En cinquante ans de voyage, j’ai accumulé en vrac des milliers de souvenirs, jetés pêle-mêle au fond de ma mémoire comme au fond d’une chambre d’étudiant !
Certains sont bien mis en évidence sur l’étagère, d’autres sont posés à même le sol, et certains resteront blottis et oubliés sous le lit, où je ne les redécouvrirai que dans plusieurs années, lors d’un improbable rangement de mes neurones ou d’un déménagement définitif rendu nécessaire par l’exigüité des lieux 😉.
Je n’ai surtout pas la patience désespérante et inutile de noter scrupuleusement et mécaniquement tous mes faits et gestes en voyage (« Nous nous sommes levés tôt pour enregistrer les bagages à l’aéroport », ... « Les chambres de l’hôtel étaient délicieuses », ... « Le taxi pour le centre ville nous a coûté six dollars cinquante », ...) car j’ai toujours pensé que la tenue détaillée et comptable de ses activités de voyageur faisait trop rapidement oublier ce qui constitue pour moi l’essentiel d’un voyage, à savoir toutes ces étranges sensations intimes et fortes qui éclairent à intervalle régulier le parcours du voyageur et qui sont pour moi totalement indescriptibles sur une feuille de papier, sauf si l’on a le talent littéraire d’un Stendhal ou d’un Pierre Loti, ce qui ne sera jamais mon cas…
De toute façon, il faut laisser un espace de liberté à la mémoire progressivement défaillante au fil des années, pour qu’elle ne se rattache pas exclusivement aux quelques lignes manuscrites maladroitement griffonnées à chaud, sur un petit carnet à spirale perdu au fond du sac à dos…
Si l’on n’y prend garde, le carnet de voyages finit par tuer les vrais souvenirs, car il est nécessairement illusoire de vouloir recréer le charme d’un hôtel disparu à la simple lecture, même attentive, de son livre de comptes !
Je n’écrirai donc jamais mes mémoires voyageuses…et personne ne s’en plaindra !
En conclusion, et si l’absence d’écriture et d’enregistrement, autre que photographique, de mes pérégrinations internationales me satisfait pleinement, des éclairs de mémoire ressurgissent toujours à intervalle régulier, souvent dix ou vingt ans après, et il me prend parfois l’envie égoïste de redonner vie par le texte à de petites anecdotes insignifiantes de voyage, comme pour regretter un peu (mais pas longtemps !) d’avoir dilapidé volontairement mon capital souvenir en refusant obstinément son enregistrement par un écrit quotidien et systématique.
Ci-dessous, dans les posts suivants, deux premiers exemples de cette réminiscence voyageuse, deux "anti-carnets de voyages", le premier déjà diffusé dans VF il y a un an, (..mais un peu "retravaillé" ) et le second de rédaction récente, donc inédit sur ce forum.
J’espère qu’ils vous distrairont quelques instants autant qu'ils m'ont amusé à les écrire... 🙂
TRAGEDIE EN TROIS ACTES
Unité de lieu : Lake Louise (Rocheuses Canadiennes)
Unité de temps : Un matin d'août 1996 (texte écrit en 2007)
ACTE 1 / 7h30 du matin
Comme presque tous les jours depuis une semaine, le timbre strident de mon petit réveil de voyage m’a extrait violemment de ma torpeur, quelques minutes avant l’aube.
Ce réflexe incongru (tous mes amis me disent qu’il n’est pas raisonnable de se lever tôt en vacances, même quand on voyage seul) m’a quand même permis de voir pour la première fois de ma vie des ours et des loups en liberté, seul à quelques dizaines de mètres d’eux.
Ce n’est donc pas à mon âge que je vais renoncer à ces petits plaisirs de la vie et changer soudainement mes habitudes.
Je suis seul et heureux, à des milliers de kilomètres des tristes brumes parisiennes.
A l’issue des 50 kilomètres parcourus, sans croiser âme qui vive, le long de la large route sinueuse de montagne, dans la faible lumière du point du jour, je gare le plus silencieusement possible ma petite Pontiac bleue métallisée non loin du parking du grand hôtel Fairmont Chateau.
C’est une de ces imposantes bâtisses, construites initialement pour les aventuriers voyageurs des années trente, et dont l’extension progressive, mélangeant avec plus ou moins de bonheur tous les styles architecturaux, a simultanément accompagné l’accroissement violent de tous les flux touristiques qu’a connu le vingtième siècle.
Ces bâtiments défigurent trop souvent la pureté des paysages de montagne, comme celle de la plupart des grands sites naturels du monde.
Leur seule raison d’être, qui est généreusement suffisante à leur survie, est de permettre aux voyageurs fortunés d’aujourd’hui de pouvoir contempler à loisir, depuis les hauteurs de leurs balcons privatifs, des panoramas spectaculaires sur les sites les plus éblouissants de la planète.
La seule découverte des tarifs exorbitants des chambres m’a contraint, la veille, à descendre un peu plus bas dans la vallée, vers Banff, pour trouver un hébergement plus à la mesure de mon budget estival.
Sans plus m'attarder sur la silhouette encore sombre du grand édifice de pierre, où seules quelques fenêtres isolées commencent à donner signe de vie, je me glisse rapidement et en silence vers les bords du lac endormi, distant de quelques centaines de mètres.
Je suis arrivé à temps : Les premiers rayons du soleil s’immiscent à travers les hautes cimes et les grands conifères qui entourent la profonde vallée glaciaire au fond de laquelle repose le lac. Ils frappent déjà l’eau, légèrement agitée en surface d‘un vacillement de fines facettes d’argent, œuvre éphémère de la brise fragile qui accompagne toujours en altitude le lever du soleil.
Après quelques longues minutes d’attente, délicatement, les petits rochers glaciaires du bord du lac reçoivent enfin leur première chaleur du jour.
C’est le signal qu’ils attendaient… Ils sont là, comme chaque jour !
Des dizaines, peut-être des centaines, de petits tamias !
Les tamias, vous les connaissez surement, ce sont ces minuscules écureuils nord-américains aux grands yeux soulignés de blanc, décorés de fines bandes grises et brunes sur le dos, et qui ont si souvent inspiré Walt Disney et de nombreux autres créateurs de dessins animés…
Les tamias se réveillent les uns après les autres, surgissent d’on ne sait où, bondissent de rocher en rocher et jouent ensemble à s’attraper comme de très jeunes enfants dans une cour de maternelle, à deux ou trois mètres seulement de moi, entre le sentier et la rive abrupte du lac.
Je commence sans tarder la séance photo.
Je colle fermement le boitier à mon œil droit.
Je « respire » la lumière rasante.
J’affine les derniers réglages de diaphragme et de vitesse.
J’essaie de tout oublier pour concentrer toute mon attention dans le viseur et capter leurs mimiques fugaces sur le ruban de ma pellicule…
J’ai déjà déclenché rapidement une dizaine de fois lorsque le bruit insistant du moteur de mon boitier reflex m'incommode tout à coup… Je comprends alors très vite qu’il incommode surtout les tamias, qui, s’ils sont visiblement flattés de ma présence pacifique et de l’admiration muette que je leur porte, restent beaucoup moins complaisants envers la sonorité métallique agressive de mon vieux compagnon de voyage, qui perturbe, à intervalle régulier, leurs échanges de petits cris à peine perceptibles.
Je décide alors et soudainement d’arrêter la séance…
Après tout, il y a toujours une vie après la photo !
Progressivement, je m’abandonne pendant de longues minutes à la contemplation presque enfantine de l’insouciance de ces petits rongeurs, des premiers grands oiseaux noirs qui survolent le lac à haute altitude et des roseaux qui dodelinent doucement de leurs têtes lourdes, sans doute pour saluer le jeu du soleil avec le glacier, qui découvre enfin parcimonieusement son manteau lumineux, là-bas, tout au fond de la vallée.
La lumière du jour se fait maintenant plus présente, plongeant peu à peu le lac dans une nouvelle journée ensoleillée.
Tout au dessus du glacier, le ciel bleu et pur des Rocheuses prend à nouveau le pouvoir, tout en douceur.
Je savoure pleinement ma solitude, les senteurs lacustres du matin, la moiteur de la terre blonde du sentier imbibé d’une faible pluie nocturne, et les étranges craquements et chuchotements de la forêt toute proche…
ACTE 2 / 8h00 du matin
Les lourdes portes à tambours de l’hôtel Fairmont s’agitent.
Je ne perçois d’abord que vaguement le danger, au pied de la grande bâtisse, quelque chose comme une colonie d’insectes processionnaires qui s’avance inexorablement vers moi, véhiculant autour d’elle un bourdonnement progressif et lourd de menaces.
Puis, j’identifie rapidement l’envahisseur : Un opiniâtre bataillon de touristes japonais, d’une moyenne d’âge respectable, tous étonnamment armés individuellement d’un petit appareil photo, s’approche à pas lents et mesurés vers les berges du lac, sans porter le moindre regard dans ma direction, avec l’indécence et l’arrogance qui fait la force tranquille des touristes groupusculaires de toutes nationalités.
L’alerte est générale chez les tamias, qui disparaissent les uns après les autres et en l’espace de quelques minutes, dans les plus étroites anfractuosités des rochers…
Les touristes se rassemblent d’abord en grappe informe mais compacte, à quelques mètres du rivage, tournant tous le dos au lac et au glacier, ponctuant leurs moindres mouvements de rires forts et de petits cris acérés.
L’un après l’autre, avec l’organisation et la discipline qui fait souvent la force des Asiatiques, ils sortent alors du rang pour déposer leurs appareils photo au centre d’un cercle virtuel à une dizaine mètres du groupe, juste devant eux, jusqu’à ce que tous ces petits prismes métalliques ou plastiques forment un amoncellement improbable, qui transforme un petit espace de la prairie en un surprenant étal de marché aux puces.
Puis le groupe va se figer à nouveau, dos au glacier…
Apparait alors leur grand maître !
Leur guide accompagnateur ? Le plus âgé ou le plus sage d’entre eux ? Le seul qui, à l’issue de longues heures de patience et de sagesse extrême-orientale, a appris à photographier un groupe entier de cinquante touristes sans en couper ni une tête, ni un pied, tout en conservant harmonieusement l’arrière plan montagnard et lacustre ?
Quelques bras se lèvent alors, les doigts en vé, comme en signe de victoire
Sans un mot, le maître photographe va successivement saisir l’un après l’autre tous les appareils posés au sol et immortaliser à chaque fois l’intégralité du groupe, pétrifié dans une même position rigide et ridicule, … afin que tous les membres du voyage, sans aucune exception, garde un souvenir impérissable et identique de cette belle journée canadienne
En les entendant rire et triompher à voix haute, je songe alors avec tristesse que si certains manifestent ainsi leur victoire, avec leurs deux doigts levés vers le ciel, c’est sans doute qu’ils ont compris que leur bataille contre le silence a été fulgurante, et que l’ennemi fragilisé n’a opposé, cette fois, aucune résistance.
...Les féroces troupes du soleil levant ont à nouveau vaincu les tamias du matin calme…
ACTE 3 / 8h30 du matin
Se déversant des larges baies de l’hôtel, les vagues successives de touristes multicolores s’intensifient, tels autant de tsunamis dévastateurs, que seule la tombée du jour pourra, dans plusieurs heures, à nouveau ralentir.
Les tamias ont disparu…
Seuls les grands rapaces noirs continuent leurs lentes rondes circulaires à la verticale, feignant d’ignorer l’agitation croissante qui s’empare désormais de la maigre prairie baignée de lumière qui fait face à l’hôtel, bien loin en dessous d’eux.
Les tamias sont-ils rentrés précipitamment dans leurs tanières, d’où ils n’en sortiront plus avant demain matin ?
Ont-ils préféré fuir vers les hauteurs, pour y retrouver des terrains de jeux plus propices à leur quiétude ?
Je me moque bien de la réponse. Je veux très vite effacer de ma mémoire cette ultime vision repoussante d’un bien triste parc d’attractions international et ne conserver du Lac Louise que l’image féerique d’un des ultimes paradis terrestres, dont j’ai le curieux sentiment d’avoir été le premier et dernier témoin de la journée qui commence.
Par solidarité écologique avec les petits tamias et sans même avoir eu le temps de leur dire « au revoir », je choisis donc sans une hésitation de quitter rapidement les lieux…
C’est décidé, je vais grimper beaucoup plus haut dans la montagne pour aller revoir mes amis les ours… car peut-être, eux, font-ils encore un peu peur aux cruelles armées japonaises !
