée ouverte, pour compter les coupoles. J’en vois une, deux, trois. Et la quatrième ? Ah si ! Les quatre se sont ouvertes. Ouf. Tout ce monde là est encore en vie. Il reste un espoir. Mais pourtant, ces vingt cinq kilos, comment vont-ils pouvoir faire autre chose que me propulser vers le bas ?
L’avion vient se placer de nouveau à la verticale du terrain. Je transpire par tous mes pores. Fausse alerte. Un hélicoptère monstrueux est sur la piste en train de charger son content de champions. Il faut refaire un tour. L’avion refait donc un tour. Et la porte est toujours ouvert, là, presque en face de moi, me présentant le vide qui va m’aspirer bientôt…
La lumière verte clignote et fait bip bip. L’instructeur désigne Thomas, moi, ainsi qu’un troisième larron, qui, comme nous, n’a rien fait de mal. Je me lève, jambes en coton, et je me place derrière Thomas, en faisant coulisser le crochet de mon parachute dans le rail qui va vers porte ouverte, vers la sortie, vers la gravité inexorable. Je me répète les geste, je me répète mentalement la phrase que je m’étais promis de crier en tombant.
Le larron, placé devant Thomas, disparaît.
Thomas disparaît.
Je suis dehors. Mon parachute ne se décroche pas du rail, peut être suis-je trop léger ? Du coup, je me retrouve plaqué à l’extérieur de l’avion, contre son fuselage pour un court instant.
Je tombe. Le silence se fait d’un coup. L’air et frais, et il y a la terre de Russie en bas ou en haut. Je ne sais pas dans quel sens je tombe. Lorsque je crie LA phrase, ma voix m’arrive par en dessus. Je tombe, et j’ai très peur. Mon corps, qui, lui, ne sait pas qu’il y a un machin en tissu pour le sauver, se sent littéralement en danger de mort. Il tombe, et moi avec, vers la fin. Je ne sais pas du tout combien de temps s’écoule. Une seconde, deux, trois ? Mais c’est très long. J’ai le temps de réaliser à quel point on peut avoir peur. Je craque, je tire la poignée avant que le parachute ne se déplie automatiquement, malgré la décision que j’avais prise de tenter de chuter le plus longtemps possible, jusqu’à l’ouverture automatique. Ce n’est pas tenable. C’est trop terrible. En tirant la poignée, je regarde simultanément vers le haut, et je vois que le parachute est en fait déjà entrain de sortir. J’ai donc tiré pour rien. Le processus automatique était déjà en cours. J’ai donc dû chuter trois secondes environ, le temps d’arriver à 30 mètres par secondes, soit cent kilomètres à l’heure. Le freinage se fait en douceur. Je ne sens rien. Seulement moins de vent. Et toujours le silence.
Retour à une perception rationnelle des éléments et du temps.
Je vérifie ma coupole. Tout à l’air bien. Je pense donc à désamorcer le parachute ventral. Dans la journée, trop de gens, dans leur perte de sang froid, l’avait oublié, et s’étaient retrouvés avec deux parachutes ouverts à partir de 300 mètres. Pas très malin, d’autant plus qu’il y a une taxe à payer pour le pliage de ces parachutes de sécurité qui sont censés ne pas être utilisés…
Je sors ensuite l’appareil photo de ma poche, et, les mains encore toutes tremblantes, j’essaye de ne pas le faire tomber (la forêt loin en dessous est longue à fouiller de fond en comble). Je prends quelques photos. C’est magnifique. Le soleil touche presque l’horizon. Il est presque dix heures. Je vois la dernière vague qui a sauté. Les trois parachutes sont ouverts, dont celui de Denis, au dessus de moi. Thomas, juste en dessous de moi a l’air bien. Le temps de faire les photos, je réalise que non, il n’a pas l���air bien. Il est entrain d’avoir un parachute qui lui sort du ventre. Aurait-il, lui aussi, oublié de le désamorcer ? Le voilà donc suspendu à deux coupoles. Il est ralenti. Je m’approche de plus en plus de lui. En vitesse, je range mon appareil, et m’apprête à un éventuel abordage. Je passe sous lui, à quelques dizaines de mètres. La dépression provoquée par mon passage lui fait perdre d’un coup toute sa portance. Il repasse sous moi, par une chute de quarante mètres, livide, puis se stabilise, plus mort que vif. Le vent nous sépare ensuite. Chacun suit son destin. Je me rends compte que le terrain n’est plus très loin. Je me prépare. J’essaye de comprendre comment j’arrive. J’arrive latéralement par rapport à ma vitesse horizontale. Il faut donc que je tourne mon corps de Quatre vingt dix degrés, le buste dans le même sens que la composante du mouvement horizontal. J’attrape les suspentes, mais dans la confusion, je me trompe de sens, me voilà arrivant en arrière. Je regarde le sol. Il vient vite vers moi. En effet, ce n’est pas moi qui vais vers lui. C’est lui qui vient à moi. Moi, j’ai l’impression d’être immobile dans l’air, vu le peu de vent relatif que je sens. J’essaye de rectifier dans une ultime tentative ma position. C’étais sans compter sur la vitesse du sol. Il fonce vraiment vers moi. Lorsque j’ai vu qu’il restait une dizaine de mètres, croyant avoir encore le temps de me tourner, je n’avais pas bien estimé à quel point le sol venait vite. Le temps de regarder mes suspentes, et je sens quelque chose qui vient cogner mes pieds extrêmement violemment. C’est le sol. Je me retrouve sous l’effet de la chute totalement étalé par terre, comme un sac de pommes de terres. Je me relève, heureux de n’avoir pas eu plus de mal que cela lors de la chute, et surtout, heureux d’être là, sur la Terre, debout, en vie. Heureux aussi de l’avoir fait, d’ « en être », dorénavant. Heureux de toucher la Terre en même temps que le Soleil, qui n’est plus qu’un demi disque disparaissant lentement vers la Pologne, puis la France. Thomas, pas très loin, ramasse son parachute. Il est très heureux aussi. Nous courons l’un vers l’autre, et nous tapons dans les mains. Lui, doit être encore plus heureux que moi d’être en vie, vu le rab de chute, non prévu celui-là, qu’il a eu. Nous marchons ensuite vers la base.
Le temps de tout rendre, de nous changer, de se faire signer le baptême de parachutisme, la nuit est presque totalement tombée. Nous nous dépêchons, encore tous excités par le saut, et forts inquiets de rater le dernier minibus pour Moscou.
Neuf heures trente. Le groupe devant nous a été largué. Dix coupoles sont ouvertes et touchent l’horizon. L’avion est en finale pour la piste en herbe. On nous demande de nous poster près de l’endroit où il s’arrêtera, sur le bord de la piste. Je répète : tout cela est-il bien raisonnable ?
L’avion arrive dans un grand fracas. Il s’arrête, mais laisse le moteur et son énorme hélice métallique quadripale tourner. On nous fait faire le tour par derrière, et nous montons par la porte latérale, celle par laquelle nous iront à la mort dans quelques minutes. Un surfeur blond nous accueille à bord et nous fait prendre place. A peine le temps de s’asseoir qu’une forte accélération nous plaque tous vers le fond de l’appareil, nous déséquilibrant (nous sommes assis latéralement par rapport à l’axe du fuselage). Le temps de se remettre sur les deux fesses, et nous apercevons déjà la campagne russe en bas, à travers les hublots. Les couleurs sont magnifiques.
Cette pensée est la dernière, dans mon souvenir, d’une perception rationnelle des évènements. A partir de maintenant, la peur commence à prendre de plus en plus de place. L’avion continue à monter. Il fait des circonvolutions. Je me dis qu’il était finalement préférable d’attendre quelques heures avant de monter dans ce truc là, histoire d’être définitivement débourré. Je me dis aussi que cette antiquité peut faire la maligne, ce n’est pas grave, on a des parachutes, on ne nous la fait pas. Nous nous regardons tous, en nous efforçant de sourire, comme si nous étions parfaitement détendus. Ce sont plus des grimaces que des sourires. Pendant la montée, l’instructeur nous attache les crochets de nos parachutes aux rails placés au plafond. Il retourne à sa place près de la porte, en face de laquelle, plus ou moins, je suis assis. Et puis d’un coup…
D’un coup, ce maître nageur tout sourire depuis le début du vol, tout en gardant ce sourire colgate énervant et rassurant, ouvre la porte sans crier gare. A partir de cet instant fatidique, l’irrationnel devient majoritaire dans mes perceptions. Une autre échelle de temps devient nécessaire pour les descriptions qui vont suivre, où la linéarité n’est plus de mise. Deux évènements simultanés pourront m’apparaître à deux instants distincts, et deux évènements successifs pourront m’apparaître au même instant, voire de manière inversée. Lorsqu’il ouvre cette porte sur le vide, le vent s’engouffre d’un coup dans toute la cabine. Le vent frais du soir et de l’altitude. L’ouverture de cette porte provoque en moi un réel effroi. Je me trouve d’un coup en prise directe avec le sol. Il n’y a plus d’obstacle entre lui et moi. Il ne dépend plus que de moi de le rejoindre, si j’en ai la volonté. L’aurai-je ? Les maisons apparaissent bien petites, tout en bas. Les forêts sont certes magnifiques, mais elles sont en bas. L’instructeur nous gueule des trucs, encore et encore, qui ne sont que des rabâchages destinés à focaliser notre concentration sur autre chose que sur la peur. Sur l’ordre des sauteurs, sur la position à adopter au moment de sauter, sur celle à adopter à l’atterrissage. A cause du bruit assourdissant du moteur et du vent, nous n’entendons rien.
L’avion tourne encore. L’ampoule verte se met d’un coup à clignoter, au rythme d’un signal sonore éloquent. L’instructeur, comme prévu, désigne les quatre premiers sauteurs. Il y a un homme très gros, un autre, Victor et Jean Marie. Les quatre plus lourds du groupe, dans l’ordre décroissant des poids. Je vois ces quatre personnes se lever avec des têtes de condamnés à mort. Ils se dirigent lentement vers la sortie, se mettent en rang, puis tout va très vite. L’instructeur tape dans le dos du premier, qui disparaît bel et bien, sans autre forme de procès. Le second subit le même sort, puis Victor, mon ami Victor. Diantre ! Reste en vie Victor ! Jean Marie ne tarde pas à le suivre dans l’inconnu.
Ca crée un vide. A priori rien ne s’est passé, le moteur continue de tourner comme un horloge, l’instructeur est toujours aussi calme, les visages des sauteurs toujours aussi livides. Simplement, au lieu d’être dix stagiaires, nous ne sommes plus que six. Et l’avion continue à virer, et à virer. Et la porte reste ouverte. Et mon cœur bat la chamade. Et la porte est toujours ouverte, et je sais que ça va être à moi, là. Je tremble de tous mes membres. Je jette immédiatement un œil par la porte, qui est restée ouverte, pour compter les coupoles. J’en vois une, deux, trois. Et la quatrième ? Ah si ! Les quatre se sont ouvertes. Ouf. Tout ce monde là est encore en vie. Il reste un espoir. Mais pourtant, ces vingt cinq kilos, comment vont-ils pouvoir faire autre chose que me propulser vers le bas ?
L’avion vient se placer de nouveau à la verticale du terrain. Je transpire par tous mes pores. Fausse alerte. Un hélicoptère monstrueux est sur la piste en train de charger son content de champions. Il faut refaire un tour. L’avion refait donc un tour. Et la porte est toujours ouvert, là, presque en face de moi, me présentant le vide qui va m’aspirer bientôt…
La lumière verte clignote et fait bip bip. L’instructeur désigne Thomas, moi, ainsi qu’un troisième larron, qui, comme nous, n’a rien fait de mal. Je me lève, jambes en coton, et je me place derrière Thomas, en faisant coulisser le crochet de mon parachute dans le rail qui va vers porte ouverte, vers la sortie, vers la gravité inexorable. Je me répète les geste, je me répète mentalement la phrase que je m’étais promis de crier en tombant.
Le larron, placé devant Thomas, disparaît.
Thomas disparaît.
Je suis dehors. Mon parachute ne se décroche pas du rail, peut être suis-je trop léger ? Du coup, je me retrouve plaqué à l’extérieur de l’avion, contre son fuselage pour un court instant.
Je tombe. Le silence se fait d’un coup. L’air et frais, et il y a la terre de Russie en bas ou en haut. Je ne sais pas dans quel sens je tombe. Lorsque je crie LA phrase, ma voix m’arrive par en dessus. Je tombe, et j’ai très peur. Mon corps, qui, lui, ne sait pas qu’il y a un machin en tissu pour le sauver, se sent littéralement en danger de mort. Il tombe, et moi avec, vers la fin. Je ne sais pas du tout combien de temps s’écoule. Une seconde, deux, trois ? Mais c’est très long. J’ai le temps de réaliser à quel point on peut avoir peur. Je craque, je tire la poignée avant que le parachute ne se déplie automatiquement, malgré la décision que j’avais prise de tenter de chuter le plus longtemps possible, jusqu’à l’ouverture automatique. Ce n’est pas tenable. C’est trop terrible. En tirant la poignée, je regarde simultanément vers le haut, et je vois que le parachute est en fait déjà entrain de sortir. J’ai donc tiré pour rien. Le processus automatique était déjà en cours. J’ai donc dû chuter trois secondes environ, le temps d’arriver à 30 mètres par secondes, soit cent kilomètres à l’heure. Le freinage se fait en douceur. Je ne sens rien. Seulement moins de vent. Et toujours le silence.
Retour à une perception rationnelle des éléments et du temps.
Je vérifie ma coupole. Tout à l’air bien. Je pense donc à désamorcer le parachute ventral. Dans la journée, trop de gens, dans leur perte de sang froid, l’avait oublié, et s’étaient retrouvés avec deux parachutes ouverts à partir de 300 mètres. Pas très malin, d’autant plus qu’il y a une taxe à payer pour le pliage de ces parachutes de sécurité qui sont censés ne pas être utilisés…
Je sors ensuite l’appareil photo de ma poche, et, les mains encore toutes tremblantes, j’essaye de ne pas le faire tomber (la forêt loin en dessous est longue à fouiller de fond en comble). Je prends quelques photos. C’est magnifique. Le soleil touche presque l’horizon. Il est presque dix heures. Je vois la dernière vague qui a sauté. Les trois parachutes sont ouverts, dont celui de Denis, au dessus de moi. Thomas, juste en dessous de moi a l’air bien. Le temps de faire les photos, je réalise que non, il n’a pas l���air bien. Il est entrain d’avoir un parachute qui lui sort du ventre. Aurait-il, lui aussi, oublié de le désamorcer ? Le voilà donc suspendu à deux coupoles. Il est ralenti. Je m’approche de plus en plus de lui. En vitesse, je range mon appareil, et m’apprête à un éventuel abordage. Je passe sous lui, à quelques dizaines de mètres. La dépression provoquée par mon passage lui fait perdre d’un coup toute sa portance. Il repasse sous moi, par une chute de quarante mètres, livide, puis se stabilise, plus mort que vif. Le vent nous sépare ensuite. Chacun suit son destin. Je me rends compte que le terrain n’est plus très loin. Je me prépare. J’essaye de comprendre comment j’arrive. J’arrive latéralement par rapport à ma vitesse horizontale. Il faut donc que je tourne mon corps de Quatre vingt dix degrés, le buste dans le même sens que la composante du mouvement horizontal. J’attrape les suspentes, mais dans la confusion, je me trompe de sens, me voilà arrivant en arrière. Je regarde le sol. Il vient vite vers moi. En effet, ce n’est pas moi qui vais vers lui. C’est lui qui vient à moi. Moi, j’ai l’impression d’être immobile dans l’air, vu le peu de vent relatif que je sens. J’essaye de rectifier dans une ultime tentative ma position. C’étais sans compter sur la vitesse du sol. Il fonce vraiment vers moi. Lorsque j’ai vu qu’il restait une dizaine de mètres, croyant avoir encore le temps de me tourner, je n’avais pas bien estimé à quel point le sol venait vite. Le temps de regarder mes suspentes, et je sens quelque chose qui vient cogner mes pieds extrêmement violemment. C’est le sol. Je me retrouve sous l’effet de la chute totalement étalé par terre, comme un sac de pommes de terres. Je me relève, heureux de n’avoir pas eu plus de mal que cela lors de la chute, et surtout, heureux d’être là, sur la Terre, debout, en vie. Heureux aussi de l’avoir fait, d’ « en être », dorénavant. Heureux de toucher la Terre en même temps que le Soleil, qui n’est plus qu’un demi disque disparaissant lentement vers la Pologne, puis la France. Thomas, pas très loin, ramasse son parachute. Il est très heureux aussi. Nous courons l’un vers l’autre, et nous tapons dans les mains. Lui, doit être encore plus heureux que moi d’être en vie, vu le rab de chute, non prévu celui-là, qu’il a eu. Nous marchons ensuite vers la base.
Le temps de tout rendre, de nous changer, de se faire signer le baptême de parachutisme, la nuit est presque totalement tombée. Nous nous dépêchons, encore tous excités par le saut, et forts inquiets de rater le dernier minibus pour Moscou.
Geantropie, Vivre l'espace
http://geantropie.free.fr
Lorsque nous arrivons à la route principale, c’est le cas. Plus de bus. Plus de transports, plus rien. Nous marchons tous les cinq le long de la route, avec d’autres personnes, qui, comme nous, se sont retrouvées piégées. Nous essayons quelques tentatives de stops, en vain. Nous marchons longtemps. Nous achetons des produits à une boutique près de la route, puis marchons encore une bonne heure. Il fait totalement nuit. Chacun repense à son saut. Nous échangeons nos impressions. Au bout d’un temps, il faut prendre une décision. Moscou est à plusieurs dizaines de kilomètres. On ne peut y aller à pieds. Un autochtone nous indique une gare perdue dans la forêt, près d’un village situé à quelques kilomètres. Nous nous y rendons. Parvenus à la gare, où il n’y a aucun panneau d’horaire et aucun bâtiment ouvert, nous nous disposons à y passer la nuit. Sur le côté du quai, c’est directement la forêt. Nous décidons de faire un feu, et de tenter de dormir près du feu. Un clochard rôde dans le coin, dans un état de santé déplorable. Il nous demande des cigarettes. Nous n’en avons pas. Nous ramassons du bois, ce n’est pas ça qui manque. Puis vient le moment de sortir le briquet que j’ai toujours sur moi, pour parer à toutes éventualités. Enfin, presque toujours. Justement, quand il nous aurait bien servi, je ne l’ai pas. Maudit alcool qui me l’a fait l’oublier ce matin dans mon brouillard éthylique. Comment allons nous passer la nuit ? Il commence à faire frisquet, là. L’histoire s’arrange, car le clochard a du feu. Il nous le prête, et du coup, reste avec nous près du foyer. Nous mangeons ensemble, partageons le repas avec lui, et les bouteilles d’eau, à même le goulot. Il croque allègrement à pleine bouche dans le pain. Vu son état de santé, on ne peut pas ne pas hésiter à manger derrière lui. Moi, j’ai trop faim, et je fais confiance à mes globules blancs. Dans ces cas là, ça sert bien.
La nuit dure longtemps. Le feu est faible. Il fait froid, nous dormons presque dans le feu, tellement nous avons besoin de sa chaleur. Des heures durant, nous patientons, attendant un hypothétique train, recroquevillés sur nous même, grelottant, épuisés, sommeillant à moitié, maudissant la malchance. En effet, durant presque deux mois, il a fait une canicule que les russes n’avaient pas vue depuis cent cinquante ans, à mal dormir la nuit à cause de la chaleur. La seule nuit où cela aurait été bienvenu, il s’est mis à faire de nouveau assez frais. Les heures passent. Encore une fois, je me dis que c’est fou comme le temps peu passer lentement, et comment il finit toujours par passer, malgré tout. Au lever du jour, un train arrive. Nous y montons, totalement transis, laissant le clochard terminer ses derniers jours de vie, et nous nous écroulons sur les banquettes. Une demie-heure plus tard, nous sommes réveillés par la douceur des rayons du soleil qui nous réchauffent doucement à travers les vitres. Nous sommes à Moscou. Encore un métro, et nous voilà de retour au foyer. Les autres français ne sont pas là. Ma « décoration » est toujours là, séchée, et je mets longtemps à la nettoyer. Ensuite, je regagne mon lit, enfin libéré des putschistes, et je m’endors, me demandant si tout cela n’était, finalement, pas un rêve.
La nuit dure longtemps. Le feu est faible. Il fait froid, nous dormons presque dans le feu, tellement nous avons besoin de sa chaleur. Des heures durant, nous patientons, attendant un hypothétique train, recroquevillés sur nous même, grelottant, épuisés, sommeillant à moitié, maudissant la malchance. En effet, durant presque deux mois, il a fait une canicule que les russes n’avaient pas vue depuis cent cinquante ans, à mal dormir la nuit à cause de la chaleur. La seule nuit où cela aurait été bienvenu, il s’est mis à faire de nouveau assez frais. Les heures passent. Encore une fois, je me dis que c’est fou comme le temps peu passer lentement, et comment il finit toujours par passer, malgré tout. Au lever du jour, un train arrive. Nous y montons, totalement transis, laissant le clochard terminer ses derniers jours de vie, et nous nous écroulons sur les banquettes. Une demie-heure plus tard, nous sommes réveillés par la douceur des rayons du soleil qui nous réchauffent doucement à travers les vitres. Nous sommes à Moscou. Encore un métro, et nous voilà de retour au foyer. Les autres français ne sont pas là. Ma « décoration » est toujours là, séchée, et je mets longtemps à la nettoyer. Ensuite, je regagne mon lit, enfin libéré des putschistes, et je m’endors, me demandant si tout cela n’était, finalement, pas un rêve.
Geantropie, Vivre l'espace
http://geantropie.free.fr
🤪....Comment dire....? on a des projets avec Douya de saut en parachute, mais là je sais plus trop, ton récit nous fait un peu trop réfléchir, un peu trop stressé......
Tu aurais pu dire " on est monté dans l'avion.....on rigolait tous, la porte s'est ouverte, le vent frais de Russie fouettait nos visages, on était heureux de ce saut.....j'ai sauté, impression de sérénité complète.....paradis absolu....." même si à l'arrivée ce fut celà, mais les préliminaires.....mon dieu.....🤪😕.....
Merlin, t'es encore là......? 😏
Tu aurais pu dire " on est monté dans l'avion.....on rigolait tous, la porte s'est ouverte, le vent frais de Russie fouettait nos visages, on était heureux de ce saut.....j'ai sauté, impression de sérénité complète.....paradis absolu....." même si à l'arrivée ce fut celà, mais les préliminaires.....mon dieu.....🤪😕.....
Merlin, t'es encore là......? 😏
Merci Loopkin, d'avoir partagé ces 24 h hors norme avec nous.
J'ai eu le sentiment d'être dans ta tête et de vivre ta peur, moi qui ne sauterait probablement jamais en parachute (j'ai le vertige en haut des pistes de ski 🤪) ma seule expérience en matière de parachute est celle du parachute ascentionnel, ce qui n'a évidemment rien à voir au niveau des sensations
On s'y croirait, tout est tellement réaliste (y compris ta "décoration") Je crois que le récit de la soirée qui a précédé serait aussi un grand moment de littérature 😛
Et bien sûr, après ce premier saut presque malgré toi, tu n'as plus jamais cessé de sauter ?
J'ai eu le sentiment d'être dans ta tête et de vivre ta peur, moi qui ne sauterait probablement jamais en parachute (j'ai le vertige en haut des pistes de ski 🤪) ma seule expérience en matière de parachute est celle du parachute ascentionnel, ce qui n'a évidemment rien à voir au niveau des sensations
On s'y croirait, tout est tellement réaliste (y compris ta "décoration") Je crois que le récit de la soirée qui a précédé serait aussi un grand moment de littérature 😛
Et bien sûr, après ce premier saut presque malgré toi, tu n'as plus jamais cessé de sauter ?
Seshat
Aimer s'instruire, être curieux, attentif, admirer, s'émouvoir, essayer de comprendre ce qui nous entoure... essayer de se coucher un peu moins con chaque soir !(Anna Gavalda)
Aimer s'instruire, être curieux, attentif, admirer, s'émouvoir, essayer de comprendre ce qui nous entoure... essayer de se coucher un peu moins con chaque soir !(Anna Gavalda)
Quel grand saut, super ton récit 😉
http://www.aventuren4x4.com
Carnet Namibie : https://voyageforum.com/discussion/namibie-amie-d9300813/
Carnet Grizzlys : Carnet Grizzlys : https://voyageforum.com/v.f?post=9308751;page=last;#last
Pas exactement.
En fait, à l'atterrissage, et l'année qui a suivi, je me suis dit: "plus jamais ça!!!, c'est trop affreux!".
Evidemment, le temps a gommé le côté affreux de la peur, en ne laissant que le positif. Depuis quelques années, j'ai trop envie de recommencer. J'ai failli en refaire en Russie en 2002, mais le temps fut mauvais, donc on a annulé. Je pense que j'en referai, c'est clair. Par contre, j'ai souvent mis des parachutes, à chaque fois que je prenais un Iak 52 ou un Cap 10, mais heureusement, je n'ai jamais eu l'occasion de les tester... A chaque fois, après moultes figures dignes de nouvelles décorations (quelquefois, quand estomac dans le rouge et pas de sacs...), on revenait toujours se poser, si bien que dans ma vie, je n'ai fait, au final, qu'un décollage de plus qu'un atterro, et encore, en tant que passager.
J'ai des copains qui ont fait une chute libre (elle en tandem avec un instructeur, lui seul, encadré par deux instructeurs à côté de lui) au dessus du Lac du Bourget, avec vidéo et tout le bordel, et franchement, ça donnait G R A V E envie de le faire. Donc, oui, une chute libre au dessus d'un paysage de dingues, oui, ça me dit bien.
Concernant la soirée sur le toit, c'est une autre tranche de vie en voyage. Oui, je pourrais raconter. Une autre fois (il ne faut pas tout dévoiler d'un coup). Mais c'est vrai qu'on s'en est payés des bons moments!
En tout cas, merci à tous pour vos réactions, ça fait plaisir.
En fait, à l'atterrissage, et l'année qui a suivi, je me suis dit: "plus jamais ça!!!, c'est trop affreux!".
Evidemment, le temps a gommé le côté affreux de la peur, en ne laissant que le positif. Depuis quelques années, j'ai trop envie de recommencer. J'ai failli en refaire en Russie en 2002, mais le temps fut mauvais, donc on a annulé. Je pense que j'en referai, c'est clair. Par contre, j'ai souvent mis des parachutes, à chaque fois que je prenais un Iak 52 ou un Cap 10, mais heureusement, je n'ai jamais eu l'occasion de les tester... A chaque fois, après moultes figures dignes de nouvelles décorations (quelquefois, quand estomac dans le rouge et pas de sacs...), on revenait toujours se poser, si bien que dans ma vie, je n'ai fait, au final, qu'un décollage de plus qu'un atterro, et encore, en tant que passager.
J'ai des copains qui ont fait une chute libre (elle en tandem avec un instructeur, lui seul, encadré par deux instructeurs à côté de lui) au dessus du Lac du Bourget, avec vidéo et tout le bordel, et franchement, ça donnait G R A V E envie de le faire. Donc, oui, une chute libre au dessus d'un paysage de dingues, oui, ça me dit bien.
Concernant la soirée sur le toit, c'est une autre tranche de vie en voyage. Oui, je pourrais raconter. Une autre fois (il ne faut pas tout dévoiler d'un coup). Mais c'est vrai qu'on s'en est payés des bons moments!
En tout cas, merci à tous pour vos réactions, ça fait plaisir.
Geantropie, Vivre l'espace
http://geantropie.free.fr
J'ai la tête qui tourne!!! 😄
Génial! Merci tout plein!
Fainéanter dans un monde neuf est la plus absorbante des occupations... (N.Bouvier)
Comment ca, Alan, tu me laisserais tomber ?!! 😠
Faut pas se laisser troubler par la galette et le briquet. Moi je compte toujours sur toi !!! Si tu veux, on peut commencer par parapente a Gourdon, puis le grand saut au dessus du Verdon ! 😎
Hein, t'es un homme, un vrai de vrai, alors tu vas LE FAIRE !!!
Douya
Faut pas se laisser troubler par la galette et le briquet. Moi je compte toujours sur toi !!! Si tu veux, on peut commencer par parapente a Gourdon, puis le grand saut au dessus du Verdon ! 😎
Hein, t'es un homme, un vrai de vrai, alors tu vas LE FAIRE !!!
Douya
"Lorsque quelqu’un te blesse, tu devrais l’écrire sur le sable afin que le vent l’efface de ta mémoire mais lorsque quelqu’un fait quelque chose de bon pour toi, tu dois l’écrire sur la pierre afin que le vent ne l’efface jamais."
Proverbe Touareg
Merci de ce récit très vivant qui raconte 2 histoires, celle d'une gueule de bois et celle d'un premier saut en parachute dans des conditions spartiates.
Mais non!!!!!!!Il faut pas avoir peur!!!!!Il faut avoir du courage dans la vie......alors si t'avais l'idée de faire un saut en parachute, fais-le!!!!!😛 T'es un homme n'est ce pas?😉
Souriez et la vie vous semblera bien plus belle ;)
wouhou ! Ce devait vraiment être intense ! Bah ça me donne des idées ça ! Quoique... disons que ça me trottait dejà ds la tête puisque j'ai prévu de faire une préparation militaire parchutiste ! et puis le premier qui me dis quoi que ce soit à propos de l'armée, surtout si c'est négatif qu'il sache que je lui répondrai avec des arguments qui tiennent la route 😉.
T'as fais du cap 10 🙂 j'en rêve ! dés que j'ai fini ma pellicule photo je scannerai les photos du cap 10 et du cap 231 ex du club ! (je rêve chaque jour de les piloter ou même rien que de monter à bord)
Là seul fois où je suis montée dans un cap 10 c'était pour faire un "point fixe" avec le chef mécano du club donc on a fait 50 m de roulage à tout casser quoi... mais j'ai adoré !
Bon je me tais je fais un Hors sujet là...😎
T'as fais du cap 10 🙂 j'en rêve ! dés que j'ai fini ma pellicule photo je scannerai les photos du cap 10 et du cap 231 ex du club ! (je rêve chaque jour de les piloter ou même rien que de monter à bord)
Là seul fois où je suis montée dans un cap 10 c'était pour faire un "point fixe" avec le chef mécano du club donc on a fait 50 m de roulage à tout casser quoi... mais j'ai adoré !
Bon je me tais je fais un Hors sujet là...😎
Le plus bel endroit du monde se situe entre la stratosphère et le sol et c'est exactement le niveau d'évolution d'un aéronef ^^
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Hi everyone,
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.