P.S : La première photo n'est pas de moi (pillée sur internet, juste pour montrer l'hôtel en question) La deuxiéme oui...
SUEDE / "UN DEMI SOLEIL NUIT" (ou peut-être l’inverse !🤪)
ou "DECEPTION DE VOYAGE"
Entre Luleä, Galliväre et Kiruna / un jour de juin 1985... (texte écrit en 2008)
Je ne sais pas pourquoi, mais depuis ma plus tendre enfance, j’ai toujours eu envie de me constituer un "palmarès" de voyages : Voir la mer, voir le désert, voir les îles paradisiaques, voir les sommets de l’Himalaya, voir le Taj Mahal, voir l’hémisphère Sud, voir des animaux ou des plantes inconnus en Europe, voir les cinq continents, …
Une sorte de tableau de chasse personnel et intime (je n’en retire pourtant que fort peu de fierté personnelle) uniquement motivé par une soif irraisonnée et irrationnelle de découverte, sans doute héréditaire et incurable.
En ces jours de juin 1985 et après près de trente ans de vie voyageuse déjà agitée, je réalise soudainement que je n’ai toujours pas assisté au spectacle du soleil de minuit et j’en ressens instantanément une frustration quasi infantile.
Une "virginité" quasi inacceptable dans mon cursus de grand voyageur, qu’il me faut donc nécessairement effacer au plus vite…
Puisque voilà près de six mois que je suis en Suède et que mon employeur local m’a "offert" le week-end de la Saint Jean, ma décision est donc prise depuis quelques jours : Ce sera ce soir ou jamais !…
Le long ruban d’asphalte se déroule uniformément du Sud au Nord depuis plusieurs centaines de kilomètres…
Une étrange monotonie, que j’ai souvent rencontrée en Suède du Nord et qui semble figer ces contrées hors du temps et de l'espace, l'été comme l'hiver...
Une monotonie dont je ne me lasse pourtant jamais…
J’aime la Scandinavie pour ce qu’elle et ses habitants ont de paisible et d’immuable... Solidement accrochés au temps…et loin du temps à la fois…
Le large serpent de bitume continue de se faufiler, sans véritable difficulté, à travers une immense étendue presque plate, habillée d’une forêt clairsemée aux couleurs sombres, à la ligne d'horizon parfois entaillée au loin par une petite colline boisée de couleur plus tendre, et parsemée de petits lacs immobiles dans lequel se mirent de minuscules nuages, égarés comme par mégarde dans le ciel bleu pâle de l’été scandinave.
Mon véhicule avale gloutonnement les kilomètres mais j’ai l’impression que pas un arbre n’a changé autour de moi depuis plusieurs heures…
Seul le petit compteur hectométrique qui tourne régulièrement devant mes yeux et le ronronnement rassurant du moteur réussissent encore à me convaincre que je ne suis pas en train de faire du sur-place.
Afin de soutenir mon attention et d’éviter la somnolence, je m’amuse à rechercher de part et d’autre de la route les quelques rares rennes égarés du troupeau qui s’aventurent plus près du bitume pour savourer quelques jeunes pousses plus tendres que les autres, car alimentées par l’eau accumulée dans les fossés durant les dernières semaines abondamment pluvieuses.
Par chance pour moi, le soleil brille sans concession maintenant depuis deux jours.
Je repense à mes jours précédents, à ces festivités dans tous les petits villages du Norbotten et de la Laponie, célébrant dignement les lueurs de la Saint-Jean, aux petites filles blondes au front ceint de couronnes de fleurs, au vieux Lapon en tablier de cuir rencontré hier un peu par hasard, hors des circuits touristiques, et qui m’a expliqué, au milieu des odeurs âcres et parfois difficilement supportables de sa tannerie, mais dans un anglais presque parfait, tous les secrets de la fabrication du cuir de renne.
Je savoure à la fois la douceur et la fraicheur de l’été suédois, qui me font oublier les températures extrêmes (jusqu’à moins 45 degrés) qu’il m’a fallu endurer lors de l’hiver précédent.
Je comprends pourquoi les Suédois attachent autant d’importance à ces rares jours de pleine luminosité, qui leur permettent d’accumuler l’énergie et les ressources nécessaires pour résister à l’hiver suivant, dans un pays ou l’on a l’impression qu’il n’y a véritablement que deux saisons, pour les hommes comme pour les animaux.
Mais mon esprit est ailleurs car je sais que le soleil de minuit m’attend !
Cercle polaire : Une grappe informe de touristes bigarrés s’agglutine et s’auto-photographie au pied du panneau de bois fraichement vernis qui indique le passage de cette ligne virtuelle…Deux mots magiques : "Polar circle" !
Assez peu sensible à ce type d’autoportraits ridicules devant un insignifiant panneau de signalisation, sans aucun intérêt à mes yeux, mais dont les clichés encombrent pourtant tous les albums photos de ceux qui ont franchi le cercle polaire l’été précédent, je ne m’arrête même pas un court instant pour savourer avec eux le passage symbolique de cette frontière, qui n’a de magique pour moi que dans sa signification astronomique, puisque "mon" soleil de minuit m’attend désormais de ce petit côté de la calotte du monde et que la quête de mon nouveau Graal personnel et touristique sera bientôt assouvie.
Grâce à mes amis suédois, j’ai réservé à une cinquantaine de kilomètres au Nord du cercle polaire, un petit bungalow de bois en pleine forêt.
J’arrive vers 18 ou 19 heures au creux de ce paradis terrestre, dans un état de fatigue néanmoins avancé, après ces longues heures de concentration automobiliste, le long de ma route solitaire et septentrionale...
A peine sorti de la voiture, les premiers moustiques m’attaquent violemment en signe de bienvenue et me forcent à m’enfermer rapidement à l’intérieur du petit bâtiment
Comme je suis de plus en plus impatient de connaître mon émouvante nouvelle expérience, je décide avec sagesse de m’accorder un peu de repos pour mieux profiter de l’événement à venir.
Je m’enferme dans ma chambre après avoir tiré soigneusement les lourds rideaux pour tenter de lutter (sans grand succès) contre la luminosité ambiante.
Je me réjouis d’avance du futur spectacle de l’astre "diurne" effleurant doucement et tangentiellement le petit lac que j'ai repéré en arrivant à quelques dizaines de mètres du petit chalet, et qui constituera le décor naturel de ma première photo de soleil de minuit.
Je pose mon appareil photo bien en évidence sur une chaise près de la porte du bungalow car je sais que, l'heure venue, toute seconde me sera comptée...
Je programme mon petit réveil à 23h50 et je sombre rapidement, tout habillé et étendu sur le couvre-lit, dans un sommeil inhabituellement agité
23h50 précises : Mon état de nervosité me permet de bondir presque instantanément du lit à la première tonalité de la sonnerie du réveil.
A travers les interstices du rideau, je vois instantanément qu’il fait encore faiblement jour à l’extérieur…
Mon excitation est portée à son comble !
J’empoigne violemment la courroie de mon appareil et me précipite vers l’extérieur.
Au dessus de la forêt, le ciel est noir et chargé…
La pluie commence à crépiter violemment sur tout le paysage alentour.
De lourdes gouttes d’orage s’écrasent sur mon visage…
Le soleil n’est pas venu à mon rendez-vous…
Je retourne désespérement et piteusement me coucher !
c' est bien dommage de ne pas faire profiter les autres de vos expériences de vos voyages
pour notre part, à lire les carnets des autres, nous donnent l'envie de visiter tel ou tel pays, et nous donnent des renseignements parfois bien utiles et nécessaires
mais bon chacun son truc
"Je n’ai surtout pas la patience désespérante et inutile de noter scrupuleusement et mécaniquement tous mes faits et gestes en voyage (« Nous nous sommes levés tôt pour enregistrer les bagages à l’aéroport », ... « Les chambres de l’hôtel étaient délicieuses », ... « Le taxi pour le centre ville nous a coûté six dollars cinquante », ...) car j’ai toujours pensé que la tenue détaillée et comptable de ses activités de voyageur faisait trop rapidement oublier ce qui constitue pour moi l’essentiel d’un voyage, à savoir toutes ces étranges sensations intimes et fortes qui éclairent à intervalle régulier le parcours du voyageur et qui sont pour moi totalement indescriptibles sur une feuille de papier"
Je ne suis pas d'accord, je trouve que raconter les détails du voyage comme l'arrivée à l'aéroport ou autres détails peut être interessant, ca fait autant partie du voyage que le reste. Pourquoi ? Parce que c'est justement par le récit des détails, des lieux comme l'aéroport qu'on ressent des sensation "intimes et fortes" comme tu dis. De plus, je pense que raconter ses petites choses fait vivre le voyage en live. Bien sur tu as raison en disant qu'il ne faut pas aller à l'extreme des détails comme "le taxi a couté 6 dolalrs 50" qui n'a aucun n'intéret.
Mais je crois que par certains details et un minimum de style, sans etre ecrivain, on peut rendre compte de ses sensations, ou au moins rappeler des sensations à ceux qui ont vecu des voyages similaires. J'ai envoyé mon carnet de voyage a des amis et l'un d'entre eux l'a dit se croire sur place. Un autre m'a dit avoir retrouvé des sentations qu'il avait vécu en Argentine. Donc je crois que les sensations fortes sont descriptibles sur papier, même si cela ne remplacera jamais le voyage réel.
Par ailleurs, je crois que tu as fait un pas en ecrivan sur voyage forum : quelque part tu veux quand meme laisser une trace de tes voyages.
Je partage tout à fait ton point de vu, en ce qui me concerne j'ai trouvé, avec la technologie, un truc qui me plaît bien :
J'emporte un ordinateur avec moi, et je poste, régulièrement, et surtout "à chaud" quelques photos, et texte, sur un petit site Internet.
Le principal intérêt est que c'est l'impression du moment qui est traduite, ce n'est pas une prose bien réfléchit et corrigé, c'est spontané.
Quand je relit cela plus tard, je me dit souvent, "c'est un peu réducteur...", "c'est tout à fait "vrai"...
Mais je me replonge vraiment dans ce moment vécu, étant donné, qu'il n'est pas complet, je suis obligé de le reconstruire.
En plus cela me permet de partager mes aventure avec mes proche au moment ou je les vis.
Pascalou
PS : Je n'ai pas lu ton récit suédois, je reviens de Suède, et moi aussi j'ai un sentiment d'innachevé
Sans la crainte de vous vexer horriblement d'être comparé à un autre individu... J'oserai dire que nous avons un profil assez similaire;
L'âge d'abord, le virus du voyage ensuite et la passion de la photographie enfin...
Mais la comparaison s'arrête là.
Conscient de mes faiblesses, moi qui suis un tantinet "bordélique" dans la vie, je trouve un intérêt certain à ranger les coffres encombrés et poussiéreux de ma mémoire si souvent ingrate.
Il est vrai que je l'ai toujours trop peu soignée, trop peu flattée et jamais félicitée.
Aussi, est-ce sans doute un juste retour des choses qu'elle s'abstienne obstinément de me rendre les services que j'attends d'elle..?
Alors, trop souvent amnésique, mais pas inconscient pour autant, j'essaye de noter sur un petit carnet aussi vieillissant que mes articulations, ce que ma mémoire déloyale ne me rendra pas..!
Une façon de me moquer d'elle. Elle qui se joue si souvent de moi..!
Oh.. pas simple.!! Car je suis paresseux et je déteste me forcer.
Et prendre des notes, je vous le concède, est un exercice parfois encombrant pour la douce oisevité que je cultive depuis quelques années.
Alors, je note ce qui m'apparaît comme étant l'essentiel. Guère plus.
Jamais mes "états d'âmes" ou mes sensations "voluptueuses"... (Ou pas d'ailleurs.)
Non!!. Ca, je le laisse à l'abri dans cette partie du cerveau qui enregistre les odeurs, les couleurs, les goûts et...la douceur de certaines caresses.
Je me garde férocement des impudeurs triviales aussi inutiles que désolantes... D'ailleurs, à mon sens, toujours dévoilées à tort.
Donc.. Je note.
Je note "mes" bonnes adresses, au cas ou...
Je note les prix aussi.
Eh oui..! J'y suis attentif sans pour autant être obsédé des "bons plans" qui vous font vous retrouver en pleine nuit dans un quartier glauque où la "formidable" chambre proposée ressemble plus à une prison lugubre qu'à un endroit pour dormir.😕
Je note aussi les informations concernant les divers moyens de transport et quelques aspects pratiques.
Et c'est à peu prés tout... Ou presque.
Parfois, rentré à la maison, il m'arrive de partager ces informations. Surtout si j'imagine qu'elles seront utiles à un autre voyageur impénitent qui, comme moi, les a cherchées en vain avant de partir.
Et je les livre souvent aseptisées sur ce forum, même si parfois je m'autorise un "coup de gueule". Par simple solidarité avec ceux qui comme moi aiment voyager...De surcroît sans ces fameux guides papiers invariablement caducs le jour même ou on les achète.
Alors ... Carnets ou pas carnets???
Voyez-vous, mon petit carnet de notes, devient au fil du temps un compagnon de route. Quelques dessins griffonnés, une adresse prise sur un coin de table, et même quelques tâches d'un breuvage coloré sur des pages écornées... Parfois, il me ressemble à moins que ce ne soit l'inverse...!
Il m'arrive de relire .
Et là, comme par miracle, ma mémoire, d'ordinaire si défaillante, reprend goût à la vie. Elle me rend ce que j'aurais enfoui pour longtemps je ne sais où...
Finalement, à bien y réfléchir, j'aime ça.
Je me retrouve dans ce train en face de ce si joli sourire ou alors dans cette vallée extraordinaire de lumière au soleil couchant...Le tout assis dans mon fauteuil, chez moi.
iI y a la photo macro et les autres !... la vie miniature et l'immensite sont complementaire, soyons juste a l'ecoute, respectueux des gens ce qui donne que toute personne apporte son cotat. Tout est bon.
Merci a tous. Guy
Je n’aime pas les carnets de voyage !…
Alors pourquoi écrire ce carnet aujourd'hui ? Car c'est bien un carnet !
Beaucoup d'agitation sur ce topic en mon absence !
Surpris de voir que ma préface (certes un peu provocatrice... comme à mon habitude, mais je ne changerai plus à mon âge ! 😉) a ouvert un débat (amusant et intéressant) sur le thème "Doit on écrire des carnets de voyage ?"
J'avoue que lorsque j'écris "Je n'aime pas les carnets de voyage" cela veut simplement dire : Je n'ai pas le courage d'en faire car je suis trop paresseux 🤪 J'ai un peu de mal à me passionner pour les carnets de voyages des autres, sauf quand ils sortent un peu de l'ordinaire (c'est à dire au delà de la description presque "mathématique" du voyage), ce qui est malheureusement rare...
... mais loin de moi l'idée de réclamer la peine capitale avec exécution de la sentence sous 24 heures pour les auteurs de carnets de voyages...😏
Je resterai donc toujours très agressif envers les mauvaises photos, car je pense qu'il est à la portée de tous d'en faire de bonnes, plutôt que vis à vis des mauvais carnets de voyages car l'exercice est particulièrement délicat...
Donc, pas d'objection de ma part aux carnets de voyages sur VF !
Pour répondre à krikri6792, j'ai l'impression que mes deux petits textes sans prétention sont d'avantage des anecdotes issues de réminiscences de voyages fortes mais tardives (donc sans doute peu précises) plutôt que des véritables "carnets", écrits à chaud et en détail...
J'en ai des tonnes d'autres en stock dans ma mémoire mais "l'inspiration littéraire" (🏴☠️) ne me touche qu'une ou deux fois par an, ce qui n'est pas très prolifique...
En quelque sorte, et même si la comparaison est ridicule, car je ne boxe pas dans la même catégorie, en matière de souvenirs de voyages, je me sens plus proche d'Amélie Nothomb que de Nicolas Bouvier ! (d'ailleurs, je n'ai jamais réussi à finir un bouquin de Nicolas Bouvier, malgré son grand talent... et j'adore Amélie Nothomb, que beaucoup considèrent comme de la sous-littérature)
Selon moi, on apprend d'avantage sur le Japon en lisant "Stupeurs et tremblements" ou "Ni d'Eve ni d'Adam" qu'en feuilletant la dernière édition du guide du routard Japon (qui est aussi un carnet de voyages, d'une certaine manière !😉)
Sans la crainte de vous vexer horriblement d'être comparé à un autre individu...
Effectivement, cela vexe horriblement mon individualisme génétique, forcéné, et parfois sauvage ... (dans la réalité, c'est bien pire que tout ce qui peut transparaitre dans ce forum ! 😛)
J'ai néanmoins lu avec attention le texte qui suivait cette première phrase et qui apporte des lumières fort utiles au débat, ce qui prouve que, bien qu'individualiste, je ne suis pas du tout rancunier ! 😉
Il ne me viendrait pas à l'esprit une seule seconde de comparer tes écrits à ceux de ma chère Amélie tout simplement par le seul fait qu'elle est incomparable 🙂 mais je reconnais que dans ta démarche l'esprit est là !
En tous cas revenir sur VF après quelques jours d'absence et te lire ce matin m'a fait presqu'autant de bien que savourer les dernières aventures de Baptiste Bordave et d'Olaf Sildur -je dis bien presqu'autant, faut pas exagérer non plus 😏 !
A cette heure matinale, je prends connaissance de votre réponse à Kriki.
Vous abordez un nouveau point dans la discussion en comparant la photographie à l'écriture...
Une fois encore, j'ai bien peur de devoir égratigner votre ego en précisant que vos affirmations sont disons... "surprenantes" de légèreté d'analyse.
Je n'entrerai personnellement pas dans le débat N. Bouvier vs Nothomb... Les 2 sont aussi ennuyeux que mauvais.
Mais quant à dire qu'il "est a la portée de tous de faire de bonnes photos"... là NON.!!!😠
Comment, quelqu'un comme vous, qui se dit "taré" de la photo peut -il proférer une telle ineptie?
Vous savez parfaitement comme il est difficile de saisir une bonne lumière, un sourire, un regard...
Vous savez parfaitement que c'est également une forme d'écriture ..
Vous qui acceptez de souffrir à traîner dans les endroits les plus reculés et parfois les plus inconfortables les Nikon que vous affectionnez particulièrement...
Alors de grâce..!
Si vous n'êtes guère complaisant pour les mauvaises photos, au nom de la cohérence, il faudrait ne pas l'être plus pour les mauvais textes.
D'ailleurs .. Personnellement, au risque de lancer un débat futile, je suis convaincu que lorsqu'on écrit de mauvais textes ... on ne peut pas faire de bonnes photos... probablement une loi de l'esthétique.😇
A moins que....
Comme le dit le dessinateur Philippe Geluk
" je ne fais que des photos sans intérêt.. Au moins quand elles sont ratées, je m'en fous.!!"
Mais, a la lecture de vos topics, il m'étonnerait fort que ce soit votre cas.
😉
je suis convaincu que lorsqu'on écrit de mauvais textes ... on ne peut pas faire de bonnes photos... probablement une loi de l'esthétique.😇
Je n'y avais pas pensé avant mais, à bien y réfléchir, il y a beaucoup de sagesse dans cette phrase...( et quelques preuves flagrantes sur VF !😉)
Je vais donc la retenir comme "la pensée du jour", car elle me plait bien 🙂
J'ai simplement la sensation que les règles de l'art basiques en photo (cadrage, réglages, composition, lumière, ...) sont beaucoup plus faciles à apprendre qu'en littérature... et qu'on peut faire des photos "acceptables" avant de pouvoir écrire des textes "intéressants"
J'ai mis vingt ans à apprendre à écrire correctement le français et seulement une demi-heure à savoir maitriser mon premier appareil photo...
J'ai eu besoin de plein de profs de français dévoués et volontaires (les pauvres !) pour en arriver là (et ça reste médiocre !) et seulement de la lecture de deux ou trois bouquins photos d'initiation pour "sortir de la moyenne photographique" et faire des photos que je juge aujourd'hui "pas trop moches" (...et ceci avec un Q.I. personnel que je considère pourtant comme tristement ordinaire ! 😉)
la « pensée du jour » (par Saint) s’applique en tout cas merveilleusement à ta personne… puisque la limpidité de tes textes, mâtinée de ton humour léger et sagace nous procure autant de plaisir à la lecture que le décryptage de tes états d’âme que tu nous fais si bien partager grâce à ton numérique !
De chouettes carnets, n’en déplaise à son auteur !
Mon problème majeur, en fait, c'est que j'ai envie de faire de la photo presque tous les jours, mais que je n'ai envie d'écrire que deux ou trois fois par an (je parle bien sur de vrais textes, pas de ma prose VFiste délirante et improvisée... et parfois navrante ! 😕)
Je pars donc avec un sérieux handicap pour le Prix Goncourt de l'année prochaine...🤪
Pour ce qui concerne les transports aériens durant les voyages, à défaut de donner des détails originaux du type « Nous nous sommes levés tôt pour enregistrer les bagages à l’aéroport », vous pourriez faire profiter les lecteurs de ce forum de votre excellente et hilarante description de quelques portraits de la classe économique en avion, description qui a toujours un franc succès quand je la fais lire à mes amis (au retour de notre dernier voyage on avait justement une adolescente survitaminée devant nous et j'ai pensé à votre texte).
J'en profite pour vous dire que j'apprécie vos photos, puisque c'est aussi un sujet qui m'intéresse (même si je ne dispose pour l'instant que d'un bridge numérique Sony et non d'un beau Nikon...)
vous pourriez faire profiter les lecteurs de ce forum de votre excellente et hilarante description de quelques portraits de la classe économique en avion.
Deux petits commentaires :
Il y a un peu plus d'un an, et sur la suggestion de Fabricia (qui, comme moi, est à la fois Vfiste, indophage et calembourophile !), j'avais fait un magnifique "copié-collé" de ce texte d'anthologie dans la rubrique Vfiste "carnets de voyages...".
Ce geste incongru et maladroit m'a valu à cette époque les foudres quasi instantanées de la censure locale... 🏴☠️... donc je préfère ne pas retenter ma chance... (courageux mais pas téméraire !)
>> Le texte est toujours accessible à la fin de mon "neufblog" (voir mon profil)
Ce qui va conforter ce que j'ai dit dans mes messages précédents (= ma difficulté à "accoucher" de textes de qualité) c'est que cela fait près d'un an que je songe à une deuxième partie intitulée "Chroniques de la classe affaires" (j'ai la chance de profiter assez souvent de ce privilège).
Les esquisses des principaux personnages sont déjà "griffonnées" :
1 / Le cadre surbooké et multimedia (Micro-ordinateur, téléphone portable, Blackberry et MP3)... ça me ressemble un peu ! 😉
2 / La "pédégette" soucieuse de son corps (qui à l'heure du diner préfère le "Wall street journal/Eau de Vittel" plutôt que le "Foie gras/Sauternes")... ça ne me ressemble pas ! 🤪
3 / Le vieux dragueur gluant... Jamais eu affaire à lui (manquerait plus que ça !😕) mais une amie businesswoman me l'a parfaitement décrit par e-mail.
Je sais que je ne pourrai écrire ce nouveau texte que lors d'un nuit nerveuse, insomniaque et agitée, si possible entre 2 heures et 5 heures du matin. (c'était le cas pour le premier texte, au retour d'un vol Mexico-Paris et sous l'effet décapant du décalage horaire)
La suite donc, dans un mois, dans un an... ou jamais... 🙂
Très curieux cette censure (des chinois ?) pour un texte décrivant avec beaucoup d'humour des personnages que nous avons tous rencontrés lors de nos voyages en avion...
En tout cas, j'attends avec impatience sur le neufblog le volet Classe Affaires qui me fera surement découvrir un monde que je ne connaitrais jamais sauf à être gracieusement surclassé suite à un overbooking.
"Je n’aime pas les carnets de voyage !… Je n’écrirai donc jamais mes mémoires voyageuses…et personne ne s’en plaindra !"
suivi d' un peu plus loin,
"J’espère qu’ils vous distrairont quelques instants autant qu'ils m'ont amusé à les écrire... 🙂
Bonne lecture...",
en ayant choisi les caractères Times New Roman... comment dire 🤪...
c'est pas banal....😉
Je rejoins la plus part de tes lecteurs pour dire également qu'il serait bien dommage en tout état de cause, de ne pas nous en faire profiter, et ce quel qu'en soit l'opinion des grincheux ou des jaloux...
Quelques mots-image pour conclure...
"Un carnet sur VF, c'est du p'site orange et citron, il faut se secouer la pulpe pour retrouver tout le goût du voyage..."
J'ai l'impression que la nuance entre "carnet de voyage, VFiste" et "anti-carnet de voyage, à ma façon" n'a pas été encore pleinement perçue...!!