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.

Preamble: Why La Gomera?
When we started looking for a summer destination a few months ago, our first criterion was to avoid extreme heat and heatwaves. We had already been to Norway two years ago and are considering going back in the future for other occasions. So, we had some fun asking ChatGPT which destinations enjoyed a mild climate during the summer without going too far. Among the list provided by the AI were the Canary Islands... The idea of a place we wouldn’t have thought of first, both not too far away and exotic enough, appealed to us: “Hmm, why not?”
This destination had never really attracted me, though Magali was a bit more interested. Five years earlier, COVID had caused a short break in my professional activity, and I had planned a trip because the flight price was attractive, and I was looking for a destination different from what usually appeals to me, more than out of deep interest. From a distance and with a social judgment I acknowledge (it’s not great, but it’s not completely wrong), I had the image of a destination for party-goers enjoying the sun without the slightest interest in local culture, with concrete coastlines and denatured landscapes—everything I detest the most. Still, I had done some quick research on the different islands and spotted Lanzarote for its beautiful volcanic landscapes, hiking trails, beaches, and the impression of a good balance between activity and fewer crowds than Tenerife or Gran Canaria. Then I dropped the idea of going, without ever reconsidering traveling to the Canaries...
Until now! Because we started researching the different islands of the archipelago to see which ones might appeal to us the most. It was La Gomera, the third smallest island of the archipelago, more praised for its hiking trails and preserved nature than for its beaches, away from mass tourism (fifty times fewer tourists than Tenerife) but still a bit more developed than its wild neighbor El Hierro, that caught our attention. Contrary to what might be suggested later, I’m not at all addicted to AI, but I use it from time to time to synthesize quick research or simply for experimentation. Since ChatGPT had started anticipating my tastes lately as if it had become my buddy (often successfully, sometimes off the mark), I asked which Canary Island would suit me best for a trip with my family. The tool answered first with... La Gomera. So, I tested it and teased it a bit to see if this suggestion was well-founded, as the method sometimes makes it contradict itself. But no luck: “You’d appreciate the wild nature of El Hierro, but with family, you’ll find little activity for the kids. You won’t like the touristy vibe of the big islands like Tenerife, Gran Canaria, Lanzarote, and Fuerteventura. You could consider La Palma, but it’s really La Gomera that will suit you best, based on your interests and the criteria given.” So, we dug deeper into our research and were convinced without a shadow of a doubt that this island was the one waiting for us.
Without knowing it, we had Canarians in our circle who revealed their origins when they heard about our travel plans. One from Tenerife insisted we’d be better off choosing Tenerife (obviously...) because it also has preserved spots and that La Gomera, “you can explore it in two or three days, you’ll get bored quickly...” The other, a colleague from Gran Canaria who had never visited La Gomera, still recommended it without hesitation because it turned out her parents had just gone there on vacation: they loved it and had encountered few tourists. She also tended to think this destination was usually the subject of short stays, but according to what her parents told her, taking your time there was also a great idea. However, in our research, the idea that La Gomera is an island you can explore in three or four days max kept coming up. So, we considered combining its visit with La Palma or El Hierro, the other two that caught our eye. But hopping between islands by ferry represents a significant budget for non-Canarians, even more so for a family of four. Then, scrutinizing Google Maps, it seemed obvious that two weeks were too short to discover two islands as they deserve, and that there seemed to be plenty to see in La Gomera, given its very unique culture. After all, we read that some people spend several months a year there, others never even leave... Finally, these landscapes and this atmosphere, which seemed to us a mix of Europe, North Africa, and Latin America, tempted us. So, it would be two weeks in La Gomera, deal!
La Gomera is therefore the second... well, the third smallest island of the Canaries since La Graciosa was recently recognized as a fully inhabited island. It has the shape of a rough circle about 20 to 25 kilometers in diameter and has just over 20,000 inhabitants, half of them in its capital, San Sebastián de la Gomera, the only real town. Like its Canarian sisters, La Gomera is a volcanic formation that rose about 10 million years ago. The island is very mountainous and rugged, covered with red and black rocky landscapes. Geological activity has shaped, between the sprawling massifs that end in steep cliffs in the ocean, six coastal valleys with tropical vegetation that have favored human settlement. They divide the island like slices of a cake; from the north clockwise: the agricultural Vallehermoso, the rustic Agulo, the green, humid, and fertile Hermigua, the sunny capital San Sebastián de la Gomera, the southern and isolated Alajeró-Santiago, and the seaside Valle Gran Rey. They constitute the six municipalities (more like cantons to our French understanding) of the territory.
The large solidified magma massifs that shape the heart of the island have created a large depression more protected from the sun at its center, allowing the growth of a vast laurel forest, today grouped within the Garajonay National Park, La Gomera’s green lung, which has earned it the status of a World Biosphere Reserve. Its completely European appearance contrasts sharply with the rocky and tropical landscapes of the rest of the island. Thus, the climate varies greatly from one point to another on the island: in summer, you can quickly go from a dry and sunny valley at 35°C to a humid forest area at altitude at 18°C.
La Gomera was populated late. As with the rest of the Canaries, human presence is thought to have begun about 2,000 years ago. Groups of animist Berbers, probably fleeing persecution, gradually populated the archipelago, especially the western islands and La Gomera, becoming its small aboriginal population: the Guanches (or later Gomeros). The animist and pastoral civilization of the Guanches thrived until the Spanish takeover in the 15th century, which, after a short period of harmony and mixing with the indigenous people, suddenly ended in bloodshed... La Gomera later became the “Columbus Island” after Christopher Columbus’s stopover, increasing the blending of populations. In the 20th century, many Gomeros emigrated to Cuba and other Latin American countries in search of a better life, bringing back a mix of cultures and traits quite palpable in today’s Gomeran culture. It is, however, in La Gomera that the vestiges of Guanche culture seem to have left the most traces, in the language, gastronomy, social practices... Moreover, most Gomeros, especially in remote villages, have a particular identifiable type and proudly claim their ancestral roots, even making La Gomera a bit exotic in the eyes of other Canarians.
Perhaps that’s why it has never really wanted to develop its tourist infrastructure too much. If we set aside the tourists who visit for the day by bus or boat from Tenerife on a marked itinerary (and whom we ultimately rarely encounter), La Gomera has remained a hidden gem, a destination focused on nature discovery that attracts hikers, nature-loving divers, and scientists for its fauna and flora, and to a lesser extent, beachgoers who don’t seek overly developed coastlines. Tourist activity is therefore limited. Roughly speaking, you’ll find a majority of Spaniards, including a substantial number of residents from other Canary Islands, many Germans who have a particular fondness for La Gomera and spend long stays there or own second homes, to the point that the German cultural footprint is clearly noticeable in some places (it’s said to be Angela Merkel’s favorite holiday spot), and still quite a few French. The presence of other nationalities seemed negligible to us. Most travelers come mainly for hiking, but it’s also a prime spot for whale watching. Additionally, the seaside resorts of La Gomera—San Sebastián, Santiago, and especially Valle Gran Rey—are well-known destinations for hippies, especially German ones, ranging from chic boho hippies to old-school hippies who’ve been there for decades, quite similar to those you’d meet in India in Goa, Rishikesh, or Paharganj. Thus, practices like naturism, vegetarianism, and local organic production are quite well established in some areas.
Some practical info: - The round-trip flight from Paris to Tenerife cost us 365 € per person (outbound with Transavia, return with EasyJet), including checked luggage and three seats reserved side by side. - We chose two bases to explore the island: one week in Valle Gran Rey, reputed to be the most pleasant of the three seaside resorts, and one week in Hermigua, more mountainous and close to the natural park. We booked two houses with balconies and views: the first at 120 € per night, the second at 99 €. - The round-trip ferry between Tenerife and La Gomera cost us 270 € with the company Baleària Canarias, including discounts for children aged 4 and 12, but I don’t have the exact details. It was a bit cheaper than with the other company, Fred Olsen. - Finally, we rented a car through the agency Cicar for 360 € for 16 days, which comes to 22.50 € per day. - Apart from that, we didn’t plan anything and decided the day before or even the morning of what we wanted to do. We didn’t invest in any paper guide on the Canaries, as information on La Gomera was scarce, but we used the very comprehensive site La Gomera Travel, a travel guide published by the Canary Islands Tourism Council, a real goldmine of almost exhaustive information on the island.
Alright, off we go for 16 days of adventure discovering La Gomera!

And we start the trip with music!
We start the trip with music!
When we started looking for a summer destination a few months ago, our first criterion was to avoid extreme heat and heatwaves. We had already been to Norway two years ago and are considering going back in the future for other occasions. So, we had some fun asking ChatGPT which destinations enjoyed a mild climate during the summer without going too far. Among the list provided by the AI were the Canary Islands... The idea of a place we wouldn’t have thought of first, both not too far away and exotic enough, appealed to us: “Hmm, why not?”
This destination had never really attracted me, though Magali was a bit more interested. Five years earlier, COVID had caused a short break in my professional activity, and I had planned a trip because the flight price was attractive, and I was looking for a destination different from what usually appeals to me, more than out of deep interest. From a distance and with a social judgment I acknowledge (it’s not great, but it’s not completely wrong), I had the image of a destination for party-goers enjoying the sun without the slightest interest in local culture, with concrete coastlines and denatured landscapes—everything I detest the most. Still, I had done some quick research on the different islands and spotted Lanzarote for its beautiful volcanic landscapes, hiking trails, beaches, and the impression of a good balance between activity and fewer crowds than Tenerife or Gran Canaria. Then I dropped the idea of going, without ever reconsidering traveling to the Canaries...
Until now! Because we started researching the different islands of the archipelago to see which ones might appeal to us the most. It was La Gomera, the third smallest island of the archipelago, more praised for its hiking trails and preserved nature than for its beaches, away from mass tourism (fifty times fewer tourists than Tenerife) but still a bit more developed than its wild neighbor El Hierro, that caught our attention. Contrary to what might be suggested later, I’m not at all addicted to AI, but I use it from time to time to synthesize quick research or simply for experimentation. Since ChatGPT had started anticipating my tastes lately as if it had become my buddy (often successfully, sometimes off the mark), I asked which Canary Island would suit me best for a trip with my family. The tool answered first with... La Gomera. So, I tested it and teased it a bit to see if this suggestion was well-founded, as the method sometimes makes it contradict itself. But no luck: “You’d appreciate the wild nature of El Hierro, but with family, you’ll find little activity for the kids. You won’t like the touristy vibe of the big islands like Tenerife, Gran Canaria, Lanzarote, and Fuerteventura. You could consider La Palma, but it’s really La Gomera that will suit you best, based on your interests and the criteria given.” So, we dug deeper into our research and were convinced without a shadow of a doubt that this island was the one waiting for us.
Without knowing it, we had Canarians in our circle who revealed their origins when they heard about our travel plans. One from Tenerife insisted we’d be better off choosing Tenerife (obviously...) because it also has preserved spots and that La Gomera, “you can explore it in two or three days, you’ll get bored quickly...” The other, a colleague from Gran Canaria who had never visited La Gomera, still recommended it without hesitation because it turned out her parents had just gone there on vacation: they loved it and had encountered few tourists. She also tended to think this destination was usually the subject of short stays, but according to what her parents told her, taking your time there was also a great idea. However, in our research, the idea that La Gomera is an island you can explore in three or four days max kept coming up. So, we considered combining its visit with La Palma or El Hierro, the other two that caught our eye. But hopping between islands by ferry represents a significant budget for non-Canarians, even more so for a family of four. Then, scrutinizing Google Maps, it seemed obvious that two weeks were too short to discover two islands as they deserve, and that there seemed to be plenty to see in La Gomera, given its very unique culture. After all, we read that some people spend several months a year there, others never even leave... Finally, these landscapes and this atmosphere, which seemed to us a mix of Europe, North Africa, and Latin America, tempted us. So, it would be two weeks in La Gomera, deal!
La Gomera is therefore the second... well, the third smallest island of the Canaries since La Graciosa was recently recognized as a fully inhabited island. It has the shape of a rough circle about 20 to 25 kilometers in diameter and has just over 20,000 inhabitants, half of them in its capital, San Sebastián de la Gomera, the only real town. Like its Canarian sisters, La Gomera is a volcanic formation that rose about 10 million years ago. The island is very mountainous and rugged, covered with red and black rocky landscapes. Geological activity has shaped, between the sprawling massifs that end in steep cliffs in the ocean, six coastal valleys with tropical vegetation that have favored human settlement. They divide the island like slices of a cake; from the north clockwise: the agricultural Vallehermoso, the rustic Agulo, the green, humid, and fertile Hermigua, the sunny capital San Sebastián de la Gomera, the southern and isolated Alajeró-Santiago, and the seaside Valle Gran Rey. They constitute the six municipalities (more like cantons to our French understanding) of the territory.
The large solidified magma massifs that shape the heart of the island have created a large depression more protected from the sun at its center, allowing the growth of a vast laurel forest, today grouped within the Garajonay National Park, La Gomera’s green lung, which has earned it the status of a World Biosphere Reserve. Its completely European appearance contrasts sharply with the rocky and tropical landscapes of the rest of the island. Thus, the climate varies greatly from one point to another on the island: in summer, you can quickly go from a dry and sunny valley at 35°C to a humid forest area at altitude at 18°C.La Gomera was populated late. As with the rest of the Canaries, human presence is thought to have begun about 2,000 years ago. Groups of animist Berbers, probably fleeing persecution, gradually populated the archipelago, especially the western islands and La Gomera, becoming its small aboriginal population: the Guanches (or later Gomeros). The animist and pastoral civilization of the Guanches thrived until the Spanish takeover in the 15th century, which, after a short period of harmony and mixing with the indigenous people, suddenly ended in bloodshed... La Gomera later became the “Columbus Island” after Christopher Columbus’s stopover, increasing the blending of populations. In the 20th century, many Gomeros emigrated to Cuba and other Latin American countries in search of a better life, bringing back a mix of cultures and traits quite palpable in today’s Gomeran culture. It is, however, in La Gomera that the vestiges of Guanche culture seem to have left the most traces, in the language, gastronomy, social practices... Moreover, most Gomeros, especially in remote villages, have a particular identifiable type and proudly claim their ancestral roots, even making La Gomera a bit exotic in the eyes of other Canarians.
Perhaps that’s why it has never really wanted to develop its tourist infrastructure too much. If we set aside the tourists who visit for the day by bus or boat from Tenerife on a marked itinerary (and whom we ultimately rarely encounter), La Gomera has remained a hidden gem, a destination focused on nature discovery that attracts hikers, nature-loving divers, and scientists for its fauna and flora, and to a lesser extent, beachgoers who don’t seek overly developed coastlines. Tourist activity is therefore limited. Roughly speaking, you’ll find a majority of Spaniards, including a substantial number of residents from other Canary Islands, many Germans who have a particular fondness for La Gomera and spend long stays there or own second homes, to the point that the German cultural footprint is clearly noticeable in some places (it’s said to be Angela Merkel’s favorite holiday spot), and still quite a few French. The presence of other nationalities seemed negligible to us. Most travelers come mainly for hiking, but it’s also a prime spot for whale watching. Additionally, the seaside resorts of La Gomera—San Sebastián, Santiago, and especially Valle Gran Rey—are well-known destinations for hippies, especially German ones, ranging from chic boho hippies to old-school hippies who’ve been there for decades, quite similar to those you’d meet in India in Goa, Rishikesh, or Paharganj. Thus, practices like naturism, vegetarianism, and local organic production are quite well established in some areas.
Some practical info: - The round-trip flight from Paris to Tenerife cost us 365 € per person (outbound with Transavia, return with EasyJet), including checked luggage and three seats reserved side by side. - We chose two bases to explore the island: one week in Valle Gran Rey, reputed to be the most pleasant of the three seaside resorts, and one week in Hermigua, more mountainous and close to the natural park. We booked two houses with balconies and views: the first at 120 € per night, the second at 99 €. - The round-trip ferry between Tenerife and La Gomera cost us 270 € with the company Baleària Canarias, including discounts for children aged 4 and 12, but I don’t have the exact details. It was a bit cheaper than with the other company, Fred Olsen. - Finally, we rented a car through the agency Cicar for 360 € for 16 days, which comes to 22.50 € per day. - Apart from that, we didn’t plan anything and decided the day before or even the morning of what we wanted to do. We didn’t invest in any paper guide on the Canaries, as information on La Gomera was scarce, but we used the very comprehensive site La Gomera Travel, a travel guide published by the Canary Islands Tourism Council, a real goldmine of almost exhaustive information on the island.
Alright, off we go for 16 days of adventure discovering La Gomera!

And we start the trip with music!
We start the trip with music!
April 11 – Day 1
It was winter, a winter with beautiful weather, A season that only exists in the southwest of America, I remember very well what I told you that morning A month ago... A century ago, an eternity ago... We’ll go... wherever you want, whenever you want...
Well, yeah, back from our adventure in our enchanting American West just a month ago, we’re already taking a bite out of one of its lesser-known competitors. "Flo, if you had to pick just one reason to justify your love for the U.S., what would it be?" The greasy, dripping burgers? No, I don’t think I’m going out on a limb by saying it’d be the wide-open spaces... And that’s exactly what our new quest is taking us to—a land on the other side of the globe where the horizon also seems endless, where silence tastes like salty wind and sand, where freedom is measured in kilometers of desert tracks, where the GPS is mostly there to confirm you’re lost in the middle of nowhere... Add to that magic formula the fact that you’ll see more zebras, giraffes, wildebeest, and elephants than people per square kilometer, and you can imagine us setting foot in Southern Africa for the first time, more precisely at the small airport in Windhoek, capital of... of...? Brush up on your geography, damn it! We’re landing in Namibia!!!

To be honest, Namibian landscapes have been flirting with me for ages. So how did I resist this island of temptation for so long? First, the budget. Let’s just say that for the same amount of effort (and kidneys), the bank lets you choose two other adventures almost anywhere else on the planet. Then there were my girls. Yeah, back then, they were too little to dose up on Malarone, the only malaria remedy at the time... Long story short, ten years later, all the planets have aligned. First, I won the Euromillions! Well, almost... Let’s just say my girls are now old enough... not to take Malarone, but to stop following me on all my adventures! Jackpot! "Flo, how about a little two-person caprice, just the two of us, tackling the Namibian tracks?"

As we landed on the runway, first wow effect: The horizon is immense. It’s flat as can be, incredibly flat... So much flat space! Did I mention it was flat?... Looking into the distance, it feels like your gaze could circle the Earth without hitting a single obstacle—until you end up staring at your own backside. "Oh, what a nice view!" Well, it’s the first time I’ve seen my butt from this angle! Touching moment... Sorry, I’m rambling—must be the exhaustion from the three-flight marathon we just powered through via Ethiopia and South Africa... And yet, no time to philosophize about my anatomy. As usual, we want to rack up our first kilometers to be front and center at dawn tomorrow. After wrapping up the tedious Namibian immigration formalities and meeting the 4x4 that’ll be our companion day and night for the next fifteen days, we’re off! We’re not exactly fresh, but we’re ready to tackle the next five hundred kilometers in night mode, cruise control set due south! Just outside Windhoek, the local wildlife—a jackal—welcomes us with a smile: "Welcome to Namibia!" That’s what it said! Honest... Okay, first endless straight road, first flaming sunset, first corrugated dirt track, first Milky Way with zero light pollution... You get it—it’s definitely the day of firsts... First night camping, too, in the big trunk of our Toyota Fortuner parked by the side of the track... The real adventure, the kind that smells under the arms, can finally begin...

It was winter, a winter with beautiful weather, A season that only exists in the southwest of America, I remember very well what I told you that morning A month ago... A century ago, an eternity ago... We’ll go... wherever you want, whenever you want...
Well, yeah, back from our adventure in our enchanting American West just a month ago, we’re already taking a bite out of one of its lesser-known competitors. "Flo, if you had to pick just one reason to justify your love for the U.S., what would it be?" The greasy, dripping burgers? No, I don’t think I’m going out on a limb by saying it’d be the wide-open spaces... And that’s exactly what our new quest is taking us to—a land on the other side of the globe where the horizon also seems endless, where silence tastes like salty wind and sand, where freedom is measured in kilometers of desert tracks, where the GPS is mostly there to confirm you’re lost in the middle of nowhere... Add to that magic formula the fact that you’ll see more zebras, giraffes, wildebeest, and elephants than people per square kilometer, and you can imagine us setting foot in Southern Africa for the first time, more precisely at the small airport in Windhoek, capital of... of...? Brush up on your geography, damn it! We’re landing in Namibia!!!

To be honest, Namibian landscapes have been flirting with me for ages. So how did I resist this island of temptation for so long? First, the budget. Let’s just say that for the same amount of effort (and kidneys), the bank lets you choose two other adventures almost anywhere else on the planet. Then there were my girls. Yeah, back then, they were too little to dose up on Malarone, the only malaria remedy at the time... Long story short, ten years later, all the planets have aligned. First, I won the Euromillions! Well, almost... Let’s just say my girls are now old enough... not to take Malarone, but to stop following me on all my adventures! Jackpot! "Flo, how about a little two-person caprice, just the two of us, tackling the Namibian tracks?"

As we landed on the runway, first wow effect: The horizon is immense. It’s flat as can be, incredibly flat... So much flat space! Did I mention it was flat?... Looking into the distance, it feels like your gaze could circle the Earth without hitting a single obstacle—until you end up staring at your own backside. "Oh, what a nice view!" Well, it’s the first time I’ve seen my butt from this angle! Touching moment... Sorry, I’m rambling—must be the exhaustion from the three-flight marathon we just powered through via Ethiopia and South Africa... And yet, no time to philosophize about my anatomy. As usual, we want to rack up our first kilometers to be front and center at dawn tomorrow. After wrapping up the tedious Namibian immigration formalities and meeting the 4x4 that’ll be our companion day and night for the next fifteen days, we’re off! We’re not exactly fresh, but we’re ready to tackle the next five hundred kilometers in night mode, cruise control set due south! Just outside Windhoek, the local wildlife—a jackal—welcomes us with a smile: "Welcome to Namibia!" That’s what it said! Honest... Okay, first endless straight road, first flaming sunset, first corrugated dirt track, first Milky Way with zero light pollution... You get it—it’s definitely the day of firsts... First night camping, too, in the big trunk of our Toyota Fortuner parked by the side of the track... The real adventure, the kind that smells under the arms, can finally begin...

Bonjour à tous!
Je profite de ce forum pour partager des expériences de road trip en famille, avec 2 ados, qui pourront peut etre inspirés certains. Ce sont les meilleurs voyages qu'on a fait en famille, en Islande, Costa Rica, Laponie et cet été le sud de la crete! www.myowntrips.com http://myowntrips
Je profite de ce forum pour partager des expériences de road trip en famille, avec 2 ados, qui pourront peut etre inspirés certains. Ce sont les meilleurs voyages qu'on a fait en famille, en Islande, Costa Rica, Laponie et cet été le sud de la crete! www.myowntrips.com http://myowntrips
Hi everyone, I’m Patrick, 67 years old, a seasoned traveler (already 22 trips outside Europe).
In autumn 2025, I took my first 3-week trip to Japan, with stops in Tokyo, Kamakura, Matsumoto, Kamikochi, Takayama, Kanazawa, Kyoto, Nara, Osaka, Koyasan, Tokyo again, and Nikko.
I wanted to go back in May 2026 and explore some lesser-known places to complement my first trip.
Last year, there were four of us traveling together to discover Japan (a fairly classic itinerary). This time, I’ll be traveling solo for part of the trip and with a couple of French friends for the rest.
The weather was gorgeous in May, averaging around 25°C, with two very hot days in Kyoto and only two rainy days.
As usual, I organized everything myself, gathering plenty of information from various sites, including this one.
Transportation: An ICOCA card is essential. I got a 5-day Kansai-Hiroshima pass because I took the shinkansen between Hiroshima and Osaka three times, and it paid for itself quickly.
Accommodations: Mostly through Booking. No issues at all. Average cost was 46 € per night.
Meals: For breakfast, I alternated between buying food at a konbini to eat in my room or on the train and grabbing something at local cafés. For lunch and dinner, I tried to vary my meals as much as possible—lots of sashimi, sushi, and ramen. Okonomiyaki in Osaka and Hiroshima. Oysters in every form (raw, grilled, fried) in Onomichi and Hiroshima. A variety of seafood (shrimp, shellfish) in Hiroshima and Matsumoto. Fish whose names often escaped me, but notably mackerel and eel (unagi). Tempura and gyoza. Chicken skewers (yakitori) and one teppanyaki meal. One omakase meal (9 different dishes). In the end, not much meat aside from a few yakitori skewers. No splurges on super expensive wagyu or Kobe beef. Average dinner cost: 4,800 yen, drinks included.
The Itinerary: Day 1: Departure from Brussels Day 2: Arrival in Osaka Day 3: To Himeji, then Kurashiki Day 4: To Fukuyama, then Tomo no Ura, then Onomichi Day 5: Cycling the Shimanami Kaido Day 6: To Takahara, then Hiroshima Day 7: To Kyoto to attend the Aoi Matsuri parade Day 8: To Miyajima Day 9: Hiroshima, then Kyoto Day 10: Southern Kyoto Day 11: Northern Kyoto Day 12: Final day in Kyoto, then to Nagatsugawa Day 13: Start of the Nakasendo Trail (Magome to Tsumago) Day 14: Second day of the trail (Kiso Fukushima) Day 15: Third day of the trail (Narai), then Matsumoto Day 16: To Mt. Fuji (Kawaguchiko) Day 17: To Tokyo Day 18: Excursion to Enoshima and Kamakura Day 19: Flight home, with a 10-hour layover in Hong Kong Day 20: Arrival in Brussels
Transportation: An ICOCA card is essential. I got a 5-day Kansai-Hiroshima pass because I took the shinkansen between Hiroshima and Osaka three times, and it paid for itself quickly.
Accommodations: Mostly through Booking. No issues at all. Average cost was 46 € per night.
Meals: For breakfast, I alternated between buying food at a konbini to eat in my room or on the train and grabbing something at local cafés. For lunch and dinner, I tried to vary my meals as much as possible—lots of sashimi, sushi, and ramen. Okonomiyaki in Osaka and Hiroshima. Oysters in every form (raw, grilled, fried) in Onomichi and Hiroshima. A variety of seafood (shrimp, shellfish) in Hiroshima and Matsumoto. Fish whose names often escaped me, but notably mackerel and eel (unagi). Tempura and gyoza. Chicken skewers (yakitori) and one teppanyaki meal. One omakase meal (9 different dishes). In the end, not much meat aside from a few yakitori skewers. No splurges on super expensive wagyu or Kobe beef. Average dinner cost: 4,800 yen, drinks included.
The Itinerary: Day 1: Departure from Brussels Day 2: Arrival in Osaka Day 3: To Himeji, then Kurashiki Day 4: To Fukuyama, then Tomo no Ura, then Onomichi Day 5: Cycling the Shimanami Kaido Day 6: To Takahara, then Hiroshima Day 7: To Kyoto to attend the Aoi Matsuri parade Day 8: To Miyajima Day 9: Hiroshima, then Kyoto Day 10: Southern Kyoto Day 11: Northern Kyoto Day 12: Final day in Kyoto, then to Nagatsugawa Day 13: Start of the Nakasendo Trail (Magome to Tsumago) Day 14: Second day of the trail (Kiso Fukushima) Day 15: Third day of the trail (Narai), then Matsumoto Day 16: To Mt. Fuji (Kawaguchiko) Day 17: To Tokyo Day 18: Excursion to Enoshima and Kamakura Day 19: Flight home, with a 10-hour layover in Hong Kong Day 20: Arrival in Brussels
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
I hesitated about writing this travel journal...
This summer, we only did the classics (the 3 northern parks and Zanzibar) and let a local agency take care of everything from start to finish.
No craziness, no risks, no sleeping under the stars, no self-drive, no venturing off the beaten path, no incidents, and not even any delays in the pre-planned itinerary...
But don’t think we were disappointed! The whole family (there were 6 of us) came back with smiles and memories of great moments spent together. So, if you're looking for a "classic" way to discover Tanzania, this is the place to be.
Our 2-week itinerary: - Arusha (1 night upon arrival) - Tarangire (1 night) - Ngorongoro (2 nights in Karatu then Irmisigiyo) - Serengeti (3 nights in Robanda, Togoro Plains, and Seronera) - Zanzibar Stone Town (1 night) - Zanzibar Matemwe (3 nights) - Zanzibar Jambiani (3 nights)
Hakuna matata!

No craziness, no risks, no sleeping under the stars, no self-drive, no venturing off the beaten path, no incidents, and not even any delays in the pre-planned itinerary...
But don’t think we were disappointed! The whole family (there were 6 of us) came back with smiles and memories of great moments spent together. So, if you're looking for a "classic" way to discover Tanzania, this is the place to be.
Our 2-week itinerary: - Arusha (1 night upon arrival) - Tarangire (1 night) - Ngorongoro (2 nights in Karatu then Irmisigiyo) - Serengeti (3 nights in Robanda, Togoro Plains, and Seronera) - Zanzibar Stone Town (1 night) - Zanzibar Matemwe (3 nights) - Zanzibar Jambiani (3 nights)
Hakuna matata!

Preamble:
Africa was calling to me, so a year ago, with our usual travel companions, we decided to return to the continent we love so much.
Where to go?
Uganda quickly caught our attention—wildlife we’re used to seeing, plus gorillas and the shoebill we missed in Zambia.
We got in touch with Paul, who’s been mentioned several times on the forum back in September, booked our flight tickets, secured the gorilla permits, and by early October, the most important things were done.
We still had plenty of time to hold our "prep meetings" for the final itinerary.
Three days before departure, I sprained my ankle (my weak spot, as you’ll recall from our Colombia trip). I wasn’t in great spirits, but after a year of waiting, nothing was going to stop me. We’d see how it goes! Off we went for our new adventures
Three days before departure, I sprained my ankle (my weak spot, as you’ll recall from our Colombia trip). I wasn’t in great spirits, but after a year of waiting, nothing was going to stop me. We’d see how it goes! Off we went for our new adventures
I’d been wanting to discover Sulawesi for years. But then life happened—COVID, the cost of flight tickets, you name it. Long story short, years went by, but we finally set off as a family for a three-week trip in southern Sulawesi: Rammang Rammang, Rantepao, Sengkang, Bira, and Selayar.
I like to spend a good amount of time in the places I visit, giving myself the chance to really get to know the area and meet locals. So no island-hopping this time—just the south. But when I say "just," it’s not restrictive at all, given how rich this island is in landscapes, little encounters, and magical moments.
Wednesday 07/08 - Thursday 07/09: We left Montpellier for what was supposed to be five flights, though we only took four to start, landing in Jakarta. We picked up our luggage there to catch a flight to Makassar the next day. That’s the only way we could get an affordable ticket (702 €). I won’t bore you with the flight details—there’s not much to say. We arrived at 7 PM and considered heading straight to Makassar that evening. But we opted for a recovery night before taking off again. Good thing we did, because my son’s suitcase was missing... First contact with the locals was a bit stressful—a trip without your luggage isn’t exactly fun. But right away, a woman reassured us: the suitcase was just enjoying some extra time in Singapore. Maybe it was doing some last-minute shopping. Anyway, nothing serious—it was supposed to arrive at 9 AM the next day. That gave us some breathing room since our flight wasn’t until noon. So off we went to our hotel (Days Hotel & Suites) near the airport. It was cheap (40 € for three rooms—my kids are older and need their space), but it wasn’t worth much more. The place had definitely seen better days. But no big deal—we were only there for the night, and... we got to watch France beat Morocco in the World Cup live at 3 AM. That’s what really mattered!
Friday 07/10: In search of the lost suitcase First challenge of the morning: finding our missing suitcase. They sent us to the airport basement, to the staff entrance. We were greeted with smiles, and an airport employee led me through the underground corridors back to the baggage claim. Right on time at 9 AM, the suitcase arrived, just like they’d promised. We were finally complete! Off we went to change terminals, grab a well-deserved meal, and board our fifth flight to Makassar. Little side note: I struggled for a while trying to book domestic flights directly on the airlines’ websites with no luck. Without meaning to advertise (though I guess I am a little), I realized it’d be easier to use sites like tiket.com or Traveloka. That turned out to be a great choice—I even ended up booking hotels through them later in the trip. 12:40 PM: We were on our way to Makassar. First good news: we were the only tourists. Well, the only European tourists on the flight, anyway. No, you’re not dreaming—the bag is full of... potato chip packets. To each their own souvenirs, I guess...