Petite démonstration par l'exemple (un exemple vaut mieux qu'un long discours) :
1 / Le carnet de voyages VFiste
(que j'aurais pu écrire en 1985 mais que je n'ai pas écrit... donc le texte suivant n'est qu'une fiction à laquelle vous avez heureusement échappé ! D'ailleurs VF n'existait pas en 85 !!)
Irlande / aout 1985 / JOUR 5 de notre voyage
L'office du tourisme d’Irlande à Paris distribue gratuitement une brochure détaillée des campings d’Irlande.
Avant le départ, ma compagne a été cherché ce document très pratique, qui nous a permis de découvrir sur les falaises proches de l’Abbaye de Kylemore, un charmant petit camping, propre et bien aménagé.
(Attention, il faut se renseigner sur les horaires d’ouverture de l’Office du tourisme car je crois qu’ils ont récemment changés. On peut trouver leur numéro de téléphone sur leur site Internet…. Je pense même que l’inverse est aussi possible et que, si on les appelle, il doivent pouvoir vous donner leur adresse Internet 🏴☠️)
Quand le temps le permet, et il faisait très beau lorsqu’on y était, on peut contempler un magnifique coucher de soleil sur l’océan depuis le haut de la falaise, ce que nous avons fait avant de rentrer dans notre tente pour la nuit.
Le vent est fort dans ce camping et l’allumage des réchauds pour préparer le diner y est souvent difficile.. il faut prévoir d'emporter un petit paravent à cet effet.
Nos amis, qui sont allés en Irlande il y a deux ans, nous ont d’ailleurs dit qu’on avait eu beaucoup de chance, car la pluie est fréquente au Connemara durant les dernières semaines d‘aout...
Nous recommandons fortement à nos lecteurs d’aller prendre le lendemain un copieux petit déjeuner à l’auberge situé non loin de l’abbaye de Kylemore (ma compagne a trouvé les œufs brouillés excellents, moi j’ai beaucoup apprécié les saucisses / Les tarifs y sont très abordables 🤪)
2 / L'anti-carnet de voyages, à ma façon...
(relatant les mêmes événements, mais écrit la nuit dernière, comme le précédent d'ailleurs 😉, en fouillant confusément au milieu de mes derniers neurones résiduels...)
Quelque part au Connemara / Aout 1985
Dans l’insouciance amoureuse de notre jeune couple et l’improvisation habituelle de nos courts voyages, il nous a fallu errer une bonne demi-heure sur la route en corniche qui ondule au milieu des petits enclos balisés par des murets de pierre, avant de découvrir, presque par hasard, ce petit camping perché au-dessus des hautes falaises du Connemara
Le ciel était encore limpide, même si on sentait confusément la brise fraiche venue de l’Ouest contourner insidieusement la falaise pour venir balayer la petite prairie humide où nous avions planté notre petite canadienne deux places,
Le vieux rectangle de toile brune et orange, encore accroché par miracle à ses deux piquets d’aluminium, affichait une usure désormais apparente et inquiétante.
La petite tente avait fidèlement accompagné tous mes voyages en solitaire, mais devait, depuis quelques jours, partager son habitacle avec ma jeune et jolie compagne…Une lourde charge pour une si petite maison de toile…mais son exiguïté intérieure convenait plutôt bien à l’intimité progressive de notre couple !
Aussi, en fidèle et muette compagne de route, la canadienne avait accepté sans murmure cette nouvelle cohabitation ! Elle n’avait d’ailleurs pas le choix !
A l’extrême bord de la falaise, située à quelques centaines de mètres seulement du camping, ma compagne et moi nous sommes accrochés l'un à l’autre comme deux fourmis craintives à un rocher glissant, contemplant en silence et à pleines pupilles ces derniers instants du jour.
Les vagues se brisaient violemment sur la grève, trop en-dessous de nous pour qu’on puisse en percevoir réellement le fracas.
Le peuple des oiseaux de mer rentrait doucement se blottir au fond des niches de la falaise
Seuls quelques rares fous de Bassan se laissaient encore tomber lourdement comme des pierres au creux des flots, pour y capturer les derniers poissons attirés par les ultimes éclats du soleil couchant.
Nous savourions sans limite ce long et fort instant de duale complicité…🙂🙂🙂
Il fut malheureusement interrompu presque brutalement par la chute lourde du soleil derrière la masse sombre de l’Atlantique et l’apparition soudaine de premières gouttes de pluie.
Nous rentrâmes à regret au camping, en riant, main dans la main, heureux comme des enfants, …sans penser au petit déjeuner du lendemain
Est-ce clair maintenant ??? BON WEEK-END A TOUS !
Si vous êtes sages, un jour, je vous raconterai la suite de la nuit (ce n'est pas érotique, c'est juste une tempête avec des vents à 140km/h, qui a ravagé le camping, réduit la tente en lambeaux et nous a laissé quasiment nus comme des vers et trempés jusqu'aux os à deux heures du matin dans la moiteur pénétrante de la nuit irlandaise!) !😉😉
Sensation quelque peu désagréable en te lisant ce matin.
"J'ai l'impression que la nuance entre carnet de voyage VFiste et anti-carnet de voyage à ma façon n'a pas été encore pleinement perçue"
Cette simple phrase aux nuances ironiques et légèrement méprisantes me laisse perplexe.
Ne crois-tu pas les gens capables de choisir leurs lectures ?
Certains vont apprécier un carnet détaillé, fourmillant d'infos précises parce qu'ils préparent un voyage et ils se moquent bien d'un "carnet littéraire".
D'autres n'ont rien à faire de la liste des hotels ou du prix des taxis parce qu'ils privilégient "l'histoire racontée".
Et puis on peut apprécier les deux versions.
Je te donne mon avis, il vaut ce qu'il vaut :
Certains carnets m'ennuient profondément après avoir lu 4 lignes, j'en ouvre à peine certains autres (albums photos par ex) et puis enfin d'autres me passionnent par le récit et m'enchantent par l'écriture (ceux-là bien souvent je les lis et relis).
Et pourtant, ils ont tous été écrits par des membres de VF, ceux qui ne m'intéressent pas et ceux qui me ravissent.
Tu n'as pas l'exclusivité de la perfection en ce domaine, pas plus qu'en photo d'ailleurs.
Pourquoi fais-tu une différence entre les carnets VFiste et les tiens ? Dommage. La moquerie blesse quelquefois tu sais !
Et ne me dis pas que tes propos sont à prendre au 3millième degré, je ne te croirai pas 🙂 !
Il n'y avait aucune doigt de mépris dans mon post... (dans le pire des cas, juste un auriculaire d'ironie !😉)
C'est vrai, l'adjectif "Vfiste" était peut-être maladroit car pouvant conduire à une généralisation abusive et hâtive...
Mes excuses les plus sincères, s'il a mal été interprété !🤪
Je crois avoir déjà expliqué plus haut que j'étais bien incapable d'écrire un carnet de voyages au sens "description explicative et détaillée" d'un voyage.
L'exemple de ce matin montre au moins que je ne suis pas à l'aise dans cet exercice !
Petite explication de texte : Imaginons que le souvenir du voyage soit un mélange d'eau et de sable, précieusement préservé dans un des multiples bocaux de notre mémoire !
Le "carnet de voyages" consiste à décrire avec une précision d'horloger suisse, la quantité d'eau, la couleur du sable et la manière de rendre tout cela homogène (utile pour ceux qui veulent reproduire le mélange à l'identique quelques mois après... et j'avoue que ce triste mimétisme m'ennuie profondément... ce qui explique le début malheureux, voire désastreux, de mon post !... Imaginer qu'un voyage puisse être triste comme une recette de cuisine me donne envie de rester à la maison...)
Le "récit de voyages " explique pourquoi, malgré son apparence peu engageante, le mélange d'eau et de sable peut avoir, si on sait placer l'éclairage au bon endroit, de magnifiques reflets qui rendront le voyage inoubliable. (sans doute ce que tu aimes dans ces "carnets de voyages", que l'on trouve aussi, mais trop rarement, sur VF, et que je préfère personnellement ne pas appeler "carnet"... C'est sans doute juste cette question de vocabulaire qui explique ta réaction négative !)
Ex : Le regretté Yangguizzi écrivait des récits de voyage, pas des carnets...(Salut encore, Patrick...)
Mes "anti-carnets" sont beaucoup plus "frustes" puisque j'attends, sans réelle impatience, et au minimum une bonne dizaine d'années, que toute l'eau s'évapore jusqu'à ce qu'il ne reste plus qu'une masse sablonneuse informe, afin de tenter de rechercher péniblement au fond du bocal une petite paillette d'or que je pourrai essayer de mettre (maladroitement) en valeur !
On ne reconnait parfois plus le mélange initial, mais, pour moi, c'est sans véritable importance... car ce qui reste d'un voyage après dix ou vingt ans, sans avoir artificiellement forcé sa mémoire par la relecture annuelle de ses notes prises durant le voyage, a tellement plus de valeur que tout le reste...(la "substantifique moëlle", comme dirait Rabelais ! 🙂)
Trois approches très différentes et complémentaires.
Je n'ai, à ma connaissance, rejeté aucune d'entre elles ! C'est vrai, je n'aime pas beaucoup la première ( et ça se voit ! 🙁) J'adore la deuxième mais je suis bien incapable d'en être l'auteur (faute de talents littéraires ou artistiques)🏴☠️ Je me contente de la troisième (et médiocrement, si on en croit ton post ! 😕) !
Sans rancune (j'espère !🙂)
Bon week-end à toi et à Archimade... Mon costard de "vieux mégalomane atrabilaire et incorrigible" a été taillé pour la journée 🏴☠️
D'une certaine manière, j'en ressens presque une légitime fierté, car il me va comme un gant (un costume qui va comme un gant, comme dirait Archimade "c'est pas banal !") ! 🙂
Salut ChristianG! Hmm... par où commencer?
En fait, j'ai lu uniquement votre premier carnet, celui au canada et les touristes japonais. Sincèrement, je dois dire que j'ai été épater de votre style d'écriture, vous faisiez le rapport avec je ne sais plus quels auteurs pour marquer le fait que vous n'aviez aucun talent mais moi j'aime votre style, poésie, humour agrémenté d'une pointe de cynisme, non! Franchement j'ai adoré et puis ce sera de toute façon toujours moins emmerdant à lire que...voyons voir (des livres chiant, il y en a toutes une tripotés), que....je sais pas, le rouge et le noir par exemple, qui est le livre le plus soporifique que j'ai lu ou tout dumoins que j'ai essayé de lire. Enfin bon tout ça pour dire que j'aime bie votre style d'écriture, je ne sais pas si ce post apporte réellement quelque chose, mais j'avais envie de vous le dire.
D'ailleurs, je m"en vais lire le reste de vos aventures sur le champ!!
A plus!
si vous n'aimez pas écrire vos carnets de voyage, aimeriez-vous cependant en faire le récit?
Nous sommes deux jeunes réalisateurs Alexis Taillant et Hélène Harder, qui préparons un film documentaire sur "le syndrome du voyage".
Nous cherchons encore des témoins pour ce projet qui voudraient bien
partager des expériences de voyage fortes qu'elles aient été
bouleversantes pour leur vie, heureuses, dramatiques ou simplement
singulières. Il semble que vous en ayez beaucoup dans vos bagages
Nous serions curieux de vos impressions et récits de toutes les étapes
du voyage :
la décision de partir, les impressions de départ à l'aéroport ou
ailleurs, les impressions physiques et psychologiques que procure
l'arrivée dans un autre pays, les chocs, les émotions, les rencontres
déroutantes ou envoûtantes et les difficultés du retour.
Seriez-vous d'accord pour nous rencontrer? Nous sommes également à Paris.
Moi qui déteste la génération lobotomisée de la "Star Ac'", qui ne pense qu'à ça en dehors des heures de travail... et même pendant (ce qui est un désastre profond et irréversible pour le maintien à flots de notre économie 😉...) c'est vraiment pas de bol que ça tombe sur moi ! 😕🏴☠️
Plaisanterie mise à part, j'ai l'impression qu'il y a des dizaines de voyageurs plus intéressants que moi sur ce forum... et que mon profil de voyageur atypique et bougon, oscillant en permanence entre cadre sérieux encravaté et routard facétieux enteeshirté n'est peut-être pas le meilleur exemple de "syndrome du voyage"... donc pourquoi MOI ??
Non Christian, ce n'est pas une arnaque mais comme nous sommes nouveaux inscrits sur le site, nous n'avons pas pu envoyer d'autres messages 😐
Et ne vous inquiétez pas, vous ne passerez pas à la télé, enfin pas celle que vous exécrez
Enfin dernière réponse, si nous avons choisi de vous envoyer un message c'est parce que nous cherchons non pas des voyageurs aventuriers aux expéditions spectaculaires mais des voyageurs occasionnels, néanmoins passionnés qui sont ainsi sensibles aux émotions du voyage, du déplacement, du décalage par rapport à la vie quotidienne. Non pas le touriste ordinaire charterisé par les tour operators qui voyage autant que s'il restait chez lui, non pas le voyageur professionnel qui ne vit plus que pour repartir, mais le voyageur moderne, sédentaire et nomade de temps en temps qui peut du jour au lendemain et sans un budget énorme connaître l'euphorique et complexe liberté de sortir de son quotidien, de se détacher de sa réalité, d'aller à la découverte du monde tout en ayant le billet de retour dans sa poche...
Mais il arrive que le retour ne soit pas évident, il arrive que ces voyageurs là vivent des émotions d'une telle intensité au cours d'un voyage, d'une telle beauté, d'une telle densité que leur vie s'en transforme, s'en nourrisse, s'en éclaire comme si leur voyage continuait d'une autre manière entre les lignes d'un blog, par une décision dans leur vie ou par une simple transformation intérieure.
Voilà ce qui nous intéresse, c'est tenu et impalpable mais c'est pourtant une réalité contemporaine que beaucoup d'entre nous avons la chance de vivre.
Bonne continuation et désolée d'être tombée sur vous
😉
Bonne continuation et désolée d'être tombée sur vous
C'est vrai que c'est pas de bol pour un premier passage sur le forum !! 🤪... mais, rassurez-vous, je suis sur qu'il y a pire ! 😉
Un conseil : Faites d'abord un petit tour général sur VF où on peut trouver, de ci de là, quelques expériences intéressantes...Même s'il faut malheureusement passer beaucoup de temps à trier les témoignages, entre les voyageurs pantouflards et les excités de l'aventure, entre les lobotomisés de la bronzette et les forçats de la culture, entre les rois de la frime en voyage (4X4 et Rollex... ou peut-être plutôt Breitling ! 😉) et les "formatés comme un tract maoïste des années 60-70" (on a ça aussi sur le forum, on les a capturés à Katmandou en 68 et on les garde désormais précieusement dans le formol, pour éviter qu'ils se dessèchent en attendant la prochaine révolution ! 😉)... en passant naturellement par toutes les catégories intermédiaires qui représentent sans doute la majorité des voyageurs...
Si vous ne trouvez pas votre bonheur, faites alors appel aux témoignages d'expériences insolites en ouvrant une discussion spécifique...
J'ai personnellement en stock des milliers d'anecdotes amusantes (ou moins drôles !) mais rien a mon avis d'exceptionnel qui mérite un zoom sur ma personne... D'autres ont certainement plus à dire que moi...
Christiang, j'ai bien aimé tes anti-carnets de voyage.
Pour ma part je me suis retrouvé dans cette catégorie involontairement. J'ai écrit dans la rubrique voyager à Vélo. Avec la volonté de faire découvrir l'intérêt de pédaler sur les chemins de halage : Absence de voiture parcours quasiment plat, paysages superbes et apaisement apporté par le lent écoulement de l'eau.
Bien sûr j'ai raconté mes voyages pour en décrire l'intérêt et démontrer qu'ils étaient faisables par tous.
Après quelques post, mon sujet a été déplacé dans carnet de voyage par les administrateurs du site.
Le seul problème c'est que je risque de ne plus toucher ma cible : les cyclistes.
A moins que cela éveille l'intérêt d'une autre population ?
http://voyageforum.com/v.f?post=1000920#1000920
Qu'en pensez-vous amis lecteurs de Carnets de Voyage ?
En préambule, un facteur Vfiste qui a des problèmes de post, je trouve cela plutôt drôle !😉
Plus sérieusement, c'est l'éternel et épineux problème du positionnement des discussions : Le récit d'un voyage en 4X4 en Italie, bourré de photos, doit-il être placé dans "Voyage en 4X4", "Europe", "Photographie en voyage", "Carnets de voyages"... ou même "Arnaques en voyage" (car on n'a pas besoin d'avoir un 4X4 pour visiter l'Italie 😉 ) ?
Ton récit à déjà été lu plus de 4000 fois !...ce qui prouve quand même que tu as "touché une cible", même si ce n'est pas forcément celle que tu souhaitais.
A l'avenir, lorsque tu vois qu'une de tes discussions est déplacée "à tort", il faut en informer rapidement le gestionnaire du site (pseudo "François") et lui donner tes arguments pour qu'il déplace (ou plutôt redéplace) ton post dans une autre rubrique ("D'où le slogan : "Bougez avec le post !"😉)
Si tes arguments sont convaincants, ça marche (J'ai déjà testé !)
Merci pour ta réponse. Je vois que tu ne manques pas d'humour.
Petite précision, je ne suis pas facteur.
Facteur 4, c'est l'objectif de diviser par 4 l'émission de gaz à effet de serre pour 2050.
J'y participe en allant travailler à vélo et en partant en vacances par le même moyen de déplacement...
je sais pas si tu feins (je suis moi aussi un peu taquin) ou tu es vraiment si modeste, mais hélène et alexis ont l'air de gens interressants.
Et concernant tes posts, ils sont si bien écrits que je les plagies de temps en temps, c'est dire.........
Bon maintenant qu'on a été gentils, dis-nous donc comment s'est passé cett nuit là sous une tornade à 140k/heure
a+
...dis-nous donc comment s'est passé cette nuit là sous une tornade à 140k/heure
Mon activité professionnelle va sans doute me contraindre en 2009 à absorber à nouveau, et quasi simultanément, des nourritures exotiques et agressives et des décalages horaires violents...
Or, j'ai observé que c'est toujours au retour d'une destination lointaine, et dans un état de nervosité cérébrale et stomacale avancée, que je suis en mesure d'extraire péniblement de mon pauvre cerveau (déjà et habituellement très embrumé par le stress de ma vie quotidienne agitée et la consommation parfois abusive de liquides euphorisants... mais encore légaux, je tiens à le souligner !😉) la quintessence absolue de mes meilleurs (ou pires) souvenirs de voyage.
Reste ensuite à les "dresser sur l'écran" (comme on disait autrefois "coucher sur le papier"...mais il est très difficile de coucher quelque chose sur une surface verticale, sauf peut-être des histoires à dormir debout 😉) ce qui n'est pas pour moi le plus facile, compte tenu de mes talents littéraires approximatifs et de mon inspiration romantique souvent en pointillés...
Néanmoins, et si l'on en croit mon horoscope 2009, placé sous la protection de Mercure (les hôtels) et de Mars (les barres chocolatées), la conjoncture de mes "anti-carnets" ne se présente pas si mal, et je devrais pouvoir poursuivre sur ce forum dans les mois qui viennent quelques récits jusqu'alors interrompus (... et c'est tant pis pour vous ! 🏴☠️)
bjr CHRIS.
juste te dire dire que ce serait dommage -pour nous- d'etre rappelé auprès de notre seigneur avant d'avoir pu nous livrer la quintessence de ce souvenir.
merci.
🏴☠️🏴☠️ Je ne vais quand même pas publier tous les mois sur VF mon bulletin de santé pour te rassurer ! En tout cas, pour l'instant tout va bien... Pourvu que ça dure ! 🙂
bsr.
ça ne durera pas longtemps.
Pardonne mon cinysme, mais nous ne sommes faits que de poussière, le béton n'est pas encore en option, alors qui de nous sait quand il partira?
bon appetit.
Néanmoins, et si l'on en croit mon horoscope 2009, placé sous la protection de Mercure (les hôtels) et de Mars (les barres chocolatées), la conjoncture de mes "anti-carnets" ne se présente pas si mal, et je devrais pouvoir poursuivre sur ce forum dans les mois qui viennent quelques récits jusqu'alors interrompus (... et c'est tant pis pour vous ! 🏴☠️)
Avec plaisir, il en faut pour tout les gouts, et moi je prefere les anticarnets a ce genre de discussion :
Bon et pour revenir au sujet, je suis globalement d'accord, noter chaque journée dans le detail n'est pas mon truc ... mais c'est marrant, c'est la meme chose pour la photographie
Un instant magique, je ne pense jamais à le photographier, je laisse mes sens profiter de l'instant ... et sortir l'appareil rompt la magie. Du coup, j'ai beaucoup de photos merdiques puisque je ne les prends que quand je m'ennuie 😎
J'ai ecrit deux "recits" (d'apres ta "definition"), d'une part parcequ'en revenant, je n'arrivais pas à sortir de mes souvenirs et qu'il fallait donc que ça sorte et d'autre part parceque je trouve insupportable les "raconte ton voyage" et "alors c'etait comment" ... du coup, en homme moderne deshumanisé je repondais, "va lire mon recit " 😎
Alors j'ai ressorti les cartes, trier les photos merdiques et me suis replongé une derniere fois dans mes voyages ... en ecrivant d'une traite ... en oubliant volontairement et involontairement plein de choses.
Et bien ça fait du bien et j'ai eu pas mal de bons retours, sans doute parceque j'ai voulu faire court, illustré (de photos merdiques) et parsemé d'humour
Alors maintenant, ce qu'il reste est sans doute tres influencé par ce qui m'est passé par la tete au moment d'ecrire, un peu comme lorsqu'on raconte un reve (seul moyen de s'en souvenir), on le galvaude completement car notre cerveau eveillé relativement cartesien est bien en peine pour exprimer l'inexprimable (domaine reservé aux grands auteurs)
Sauf qu'apres 3 verres de rhum (ou pas), en discutant avec son compagnon de route de l'epoque (ou pas), ou tout simplement lorsqu'une odeur etrange vient nous titiller les narines, une bulle explose et la memoire (celle des "impressions", la plus importante) revient
De quoi on parlait deja ?
En tout cas, votre fausse modestie (merci de ne pas mal le prendre), votre humour et votre maniere d'ecrire me rejouissent
..un peu comme lorsqu'on raconte un reve (seul moyen de s'en souvenir), on le galvaude completement car notre cerveau eveillé relativement cartesien est bien en peine pour exprimer l'inexprimable (domaine reservé aux grands auteurs)
Sauf qu'apres 3 verres de rhum (ou pas), en discutant avec son compagnon de route de l'epoque (ou pas), ou tout simplement lorsqu'une odeur etrange vient nous titiller les narines, une bulle explose et la memoire (celle des "impressions", la plus importante) revient
Mon mécanisme cervical de "restitution spasmodique" des souvenirs, souvent au moment le plus inattendu, plusieurs années après l'événement et avec une dose sans doute importante de déformation par rapport à la réalité initiale semble ressembler au tien.
Dommage que tu t'accuses de photos "merdiques" (modestie ?) et surtout que tu penses que la photo brise la magie du voyage.
La photo est une aide utile à la mémoire et elle peut être la meilleure ou la pire des alliées en voyage
Si on photographie trop, on va noyer la mémoire dans la "bouillie" photographique et, quelques années plus tard, on ne revivra son voyage qu'à travers ses photos (merdiques ou pas !) et la "vraie mémoire" va s'effacer progressivement devant l'image retrouvée.
Me concernant, j'essaie (avec plus ou moins de succès, mais j'ai l'impression que je progresse un peu en vieillissant !) de ne photographier que pour figer exclusivement les moments forts du voyage, d'avantage sous forme d'impressions visuelles que de cartes postales...
(des formes, des couleurs, des visages ou des attitudes... et pourtant je ne suis ni impressionniste, ni impressionnant !)
En voyage, il peut donc parfaitement m'arriver de ne prendre aucune photo d'un site jugé "exceptionnel" puis de "mitrailler" (discrètement et avec modération quand même 😉) sur un petit marché de village...
"Me concernant, j'essaie (avec plus ou moins de succès, mais j'ai l'impression que je progresse un peu en vieillissant !) de ne photographier que pour figer exclusivement les moments forts du voyage, d'avantage sous forme d'impressions visuelles que de cartes postales...
(des formes, des visages ou des attitudes... et pourtant je ne suis ni impressionniste, ni impressionnant !) "
Pour ça, rien de mieux que le dessin : cela demande encore plus de temps que de préparer un beau cadrage, une belle composition et un bon éclairage. Et... si le dessin est loupé, ce que nous avons tenté de dessiner est pour lontemps gravé dans la mémoire visuelle et émotionnelle.