When we arrived in Makassar, a driver was waiting to take us straight to Rammang Rammang: 250,000 IDR (12 €) to our guesthouse (Rammang Rammang House). Forget about meeting people on the bus—we were headed straight to the first stop of our trip, and it was already stunning.
My kids’ guesthouse:
Ours:
View of the little lake:
But not everything is straightforward around here. I wanted to get a local SIM card for internet and calls. I found them expensive at Jakarta’s airport (20 € for 20 GB), so I decided to wait. Well, no luck in Rammang Rammang either. You can’t just buy one from the local shop—you need a Telkomsat store (they have the best coverage). So we’d have to wait for Rantepao to get Wi-Fi... When I say "local shop," I mean the little shack around the corner. No big deal—we’d find one easily in Rantepao for 5 € and 25 GB. So there we were, offline, just the four of us enjoying the amazing view.
Saturday 07/11: Rammang Rammang We woke up early to the sound of wedding music blasting through the village (everyone’s invited!). Off we went to explore the area. A little walking, a little boat ride (shared with a French tourist and a Polish one—yes, there *are* tourists here, just not many; 750,000 IDR for up to 8 people) through a lovely canal, and we discovered the karst site. It was peaceful and beautiful. The river:
The karst site:





Wednesday 07/08 - Thursday 07/09: We left Montpellier for what was supposed to be five flights, though we only took four to start, landing in Jakarta. We picked up our luggage there to catch a flight to Makassar the next day. That’s the only way we could get an affordable ticket (702 €). I won’t bore you with the flight details—there’s not much to say. We arrived at 7 PM and considered heading straight to Makassar that evening. But we opted for a recovery night before taking off again. Good thing we did, because my son’s suitcase was missing... First contact with the locals was a bit stressful—a trip without your luggage isn’t exactly fun. But right away, a woman reassured us: the suitcase was just enjoying some extra time in Singapore. Maybe it was doing some last-minute shopping. Anyway, nothing serious—it was supposed to arrive at 9 AM the next day. That gave us some breathing room since our flight wasn’t until noon. So off we went to our hotel (Days Hotel & Suites) near the airport. It was cheap (40 € for three rooms—my kids are older and need their space), but it wasn’t worth much more. The place had definitely seen better days. But no big deal—we were only there for the night, and... we got to watch France beat Morocco in the World Cup live at 3 AM. That’s what really mattered!
Friday 07/10: In search of the lost suitcase First challenge of the morning: finding our missing suitcase. They sent us to the airport basement, to the staff entrance. We were greeted with smiles, and an airport employee led me through the underground corridors back to the baggage claim. Right on time at 9 AM, the suitcase arrived, just like they’d promised. We were finally complete! Off we went to change terminals, grab a well-deserved meal, and board our fifth flight to Makassar. Little side note: I struggled for a while trying to book domestic flights directly on the airlines’ websites with no luck. Without meaning to advertise (though I guess I am a little), I realized it’d be easier to use sites like tiket.com or Traveloka. That turned out to be a great choice—I even ended up booking hotels through them later in the trip. 12:40 PM: We were on our way to Makassar. First good news: we were the only tourists. Well, the only European tourists on the flight, anyway. No, you’re not dreaming—the bag is full of... potato chip packets. To each their own souvenirs, I guess...

When we arrived in Makassar, a driver was waiting to take us straight to Rammang Rammang: 250,000 IDR (12 €) to our guesthouse (Rammang Rammang House). Forget about meeting people on the bus—we were headed straight to the first stop of our trip, and it was already stunning.
My kids’ guesthouse:

Ours:

View of the little lake:

But not everything is straightforward around here. I wanted to get a local SIM card for internet and calls. I found them expensive at Jakarta’s airport (20 € for 20 GB), so I decided to wait. Well, no luck in Rammang Rammang either. You can’t just buy one from the local shop—you need a Telkomsat store (they have the best coverage). So we’d have to wait for Rantepao to get Wi-Fi... When I say "local shop," I mean the little shack around the corner. No big deal—we’d find one easily in Rantepao for 5 € and 25 GB. So there we were, offline, just the four of us enjoying the amazing view.
Saturday 07/11: Rammang Rammang We woke up early to the sound of wedding music blasting through the village (everyone’s invited!). Off we went to explore the area. A little walking, a little boat ride (shared with a French tourist and a Polish one—yes, there *are* tourists here, just not many; 750,000 IDR for up to 8 people) through a lovely canal, and we discovered the karst site. It was peaceful and beautiful. The river:
The karst site:





April 5 - Day 1
After as many weeks as I have fingers on my right hand, we're hitting the road again, fully recovered from our pharaonic adventure. Back in France to drop off our daughters (sorry, girls!), this time it's just the two of us, ready to be welcomed by a new destination. They say it offers one of the richest cultural heritages in the world for those willing to put in the effort. It's the land of the ancient Silk Road, where we'll follow a journey steeped in history and discoveries straight out of *One Thousand and One Nights*. A former Soviet bloc region independent only since 1991, we'll be walking in the footsteps of Genghis Khan, Tamerlane, Alexander the Great, Marco Polo...
Another fun fact about this country: it's strictly forbidden to import porn on your phone. True story. The same goes for painkillers! Unless it's about sodomy—though the two don’t seem connected, that’s just how it is. Don’t ask me why! Anyway, I’m getting off track. Here’s the big question: Where do you think we’ve just landed?... To give you a hint, the locals are known for being incredibly welcoming. No sooner said than done—our first taxi driver, proud to transport French travelers, refused to let us pay for the ride. Great vibes for these two weeks ahead. So, any guesses? Uzbekistan!!!
After as many weeks as I have fingers on my right hand, we're hitting the road again, fully recovered from our pharaonic adventure. Back in France to drop off our daughters (sorry, girls!), this time it's just the two of us, ready to be welcomed by a new destination. They say it offers one of the richest cultural heritages in the world for those willing to put in the effort. It's the land of the ancient Silk Road, where we'll follow a journey steeped in history and discoveries straight out of *One Thousand and One Nights*. A former Soviet bloc region independent only since 1991, we'll be walking in the footsteps of Genghis Khan, Tamerlane, Alexander the Great, Marco Polo...
Another fun fact about this country: it's strictly forbidden to import porn on your phone. True story. The same goes for painkillers! Unless it's about sodomy—though the two don’t seem connected, that’s just how it is. Don’t ask me why! Anyway, I’m getting off track. Here’s the big question: Where do you think we’ve just landed?... To give you a hint, the locals are known for being incredibly welcoming. No sooner said than done—our first taxi driver, proud to transport French travelers, refused to let us pay for the ride. Great vibes for these two weeks ahead. So, any guesses? Uzbekistan!!!

Preamble
I could have titled my travel journal like Carmen: "Some trips are born twice." Indeed, we had considered this destination back in February 2020. However, an honest tour operator advised us against traveling at that time due to the climate. So, we gave up and opted for Guatemala instead (see "On the Mayan Lands" on this site).
So, why this title? When I was in primary school, over 65 years ago, the illustrations in my history books (Machu Picchu) and geography books (Lake Titicaca) made me dream, and those images stayed in my mind. It took until 2026 to finally make this dream come true!
We prepared our trip with Tout Pérou, a French-speaking "agency." Everything was handled via email and WhatsApp exchanges with our contact: Laurent, who was both competent, friendly, and full of good advice. For 200 €, Tout Pérou provided us with drivers and guides whenever we wanted, helped us buy our domestic flights (cheaper when purchased in Peru), booked shuttles between airports and hotels, and got us a discount on the train ride to Aguas Calientes, as well as on the buses between Chivay and Puno and between Puno and Cusco. In short, Laurent took care of all the logistics and the Machu Picchu tickets. It was up to us to book our hotels. Tout Pérou provided a list, but we weren’t obliged to follow it. Another advantage of the package: we didn’t have to pay in advance; we paid the service providers directly day by day.
We didn’t meet Laurent in person because he was on vacation in Europe. Before his departure, he gave us a briefing, provided a summary table with the entire program, the service providers, their phone numbers, their fees, the schedules, and gave us plenty of advice (money, exchange, safety, etc.). After returning at the end of our stay, he kept checking in on us.
Lastly, we had also gathered information from Arnaud Lagadec, who runs a hotel in Cusco and offers tours of the region. He gave us a lot of useful information. Another contact: Thomas Montaigne, very friendly, who runs an agency in Arequipa (Agence Pérou Exclusif).
Day 1 – Paris to Lima
Foreword I’ll share our trip without any pretension—I don’t have the talent of some contributors on this forum—and I’ll illustrate it with a few photos (taken with an ordinary smartphone). My comments are personal and only reflect my own views. So, please be kind! Feel free to comment on my story as you like, but let’s avoid pointless debates.
Even though we live in the south of the Paris region, true to our habits when the flight is in the morning, we chose to spend the night before our departure in a hotel near CDG and parked our car in a parking lot in Garches. This way, we avoid the stress that often comes with traveling around Paris (accidents, roadworks, traffic jams, etc.).
Check-in and border control went smoothly on that Sunday morning. Our Air France flight was uneventful. In Lima, border control took a particularly long time, and for the first time, we didn’t get an entry visa stamped in our passports.
As planned, a driver took us to the Miraflores district, where our hotel was located. We were surprised by the numerous signs about possible tsunamis, having forgotten that Peru is prone to such events and regularly experiences earthquakes. We’d see the consequences of these during our journey.
Exhausted from the early wake-up, the 13-hour flight, and the 7-hour time difference, we had dinner at the hotel before a restful night.
Note that this day was Peru’s presidential election day. As a result, we weren’t served beer—the sale of alcohol was banned that Sunday.
I could have titled my travel journal like Carmen: "Some trips are born twice." Indeed, we had considered this destination back in February 2020. However, an honest tour operator advised us against traveling at that time due to the climate. So, we gave up and opted for Guatemala instead (see "On the Mayan Lands" on this site).
So, why this title? When I was in primary school, over 65 years ago, the illustrations in my history books (Machu Picchu) and geography books (Lake Titicaca) made me dream, and those images stayed in my mind. It took until 2026 to finally make this dream come true!
We prepared our trip with Tout Pérou, a French-speaking "agency." Everything was handled via email and WhatsApp exchanges with our contact: Laurent, who was both competent, friendly, and full of good advice. For 200 €, Tout Pérou provided us with drivers and guides whenever we wanted, helped us buy our domestic flights (cheaper when purchased in Peru), booked shuttles between airports and hotels, and got us a discount on the train ride to Aguas Calientes, as well as on the buses between Chivay and Puno and between Puno and Cusco. In short, Laurent took care of all the logistics and the Machu Picchu tickets. It was up to us to book our hotels. Tout Pérou provided a list, but we weren’t obliged to follow it. Another advantage of the package: we didn’t have to pay in advance; we paid the service providers directly day by day.
We didn’t meet Laurent in person because he was on vacation in Europe. Before his departure, he gave us a briefing, provided a summary table with the entire program, the service providers, their phone numbers, their fees, the schedules, and gave us plenty of advice (money, exchange, safety, etc.). After returning at the end of our stay, he kept checking in on us.
Lastly, we had also gathered information from Arnaud Lagadec, who runs a hotel in Cusco and offers tours of the region. He gave us a lot of useful information. Another contact: Thomas Montaigne, very friendly, who runs an agency in Arequipa (Agence Pérou Exclusif).
Day 1 – Paris to Lima
Foreword I’ll share our trip without any pretension—I don’t have the talent of some contributors on this forum—and I’ll illustrate it with a few photos (taken with an ordinary smartphone). My comments are personal and only reflect my own views. So, please be kind! Feel free to comment on my story as you like, but let’s avoid pointless debates.
Even though we live in the south of the Paris region, true to our habits when the flight is in the morning, we chose to spend the night before our departure in a hotel near CDG and parked our car in a parking lot in Garches. This way, we avoid the stress that often comes with traveling around Paris (accidents, roadworks, traffic jams, etc.).
Check-in and border control went smoothly on that Sunday morning. Our Air France flight was uneventful. In Lima, border control took a particularly long time, and for the first time, we didn’t get an entry visa stamped in our passports.
As planned, a driver took us to the Miraflores district, where our hotel was located. We were surprised by the numerous signs about possible tsunamis, having forgotten that Peru is prone to such events and regularly experiences earthquakes. We’d see the consequences of these during our journey.
Exhausted from the early wake-up, the 13-hour flight, and the 7-hour time difference, we had dinner at the hotel before a restful night.
Note that this day was Peru’s presidential election day. As a result, we weren’t served beer—the sale of alcohol was banned that Sunday.
Okay, Palermo—we know it. We go there to marvel at the architectural wonders born from the Arab-Norman-Byzantine-Gothic mix. And rightly so. We also go to treat our taste buds to all kinds of delights, both savory and sweet. Again, rightly so. We go to succumb to the charms of Palermo’s women, their sun-kissed skin glowing with golden highlights. Still, rightly so. And all while fantasizing about a mafia we’ll never actually see. Anyway.
But you’ll also find street art everywhere, even in the historic center. Sometimes, you just need to step a few meters away from the main tourist highways like Cassaro, Via Maqueda, or the main arteries of the Ballarò, Capo, or Vucciria markets to stumble upon some amazing murals. Duck into one or two slightly grimy alleys, weaving past trash and crumbling walls, and you’ll find real gems.
For example, just 50 meters south of the main artery of the Mercato del Capo, there’s a great spot with dozens of murals in a tiny neighborhood of run-down mini-houses. You’ll find plenty more south of the Mercato di Ballarò, in the Albergheria (the grittier side, not the one near Cassaro). There’s some in Ballarò itself too, but it’s hard to spot when the market’s in full swing with stalls everywhere. La Kalsa isn’t left out either, nor is Vucciria—just step away from the restaurant-packed streets.
Here are a few examples that really caught my eye.
(In the heart of Albergheria, on a street every visitor walks down—lovely message from an unidentified artist)
But you’ll also find street art everywhere, even in the historic center. Sometimes, you just need to step a few meters away from the main tourist highways like Cassaro, Via Maqueda, or the main arteries of the Ballarò, Capo, or Vucciria markets to stumble upon some amazing murals. Duck into one or two slightly grimy alleys, weaving past trash and crumbling walls, and you’ll find real gems.
For example, just 50 meters south of the main artery of the Mercato del Capo, there’s a great spot with dozens of murals in a tiny neighborhood of run-down mini-houses. You’ll find plenty more south of the Mercato di Ballarò, in the Albergheria (the grittier side, not the one near Cassaro). There’s some in Ballarò itself too, but it’s hard to spot when the market’s in full swing with stalls everywhere. La Kalsa isn’t left out either, nor is Vucciria—just step away from the restaurant-packed streets.
Here are a few examples that really caught my eye.
(In the heart of Albergheria, on a street every visitor walks down—lovely message from an unidentified artist)We landed in Victoria Falls, Zimbabwe, and headed straight to Kasane in Botswana to pick up our car.
Our vehicle is a 4x4 because in Zambia, it's practically impossible to use anything else, especially in the national parks. I’ve already had the pleasure of visiting South Luangwa National Park—it’s one of the reasons for this trip, the main one being to travel in Africa with one of my sons.
First stop: Livingstone on the banks of the Zambezi River. Along the way, we discovered a lovely restaurant at Socrates with a super-friendly owner (we’ll actually stop there again on our way back). We spent our first night in the rooftop tent after a stunning sunset, accompanied by the grunting of hippos in the river.
The next day, we set off early, heading to Kafue NP. In fact, we’ll always leave early—waking up between 5:00 and 5:30 AM and hitting the road an hour later. Kafue is a lesser-known park, mostly forested, and the animals are skittish because they’re not used to human presence. We crossed the park from south to north and came across various antelopes. Near Lake Itezhi-Tezhi, there are plains where wildlife is easier to spot.
After Kafue, we headed to South Luangwa. This journey requires stops in Mumbwa and Petauke. Two pleasant stops where we found lodges (a nice change from the rooftop tent) at affordable prices and met welcoming people.
For me, South Luangwa is Zambia’s most beautiful park—the river is stunning, the landscapes are gorgeous, and there’s a wide variety of wildlife, including, of course, big cats. A tip for those, like us, who aren’t with a guide: if you’re staying near the park for several days, don’t hesitate to do a "game drive" to scout out where the animals are so you can return the next day with your own vehicle. Of course, in the dry season, you’ll want to focus on waterholes to see the animals—and you’ll need a bit of luck too. The elephant population is growing, and we were lucky enough to see around sixty elephants crossing the Luangwa at dawn, spread across several groups. South Luangwa is the westernmost point of our trip, and we’re now heading east to Lower Zambezi.
Lower Zambezi is Zambia’s side of Mana Pools on the Zimbabwe side. We took a boat ride on the Zambezi to see elephants, hippos, crocodiles, and a multitude of birds living along the water and on the river’s islands. The sunset there is also magnificent.
To explore the park, we followed the waterways parallel to the Zambezi, mostly on the western side (see our route). Lower Zambezi is the last park we visit, and the final leg of our trip will be Victoria Falls.
Victoria Falls—or Mosi-Oa-Tunya ("The Smoke That Thunders")—are truly impressive, even during the dry season. We saw the falls from both countries: in Zambia for the overall view and the bridge that serves as the border, and in Zimbabwe to get as close as possible to the most spectacular parts of the falls.
This marks the end of our trip, which, despite a blown tire on the road, went off without any major issues. Zambia is a beautiful country that immerses you in wild, still-preserved nature.
From Southern Shikoku, between land and sea, to the blue waters of Miyakojima and finally Tokyo’s megacity
Hi everyone,
I have to admit, I really hesitated before deciding to write this travel journal... Writing one takes a lot of time and energy, and since this is my 4th trip, I wondered if it would actually interest anyone other than myself (both for the discovery and the writing). But after a few "Are you going to write a journal?" requests and especially the renewed pleasure from reading other travelers’ travel journals about Japan or elsewhere on this forum or elsewhere, I’ve decided to share this 4th installment in the Land of the Rising Sun here.
The itinerary: 27 full days, from late May to late June 2025, right in the middle of the rainy season, including:
-->13 days in Shikoku, from Kochi (Kochi Prefecture) to Matsuyama (Ehime Prefecture)

-->7 days in Miyakojima (Okinawa Prefecture)

-->7 days in Tokyo

The trip was decided on fairly last-minute this year, as usual.
I regularly check flight prices to track fluctuations for this destination, even without concrete plans. Finding a slightly cheaper direct flight (900 €) than what I’d seen in previous months (around 1,200–1,400 € on average) for a Paris-Tokyo route with Japanese airline ANA was too tempting to resist the urge to return to this enchanting country. After long hesitations between exploring the San’in region (Matsue, Tottori, Yamaguchi) and southern Shikoku, the decision was made—I took the plunge! The tickets are booked: Paris to Kochi with a layover in Tokyo, all with ANA, the airline I’d been dreaming of... for 1,120 € per person. Okay, it’s not cheap, but it’s still better than in 2023.
We leave in 2 weeks!! Now it’s just a matter of getting everything ready!
Intense work ahead in these 2 weeks to:
finalize a more precise itinerary and reach an agreement—yep, because even though we both love Japan, our preferences differ slightly, and we have to choose between exploring new places or taking time to revisit beloved spots... decide how much time to spend in each selected area without rushing while still exploring research places that might interest us and watch videos about Japan book accommodations: yes, it’s possible to do this on the spot as we go, but last year, we noticed that last-minute options were pretty expensive, so we’re booking ahead—even if it means keeping a few options open while we decide or see if better deals pop up later reserve rental cars order yen check the weather regularly and wonder if choosing the *tsuyu* (rainy season) was really a good idea—and whether we’ll be stuck in non-stop rain???
What a tough job, right? Traveling to Japan for a month—such a hard life! Despite this being my 4th trip, the excitement is just as intense as the first time.
The only small downside is that when we booked the flight tickets, there were only a few seats left, so we’re only sitting together on the international return flight. Plus, on the outbound flight, we’ve got the middle seats. Another lingering question: what French-language films will be available? According to the internet, the selection seems limited. Oh well, these are just minor details—it’s almost time to fly!
PS: I’ll be posting slowly and irregularly... so for those interested, be patient or maybe set an alert...
Hi everyone,
I have to admit, I really hesitated before deciding to write this travel journal... Writing one takes a lot of time and energy, and since this is my 4th trip, I wondered if it would actually interest anyone other than myself (both for the discovery and the writing). But after a few "Are you going to write a journal?" requests and especially the renewed pleasure from reading other travelers’ travel journals about Japan or elsewhere on this forum or elsewhere, I’ve decided to share this 4th installment in the Land of the Rising Sun here.
The itinerary: 27 full days, from late May to late June 2025, right in the middle of the rainy season, including:
-->13 days in Shikoku, from Kochi (Kochi Prefecture) to Matsuyama (Ehime Prefecture)

-->7 days in Miyakojima (Okinawa Prefecture)

-->7 days in Tokyo

The trip was decided on fairly last-minute this year, as usual.
I regularly check flight prices to track fluctuations for this destination, even without concrete plans. Finding a slightly cheaper direct flight (900 €) than what I’d seen in previous months (around 1,200–1,400 € on average) for a Paris-Tokyo route with Japanese airline ANA was too tempting to resist the urge to return to this enchanting country. After long hesitations between exploring the San’in region (Matsue, Tottori, Yamaguchi) and southern Shikoku, the decision was made—I took the plunge! The tickets are booked: Paris to Kochi with a layover in Tokyo, all with ANA, the airline I’d been dreaming of... for 1,120 € per person. Okay, it’s not cheap, but it’s still better than in 2023.
We leave in 2 weeks!! Now it’s just a matter of getting everything ready!
Intense work ahead in these 2 weeks to:
finalize a more precise itinerary and reach an agreement—yep, because even though we both love Japan, our preferences differ slightly, and we have to choose between exploring new places or taking time to revisit beloved spots... decide how much time to spend in each selected area without rushing while still exploring research places that might interest us and watch videos about Japan book accommodations: yes, it’s possible to do this on the spot as we go, but last year, we noticed that last-minute options were pretty expensive, so we’re booking ahead—even if it means keeping a few options open while we decide or see if better deals pop up later reserve rental cars order yen check the weather regularly and wonder if choosing the *tsuyu* (rainy season) was really a good idea—and whether we’ll be stuck in non-stop rain???
What a tough job, right? Traveling to Japan for a month—such a hard life! Despite this being my 4th trip, the excitement is just as intense as the first time.
The only small downside is that when we booked the flight tickets, there were only a few seats left, so we’re only sitting together on the international return flight. Plus, on the outbound flight, we’ve got the middle seats. Another lingering question: what French-language films will be available? According to the internet, the selection seems limited. Oh well, these are just minor details—it’s almost time to fly!
PS: I’ll be posting slowly and irregularly... so for those interested, be patient or maybe set an alert...
Before Our Departure
Preparing for this trip started 9 months before our departure in June. For those planning a similar itinerary, it’s important to book accommodations well in advance, especially in the Okavango and Savuti campsites—otherwise, you might not find any availability.
Introduction After visiting Zambia three years ago and Namibia and western Botswana a year and a half ago, this year we chose Zimbabwe (Hwange NP) and the northern half of Botswana. Our flight from Paris was to Victoria Falls with Ethiopian Airlines, with a layover in Addis Ababa. We rented a 4x4 from Bushlore in Kasane, complete with two rooftop tents since there are four of us on this adventure. Bushlore picked us up from our guesthouse to collect our 4x4 and, most importantly, gave us a rundown of the vehicle and its equipment. Pay close attention to what they tell you—it could be crucial if something goes wrong, as it did for us during the trip.
Our Itinerary We arrived on June 12th at noon. At Victoria Falls Airport, we got our double-entry visa right away—I’d already pre-booked it online on the site https://www.evisa.gov.zw/. Since our vehicle was in Botswana, we had to cross the border from Victoria Falls into Botswana for the first time. The next morning, Bushlore picked us up from our guesthouse to collect our 4x4. After completing the formalities, we headed toward Zimbabwe and the town of Victoria Falls. We woke up early the next morning to be at Victoria Falls at sunrise. The scenery was stunning, but since it was the start of the dry season, the Zambezi was still high, so the falls had a strong flow. This made it hard to fully appreciate their beauty. In the early afternoon, we left for Hwange NP, where we stayed for 4 days. Two days at Gwango campsite near Dete, followed by two days at Robins Camp. We expected to see more animals at Robins, but that wasn’t the case. In Hwange, we didn’t spot any predators, but we did see plenty of mammals (buffalo, elephants, giraffes, zebras, and antelopes). After a few days in Zimbabwe, we crossed back into Botswana at Pandamatenga. We stopped at Nata Lodge for a good night’s rest—driving on the dirt roads is exhausting. We left Nata and headed toward Nxai Pan. The road was sandy but manageable. We made a small detour to admire some beautiful baobabs at "Baines Baobabs." Then we continued to our campsite, Nxai Pan South Camp. Keep in mind that many campsites in Botswana aren’t fenced (except for the shower/toilet areas), so animals can roam freely within the camp. Take precautions, especially after dark. After our stop in Nxai Pan, we headed to Maun. We decided to break our journey in Maun before heading to Moremi and the Okavango Delta for three reasons: first, we needed to stock up on supplies and fuel for the next 5 days; second, our fridge had broken (luckily, Bushlore has a branch in Maun); and third, the drive from Nxai to our camp in Xakanaxa in the delta would’ve taken too long. I always avoid driving after dark. We arrived at our Xakanaxa camp on June 21st in the early afternoon. Not wanting to waste time, we booked a boat ride on the Okavango Delta, leaving at 4:00 PM for a 2-hour sunset cruise. For those interested, to the right of the Xakanaxa X1 site, there’s a sign for boat rides. The organizer is very professional and offers prices that are nothing like those of the lodges. It was a beautiful ride through the delta with a stunning sunset. Being on a boat is much more relaxing than driving on the dirt roads. That didn’t stop us from doing self-drive safaris the next morning and late afternoon, though.
Then came the time to leave the delta and head toward Savuti, a much drier region. And that’s when the toughest part of our trip began. First, we decided to go up via Khwai. The rainy season was over, but the area was still marshy. We had to cross a few small water patches, testing the depth to make sure we could get through. Luckily, a sign on the road pointed us toward a drier route. We reached Khwai without any issues, but then we made a major mistake. Instead of taking the main track toward Mababe Gate to reach Savuti Camp, we took a straight path north and then a right turn to get to our camp. Bad call—we got stuck in the sand, with one rear wheel buried halfway and a front wheel off the ground. We were genuinely scared we wouldn’t get out, especially since we were on a deserted track, 20 kilometers from our destination, with night falling in two hours. This is where paying attention to the vehicle instructions really paid off—we had to use the jack to get out of the mess. The result: we arrived at Savuti campsite just before dark (Distance: 146.3 km, Duration: 9 hours, 56 minutes, and 3 seconds, Average speed: 14.7 km/h, tracked with Osmand). At reception, the staff couldn’t understand how we’d gotten there—we hadn’t passed through any of Savuti’s reserve entry gates.
The next morning, no one felt like driving, so we did a game drive with a guide. I don’t know if it was some kind of reward, but the outing was amazing. We saw three lions and, best of all, a pack of African wild dogs that we had time to admire and photograph. The next day, we did a short self-drive and found one of the lions from the day before drinking at a waterhole. That was the end of our Savuti adventure.
Now we’re heading to Kasane. We returned our vehicle and settled in for our last two nights there. The next morning, since we no longer had a car, we decided to do one last early-morning game drive in Chobe NP. It turned out great—we followed two brother lions and saw plenty of other mammals. The only downside of Chobe is the number of tourists, which was a change from the other parks we’d visited. That said, we’re tourists too, so... In the evening, we took one last boat ride on the Chobe River to end on a high note with a beautiful sunset.
After a good night’s sleep and plenty of wonderful memories, landscapes, animals, and emotions, it was time to leave. We left early in the morning with the same taxi company as before to cross the border into Zimbabwe one last time and head to the airport, where we took off to return to France.
Introduction After visiting Zambia three years ago and Namibia and western Botswana a year and a half ago, this year we chose Zimbabwe (Hwange NP) and the northern half of Botswana. Our flight from Paris was to Victoria Falls with Ethiopian Airlines, with a layover in Addis Ababa. We rented a 4x4 from Bushlore in Kasane, complete with two rooftop tents since there are four of us on this adventure. Bushlore picked us up from our guesthouse to collect our 4x4 and, most importantly, gave us a rundown of the vehicle and its equipment. Pay close attention to what they tell you—it could be crucial if something goes wrong, as it did for us during the trip.
Our Itinerary We arrived on June 12th at noon. At Victoria Falls Airport, we got our double-entry visa right away—I’d already pre-booked it online on the site https://www.evisa.gov.zw/. Since our vehicle was in Botswana, we had to cross the border from Victoria Falls into Botswana for the first time. The next morning, Bushlore picked us up from our guesthouse to collect our 4x4. After completing the formalities, we headed toward Zimbabwe and the town of Victoria Falls. We woke up early the next morning to be at Victoria Falls at sunrise. The scenery was stunning, but since it was the start of the dry season, the Zambezi was still high, so the falls had a strong flow. This made it hard to fully appreciate their beauty. In the early afternoon, we left for Hwange NP, where we stayed for 4 days. Two days at Gwango campsite near Dete, followed by two days at Robins Camp. We expected to see more animals at Robins, but that wasn’t the case. In Hwange, we didn’t spot any predators, but we did see plenty of mammals (buffalo, elephants, giraffes, zebras, and antelopes). After a few days in Zimbabwe, we crossed back into Botswana at Pandamatenga. We stopped at Nata Lodge for a good night’s rest—driving on the dirt roads is exhausting. We left Nata and headed toward Nxai Pan. The road was sandy but manageable. We made a small detour to admire some beautiful baobabs at "Baines Baobabs." Then we continued to our campsite, Nxai Pan South Camp. Keep in mind that many campsites in Botswana aren’t fenced (except for the shower/toilet areas), so animals can roam freely within the camp. Take precautions, especially after dark. After our stop in Nxai Pan, we headed to Maun. We decided to break our journey in Maun before heading to Moremi and the Okavango Delta for three reasons: first, we needed to stock up on supplies and fuel for the next 5 days; second, our fridge had broken (luckily, Bushlore has a branch in Maun); and third, the drive from Nxai to our camp in Xakanaxa in the delta would’ve taken too long. I always avoid driving after dark. We arrived at our Xakanaxa camp on June 21st in the early afternoon. Not wanting to waste time, we booked a boat ride on the Okavango Delta, leaving at 4:00 PM for a 2-hour sunset cruise. For those interested, to the right of the Xakanaxa X1 site, there’s a sign for boat rides. The organizer is very professional and offers prices that are nothing like those of the lodges. It was a beautiful ride through the delta with a stunning sunset. Being on a boat is much more relaxing than driving on the dirt roads. That didn’t stop us from doing self-drive safaris the next morning and late afternoon, though.
Then came the time to leave the delta and head toward Savuti, a much drier region. And that’s when the toughest part of our trip began. First, we decided to go up via Khwai. The rainy season was over, but the area was still marshy. We had to cross a few small water patches, testing the depth to make sure we could get through. Luckily, a sign on the road pointed us toward a drier route. We reached Khwai without any issues, but then we made a major mistake. Instead of taking the main track toward Mababe Gate to reach Savuti Camp, we took a straight path north and then a right turn to get to our camp. Bad call—we got stuck in the sand, with one rear wheel buried halfway and a front wheel off the ground. We were genuinely scared we wouldn’t get out, especially since we were on a deserted track, 20 kilometers from our destination, with night falling in two hours. This is where paying attention to the vehicle instructions really paid off—we had to use the jack to get out of the mess. The result: we arrived at Savuti campsite just before dark (Distance: 146.3 km, Duration: 9 hours, 56 minutes, and 3 seconds, Average speed: 14.7 km/h, tracked with Osmand). At reception, the staff couldn’t understand how we’d gotten there—we hadn’t passed through any of Savuti’s reserve entry gates.
The next morning, no one felt like driving, so we did a game drive with a guide. I don’t know if it was some kind of reward, but the outing was amazing. We saw three lions and, best of all, a pack of African wild dogs that we had time to admire and photograph. The next day, we did a short self-drive and found one of the lions from the day before drinking at a waterhole. That was the end of our Savuti adventure.
Now we’re heading to Kasane. We returned our vehicle and settled in for our last two nights there. The next morning, since we no longer had a car, we decided to do one last early-morning game drive in Chobe NP. It turned out great—we followed two brother lions and saw plenty of other mammals. The only downside of Chobe is the number of tourists, which was a change from the other parks we’d visited. That said, we’re tourists too, so... In the evening, we took one last boat ride on the Chobe River to end on a high note with a beautiful sunset.
After a good night’s sleep and plenty of wonderful memories, landscapes, animals, and emotions, it was time to leave. We left early in the morning with the same taxi company as before to cross the border into Zimbabwe one last time and head to the airport, where we took off to return to France.
Day 1 – February 14
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?


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?


Hello everyone!
This travel journal aims to help future travelers (well, I hope so!), since there’s so little information available about this remote archipelago. Big thanks to Lolodesiles and Ayis for answering my questions while I planned this trip!

Context This is our fourth trip to Indonesia as a couple—after Java-Bali in 2011, Flores-Komodo in 2013, and Sulawesi in 2016—each time for three weeks. It’s also our tenth trip to Southeast Asia overall.
We’re traveling like we have in previous years: with a rough itinerary that often changes based on who we meet, tips from other travelers, how tired we are, or what we’re feeling in the moment. In the Moluccas, it’ll change constantly, mostly depending on transportation.
Our only accommodation booking: the first few nights in Ambon when we arrive.
Planned route (to be refined on the spot): Ambon - Banda Islands - Lease Islands - Ternate - Tidore - Halmahera (between Sofifi and Tobelo) - Morotai and the neighboring unnamed archipelago.
Flights: Lyon-Paris-Singapore on Air France (428 € round-trip), with good meals, champagne, and wine (we like our little comforts when going on vacation 😏). Then Singapore-Jakarta-Ambon on Air Asia and Garuda. Return flight: Ternate-Jakarta-Singapore on Lion Air, with a 3-day stopover in Singapore before heading home.
Episode 1: Ambon to Banda Our guesthouse, booked two days before departure, is 45 minutes from Ambon Airport, near Natsepa Beach (northeast of Leihitu). It’s a pretty average beach—quiet on weekdays but packed on Sundays (we saw the difference). It’s lined with warungs. This rainy day helps us readjust to the atmosphere of this country we love so much.
Our “Solim Guesthouse” is a lovely house with a living/dining room and garden, costing 15 € per night for two, including a hearty breakfast. Dinner is at Gaba Gaba, a great restaurant just a short walk away, right by the water, recommended by our host. Fun fact: it’s in the Lonely Planet, and it might be the only LP-listed spot in the Moluccas that actually matches the description (the others either don’t exist or have nothing to do with what’s advertised 😠).
For the next two days, the super-friendly owner lends us his scooter. We set off to explore the coastal villages in northern Leihitu (the western part of Ambon Island, which has a weird shape).
Laundry and trucks washed in the same stream.

Liang Beach, described as the island’s most beautiful, is almost gone (climate change or something else?), but the colors are magical.
We continue 25 km toward a snorkeling spot our host recommended, taking a gorgeous, deserted little road through tiny villages in clove plantations (oh, those unforgettable scents!), stunning coves, and dense forest.

We’re greeted dozens of times with “Hello Mister”—a daily routine in the Moluccas. Every time we stop, we pose for photos to be saved on locals’ smartphones. They don’t see tourists often.

We ask for directions to the snorkeling spot (not easy—we only know basic Indonesian like *Selamat pagi*, *siang*, *sore*, and other polite phrases). Not many people know where it is (especially since we never know which village we’re in), but we eventually reach a small village that seems to be the right place. 🙂

We ask a local to take us there by boat (it’s not reachable by land).

The spot is at most 100 meters long, but the coral is in good condition (apparently not dynamited by fishermen, unlike in other parts of this beautiful country where fishing methods are destructive and nature pays the price 😠). The fish are plentiful and diverse. It’s a great start before heading to Banda. We’re happy to have the place to ourselves… though we don’t yet realize we won’t see a single tourist for the rest of the trip!
After two days of rest, we head to Tulehu Port in the morning, aiming for the Banda Islands. We know the journey is often tricky: the Pelni ferry runs twice a month but doesn’t match our dates, the 10-seat Suzi Air plane is always full (you can’t book—you have to show up on Mondays and Fridays), and it’s often canceled due to weather. So we opt for the Tuesday speedboat (which also gets canceled if there are waves or wind), with the next one on Saturday. We’re used to Indonesian ports—crowded, rusty boats, no English speakers—but we still feel lost. When I ask about the speedboat to Bandaneira, people gesture wildly, someone takes me to the “harbor office,” then tells me there’s no boat, others try to sell me tickets, and some just say, “No boat.”

Luckily, an English-speaking local approaches us and confirms the speedboat is broken. The next one will be Saturday *if* it’s fixed—otherwise, even later. 🤪 😠 We’re crushed. We came here for the Banda Islands… 🙁 We decide waiting five days for a maybe-boat isn’t an option, so we decide to head straight to North Moluccas, which was planned for later. We’re so disappointed we don’t even want to stay in the area. The Lease Islands don’t appeal to us despite what we’ve read, and Seram would deserve its own trip with its remote mountain tribes. Huge disappointment—we’d been dreaming of Banda for months, with its incredible drop-offs like Bunaken, its islands covered in nutmeg trees, etc. I’d read that Banda is in the world’s top 5, alongside Bunaken (amazing—we went in 2016), Komodo (incredible—we went in 2013), Sipadan, and another spot I’ve forgotten.
We take a taxi back to Ambon (45 minutes) to a travel agency to buy plane tickets to Ternate. There’s a daily ATR72 flight at noon—perfect timing. Ambon is the capital of South Moluccas (or Central, depending on who you ask!) with 300,000 people. The city doesn’t seem unpleasant, but we don’t stop. On the plane, there are only about ten passengers for 72 seats. The flight attendants are stunning, as always with Wings Air—clearly, they’re hired for their looks. 😊

Stopover in Bacan—a runway in the middle of coconut trees serving a tiny town—then we fly over countless volcanoes, the last one towering over Ternate.
Next episode coming soon: Ternate.
This travel journal aims to help future travelers (well, I hope so!), since there’s so little information available about this remote archipelago. Big thanks to Lolodesiles and Ayis for answering my questions while I planned this trip!

Context This is our fourth trip to Indonesia as a couple—after Java-Bali in 2011, Flores-Komodo in 2013, and Sulawesi in 2016—each time for three weeks. It’s also our tenth trip to Southeast Asia overall.
We’re traveling like we have in previous years: with a rough itinerary that often changes based on who we meet, tips from other travelers, how tired we are, or what we’re feeling in the moment. In the Moluccas, it’ll change constantly, mostly depending on transportation.
Our only accommodation booking: the first few nights in Ambon when we arrive.
Planned route (to be refined on the spot): Ambon - Banda Islands - Lease Islands - Ternate - Tidore - Halmahera (between Sofifi and Tobelo) - Morotai and the neighboring unnamed archipelago.
Flights: Lyon-Paris-Singapore on Air France (428 € round-trip), with good meals, champagne, and wine (we like our little comforts when going on vacation 😏). Then Singapore-Jakarta-Ambon on Air Asia and Garuda. Return flight: Ternate-Jakarta-Singapore on Lion Air, with a 3-day stopover in Singapore before heading home.
Episode 1: Ambon to Banda Our guesthouse, booked two days before departure, is 45 minutes from Ambon Airport, near Natsepa Beach (northeast of Leihitu). It’s a pretty average beach—quiet on weekdays but packed on Sundays (we saw the difference). It’s lined with warungs. This rainy day helps us readjust to the atmosphere of this country we love so much.

Our “Solim Guesthouse” is a lovely house with a living/dining room and garden, costing 15 € per night for two, including a hearty breakfast. Dinner is at Gaba Gaba, a great restaurant just a short walk away, right by the water, recommended by our host. Fun fact: it’s in the Lonely Planet, and it might be the only LP-listed spot in the Moluccas that actually matches the description (the others either don’t exist or have nothing to do with what’s advertised 😠).

For the next two days, the super-friendly owner lends us his scooter. We set off to explore the coastal villages in northern Leihitu (the western part of Ambon Island, which has a weird shape).
Laundry and trucks washed in the same stream.

Liang Beach, described as the island’s most beautiful, is almost gone (climate change or something else?), but the colors are magical.

We continue 25 km toward a snorkeling spot our host recommended, taking a gorgeous, deserted little road through tiny villages in clove plantations (oh, those unforgettable scents!), stunning coves, and dense forest.

We’re greeted dozens of times with “Hello Mister”—a daily routine in the Moluccas. Every time we stop, we pose for photos to be saved on locals’ smartphones. They don’t see tourists often.
We ask for directions to the snorkeling spot (not easy—we only know basic Indonesian like *Selamat pagi*, *siang*, *sore*, and other polite phrases). Not many people know where it is (especially since we never know which village we’re in), but we eventually reach a small village that seems to be the right place. 🙂

We ask a local to take us there by boat (it’s not reachable by land).