Parfois, on photographie avec les yeux des instants que nous ne voulions pas mettre sur pellicule pour x raisons, pour mieux les mettre sur une feuille l'occasion venue. Si le moment ne vient pas, l'image reste dans la mémoire.
Mes "talents" de dessinateur se limitent à de petites BD "merdiques" (pour reprendre l'expression précédente) donc aucun espoir de voir de ma part des croquis de voyage présentables sur VF !
Faire de bonnes photos est finalement assez facile (sous réserves de ne pas faire n'importe quoi, de respecter certaines règles techniques et graphiques ...et surtout de "savoir regarder") mais faire de beaux dessins demande beaucoup plus de virtuosité, ce qui m'est inaccessible 🤪
Dommage que tu t'accuses de photos "merdiques" (modestie ?) et surtout que tu penses que la photo brise la magie du voyage.
je parlais pour moi, et moi seul, je ne nie pas un seul instant que pour d'autres personnes ce soit different ... d'ailleurs mes plus belles photos de voyage ont souvent ete prises ... par mes compagnons de voyage qui n'ont pas la meme relation que moi avec cet outil voila tout
De plus, les photos qui m'emeuvent le plus sont les photos de gens bien vivants et moins de paysages (meme si beaucoup sont magnifiques c'est evident) ... et je suis dans l'incapacité totale (je n'ose pas ... nan a vrai dire je n'y pense meme pas) photographier les personnes que je rencontre ... et c'est un vrai regret car les visages s'effacent ... et puis photgraphier des gens demande je trouve un certain talent que je n'ai pas
intéressant post que le votre, qui a sont tour me fais replonger dans les limbe de ma mémoire...
il me semble qu'il est dommage que celui ci ce soit tari, alors qu'il n'a fait qu'effleurer les nuances
de la vie.
Merci Alain de redonner vie à ce fil que j'ignorais.
J'ai beaucoup aimer le premier post, je me suis donc formellement interdit de lire les 2 suivants qui ont un parfum de trahison de l'auteur envers lui même.
Je viens de relire ma dernière phrase et je m'aperçois que je dois impérativement l'accompagner d'un conseil : Christian, il est urgent de consulter !
Mais il est peut-être trop tard ?
Ou alors c'est déjà fait, mais dans ce cas c'est mon conseil qui vient trop tard et du coup j'ai l'air d'un con.
Mais revenons à nos moutons.
Je ne tiens pas non plus de carnet de voyage, je préfère laisser décanter quelques mois ou semaines avant de récupérer toute cette bonne lie qui gît au fond du flacon.
Alors même les pires galères se transforment en merveilleux paquebots, des pluies diluviennes se changent en fou rires et de cette angoisse si terrible ne reste qu'une épopée.
Cette angoisse d'avoir laissé tomber mon portefeuille avec argent et passeports dans un dolmuch en Turquie il y a 25 ans, 5 mn pour nous en rendre compte après être sorti du bus , cette force soudaine qui m'a animé, submergé et précipité sans réfléchir jusqu'au terminal des bus où le chauffeur devait faire 10 mn de pause. Deux kilomètre à une vitesse sidérante, moi qui n'avait à l'époque quasiment aucun entrainement. Deux kilomètres par une chaleur torride. Mon corps de jeune homme écervelé mais bourré d'adrénaline qui se surpassait devant la foule turque médusée. Il me semble les entendre : " vas-y ! tu peux y arriver !". Deux kilomètres à courir comme un fou les femmes turques hurlant leurs encouragements aux fenêtres tandis que leurs hommes tentaient vainement de les en empêcher. Deux kilomètres de gloire éternelle coiffée du triomphe inégalable : j'arrive au terminus alors que le chauffeur rejoint à peine la salle de repos.
Je me souviens encore sa tête, incrédule. Mon portefeuille était toujours par terre.
Qu'en serait-il de cette histoire si je l'avais retranscrite le soir à la pansyon ?
"So, my little wanderers, back at the decks? What’s this mystery destination you’ve got in store for us at the start of the year?"
Yes, the schoolyard bell’s ringing again! We’re hitting the road... or rather, the skies! At first glance, our destination might surprise more than a few. First off, simply because I was here exactly twenty years ago, and I don’t usually like retracing my own footsteps. Secondly, because the name of this place screams mass tourism—basically the opposite of what Flo and I look for.
Despite that, in this land of backsheesh, I’d promised myself I’d come back one day to experience it my way. And since Flo told me, during our wanderer chats, that this destination straddling Africa and the Middle East was in her top 2 travel dreams, the stars aligned for this roots-style trip to quickly make it onto our pharaonic festivities program! Unless you’re totally clueless in general knowledge, you’ve probably guessed by now—we’re off to Egypt! Of course, a few classics will be on our itinerary, but above all, we want to soak up a culture that can’t be appreciated in four-star resorts or on a Nile cruise boat. And let’s be clear, these next two weeks won’t be a walk in the park—neither for our two daughters who are joining us, nor for our bodies!
And that’s clear from the get-go: after our first flight, eight hours of trying (and failing) to sleep on Milan airport’s metal seats, our second flight, landing, passport stamps, our Uber ride, and our first Cairo kilometers, we finally drop our exhaustion at the little guesthouse we booked in Giza. Doesn’t all that energy deserve a little reward?
Oh, absolutely! And here it is: a full-on slap in the face for everyone! But just look at this view from our hotel terrace? For 20 € a night for four, even with this incredible view, I figured the room must be pretty shabby, right? Nope... Is the staff rude, then? Nope... Okay, so what’s the catch? You’re gonna tell me breakfast is included too? Well, yes! Honestly, this Egypt trip is off to a great start.
And the rest of the afternoon, spent rubbing shoulders with locals, only confirmed this vibe. After digesting our pyramid view, we dove into the hustle and bustle of our neighborhood with the goal of exchanging money, eating at street stalls, and testing the hospitality of the locals. Ten out of ten!
Eight little sun breads with baba ganoush and falafel? 80 pounds, or 1.5 €. A dozen Middle Eastern pastries? Same! 80 pounds! Two hawawshis, those little pita breads stuffed with meat and spices? 10 pounds each, or about twenty cents! Not to mention all those smiles and free "welcomes" left and right!!!
What a welcome! We end this first day with a sunset over the three sisters of Giza—where we’ll obviously be gawking tomorrow...
I’m sharing a little recap of this new 4-week trip to China—nothing fancy, just my experience.
We’re taking advantage of the extended visa exemption to return to China for the 4th time. I loved last summer’s trip so much that I’m a bit worried about being disappointed this year. Plus, I’ve had a few hiccups before this departure: my WeChat account got blocked, and I couldn’t recover it (luckily, Alipay still works fine); I couldn’t verify my 12306 account for weeks; Trip.com failed to book our second train; and I’ve got an injury that’ll slow me down during the trip... Ugh, I hate starting a trip with these kinds of issues. Then, oh surprise! Just before leaving, my 12306 account got verified! Super easy to use from that point on—I could book a few train tickets without fees.
We’re sticking with Free’s e-SIMs, which work great in China.
August 2–3
Anyway, on the morning of August 2nd, we took the RER to CDG. As usual, we couldn’t check in online. It’s always a bit frustrating, especially since we didn’t have any checked luggage. We flew with Air China. We arrived at the check-in counter at 9:50 AM, 2 hours and 40 minutes before the flight. The line for our check-in stretched 300 meters across the airport in both directions. What a joke!! We spent 1 hour and 45 minutes in that line just to reach the counter and get our boarding passes. By then, it was 11:35 AM, and boarding had already started at 11:20 AM. The screens showed a 25-minute walk to our gate—on the other side of the airport, of course—plus we had to go through passport control and security... Long story short, the plane didn’t leave without us 🙂 We boarded among the last passengers, and we took off at 12:30 PM. We’d flown Air China four times before, but this time, it felt *really* low-cost. The check-in chaos, the cramped seats (12 seats per row), no music by artists known outside China, mediocre food, and a boarding area at Beijing Airport with only 10 seats—worthy of Ryanair or EasyJet. And yet, the price was sky-high. Again, D.’s vacation requests were denied outside of July and August, so we’re traveling from August 2nd to 30th. We couldn’t have picked a worse time for inflated prices, and with the situation in Iran, we got hit with a 390 € fuel surcharge. I’ve never paid so much for flights—I felt like I’d bought business class, but nope, far from it!!
We landed in Beijing around 4:15 AM. It was 28°C with thick fog. We drove and drove and drove for 20 minutes, as usual in Beijing. Then we went through a first check, a second check, a third check, and waited for our connecting flight at 6:40 AM. A small Airbus A320, but way more space than in the Boeing 777 from the first flight. We landed in Kunming, Yunnan, around 10:15 AM in the rain.
We headed to the subway. You can’t pay at the machines with Alipay here either, so we set up the transport QR code directly in Alipay to scan at the subway gates. The process is a bit long the first time if you haven’t entered your info before, but once it’s done, it’s *so* much easier! We took Line 6 to the terminus for 6 yuan each.
We’d booked a hotel nearby, on the 16th floor. It’s actually studios on different floors of a huge residential building. The view’s pretty nice from here. We settled in quickly—back to those wooden beds, or rather, mattresses as hard as wood, which we *hadn’t* missed...
Then we went out for our first bowl of noodles of the trip and wandered through the shopping streets of the old town.
It was crowded, and the weather was cool—around 19–20°C. We tried a local specialty: milk skin, thick, dried, then grilled with rose jam. Yeah... we won’t be having that again. The taste and texture of the milk skin... no thanks.
We saw a lot of wild mushroom hotpot too. It’s on our list for later. We also passed through the Jinma and Biji gates, where I played with reflections in puddles. I *love* doing that 🙂
At the end of the day, we headed to a temple advertised as open 24/7 on Amap. Of course, when we got there, it was closed. We’ll go back tomorrow. That was the first of many disappointments with Amap this trip—I hadn’t had that issue on previous visits.
We were exhausted after that sleepless flight. Night was falling, and we decided to grab a quick bite without much appetite. We shared a delicious vegetable fried rice for 12 yuan—we even left half of it. The portions are *huge*.
After a couple of small purchases, we headed back at 9 PM, wiped out, after walking 17 km between the airports and these first steps in Kunming. I expected to see quite a few Western travelers here, but we didn’t spot a single one. Instead, we met lots of curious Chinese people, many of them super friendly and helpful—almost *too* eager, like when they’d run to serve us as fast as possible. It’s a bit much, but it’s great to be back!
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
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!!!
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
Here we go with this second travel journal dedicated to the American West! It’s a must when you love it! 😊
We had left off in the charming town of Bisbee, which once thrived thanks to its copper mines. Today, mining is a thing of the past, and the town seems a bit sleepy.
Unfortunately, I didn’t dig deep enough on-site to answer all the questions my observations raised. Guess I’ll have to *dig* into the subject a bit more... no pun intended! 😊
Let’s hop back in the car and head a little further south to check out the esplanade that offers a view—if you can call it that—of the impressive open-pit mine.
Then, it’s off to the Lowell neighborhood.
Preserved almost exactly as it was, this area must’ve been bustling in its heyday. The vintage cars are still around, storefronts and signs look like they’re straight out of another era, and the whole place has a pretty amazing vibe. You’d almost think you were on Route 66!
Here, we’re not just discovering an old neighborhood—it’s a little slice of American history. And, a detail that’s great for my physical health: the area isn’t too spread out.
Lucky me! 😊
I won’t post too many photos here since I think I can turn them into a future photo exhibit. Between these and some shots from Route 66, I should have more than enough material! So, let’s keep a few under wraps... to preserve the surprise. 😊
So, a new year has begun. It’s time to reconnect with the VF buddies and wish you all my best for 2026—a year I hope is obviously full of travel, since, as I just made up:
"If travel’s good, everything’s good" 😄.
To celebrate, I’m inviting you into my new "travel journal," the one from our latest trip in November 2025, a little two-week adventure.
This time, we headed to The Gambia, a tiny country tucked right in the middle of Senegal, before making our way to Casamance.
The Gambia is English-speaking, Senegal is French-speaking, but the locals? They couldn’t care less—because in this part of the world, they mostly speak Wolof, Fula, Jola, or Mandinka.
Hence the title: Senegambia 😉.
As usual, I’m sharing the live updates I sent to friends and family—super casual, of course.
I know this isn’t the kind of destination that draws crowds, but if you love adventure, laughter, and emotion, it might just be your thing 😊.