The spot is at most 100 meters long, but the coral is in good condition (apparently not dynamited by fishermen, unlike in other parts of this beautiful country where fishing methods are destructive and nature pays the price 😠). The fish are plentiful and diverse. It’s a great start before heading to Banda. We’re happy to have the place to ourselves… though we don’t yet realize we won’t see a single tourist for the rest of the trip!
After two days of rest, we head to Tulehu Port in the morning, aiming for the Banda Islands. We know the journey is often tricky: the Pelni ferry runs twice a month but doesn’t match our dates, the 10-seat Suzi Air plane is always full (you can’t book—you have to show up on Mondays and Fridays), and it’s often canceled due to weather. So we opt for the Tuesday speedboat (which also gets canceled if there are waves or wind), with the next one on Saturday. We’re used to Indonesian ports—crowded, rusty boats, no English speakers—but we still feel lost. When I ask about the speedboat to Bandaneira, people gesture wildly, someone takes me to the “harbor office,” then tells me there’s no boat, others try to sell me tickets, and some just say, “No boat.”

Luckily, an English-speaking local approaches us and confirms the speedboat is broken. The next one will be Saturday *if* it’s fixed—otherwise, even later. 🤪 😠 We’re crushed. We came here for the Banda Islands… 🙁 We decide waiting five days for a maybe-boat isn’t an option, so we decide to head straight to North Moluccas, which was planned for later. We’re so disappointed we don’t even want to stay in the area. The Lease Islands don’t appeal to us despite what we’ve read, and Seram would deserve its own trip with its remote mountain tribes. Huge disappointment—we’d been dreaming of Banda for months, with its incredible drop-offs like Bunaken, its islands covered in nutmeg trees, etc. I’d read that Banda is in the world’s top 5, alongside Bunaken (amazing—we went in 2016), Komodo (incredible—we went in 2013), Sipadan, and another spot I’ve forgotten.
We take a taxi back to Ambon (45 minutes) to a travel agency to buy plane tickets to Ternate. There’s a daily ATR72 flight at noon—perfect timing. Ambon is the capital of South Moluccas (or Central, depending on who you ask!) with 300,000 people. The city doesn’t seem unpleasant, but we don’t stop. On the plane, there are only about ten passengers for 72 seats. The flight attendants are stunning, as always with Wings Air—clearly, they’re hired for their looks. 😊

Stopover in Bacan—a runway in the middle of coconut trees serving a tiny town—then we fly over countless volcanoes, the last one towering over Ternate.
Next episode coming soon: Ternate.
Bonjour,
De retour sur le forum - et première rédaction d'un espèce de carnet de retour de notre 4ème voyage en Indo.
Contexte : une trentaine de jours, en scooter et en duo, sur Florès (et une petite incursion dans l'archipel de Solor, plus précisément à Lembata (chut, faut pas trop en parler !!!), qui donne envie d'en faire beaucoup plus là bas malgré les infrastructures sporadiques), en partie dans des destinations déjà bien connues du forum (la classique Ruteng / Bajawa / Riung / Moni voir baie de Maumere) ... et qui ne parlera pas du PN de Komodo ou de Wae Rebo, puisque nous n'y sommes pas allés 🏴☠️.
Texte en anglais (issu d'une autre plateforme). Sans nul doute, des traducteurs intelligents ou pas marcheront à merveille en cas d'anglophobie 🤪.
Disponible à toute fin utile pour des détails ou infos.
Equippement : Yam' Nmax 155 ; 2x saccoches cavalières (25L) + sac de selle (30L) + saccoche tunnel (15L pour le matos photo) ; casques et vêtements d'enduro amenés depuis la France.
Itinéraire : boucle depuis Labuan bajo jusqu'à Pulau Lembata ; juillet-août 2026
Road conditions graded from A (excellent) to D (very bad, at least for a Scooter… a CRF/KLX or even honda ADV would do better on that) D1 : Labuan Bajo – Reok via Ranggoe, Rego & Tagol (130km ; 5hrs). Section LBajo – Rego (90 km ; B) is quite good tarmac, despite a lot of elevation with many small valleys and passes. Rego – Tagol (10km ; D) is a stone road (not gravel), some ascents & very poor condition ; necessary to lower tyre pressure. Tagol – Reok port (22km, quality depends considerably from D to B). Reok port – Towncenter : B. Night @Iffah Homestay (100k for fan room, mandi attached, no breakfast), simple but clean. Notes : path to danau Sano Limbung was closed ; access to Tiwu Pai & Wae Kuli (waterfalls) not permitted in july 2026. D2 : Reok – Riung via Pota (105km ; 3h-3h30). The road is very narrow in some part, thanks to the uncut bushes (lowering visibility hence extra caution as animals/people can suddenly appear in a turn…) but generally good condition except many eroded sections and some unpaved ones. Grade C/B. 2 nights @Mentos (285k for AC room) D3 : Boat tour in Riung (booked directly with a captain, 800k for two for private boat incl. lunch and NP fees) + sunset from Watu Mitong Riung (should not be missed). D4 : Riung – Muku Saki via Mbay (around 100km ; 3h30). Quality varies from A in the vicinity of Mbay to eroded sections (C) in secluded places. Night @Sao Paolo Homestay (250k for fan room with mandi, maybe overpriced but nice house and great food). Note : if you happen to pass by Mbay on Saturday, the market is well worth a stop (cheapest Ikat on the trip : you’ll be asked normal prices providing you’re OK in Bahasa…) D5 : Muku Saki – Tanjung Kajuwulu (near Ndete) (90km, 3h). Many patholes, eroded (C). Night at Déjà Vu Homestay (220k for a matress on the floor & outside mandi/toilets ; I woud define this as a tourist trap – the quote we had for food was double priced too…) D6 : Tanjung Kajuwulu – Waiterang (east of Maumere, 55km , 1h30). Pathholes till maumere, then All good (TransFlores), C/A. Night at Sunset Cottage (new concrete room, very serene place ; 270k for AC with bathroom ; much prefered Sunset over Lena House (more customers, more built up). D7 : Waiterang – Larantuka via Boru and Eputobi (TransFlores ; grade A ; 115km / 2h40). Particularly liked the drink stalls (marked as Rest Area Eputobi) and the out of order aquatic park just before Larantuka (obyej wisata waiplatin). Night @ Dewy Onong Homestay, which is not advertising itself as Larantuka Beach Homestay as some contributor signals here and on goole maps review. Best breakfast of the trip (Cumi Cumi !!!) ; 275k for AC room with bathroom. D8 : Local Boat (Kapal Kayu) from the main port to Lembata (Lewoleba). Departure 8am ; price 60k/head + 50k for the bike. Stop enroute on Adonara (where we did not stop due to fights between communities). Night @Elmany Homestay (275k for AC room with bathroom, fan room with shared bathroom also available). Whole afternoon at Pantai Hadakewa, fantastic place (good snorkeling, great views of Ile Api aka Gn Lewotolo). Road condition : A (did not expect the TransLembata to be that good…). D9 : Loop around Ile Api (50km, 2hrs), anticlockwise. Stops enroute at Situs Tulang Paus (whale squeletton), pantai Jotona, pantai Wena (we expected to snorkel from there, but wind was very strong that day), situs Watu Nale, Selat Sonia. The western coast is far less interesting. Road conditions : bad (C) on the eastern side (up to Riangbeda), good (B/A) afterwards. Night @Elmany Homestay. D10 : Lewoleba – Lamalera via the western and south coast (70km, 2h30). Good road (B) for roughly the first 55km (up to Tapobali), then eroded track for the last 15km (in some parts steep and dangerous) up to Lamalera (D/C). Notes : 1/ Kuma resort denied us the entry for some drink ; 2/Pantai Waijarang « complex » is abandonned but closed with fences ; you can still sneak in ; 3/ some reports advise to skip Bukit Cinta (foreigner entry fee) for Bukit Doa Watomiten (stations of the cross) ; well Bukit Cinta has also been abandonned (well spent money…sic) but remains opened with structures falling (quickly) appart. Night @Lamalera Inn (200k per head including meals ; very basic fan room + attached mandi). Planned 2 nights, spent only one, as it’s the only tenant I had difficulties with (only interested in money, initially stated crazy prices, starts loud music at 6am … and drinking moke at 8am…) D11 : Trip to Wulandoni for the Barter Market (Saturday only). Bad road (C) along the coast. Had to report at the Kantor upon arrival, which quite surprisingly asked 100k per person (foreigner) to go inside the (outside) market. Other « local » tourists (a group from Jakarta) were not asked to pay. Well, since a market is a public space and not a zoo, we refused payment and enjoyed the activity from the kopi stall next to it. Returned then to Lamalera for the catches of the day, then to Lewoleba via the mountain road (45km, 2 hours). First 10km to Puor is in very bad condition and uphill (D/C). The remaining is on a newly constructed road (A). Note : Air Panas Sabutobo is abandonned and falling apart (again…) but there are still some water pipes along the river that you can enjoy (depending how lucky you are, just with the forest sounds as companion). Night @Elmany Homestay D12 : Chill day alond the northern coast (Batu Payung, Pantai Hadakewa with lot of snorkeling, drove till Wailolong and backtracked to Pantai Lewolein for more snorkeling (nice canyons there !) and another fantastic sunset over Ile Api (see GMaps pictures)). Night @Elmany Homestay D13 : Monday weekly market at Pada, southwest of Lewoleba. Renowned but honnestly dont plan any itinerary specifically for it, just an ordinary Kampung weekly market. Returned to Larantuka and Flores with the 12pm local boat (the same boat that leaves from Larantuka at 8am). Same prices as the first leg. Night @ Dewy Onong Homestay D14 : Larantuka – Waiterang along the northern coast (100km, 3h) via Pantai Kawaliwu, Tewuk Lewokluok (trail is easy to find, very nice snorkelling in a lagoon), Pantai Lato (to my opinion the most beautiful beach on Flores and you’ll be the only visitor, as opposed to Pantai Koka) and Pantai Hia, until rejoining the TransFlores near Nebe. Grade C on the costal eroded road / track. 3 nights @Lena Guesthouse (booked ahead as it fills up quickly, but we prefered its neighbour Sunset Beach Guesthouse) D15 : Snorkeling trip organised by Lena Guesthouse (200k per head excluding NP fees and lunch)). The drop-off near Pulau Babi is a very nice spot. D16 : scooter day trip around the Egon Range (too lazy to hike it…), through nice Sikka villages (route : Watublapi, Umauta, Bola, pantai Doreng, Nakatoli, foot of Gn Egon, Air panas Blidit). The track from Natakoli to the foot of Gn Egon is very steep, damaged and wet (with moss) ; I would recommend not to attempt that in case of bad weather. D17 : Waiterang – Moni (130km, 3h30, transflores grade A/B) via Pantai Koka (refused to pay the mafia entry fee…) and Jopu (some rumah Adat Lio). Stopped at Museum Bikon Blewut, south of Maumere. Very nice artefacts (especially wooden statues from Papuan, great ikat collection) although very disorganized and sadly non-visited (hence masterpieces fall into oblivion). 2 Nights @Liahz Lodge (150k for fan room, basic bathroom… but right next to Air Panas Liasembe (free, no closing time) !!!). D18 : Sunrise from Kelimutu with a nice weather (stayed until 8.30am). I don’t know if the sunrise is really worth it (lot of people ascending and watching the sunrise – a lot but nothing compared to e.g. Gn Bromo), nearly everyone going down around 7am, then there is virtually nobody. Trip (20km one way, good road B) to Kampung Adat Nggela (Lio). Although the village is habited and mostly out of the beaten path, I have mixed fillings due to the fact that most ladies (some are pushy) try to sell you (bad) pieces of ikat. D19 : Moni – Ende via Detusoko paddy fields, Kampung Adat Saga (Lio) and Puncak Ndona ; 75km 2h30. We really liked Saga (nice setting on the mountain, friendly villagers, no selling, mix between traditional and more modern houses in that lively village). Sunset from Bukit Raja, on the peninsula with a 360 view on Gn Iya, Gn Meja Kota Ende and the mountains behind. Note : at the end of the road (search for Gunung Meja Tourist Info Center), there is a (sand) track leading to the path. 1/ only intend the track if you have off road driving experience ; 2/ dont trust the walking time stated by Maps.me. Took us 45mins on a steady pace to reach the summit. Night @Hoja Homestay, 300k for a comfortable AC room with bathroom. D20 : Ende – Bajawa, via Air Panas Mengeruda ; grade A, 120km, 3 hours. Note : don’t plan to short in Mengeruda (Soa), very easy to spend a half day there, especially if playing with local kids. Stay @Cinnamon GH, 250k for double with fan and hot shower (cheaper options with shared hot shower availlable). D21 : First day in Bajawa : Watu Nari Wowo (Avatar Hill, sic…), Kampung Adat Ngada Tololela & Gurusina (very very friendly people, complementary views of Gn Inerie & Wolo Deru). Sunset from Puncak Manulalu (well… Heaven’s door Bar & Restaurant) D22 : Second day in Bajawa : Kampung Adat Ngio (hardly visited, best view on Gn Inerie), Air Panas Malanage, Kampung Adat Bena (the most visited Ngada village (after Bela ?) in the area, we went there at the end of the afternoon to avoid tours, early morning would be fine too), and Gunung Wolobobo for a terrific sunset D23 : returned to Gunung Wolobobo for sunrise with Gn Ebulobo in the distance (search for a track on the eastern slope, near the communication antenna). You can circuit the rim to the usual viewpoint (westside, sunset spot), the path is easy to find. Then took again the road to Aimere, visiting Kampung Adat Belaraghi enroute (the setting is maybe less rewarding than all the previous villages). 56km ; 1h30. The road to Belaraghi is fine, except the final part. D24 : Aimere – Ruteng (105km, 3h30). Nice detour by the paddy fields of Wodo (southwest of Golo Loni) of Sunset from Golo Curu (nice encounters with locals). Night @Tange GH, 130k for room with outside (private) bathroom, no breakfast. D25 : Surroundings of Ruteng (paddy fields north and east of ruteng ; Maps.me has funny tracks starting from Kenda), and the rather pleasant city itself (pasar, churches, lapangan). We finally skipped Liang Bua. D26 : Ruteng - Labuan Bajo (130km, 3h30). No visits of the waterfalls close to the TransFlores (entry fee (with bule prices) + mandatory guide etc…). Sunset from Bukit Hercadi with very few locals (Bukit Sylvia & Bukit Amelia, just south, were packed). 2 nights @Wellamas Homestay, away from the harbour and its advantages/disadvantages. 230k for comfortable AC room with hot shower. D27 : New road to Golo Mori Convention Center (another big money well spent…), with nice views on the strait separating Flores from Pulau Rinca. Some empty beaches (e.g. Pantai Pasir Pajang ; we were there on a weekday perhaps frequented by people from LBajo only). 30km (40 mins) one way, perhaps the fastest road of Flores… D28 : Morning on the peninsula north of Labuan Bajo before taking a flight to Jakarta in the afternoon. On Google maps, the asphalt road only goes to Teras Langit ; it now (august 2026) continues to Puncak Basok and is still in progress towards the eastern part of the peninsula. On the way back, two other nice Bukit where you can enjoy nice views on the bay (and the resorts…) : Bukit Lontar & Bukit Beta. Note : we only found one public (and nice and quiet) beach in the area ; tagged as Sunset Point Beach on Gmaps. All the rest was closed by fences ; they are privately owned (although the Indonesian consitution grants the coastline as public space).
Contexte : une trentaine de jours, en scooter et en duo, sur Florès (et une petite incursion dans l'archipel de Solor, plus précisément à Lembata (chut, faut pas trop en parler !!!), qui donne envie d'en faire beaucoup plus là bas malgré les infrastructures sporadiques), en partie dans des destinations déjà bien connues du forum (la classique Ruteng / Bajawa / Riung / Moni voir baie de Maumere) ... et qui ne parlera pas du PN de Komodo ou de Wae Rebo, puisque nous n'y sommes pas allés 🏴☠️.
Texte en anglais (issu d'une autre plateforme). Sans nul doute, des traducteurs intelligents ou pas marcheront à merveille en cas d'anglophobie 🤪.
Disponible à toute fin utile pour des détails ou infos.
Equippement : Yam' Nmax 155 ; 2x saccoches cavalières (25L) + sac de selle (30L) + saccoche tunnel (15L pour le matos photo) ; casques et vêtements d'enduro amenés depuis la France.
Itinéraire : boucle depuis Labuan bajo jusqu'à Pulau Lembata ; juillet-août 2026
Road conditions graded from A (excellent) to D (very bad, at least for a Scooter… a CRF/KLX or even honda ADV would do better on that) D1 : Labuan Bajo – Reok via Ranggoe, Rego & Tagol (130km ; 5hrs). Section LBajo – Rego (90 km ; B) is quite good tarmac, despite a lot of elevation with many small valleys and passes. Rego – Tagol (10km ; D) is a stone road (not gravel), some ascents & very poor condition ; necessary to lower tyre pressure. Tagol – Reok port (22km, quality depends considerably from D to B). Reok port – Towncenter : B. Night @Iffah Homestay (100k for fan room, mandi attached, no breakfast), simple but clean. Notes : path to danau Sano Limbung was closed ; access to Tiwu Pai & Wae Kuli (waterfalls) not permitted in july 2026. D2 : Reok – Riung via Pota (105km ; 3h-3h30). The road is very narrow in some part, thanks to the uncut bushes (lowering visibility hence extra caution as animals/people can suddenly appear in a turn…) but generally good condition except many eroded sections and some unpaved ones. Grade C/B. 2 nights @Mentos (285k for AC room) D3 : Boat tour in Riung (booked directly with a captain, 800k for two for private boat incl. lunch and NP fees) + sunset from Watu Mitong Riung (should not be missed). D4 : Riung – Muku Saki via Mbay (around 100km ; 3h30). Quality varies from A in the vicinity of Mbay to eroded sections (C) in secluded places. Night @Sao Paolo Homestay (250k for fan room with mandi, maybe overpriced but nice house and great food). Note : if you happen to pass by Mbay on Saturday, the market is well worth a stop (cheapest Ikat on the trip : you’ll be asked normal prices providing you’re OK in Bahasa…) D5 : Muku Saki – Tanjung Kajuwulu (near Ndete) (90km, 3h). Many patholes, eroded (C). Night at Déjà Vu Homestay (220k for a matress on the floor & outside mandi/toilets ; I woud define this as a tourist trap – the quote we had for food was double priced too…) D6 : Tanjung Kajuwulu – Waiterang (east of Maumere, 55km , 1h30). Pathholes till maumere, then All good (TransFlores), C/A. Night at Sunset Cottage (new concrete room, very serene place ; 270k for AC with bathroom ; much prefered Sunset over Lena House (more customers, more built up). D7 : Waiterang – Larantuka via Boru and Eputobi (TransFlores ; grade A ; 115km / 2h40). Particularly liked the drink stalls (marked as Rest Area Eputobi) and the out of order aquatic park just before Larantuka (obyej wisata waiplatin). Night @ Dewy Onong Homestay, which is not advertising itself as Larantuka Beach Homestay as some contributor signals here and on goole maps review. Best breakfast of the trip (Cumi Cumi !!!) ; 275k for AC room with bathroom. D8 : Local Boat (Kapal Kayu) from the main port to Lembata (Lewoleba). Departure 8am ; price 60k/head + 50k for the bike. Stop enroute on Adonara (where we did not stop due to fights between communities). Night @Elmany Homestay (275k for AC room with bathroom, fan room with shared bathroom also available). Whole afternoon at Pantai Hadakewa, fantastic place (good snorkeling, great views of Ile Api aka Gn Lewotolo). Road condition : A (did not expect the TransLembata to be that good…). D9 : Loop around Ile Api (50km, 2hrs), anticlockwise. Stops enroute at Situs Tulang Paus (whale squeletton), pantai Jotona, pantai Wena (we expected to snorkel from there, but wind was very strong that day), situs Watu Nale, Selat Sonia. The western coast is far less interesting. Road conditions : bad (C) on the eastern side (up to Riangbeda), good (B/A) afterwards. Night @Elmany Homestay. D10 : Lewoleba – Lamalera via the western and south coast (70km, 2h30). Good road (B) for roughly the first 55km (up to Tapobali), then eroded track for the last 15km (in some parts steep and dangerous) up to Lamalera (D/C). Notes : 1/ Kuma resort denied us the entry for some drink ; 2/Pantai Waijarang « complex » is abandonned but closed with fences ; you can still sneak in ; 3/ some reports advise to skip Bukit Cinta (foreigner entry fee) for Bukit Doa Watomiten (stations of the cross) ; well Bukit Cinta has also been abandonned (well spent money…sic) but remains opened with structures falling (quickly) appart. Night @Lamalera Inn (200k per head including meals ; very basic fan room + attached mandi). Planned 2 nights, spent only one, as it’s the only tenant I had difficulties with (only interested in money, initially stated crazy prices, starts loud music at 6am … and drinking moke at 8am…) D11 : Trip to Wulandoni for the Barter Market (Saturday only). Bad road (C) along the coast. Had to report at the Kantor upon arrival, which quite surprisingly asked 100k per person (foreigner) to go inside the (outside) market. Other « local » tourists (a group from Jakarta) were not asked to pay. Well, since a market is a public space and not a zoo, we refused payment and enjoyed the activity from the kopi stall next to it. Returned then to Lamalera for the catches of the day, then to Lewoleba via the mountain road (45km, 2 hours). First 10km to Puor is in very bad condition and uphill (D/C). The remaining is on a newly constructed road (A). Note : Air Panas Sabutobo is abandonned and falling apart (again…) but there are still some water pipes along the river that you can enjoy (depending how lucky you are, just with the forest sounds as companion). Night @Elmany Homestay D12 : Chill day alond the northern coast (Batu Payung, Pantai Hadakewa with lot of snorkeling, drove till Wailolong and backtracked to Pantai Lewolein for more snorkeling (nice canyons there !) and another fantastic sunset over Ile Api (see GMaps pictures)). Night @Elmany Homestay D13 : Monday weekly market at Pada, southwest of Lewoleba. Renowned but honnestly dont plan any itinerary specifically for it, just an ordinary Kampung weekly market. Returned to Larantuka and Flores with the 12pm local boat (the same boat that leaves from Larantuka at 8am). Same prices as the first leg. Night @ Dewy Onong Homestay D14 : Larantuka – Waiterang along the northern coast (100km, 3h) via Pantai Kawaliwu, Tewuk Lewokluok (trail is easy to find, very nice snorkelling in a lagoon), Pantai Lato (to my opinion the most beautiful beach on Flores and you’ll be the only visitor, as opposed to Pantai Koka) and Pantai Hia, until rejoining the TransFlores near Nebe. Grade C on the costal eroded road / track. 3 nights @Lena Guesthouse (booked ahead as it fills up quickly, but we prefered its neighbour Sunset Beach Guesthouse) D15 : Snorkeling trip organised by Lena Guesthouse (200k per head excluding NP fees and lunch)). The drop-off near Pulau Babi is a very nice spot. D16 : scooter day trip around the Egon Range (too lazy to hike it…), through nice Sikka villages (route : Watublapi, Umauta, Bola, pantai Doreng, Nakatoli, foot of Gn Egon, Air panas Blidit). The track from Natakoli to the foot of Gn Egon is very steep, damaged and wet (with moss) ; I would recommend not to attempt that in case of bad weather. D17 : Waiterang – Moni (130km, 3h30, transflores grade A/B) via Pantai Koka (refused to pay the mafia entry fee…) and Jopu (some rumah Adat Lio). Stopped at Museum Bikon Blewut, south of Maumere. Very nice artefacts (especially wooden statues from Papuan, great ikat collection) although very disorganized and sadly non-visited (hence masterpieces fall into oblivion). 2 Nights @Liahz Lodge (150k for fan room, basic bathroom… but right next to Air Panas Liasembe (free, no closing time) !!!). D18 : Sunrise from Kelimutu with a nice weather (stayed until 8.30am). I don’t know if the sunrise is really worth it (lot of people ascending and watching the sunrise – a lot but nothing compared to e.g. Gn Bromo), nearly everyone going down around 7am, then there is virtually nobody. Trip (20km one way, good road B) to Kampung Adat Nggela (Lio). Although the village is habited and mostly out of the beaten path, I have mixed fillings due to the fact that most ladies (some are pushy) try to sell you (bad) pieces of ikat. D19 : Moni – Ende via Detusoko paddy fields, Kampung Adat Saga (Lio) and Puncak Ndona ; 75km 2h30. We really liked Saga (nice setting on the mountain, friendly villagers, no selling, mix between traditional and more modern houses in that lively village). Sunset from Bukit Raja, on the peninsula with a 360 view on Gn Iya, Gn Meja Kota Ende and the mountains behind. Note : at the end of the road (search for Gunung Meja Tourist Info Center), there is a (sand) track leading to the path. 1/ only intend the track if you have off road driving experience ; 2/ dont trust the walking time stated by Maps.me. Took us 45mins on a steady pace to reach the summit. Night @Hoja Homestay, 300k for a comfortable AC room with bathroom. D20 : Ende – Bajawa, via Air Panas Mengeruda ; grade A, 120km, 3 hours. Note : don’t plan to short in Mengeruda (Soa), very easy to spend a half day there, especially if playing with local kids. Stay @Cinnamon GH, 250k for double with fan and hot shower (cheaper options with shared hot shower availlable). D21 : First day in Bajawa : Watu Nari Wowo (Avatar Hill, sic…), Kampung Adat Ngada Tololela & Gurusina (very very friendly people, complementary views of Gn Inerie & Wolo Deru). Sunset from Puncak Manulalu (well… Heaven’s door Bar & Restaurant) D22 : Second day in Bajawa : Kampung Adat Ngio (hardly visited, best view on Gn Inerie), Air Panas Malanage, Kampung Adat Bena (the most visited Ngada village (after Bela ?) in the area, we went there at the end of the afternoon to avoid tours, early morning would be fine too), and Gunung Wolobobo for a terrific sunset D23 : returned to Gunung Wolobobo for sunrise with Gn Ebulobo in the distance (search for a track on the eastern slope, near the communication antenna). You can circuit the rim to the usual viewpoint (westside, sunset spot), the path is easy to find. Then took again the road to Aimere, visiting Kampung Adat Belaraghi enroute (the setting is maybe less rewarding than all the previous villages). 56km ; 1h30. The road to Belaraghi is fine, except the final part. D24 : Aimere – Ruteng (105km, 3h30). Nice detour by the paddy fields of Wodo (southwest of Golo Loni) of Sunset from Golo Curu (nice encounters with locals). Night @Tange GH, 130k for room with outside (private) bathroom, no breakfast. D25 : Surroundings of Ruteng (paddy fields north and east of ruteng ; Maps.me has funny tracks starting from Kenda), and the rather pleasant city itself (pasar, churches, lapangan). We finally skipped Liang Bua. D26 : Ruteng - Labuan Bajo (130km, 3h30). No visits of the waterfalls close to the TransFlores (entry fee (with bule prices) + mandatory guide etc…). Sunset from Bukit Hercadi with very few locals (Bukit Sylvia & Bukit Amelia, just south, were packed). 2 nights @Wellamas Homestay, away from the harbour and its advantages/disadvantages. 230k for comfortable AC room with hot shower. D27 : New road to Golo Mori Convention Center (another big money well spent…), with nice views on the strait separating Flores from Pulau Rinca. Some empty beaches (e.g. Pantai Pasir Pajang ; we were there on a weekday perhaps frequented by people from LBajo only). 30km (40 mins) one way, perhaps the fastest road of Flores… D28 : Morning on the peninsula north of Labuan Bajo before taking a flight to Jakarta in the afternoon. On Google maps, the asphalt road only goes to Teras Langit ; it now (august 2026) continues to Puncak Basok and is still in progress towards the eastern part of the peninsula. On the way back, two other nice Bukit where you can enjoy nice views on the bay (and the resorts…) : Bukit Lontar & Bukit Beta. Note : we only found one public (and nice and quiet) beach in the area ; tagged as Sunset Point Beach on Gmaps. All the rest was closed by fences ; they are privately owned (although the Indonesian consitution grants the coastline as public space).
We're a family of five: one dad, one mom, and three kids aged 10, 15, and 18.
Before diving into each stop in more detail, here are a few general thoughts:
We wanted to sample a bit of everything Japan has to offer in terms of landscapes, accommodation, and transport. We were after walks, temples, restaurants, shopping, and some downtime—but no "all-inclusive experiences" or museums for this first visit.
Three medium-sized (60x42x25) canvas suitcases, plus a duffel bag and a few small backpacks. 23 kg in the hold on the way out, 60 kg on the way back. 36 kg of shopping, without even trying. I think this is the maximum suitcase size if you don’t want to stress on the Shinkansen: they fit easily in the overhead racks.
Round-trip with Cathay Pacific, layover in Hong Kong: no need to collect luggage in Hong Kong—we checked it in at departure and picked it up in Tokyo, and the same on the way back (checked in Osaka, picked up at our final destination). This let us explore Hong Kong without worrying about our bags. Food and entertainment were pretty good—meals included a little Häagen-Dazs on each flight, and the entertainment had way more Asian cinema than you’d find on a Western airline, which was a nice way to see how much weight Western culture carries in Asia.
Initial itinerary: Tokyo (3 nights) Hakone (2 nights) Takayama (1 night) Kanazawa (2 nights) Kyoto (4 nights) Osaka (1 night) Ishigaki (3 nights)
The original plan was to fly directly from Ishigaki to Hong Kong, but due to Typhoon Dolphin, we had to cancel the Ishigaki leg. Cathay didn’t bat an eye about swapping the Ishigaki-HK flight for an Osaka-HK one, even though it was twice as long. We were a bit too attached to the idea of ending the trip with some beach time and replaced Ishigaki with Shirahama. It was a mistake—we should’ve visited Hiroshima or spent a little more time in Tokyo instead.
Before diving into each stop in more detail, here are a few general thoughts:
We wanted to sample a bit of everything Japan has to offer in terms of landscapes, accommodation, and transport. We were after walks, temples, restaurants, shopping, and some downtime—but no "all-inclusive experiences" or museums for this first visit.
Three medium-sized (60x42x25) canvas suitcases, plus a duffel bag and a few small backpacks. 23 kg in the hold on the way out, 60 kg on the way back. 36 kg of shopping, without even trying. I think this is the maximum suitcase size if you don’t want to stress on the Shinkansen: they fit easily in the overhead racks.
Round-trip with Cathay Pacific, layover in Hong Kong: no need to collect luggage in Hong Kong—we checked it in at departure and picked it up in Tokyo, and the same on the way back (checked in Osaka, picked up at our final destination). This let us explore Hong Kong without worrying about our bags. Food and entertainment were pretty good—meals included a little Häagen-Dazs on each flight, and the entertainment had way more Asian cinema than you’d find on a Western airline, which was a nice way to see how much weight Western culture carries in Asia.
Initial itinerary: Tokyo (3 nights) Hakone (2 nights) Takayama (1 night) Kanazawa (2 nights) Kyoto (4 nights) Osaka (1 night) Ishigaki (3 nights)
The original plan was to fly directly from Ishigaki to Hong Kong, but due to Typhoon Dolphin, we had to cancel the Ishigaki leg. Cathay didn’t bat an eye about swapping the Ishigaki-HK flight for an Osaka-HK one, even though it was twice as long. We were a bit too attached to the idea of ending the trip with some beach time and replaced Ishigaki with Shirahama. It was a mistake—we should’ve visited Hiroshima or spent a little more time in Tokyo instead.
Hi there,
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
Happy reading, and safe travels!
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
Happy reading, and safe travels!
Hello and welcome aboard this new travel journal!
We’re heading off to Ireland together—a country I’ve wanted to explore for a very long time.

The moment has finally arrived. We’ll be traveling as a family—my wife, my husband, and our 7-year-old daughter.
Here’s our itinerary:
24/07: Flight from Marseille to Dublin, overnight in Dublin 25/07: Dublin, overnight in Dublin 26/07: Dublin, overnight in Dublin 27/07: Pick up rental car, drive to Dingle, overnight near Tralee on the peninsula 28/07: Visit the Ring of Kerry 29/07: Adare, Bunratty Castle, Galway, overnight in Outheragh, near Galway 30/07: Cliffs of Moher, overnight in Outheragh 31/07: Connemara, overnight in Outheragh 01/08: Drive to Sligo via Westport and Downpatrick Head, overnight in Sligo 02/08: Slieve League, Silver Strand Beach, Glencolmcille, overnight in Sligo 03/08: Drive to Derry via Glenveagh National Park, overnight in Derry 04/08: Giant’s Causeway, Dunluce Castle, Portrush, Derry, overnight in Derry 05/08: Drive to Belfast, visit Belfast, overnight in Lisburn (Belfast suburbs) 06/08: Game of Thrones filming locations: Dark Hedges, Carrick-a-Rede, Ballintoy, etc., overnight in Lisburn 07/08: Drive to the Wicklow Mountains, visit Wicklow Mountains National Park, overnight in Blessington 08/08: Drive back to Dublin and return to Marseille.
Cost breakdown:
Flights:
Outbound flights with KLM via Amsterdam for 3: 175 € + 40,000 Flying Blue miles (so essentially a free ticket) Return flight with Aer Lingus for 3: 489 €

Rental car:
10 days booked with Enterprise via Carigami: 443 € including zero-excess insurance.

Accommodation:
Dublin: 3 nights at Maldron Hotel New Cross: 394 € Tralee: 2 nights in a caravan (Ocean Trail Oasis): 292 € Outheragh: 3 nights Airbnb, family room with private bathroom: 430 € Sligo: 2 nights at Clayton Hotel: 456 € Derry: 2 nights at Belfray Inn: 255 € Lisburn: 2 nights at Temple Golf Club: 232 € Blessington: 1 night at Baltyboys Lodges B&B: 158 €

That brings our total to 3,325 € for three.
On the ground, visits, fuel, and food cost around 2,500 €. So this was quite an expensive trip. A few price examples: 1 liter of unleaded fuel: 1.89 € 3-day pass in Dublin: 18 € 1 scoop of ice cream: 5 to 6.5 € Castle visit: 15 € per person A coffee: 3-4 € A glass of wine at a restaurant: 8-10 € A half-pint of Guinness: 7-12 €

Now, here’s the day-by-day account of our adventure in Ireland:

The moment has finally arrived. We’ll be traveling as a family—my wife, my husband, and our 7-year-old daughter.
Here’s our itinerary:
24/07: Flight from Marseille to Dublin, overnight in Dublin 25/07: Dublin, overnight in Dublin 26/07: Dublin, overnight in Dublin 27/07: Pick up rental car, drive to Dingle, overnight near Tralee on the peninsula 28/07: Visit the Ring of Kerry 29/07: Adare, Bunratty Castle, Galway, overnight in Outheragh, near Galway 30/07: Cliffs of Moher, overnight in Outheragh 31/07: Connemara, overnight in Outheragh 01/08: Drive to Sligo via Westport and Downpatrick Head, overnight in Sligo 02/08: Slieve League, Silver Strand Beach, Glencolmcille, overnight in Sligo 03/08: Drive to Derry via Glenveagh National Park, overnight in Derry 04/08: Giant’s Causeway, Dunluce Castle, Portrush, Derry, overnight in Derry 05/08: Drive to Belfast, visit Belfast, overnight in Lisburn (Belfast suburbs) 06/08: Game of Thrones filming locations: Dark Hedges, Carrick-a-Rede, Ballintoy, etc., overnight in Lisburn 07/08: Drive to the Wicklow Mountains, visit Wicklow Mountains National Park, overnight in Blessington 08/08: Drive back to Dublin and return to Marseille.
Cost breakdown:
Flights:
Outbound flights with KLM via Amsterdam for 3: 175 € + 40,000 Flying Blue miles (so essentially a free ticket) Return flight with Aer Lingus for 3: 489 €

Rental car:
10 days booked with Enterprise via Carigami: 443 € including zero-excess insurance.

Accommodation:
Dublin: 3 nights at Maldron Hotel New Cross: 394 € Tralee: 2 nights in a caravan (Ocean Trail Oasis): 292 € Outheragh: 3 nights Airbnb, family room with private bathroom: 430 € Sligo: 2 nights at Clayton Hotel: 456 € Derry: 2 nights at Belfray Inn: 255 € Lisburn: 2 nights at Temple Golf Club: 232 € Blessington: 1 night at Baltyboys Lodges B&B: 158 €

That brings our total to 3,325 € for three.
On the ground, visits, fuel, and food cost around 2,500 €. So this was quite an expensive trip. A few price examples: 1 liter of unleaded fuel: 1.89 € 3-day pass in Dublin: 18 € 1 scoop of ice cream: 5 to 6.5 € Castle visit: 15 € per person A coffee: 3-4 € A glass of wine at a restaurant: 8-10 € A half-pint of Guinness: 7-12 €

Now, here’s the day-by-day account of our adventure in Ireland:
Day 1 – December 6
Our decision is our decision. And it’s firm and final. Next winter, our plane will spread its great wings toward the island of Ceylon! "Wait a minute... Ceylon... Ceylon... that name rings a bell, but I can’t quite place it on the globe Grandma gave me for Christmas! Ceylon... Oh right, I’ve got it: Ceylon is the name of my tea!" Exactly. But the name on your pretty tea box is also the one used until 1972 for this island nation, a speck on the Indian Ocean at the southern tip of the Indian subcontinent: Sri Lanka!
For this new adventure, I’m exceptionally leaving my Flo behind, cowardly replaced by a double dose of testosterone. To write the book of this journey with me, I’m bringing along my brother, who’s used to this kind of thing, and... a guest star: My model of resilience. My dad! All aboard! Or rather, all aboard our tuk-tuk! Yes, you read that right: A real tuk-tuk, a little colorful rolling box that putters along at two miles an hour. The idea? Well, Sri Lanka and its winding roads overlooking the vastness of lush nature are tailor-made for this kind of vehicle. And since it’s one of only two countries in the world that allow foreigners to rent and drive these mini speedsters, we’ll be crisscrossing the island in our two-square-meter rolling box. Plus, adopting this mode of transport is a surefire way to connect directly with the locals, who’ll surely be curious to see a foreigner driving their iconic vehicle. Not to mention the... let’s say... spicy anecdotes it might generate. I mean, heading into a subtropical zone with my jet-black dad and his unpredictable digestive flora while deliberately choosing the tuk-tuk as our *only* means of transport? That’s the winning combo for an unforgettable adventure! "More seriously, Dad, Sullivan, I’m already loving the idea of living this adventure together, the three of us—brothers and father..."
So, does the intro to this new adventure get your salivary glands going? Yes? Too bad. Because unfortunately, the program handed out by the lady at the entrance has been slightly... let’s say *crumpled*. Some might even say "scrunched up and nearly tossed in the trash." First, six days ago, as the countdown echoed in us like a call to adventure, Cyclone Ditwah grabbed Sri Lanka, played with it like a rag doll, and left it battered on the ground. The toll is devastating: over a thousand dead, thousands of homes wiped out by relentless rains, roads and railways swallowed by massive mudslides. A country wounded once again, after the civil war, the 2004 tsunami, and the post-Covid economic crisis.
But as if this weather disaster wasn’t enough to shake our unbreakable adventurer spirit, fate decided to mess with us further by cutting our trio down to two. The victim? My brother, violently turned away because of a simple date on his passport that didn’t match the border officials’ expectations. Return to sender!
So now it’s just the two of us allowed to board the Qatar Airways Airbus A380 for this trip. If he were here, Denis Brognart would say, "And in the end, only one remains!" Except I know you’ll be with us, following our adventures! Right?
Our decision is our decision. And it’s firm and final. Next winter, our plane will spread its great wings toward the island of Ceylon! "Wait a minute... Ceylon... Ceylon... that name rings a bell, but I can’t quite place it on the globe Grandma gave me for Christmas! Ceylon... Oh right, I’ve got it: Ceylon is the name of my tea!" Exactly. But the name on your pretty tea box is also the one used until 1972 for this island nation, a speck on the Indian Ocean at the southern tip of the Indian subcontinent: Sri Lanka!
For this new adventure, I’m exceptionally leaving my Flo behind, cowardly replaced by a double dose of testosterone. To write the book of this journey with me, I’m bringing along my brother, who’s used to this kind of thing, and... a guest star: My model of resilience. My dad! All aboard! Or rather, all aboard our tuk-tuk! Yes, you read that right: A real tuk-tuk, a little colorful rolling box that putters along at two miles an hour. The idea? Well, Sri Lanka and its winding roads overlooking the vastness of lush nature are tailor-made for this kind of vehicle. And since it’s one of only two countries in the world that allow foreigners to rent and drive these mini speedsters, we’ll be crisscrossing the island in our two-square-meter rolling box. Plus, adopting this mode of transport is a surefire way to connect directly with the locals, who’ll surely be curious to see a foreigner driving their iconic vehicle. Not to mention the... let’s say... spicy anecdotes it might generate. I mean, heading into a subtropical zone with my jet-black dad and his unpredictable digestive flora while deliberately choosing the tuk-tuk as our *only* means of transport? That’s the winning combo for an unforgettable adventure! "More seriously, Dad, Sullivan, I’m already loving the idea of living this adventure together, the three of us—brothers and father..."
So, does the intro to this new adventure get your salivary glands going? Yes? Too bad. Because unfortunately, the program handed out by the lady at the entrance has been slightly... let’s say *crumpled*. Some might even say "scrunched up and nearly tossed in the trash." First, six days ago, as the countdown echoed in us like a call to adventure, Cyclone Ditwah grabbed Sri Lanka, played with it like a rag doll, and left it battered on the ground. The toll is devastating: over a thousand dead, thousands of homes wiped out by relentless rains, roads and railways swallowed by massive mudslides. A country wounded once again, after the civil war, the 2004 tsunami, and the post-Covid economic crisis.
But as if this weather disaster wasn’t enough to shake our unbreakable adventurer spirit, fate decided to mess with us further by cutting our trio down to two. The victim? My brother, violently turned away because of a simple date on his passport that didn’t match the border officials’ expectations. Return to sender!
So now it’s just the two of us allowed to board the Qatar Airways Airbus A380 for this trip. If he were here, Denis Brognart would say, "And in the end, only one remains!" Except I know you’ll be with us, following our adventures! Right?
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 rental options kept making me postpone the project.
And then, everything suddenly fell into place—I told myself, it’s time!
The preparations took longer than usual; the destination is still far from mainstream.
A bit of Kazakhstan? Not in the end.
The south or not the south? Yes, in the end.
Pre-book or go with the flow? 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 about 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! (Steak for my partner’s mischievous nephews...)