Off to Southern Africa again! This time, the trip wasn’t just about wildlife—it was also about the local cultures and the breathtaking landscapes Mother Nature has to offer. It was an emotional rollercoaster in every way, as you’ll see.
We visited two countries: Zambia, known for its reserves, and Malawi, which is less well-known but absolutely worth a visit. Our flight landed in Lilongwe, Malawi’s capital, where our vehicle was waiting—though with a 3-hour delay. It was a 4x4 without the rooftop tent this time, since we stayed in lodges (prices are very reasonable in Malawi). Just a heads-up: don’t exchange money at the airport or banks—the official rate was 1,750 Malawian kwacha to $1. On the black market, the rate was between 3,000 and 3,500 kwacha, making the cost of living much cheaper.
With that out of the way, our first stop was South Luangwa National Park in Zambia. The first hiccup came at the Malawi-Zambia border: we were missing a document the rental company had forgotten. After some back-and-forth, they sent it via WhatsApp ($20 to get it validated by the police). But things got worse—the car’s chassis number was off by one digit from the registered one. I thought our trip was over before it even started! After what felt like forever, we got through with a "tip" of $200. Total border crossing time: 3 hours, costing nearly $400. We arrived in South Luangwa after dark.
Thankfully, the next day made up for it with an incredible day in the park (check out the photos).
We spent two full days in South Luangwa before heading to Katete for the Kulamba ceremony.
Kulamba is an annual event held at the end of August, celebrating the Chewa people, who live across Zambia, Malawi, and Mozambique. The Chewa king attends, and representatives from neighboring nations bring offerings. Thousands gather for dances, speeches, and a massive market. There are few tourists, making it a truly authentic experience.
After a few days in Zambia, we returned to Malawi (the border crossing this time was smooth—just 45 minutes). Next stop: Lake Malawi.
Lake Malawi covers over 20% of the country and stretches 580 km. It’s home to a family of fish called cichlids, some of which are endemic to the lake. I recommend taking a day trip from Cape Maclear for snorkeling and to watch the fishing eagles swoop down to catch fish.
We hit the road again to visit Liwonde Reserve, where we had a few surprises. The lodge was on the other side of the river that borders the park, and the elephants didn’t seem to care. On the way from reception to our rooms, elephants blocked our path, and one even charged just before the stairs leading to our treehouse-style rooms.
To top it off, monkeys ransacked our rooms, tearing through plastic bags for food. A mixed experience, but no real harm done.
Next up: the mountains, specifically the Mulanje Massif. This is where Malawi’s tea is grown, and it’s also a great spot for day hikes or multi-day treks. The scenery is stunning, though sometimes the mist rolls in and hides it.
After the mountains, we visited another reserve: Majete. The park is growing and now has more wildlife. We saw lions and even caught a fleeting glimpse of a leopard. And of course, the elephants got involved again—this time giving us a real scare.
During the morning game drive with a guide, we stopped to watch a herd of elephants feeding. Everything was fine until, for some reason, a female got spooked—probably for her calf—and positioned herself in front of us on the track. After a few minutes, we thought the elephants would move on, but then a young one started provoking us. The problem? We had females and calves in front of us, but also two large adult males—one behind us and one to the side.
We were trapped, and even our guide looked nervous. After what felt like an eternity (though it was only a few minutes), the herd finally moved on, freeing the track. That afternoon, we did a self-drive safari and—you guessed it—we had zero interest in running into elephants again.
The next day, we headed back to Lilongwe for our flight home. It was a fantastic, varied trip with some intense moments (sometimes *too* intense). Malawi offers amazing opportunities for those who want more than just wildlife reserves.
Alright, this year, we're heading back to South America!
The initial plan was to retrace the route we imagined in the summer of 2020: a trip to northern Argentina starting from Córdoba.
Unfortunately, the flight to Córdoba no longer exists, and airfares to Javier Milei’s country are both outrageously priced and involve multiple layovers.
So, I tweaked Google Flights every which way and finally found a flight within my budget—departing from Clermont-Ferrand!
Not to Argentina, though...
Our transatlantic flight will cross the snow-capped Andes, landing in Santiago, Chile, with a return from Lima!
In between, two domestic flights and a big road trip loop starting from the coastal city of Arica to explore the treasures of northern Chile.
Our mode of transport: a pseudo 4x4 that won’t take us through sand dunes or devilish tracks but will let us tackle the entire secondary network, including unpaved main roads, while still being insured.
Is the suitcase packed with all-season clothes?
Are the driver’s license and passport ready?
Bank cards and a few euros too?
Off we go for just over 3 weeks of southern wanderings!
--/--
To keep all my esteemed readers on track, here are a few maps outlining the Arica-Arica loop!
1- From Arica to San Pedro de Atacama via Pica and the Salar de Huasco
2- Around San Pedro
3- From San Pedro to Cariquima
4- From Cariquima to Putre
5 - From Putre to Arica
Gas stations in this part of Chile are located in Arica, Iquique, Pozo Almonte, Pica, Calama, and San Pedro de Atacama.
I hope this travel journal might interest some people, but since we were completely self-sufficient (tent, sleeping bag, pot, cooking over a wood fire…) almost every day, I don’t have many hotel addresses or great restaurant tips to share! Sorry!
We used the Maio map at 1:50,000 scale. It’s part of the Boa Vista/Sal/Maio map. Bought on Amazon, but currently unavailable as of the latest news.
The people of Maio are extremely welcoming and warm, and we were always more than well received in the villages where we pitched our tent!
We’re usually big hikers, but since Maio is a beach island (gorgeous ones, at that!), we alternated a few hours of walking in the morning with some relaxation in the afternoon: beach, reading, fishing, resting…
1 euro = 110 escudos
Day 1 (Friday) Transfers by plane: Fogo-Praia-Maio
We opted for the plane to save some time on transfers, as the boat connections between Fogo and Praia take a while, and those between Praia and Maio are almost nonexistent.
You should budget around 40-50 euros per flight per person.
There are 2 flights per week between Praia and Maio—on Tuesdays and Fridays when we were there (January 2016), but currently on Mondays and Fridays.
A bit of a delay leaving Praia, but we arrived on Maio without any problems around 4 PM.
We took an *aluguer* (shared transport, 200 escudos per person) to the center of Vila do Maio, but it’s totally doable on foot with a backpack.
Since it was already a bit late, for this first night, we dropped our bags at Big Game Maio. A standard European-style hotel run by a very nice Italian family. It’s a bit pricey for us (5500 escudos for 2 people with breakfast), but after our 2 weeks in a tent on Fogo, we were happy to find a little comfort. And the breakfast is ultra-generous, with fresh products (cured ham, fruit, cheese, bread) and top quality. The hotel restaurant offers dishes that are a clever mix of Italian and Cape Verdean cuisine. Excellent!
Little tip: We didn’t try it, but Big Game Maio offers big-game fishing trips, diving, and quad rentals.
The hotel is 2 minutes from Vila’s beautiful beach, and we went for a dip at sunset and took a stroll around town. They’re redeveloping the waterfront with pretty sidewalks and light stone walls.
Vila beach
Sunset behind Santiago
Day 2 (Saturday): rest day + fishing
After 2 weeks of hiking and since Vila is such a peaceful place where it’s nice to take your time, we decided to spend an extra day there. We took the path heading south along the coast to reach Ponta Preta beach in 20 minutes. The path isn’t very pretty because there’s quite a bit of construction going on, which prevents you from really walking along the shore. Lots of real estate agencies, especially Italian ones, have taken over the land. But Ponta Preta beach is a stunning black-sand beach where we had the whole place to ourselves. We decided to go fishing from the rocks.
At 1 PM, the sun was blazing, so we headed back to Vila and dried the fish for the following days.
At 6 PM, we went fishing again, but this time at night from the rocks at the end of Vila beach.
8:30 PM: back to shower and eat at the restaurant.
The rocks and sea at Ponta Preta
Day 3 (Sunday): from Vila do Maio to Calheta de Baixo, via Monte Batalha (path 101) Hiking time: 5h
Since there aren’t many “summits” on Maio, we decided to head to Calheta de Baixo but via Monte Batalha. We left at 8:20 AM and somehow made it to Monte Batalha by 11 AM (2h40 of hiking). But the path is really hard to find in the middle of the dry grass and acacia trees. We kind of cut through randomly, aiming for the summit. Even though it’s not very high (around 300 m), the view is amazing—you can see all of Maio at 360°!
Short 30-minute break. The descent through the “forest” of acacias is even worse for finding your way. We oriented ourselves a bit by the sun to find the road connecting Vila to Calheta. We arrived around 1:30 PM at Calheta de Baixo. A very pretty little seaside village with colorful houses. An idyllic beach, a newly renovated square, and super-friendly people. We pitched our tent facing the sea on the terrace of an abandoned house (after asking the locals for permission).
We cooked some of the dried fish we’d caught the day before, along with fresh beans we’d brought from Fogo (and were still carrying!).
At the summit of Monte Batalha
Calheta
Calheta de Baixo
Day 4 (Monday): From Calheta de Baixo to Morrinho on foot. Hiking time: 3h. Then hitching a bus to Cascabulho, and a car to Pedro Vaz.
We left around 9:30 AM heading north (path 201), following the coastline where the beaches just keep coming—each one wilder and more beautiful than the last: Praia de Soca, Calheta Braca, Ponta de Pau Seco, Calhetina. We reached the dunes of Baia de Santana. There’s no real path, so you have to follow the coast, then go around the dunes, and when you spot the 3 coconut trees, head east toward them to find the track leading to Morrinho. Again, we discovered a village with a Wild West vibe, with colorful houses lined up on either side of a paved road. Just enough time to accept a drink offered by a local before jumping onto the passing school bus that took us to Cascabulho. There, we waited for a ride. A political delegation of 10 cars drove right past us without stopping. Luckily, one of the cars had a flat tire and came by 30 minutes later—and that one, thankfully, gave us a lift! They were heading to the inauguration of a water pump in Pedro Vaz. So that’s where we stopped too. After getting permission from the school principal, we pitched our tent in front of the village school… and became the attraction for all the kids who kept us company until nightfall! A woman gave us 2 jugs of water, but with all that company, it was tough to take a peaceful shower!!
Dinner: pasta with beans.
We were woken up by rain during the night and had to rush to bring all our stuff inside the tent!
The beaches just keep coming...
The dunes
The 3 coconut trees, a landmark to find the track
Day 5 (Tuesday): Rest day and fishing at Boca da Ribeira beach
We packed up at 8 AM because the kids had school. We filled the 2 water jugs that the woman lent us and headed down to camp at Boca da Ribeira beach, which is a bit further east of Pedro Vaz. It took less than an hour to get there. This time, we really were alone in the world! We pitched the tent and spent the day fishing, reading, playing, and swimming regularly because the sun was beating down hard!!! We caught a nice fish that we grilled over the fire in the evening. With the crabs and shellfish we gathered, we made a seafood rice! Yum! What a feast!
That night, once the tent was zipped up, we felt something like rain on the tent fabric. I decided to go out and gather our things, and then—shock!!! It wasn’t raindrops we were feeling and hearing, but bugs attracted by the light!! Not just a few bugs—a huge swarm of them!!! Thousands of bugs covering the whole tent, the ropes, slipping into the seams and hems! Everywhere! The blue tent had turned green!!! After that, it was a real struggle to get back inside without letting any in! A real challenge, and there were always 3 or 4 that managed to sneak in anyway. Total war!!!
Boca da Ribeira beach
Day 6 (Wednesday): From Boca da Ribeira to Ribeira Dom João. Hiking time: 3h30
We woke up leisurely and waited for the sun to dry our things, damp from the dew. A man passed by, and we gave him the water jugs we’d borrowed, which saved us a trip back to Pedro Vaz to return them to the woman.
We left around 10 AM. We followed the sea to Alcatraz, then headed toward Pilão Cão. The path runs alongside the small hills on our right, and we passed above Lagoa Cimidor. The terrain is arid, and the path is hard to find among the many goat tracks.
After 3h30 of hiking, we reached Ribeira Dom João with 2 young people we’d met along the way.
Since it was a public holiday in Cape Verde, the kids didn’t have school, and with the principal’s permission, we pitched our tent in the kindergarten. She even kindly opened the school toilets for us. The neighbor gave us the water we needed to wash up and cook. We cooked beef steaks on charcoal. A nice change from fish!! Charcoal is a widespread artisanal product on the island. People almost never cook directly over wood but always with these big chunks of charcoal.