You’ll find here a post with some practical information.
And here, the version of the travel journal without comments.
---/---
As a supplement, the route track. Not necessarily ultra-accurate since Google has serious gaps for this destination...
From Bishkek to Karakol:

From Karakol to Kochkor:

From Kochkor to Baetov:

From Baetov to Kara-Köl:

From Kara-Köl to Bishkek:


But the discomfort of overnight stays, the difficulty of communication, and the prices of the few car rental options kept making me postpone the project.
And then, everything suddenly fell into place—I told myself, it’s time!
The preparations took longer than usual; the destination is still far from mainstream.
A bit of Kazakhstan? Not in the end.
The south or not the south? Yes, in the end.
Pre-book or go with the flow? 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 about 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! (Steak for my partner’s mischievous nephews...)

You’ll find here a post with some practical information.
And here, the version of the travel journal without comments.
---/---
As a supplement, the route track. Not necessarily ultra-accurate since Google has serious gaps for this destination...
From Bishkek to Karakol:

From Karakol to Kochkor:

From Kochkor to Baetov:

From Baetov to Kara-Köl:

From Kara-Köl to Bishkek:


Hello everyone, I’m happy to welcome you to this new travel journal.
We’re heading to Costa Rica together—a Central American destination that dreams are made of for many French travelers and attracts crowds from France.

It was the country’s wild nature and safety that convinced us to go, since we’re traveling with our 7-year-old little one. We didn’t have much vacation time in February 2026 (only 12 days), so we optimized as much as possible.

Here’s the itinerary: Wednesday, February 11: Flight from Marseille to San Jose via Paris and Atlanta Thursday, February 12: Pick up the car, drive to Poas Volcano, visit La Paz Waterfall Gardens Friday, February 13: Poas Volcano and drive to Manuel Antonio Saturday, February 14: Manuel Antonio National Park Sunday, February 15: Nauyaca Waterfall and Playa Linda Monday, February 16: Drive to Monte Verde and Santa Elena Reserve Tuesday, February 17: El Tigre Waterfall Reserve and Treetopia Park Wednesday, February 18: Monte Verde Reserve with a guide and drive to La Fortuna Thursday, February 19: Sloth guided tour, Observatory Lodge Park Friday, February 20: Arenal Volcano National Park, Termalistas del Arenal hot springs, and night tour Saturday, February 21: Return to San Jose, flight to Paris via Atlanta Sunday, February 22: Arrival in Paris and flight to Marseille. That gives us a solid 9 days in the country.

Budget breakdown: Costa Rica is an expensive country, but no more so than France. However, almost all hikes and waterfalls are paid entry, which can really add up. For meals, sodas (6–10 €) are cheaper than restaurants (10–20 € per dish).

Flights: We chose Delta Airlines for the price: Marseille to San Jose was 740 € per person (modifiable, with checked baggage and seat selection included). Other direct flights from Europe were priced between 1200 € and 1600 € with more restrictive conditions. That’s 2220 € for the family.

Accommodations: Alajuela, first night: 139 € (1 night) at Rodeo Estancia Boutique Hotel, with personalized airport pickup, transfer to the hotel, and a briefing from Vert Costa Rica agency the next day. Poas: 66 € (1 night) at Cabañas Tierra Fértil (entire apartment). Manuel Antonio: 394 € (3 nights) at La Palapa Ecolodge (hotel in the jungle). Monte Verde: Chalet Aloha Monteverde Cloud Forest (2 bedrooms): 125 € (2 nights). La Fortuna: Arenal Dream Garden (1 bedroom): 217 € (3 nights). Total: 941 €.

Car rental: I went through Vert Costa Rica agency (Vincent is a French expat who set up the agency in Costa Rica and makes great YouTube videos with useful tips). I rented a 4x4 that was delivered to the hotel the day after arrival and returned at the airport before the flight. The total was 772 €, including full insurance (zero deductible), a child seat, and a phone with a Costa Rican SIM and WhatsApp. The rental company was Poas Rent a Car. The vehicle was well-maintained—no complaints. Gas: 100 € for the whole trip (3 fill-ups).

Activities: To get discounts, I bought the pass offered by Vincent, which paid for itself after just one activity. It cost me 30 € (promo since I rented the car through him). Prices are for 3 people. I’ve added stars to rate them: La Paz Waterfall Gardens ****: 112 € Poas Volcano National Park *: 33 € Manuel Antonio National Park ****: 35 € Nauyaca Waterfall ***: 25 € Santa Elena Reserve **: 45 € El Tigre Waterfall Reserve ****: 141 € (with meal) Treetopia (ziplining, suspension bridges) **: 250 € Guided tour of Monte Verde Reserve ***: 113 € Sloth guided tour (with breakfast) ***: 115 € Arenal Observatory Lodge (with meal) ****: 102 € Arenal Volcano National Park *: 34 € Termalistas del Arenal ****: 20 € Night tour ***: 116 € Total: 1171 €.

Meals: 600 € My favorite restaurants: Poas: Food court Mercaditas in Fraijanes Manuel Antonio (near La Palapa): La Langosta and also El Patio Near Nauyaca Waterfall: Ricar2 el Avión Between Manuel Antonio and Monte Verde: Soda D’Calle Santa Elena: HG’s Food Guadalupe (between Monte Verde and La Fortuna): Soda Río Piedras Arenal Observatory Lodge restaurant Arenal Oasis Ecolodge restaurant

Other expenses: 300 € (groceries for breakfast, drinks, ice cream, souvenirs, etc.) Total overall: 6065 € (about 2020 € per person).
Now, here’s the day-by-day account of this beautiful trip.
https://voyageforum.com/images/posts/small/1772295011-z8mILBEUXHU8Ajz.jpg

It was the country’s wild nature and safety that convinced us to go, since we’re traveling with our 7-year-old little one. We didn’t have much vacation time in February 2026 (only 12 days), so we optimized as much as possible.

Here’s the itinerary: Wednesday, February 11: Flight from Marseille to San Jose via Paris and Atlanta Thursday, February 12: Pick up the car, drive to Poas Volcano, visit La Paz Waterfall Gardens Friday, February 13: Poas Volcano and drive to Manuel Antonio Saturday, February 14: Manuel Antonio National Park Sunday, February 15: Nauyaca Waterfall and Playa Linda Monday, February 16: Drive to Monte Verde and Santa Elena Reserve Tuesday, February 17: El Tigre Waterfall Reserve and Treetopia Park Wednesday, February 18: Monte Verde Reserve with a guide and drive to La Fortuna Thursday, February 19: Sloth guided tour, Observatory Lodge Park Friday, February 20: Arenal Volcano National Park, Termalistas del Arenal hot springs, and night tour Saturday, February 21: Return to San Jose, flight to Paris via Atlanta Sunday, February 22: Arrival in Paris and flight to Marseille. That gives us a solid 9 days in the country.

Budget breakdown: Costa Rica is an expensive country, but no more so than France. However, almost all hikes and waterfalls are paid entry, which can really add up. For meals, sodas (6–10 €) are cheaper than restaurants (10–20 € per dish).

Flights: We chose Delta Airlines for the price: Marseille to San Jose was 740 € per person (modifiable, with checked baggage and seat selection included). Other direct flights from Europe were priced between 1200 € and 1600 € with more restrictive conditions. That’s 2220 € for the family.

Accommodations: Alajuela, first night: 139 € (1 night) at Rodeo Estancia Boutique Hotel, with personalized airport pickup, transfer to the hotel, and a briefing from Vert Costa Rica agency the next day. Poas: 66 € (1 night) at Cabañas Tierra Fértil (entire apartment). Manuel Antonio: 394 € (3 nights) at La Palapa Ecolodge (hotel in the jungle). Monte Verde: Chalet Aloha Monteverde Cloud Forest (2 bedrooms): 125 € (2 nights). La Fortuna: Arenal Dream Garden (1 bedroom): 217 € (3 nights). Total: 941 €.

Car rental: I went through Vert Costa Rica agency (Vincent is a French expat who set up the agency in Costa Rica and makes great YouTube videos with useful tips). I rented a 4x4 that was delivered to the hotel the day after arrival and returned at the airport before the flight. The total was 772 €, including full insurance (zero deductible), a child seat, and a phone with a Costa Rican SIM and WhatsApp. The rental company was Poas Rent a Car. The vehicle was well-maintained—no complaints. Gas: 100 € for the whole trip (3 fill-ups).

Activities: To get discounts, I bought the pass offered by Vincent, which paid for itself after just one activity. It cost me 30 € (promo since I rented the car through him). Prices are for 3 people. I’ve added stars to rate them: La Paz Waterfall Gardens ****: 112 € Poas Volcano National Park *: 33 € Manuel Antonio National Park ****: 35 € Nauyaca Waterfall ***: 25 € Santa Elena Reserve **: 45 € El Tigre Waterfall Reserve ****: 141 € (with meal) Treetopia (ziplining, suspension bridges) **: 250 € Guided tour of Monte Verde Reserve ***: 113 € Sloth guided tour (with breakfast) ***: 115 € Arenal Observatory Lodge (with meal) ****: 102 € Arenal Volcano National Park *: 34 € Termalistas del Arenal ****: 20 € Night tour ***: 116 € Total: 1171 €.

Meals: 600 € My favorite restaurants: Poas: Food court Mercaditas in Fraijanes Manuel Antonio (near La Palapa): La Langosta and also El Patio Near Nauyaca Waterfall: Ricar2 el Avión Between Manuel Antonio and Monte Verde: Soda D’Calle Santa Elena: HG’s Food Guadalupe (between Monte Verde and La Fortuna): Soda Río Piedras Arenal Observatory Lodge restaurant Arenal Oasis Ecolodge restaurant

Other expenses: 300 € (groceries for breakfast, drinks, ice cream, souvenirs, etc.) Total overall: 6065 € (about 2020 € per person).
Now, here’s the day-by-day account of this beautiful trip.
https://voyageforum.com/images/posts/small/1772295011-z8mILBEUXHU8Ajz.jpg
In early March, full of carefree joy and happy to return to Morocco, we landed in Marrakech under the sun.
We spent just one night in Marrakech at the Hôtel Toulousain, as we did on our previous trip. And we booked our 3 nights for the end of our trip, the second half of March... Ouch! Ouch! Ouch! But we’re not there yet...
Our first goal is to reach Magdaz, a mountain village in the Tessaout Valley, sometimes called the lost valley. We discovered the village of Magdaz on this forum, and we were charmed by the photos and comments from travelers who came before us. The road is easy—it’s dry, and the tarmac takes us right to the village gates at over 2,000 meters above sea level. We arrive in the afternoon and are left speechless by the beauty of the place. A jewel of Berber architecture! Perfectly restored granaries and kasbahs!

A young man from the village guides us on the visit and opens the doors to the terraces overlooking the village.
Several magnificent collective granaries have been beautifully restored. The warm colors of the stone capture the light wonderfully. It’s stunning!


We won’t find anything decent to stay overnight there, so we head back down a bit and settle in at the Assounfou guesthouse. Lovely welcome. The place is in excellent condition and very clean. It’s spacious, but we’re the only ones there. First day full of promise!
Our first goal is to reach Magdaz, a mountain village in the Tessaout Valley, sometimes called the lost valley. We discovered the village of Magdaz on this forum, and we were charmed by the photos and comments from travelers who came before us. The road is easy—it’s dry, and the tarmac takes us right to the village gates at over 2,000 meters above sea level. We arrive in the afternoon and are left speechless by the beauty of the place. A jewel of Berber architecture! Perfectly restored granaries and kasbahs!


A young man from the village guides us on the visit and opens the doors to the terraces overlooking the village.
Several magnificent collective granaries have been beautifully restored. The warm colors of the stone capture the light wonderfully. It’s stunning!


We won’t find anything decent to stay overnight there, so we head back down a bit and settle in at the Assounfou guesthouse. Lovely welcome. The place is in excellent condition and very clean. It’s spacious, but we’re the only ones there. First day full of promise!
You can post your personal photos in the following thread: https://voyageforum.com/forum/quelque-part-en-thailande-d10655574/
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.
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.
Hi everyone,
We (two adults, 74 and 70 years old) had already shared a travel journal about our first trip to the Philippines in February/March 2019 on this forum (https://voyageforum.com/v.f?post=9377175;search_string=carnet%20philippines). We had visited Manila, the Banaue rice terraces, Sagada, the Visayas (Bohol, Siquijor, Dumaguette), and on our way back to Luzon, the Taal volcano before returning to France. Delighted by this trip, organized by the French-speaking agency Alizé, we decided to further explore this beautiful country, this time focusing on Coron and Palawan.
Before writing this journal, I should mention that these are personal comments and don’t reflect any differing opinions. Without any literary or photographic talent, I’ll stick to the facts and share a few details about the visits, hotels, and restaurants.
Preparations
We decided to return in mid-January 2025 and consulted three French-speaking tour operators to create a trip based on our wishes (places to visit, type of accommodation) and budget. Comparing three operators helped us weigh their advice and make our choices. Only our first operator respected the budget, a second came close, and the third proposed a slightly more upscale trip. In the end, we chose the agency from our first trip. Our discussions helped refine our itinerary, and when we reviewed it point by point, the document provided was perfect, full of great tips. The most debated point was a 3-day, 2-night cruise between Coron and Palawan. We were tempted but worried about being the only "older" travelers among younger people and feared two uncomfortable nights. Reassured by our tour operator, we finally opted for this "exploration." We’ll come back to that later. Once the choice was made and dates set, we booked our international flights with Cathay Pacific for 750 € per person, which offers the best schedules (short layovers) at an acceptable price for flights arriving in Cebu. Our trip started on February 25 and returned to Paris on March 15.
International flights
The round-trip flights went smoothly. Cathay does the job well, without frills. The service quality seems to have slightly declined compared to our previous trips with them. Hong Kong Airport is huge but very practical. Note that not all airlines serve Cebu. Recommendation: Fill out your Philippine entry form within 72 hours before your flight. This can prevent issues with the airline (possible boarding refusal) and saves a lot of time upon arrival (see the Philippine embassy website).
Domestic flights
For our two domestic flights—Cebu to Coron and Puerto Princesa to Cebu—our tour operator chose Philippine Airlines and their propeller planes. No problems there.
Day 1: We landed around 12 PM (local time) after 17 hours of travel. A driver was waiting for us at the airport exit and took us to our hotel, intentionally chosen near the airport (Mandaue, about 10 minutes away) to help us recover and get a good night’s sleep before our early morning domestic flight the next day. The Mayoo Hotel, reasonably priced, was perfect for this. Large, beautiful room in a new building—clean, comfortable, with a spa. We could relax by the pool on the 16th floor and enjoy the city view. The breakfast was exceptional, and the staff was smiling, attentive, and helpful. An ATM in the lobby allowed for withdrawals. However, the hotel is in a neighborhood with nothing to see or do. We dined at the Korean restaurant K-GOGI across from the hotel—a real attraction and a great discovery.
Day 2: After a restful night, we were driven to the airport around 6:30 AM for an 8:10 AM flight from Cebu to Busuanga (Coron).

The flight was uneventful. Upon arrival, we paid 200 pesos per person for the Coron tourist fee before a 40-minute transfer to our hotel: Natura Resort, located outside the city in a secluded spot. The setting is stunning—a beautifully maintained tropical garden, a pleasant pool, and the option to book massages. The cottages are tropical-style with thatched roofs, simple and unpretentious.

The owner, who speaks French, told us that given the heat and our ages, climbing the 721 steps to the top of Mount Tapyas wasn’t necessary. She gave us a few rooftop recommendations to watch the sunset over Coron Bay. After a good swim in the pool and a meal at the resort’s pleasant restaurant, we hired a tricycle to go into town. We were told it costs 150 pesos one way, and depending on the return time, it could exceed 250 pesos. But our driver gave us his WhatsApp number and charged the same price regardless of the time. He just earned two days’ worth of customers. He dropped us off at the port where bangkas (local boats) gather for day trips. It was the end of the day, so there was a rush. A few shops around the port sold waterproof bags for marine excursions at reasonable prices (compared to back home), after some bargaining. We wandered the town’s alleys looking for the Top Hotel, whose rooftop is famous. Indeed, it’s perfectly located to admire the sunset and enjoy a refreshing drink.



We dined nearby at a small Chinese restaurant, then just had to call our driver to head back. The night wasn’t entirely restful—our hotel had a soundtrack of all the countryside animals, and it seemed they had no set bedtime! :
Preparations
We decided to return in mid-January 2025 and consulted three French-speaking tour operators to create a trip based on our wishes (places to visit, type of accommodation) and budget. Comparing three operators helped us weigh their advice and make our choices. Only our first operator respected the budget, a second came close, and the third proposed a slightly more upscale trip. In the end, we chose the agency from our first trip. Our discussions helped refine our itinerary, and when we reviewed it point by point, the document provided was perfect, full of great tips. The most debated point was a 3-day, 2-night cruise between Coron and Palawan. We were tempted but worried about being the only "older" travelers among younger people and feared two uncomfortable nights. Reassured by our tour operator, we finally opted for this "exploration." We’ll come back to that later. Once the choice was made and dates set, we booked our international flights with Cathay Pacific for 750 € per person, which offers the best schedules (short layovers) at an acceptable price for flights arriving in Cebu. Our trip started on February 25 and returned to Paris on March 15.
International flights
The round-trip flights went smoothly. Cathay does the job well, without frills. The service quality seems to have slightly declined compared to our previous trips with them. Hong Kong Airport is huge but very practical. Note that not all airlines serve Cebu. Recommendation: Fill out your Philippine entry form within 72 hours before your flight. This can prevent issues with the airline (possible boarding refusal) and saves a lot of time upon arrival (see the Philippine embassy website).
Domestic flights
For our two domestic flights—Cebu to Coron and Puerto Princesa to Cebu—our tour operator chose Philippine Airlines and their propeller planes. No problems there.
Day 1: We landed around 12 PM (local time) after 17 hours of travel. A driver was waiting for us at the airport exit and took us to our hotel, intentionally chosen near the airport (Mandaue, about 10 minutes away) to help us recover and get a good night’s sleep before our early morning domestic flight the next day. The Mayoo Hotel, reasonably priced, was perfect for this. Large, beautiful room in a new building—clean, comfortable, with a spa. We could relax by the pool on the 16th floor and enjoy the city view. The breakfast was exceptional, and the staff was smiling, attentive, and helpful. An ATM in the lobby allowed for withdrawals. However, the hotel is in a neighborhood with nothing to see or do. We dined at the Korean restaurant K-GOGI across from the hotel—a real attraction and a great discovery.
Day 2: After a restful night, we were driven to the airport around 6:30 AM for an 8:10 AM flight from Cebu to Busuanga (Coron).

The flight was uneventful. Upon arrival, we paid 200 pesos per person for the Coron tourist fee before a 40-minute transfer to our hotel: Natura Resort, located outside the city in a secluded spot. The setting is stunning—a beautifully maintained tropical garden, a pleasant pool, and the option to book massages. The cottages are tropical-style with thatched roofs, simple and unpretentious.

The owner, who speaks French, told us that given the heat and our ages, climbing the 721 steps to the top of Mount Tapyas wasn’t necessary. She gave us a few rooftop recommendations to watch the sunset over Coron Bay. After a good swim in the pool and a meal at the resort’s pleasant restaurant, we hired a tricycle to go into town. We were told it costs 150 pesos one way, and depending on the return time, it could exceed 250 pesos. But our driver gave us his WhatsApp number and charged the same price regardless of the time. He just earned two days’ worth of customers. He dropped us off at the port where bangkas (local boats) gather for day trips. It was the end of the day, so there was a rush. A few shops around the port sold waterproof bags for marine excursions at reasonable prices (compared to back home), after some bargaining. We wandered the town’s alleys looking for the Top Hotel, whose rooftop is famous. Indeed, it’s perfectly located to admire the sunset and enjoy a refreshing drink.



We dined nearby at a small Chinese restaurant, then just had to call our driver to head back. The night wasn’t entirely restful—our hotel had a soundtrack of all the countryside animals, and it seemed they had no set bedtime! :
Hi everyone!
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!
A little sneak peek?
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!
A little sneak peek?15 days across Gran Canaria, El Hierro, and a dash of Tenerife under the storm Thérèse!
The planned itinerary will be slightly disrupted...
(The version without discussions is here)
The planned itinerary will be slightly disrupted...
(The version without discussions is here)
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...