The hills on our right
Ribeira Dom João
Day 7 (Thursday): From Ribeira Dom João to Vila do Maio. Hiking time: 3h30
We woke up at 6:30 AM to clear out of the school by 8 AM. The neighbor made us coffee to save time. It took us 2 hours to reach Barreiro, another Wild West-style town! Since we didn’t want to walk on the road, we took the old track and reached Vila do Maio in 1h30.
Last night before taking the plane back to Praia the next day.
Barreiro
The old track
The church in Vila do Maio
That’s where this trip ends!
Maio is truly a magical island! A remote, isolated place with incredible, wild beaches and villages with a Wild West feel—colorful houses on either side of well-paved, well-maintained, and decorated streets. And the locals are so warm and welcoming.
Even for hikers like us, it was a great discovery, and we were able to alternate hiking and relaxation with great pleasure! Too bad the area around Vila do Maio is being overrun by real estate construction—ongoing, unfinished, abandoned…
And we still haven’t seen everything!
Before setting off for new horizons at the end of this year, it’s time for me to share my trip to Cape Verde this summer 2025.
I particularly love these spontaneous trips, and our stay in Cape Verde is one of those because it was only at the beginning of April that we decided on this getaway, which had been catching our eye for a while, given our love for the mountains.
As always—well, when it’s open—I turned to VF, and I want to immediately thank Marie, aka ptitortue, who helped me a lot in planning this trip through her travel journals and our exchanges!
Because Cape Verde is both small and vast! We decided not to rush from one airport to another, to enjoy the places and the people, but also to relax, since the work backlog from being stuck in May (see my previous travel journal 😅) had to be caught up on in June.
So, 4 islands will be our winners from 06/28 to 07/19:
Santiago first for logistical reasons, as round-trip flights from the capital Praia were the cheapest (650 €/person from Lyon via Lisbon with TAP, still!)
São Vicente, because it’s the gateway to the next one but ultimately more than that...
Santo Antão, pretty much the main goal of the trip since Marie (and the photos) had really sold it to me.
And finally, Sal Island, for some rest—a non-negotiable condition for my other half—and we’ll see that I should’ve listened to Marie...
That said, what a chatterbox I am—buckle up, flight attendants at the doors, off we go on new beautiful escapes! (Thanks to Sophie for the easy loan)
Last note for my eager fan club 😏: yes, there will be alcohol—how could there not be in the land of grogue!
Hi everyone, we're back from a DIY USA road trip we organized from July 31, 2026, to August 26, 2026.
The destination: The Southwest USA, including Texas, Arizona, and New Mexico. Roughly 7,000 kilometers covered.
The car: A Chevrolet Equinox for two, rented through BSP Auto and Avis. Inside, we had 2 suitcases, a travel bag, two carry-on bags, a Walmart cooler, photo gear, and water bottles (a 40-pack).
The route: Dallas DFW, Fort Worth, Houston, Austin, San Antonio, Alpine, El Paso, Tucson, Sedona, Albuquerque, Amarillo, and back to Dallas to finish with a departure from DFW.
The travelers: Two seniors well advanced in years (73 and 75) but still active (nothing too physically demanding—to stay alive and fund our trips), fully independent physically, though a bit less so mentally. Big USA fans, a country where anything is possible. More walkers than hikers, preferring 3-star hotels over roadside motels, Italian restaurants over US food, frequent stops for photos, museums over nothing, naps over forced marches. Not too whiny, just enough to stay French in the land of the "great Satan," as they say.
Not great with languages—street English (but handy), and my Spanish is non-existent except for: "Hola! Una cerveza por favor!" That’s about it. My wife understands everything but refuses to speak.
The cost of the road trip: Around 12,000 €, including AF flights, the car, gas, gifts, visits, and everything else. Well managed, since we’d budgeted 13,500 € initially.
The positive side: A delight, with those endless open roads. Museums to discover. The realization of the Hispanic presence and its important history in this part of America. Lovely locals. Tourists who were more or less friendly. A terrible Texan accent that was hard to understand. Gas stations that were like real stores, with prepared food, alcohol sold in Arizona and New Mexico, and employees who were always up for a laugh!
The negative side: The heat throughout the trip... 43°C in Dallas at the end. Impossible to walk the streets. Lots of homeless people in downtown Dallas. Hotel breakfasts that were always the same. You get used to it.
So, it was positive overall, but the concept is starting to wear us out. We might rethink the DIY road trip model for next time. If the man upstairs grants us more time.
Next up, we’ll wait for the first batch of sorted photos to go through the wringer.
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...
Traveling with just one spare pair of underwear, considering a hot shower a miracle, never staying in the same place too long by sleeping wherever night catches us, taking whatever local, improbable, and rickety transport we can find—this is the DNA of us wanderers. Except this time, the script for our movie is going to be a whole different genre. On paper, the destination doesn’t exactly scream epic adventure: Réunion! And what’s more... we won’t be two, or four, or even ten. We’ll be a solid thirty. All from the same family. Yes, thirty. At this point, it’s not just a trip—it’s a summer camp on the move! Why inflict this on such a peaceful island? Because my brother decided to get married there with his lovely bride. A great idea, you might say... especially when it involves relocating the equivalent of a small Ardennes village 10,000 kilometers from home for three weeks! So who’s stepping up to be the guide and wave the little flag?
So, for an exceptional trip, exceptional stories! Don’t worry, the debates at the supermarket over whether to choose plain chips or roast chicken chips, the beach picnics washed down with ti’ punch, and other rougail sausages to digest by the pool will only make it into the family archives. Here, I’ll stick to the tales of our beautiful escapes, the ones where we explore the wild corners of this little volcanic rock planted in the middle of the Indian Ocean. So where exactly are we headed?
For the first week—the subject of this first installment—we’re taking it easy. We’ll start by rediscovering the coastline, from the Souffleur in Saint-Leu to the Hermitage lagoon, before a little trip to the Cirque de Cilaos and its legendary road with 400 turns, just to get our legs warmed up.
"How about a Christmas market this year, huh? A little romantic weekend getaway...
- Yes! That’d be cool! Strasbourg? Colmar?
- Feels a bit déjà vu, doesn’t it? Plus, slim chance of snow there... And I’d love something a bit more exotic with a touch of originality..."
"Okay, Google, give me the list of the five most beautiful Christmas markets in Europe.
- In fifth place, the Christmas market in Vilnius, the capital of Lithuania.
- Save your breath! Lithuania, here we come!"
We wanted cold, and cold is exactly what we got the moment we set foot in this new, unknown land. As for landscapes, forests and lakes stretch as far as the eye can see across this vast plain, its vegetation scorched by the frost of a winter that’s clearly already well underway here.
Lakes, in fact, set the scene for our first visit to Trakai Castle, whose brick-red towers and walls rise proudly against the azure sky of our first day. Lakes, because this castle was built on an island and is only accessible on foot via a series of walkways spanning half-frozen lake offshoots. I couldn’t have picked a better spot to build my castle! Translation: We’re totally sold! Proof is we spend two hours hiking around the area, alternating between forests, reeds, and cozy houses tastefully decorated for Christmas.
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.
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 three years at most in Thailand, and I’m not a big expert on the country.
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 piece together a puzzle, mainly for those who want to get an idea of the country here and for those who miss 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 guards 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 property, be careful at night, and be careful when they’re in packs.
It sometimes crosses our minds that Thailand isn’t really 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, are 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 broken for years.
You’ll often see dogs sleeping on the side of the road, sometimes right on the road. When you arrive, they move aside nonchalantly—or not at all. It’s less funny when they suddenly appear from thick vegetation, which reminds 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. Seeing a small pack roaming freely in the countryside, you might think it’s best not to cross paths with them at the edge of a field.
A darker side of this is that euthanasia isn’t often practiced. Twice, we saw dogs at temples on the brink of death, enduring terrible suffering. No one did anything about it. The image (and the smell) of one of them, dying and emitting 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 well-fed animal quickly became a happy, 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 in them 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 a gimmick—it’s just that 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.
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!
If I close my eyes and think of the Sultanate of Oman, I first smell a light scent of incense, feel the warmth of a sunbeam on my skin, before sand slips through my fingers. I taste the sweetness of a date, a real candy, then the flavor of coffee with a hint of cardamom and rosewater... I hear the desert wind whistling in my ears, the distant call of a muezzin, then the murmur of water. I open my eyes to see smiles, welcoming gestures, a turquoise sea, rocks ranging from ochre to purple, deep wadis where torrents burst forth, orange dunes, white sandy beaches where tiny crabs scurry at full speed. I see incredible oases emerging between arid mountains. I see abandoned villages that I’d dream were full of life, imposing fortresses overlooking valleys, and lively souks where offers are delicate and negotiation is a mutual courtesy.
All that, and so much more.
This is what I tried to capture in my illustrated travel journal, which I’ll fill in here and there with photos.
I drew this journal “cold,” after my return (actually, I made it this summer, while our trip was last winter). It’s a pretty special format—I bought it in Japan without really knowing what I’d do with it. Well, it found its purpose! Below is a photo of this accordion-style journal: here, it’s only partially open, because when fully unfolded, it’s 5 meters long!
For drawing enthusiasts: The accordion format is both a constraint (each sheet is 9 cm x 27 cm) and a freedom (you can create a fresco). The paper is also a bit special: it doesn’t allow for fine lines, but it takes ink well (liner pen). However, everything has to be done almost in one go (with a very light pencil sketch) because it erases poorly. It absorbs too much water for coloring with markers or watercolors (unless you avoid soaking it), but it works well with oil pastels and their use with a brush and solvent. Since it’s yellowish, it allowed me to create contrasts even with white pastel.
On the right, the "welcome marker"—those dates offered everywhere as a sign of hospitality. On the left, a tribute to those stunning doors worn by time, admired all over the old quarters, including the abandoned ones.
Oman is one of the world’s largest producers of frankincense resin. Incense burners are everywhere, from the simplest clay ones to the most precious handcrafted silver ones...
Hospitality will often lead you to accept a small coffee, an "Omani coffee," very light, subtly flavored with cardamom, maybe a touch of saffron, and occasionally rosewater.
Here, I’ve depicted a man in the common everyday attire of Omanis: the dishdasha, mostly white (during the week and daytime; colors are more common in the evening or on Fridays and Saturdays). While you’ll see some men dressed in Western clothes, they’re very few. The white dishdasha is truly the shared attire of all men. The dishdasha, which has no hood, is distinguished by a small pom-pom attached to the collar, the furakha, which is soaked in perfume. And believe me, Omanis go overboard with it! "It smells like the pom-pom" is an expression that’s now part of our shared language, my husband and I.
Another must of men’s attire is the kuma, a small round head covering, usually white with brightly colored patterns. The keffiyeh is also worn (but without the cord called an agal in Arab countries), and it’s mostly worn by those with roots in the desert, from what I understood.
And what about the women, you might ask? Some are veiled, some in full black (but not a burka—more like a chador + abaya), due to the influence of Saudi Arabia and the United Arab Emirates, whereas the traditional outfit used to be a layering of very colorful dresses. Most of the women we saw wore neutral clothing, a plain veil over their hair, but with their faces uncovered. We also saw many saris and colorful veils—don’t forget that 40% of the population consists of Indian, Nepalese, and Bangladeshi immigrants, who work a lot in tourism, hospitality, restaurants, services, and construction.
Just to clarify, as a tourist, there’s no pressure to wear a veil, and never any disapproving looks. Of course, you’ll save the mini shorts, plunging necklines, bare shoulders, and midriffs for the hotel terrace—but I’d say that’s the same for men and women, and with the sun being strong, it’s better for your skin too.
Here’s the introduction! In the next post, I’ll tell you about my itinerary, and we can dive in!
My buddy Christian and I (Patrick) are off for 28 days in Argentina in March.
We’ve already shared several trips as a duo (Bolivia Peru, Namibia, Laos, Costa Rica).
Since we’re starting from the idea that at our age (65) we won’t be coming back here—there are just too many other corners of the world to discover—we did the "grand tour" of Argentina, with 6 domestic flights to make the most of our 28 days.
Here are our stops:
1) Departure from Brussels to Buenos Aires via Madrid
2) Arrival and first contact with Buenos Aires
3) Early morning flight to Ushuaia. Boat trip on the Beagle Channel
4) Ushuaia: hikes in Tierra del Fuego National Park
5) Ushuaia: last hike and flight to El Calafate
6) El Calafate to El Chaltén by bus. First hike
7) El Chaltén: hike
8) El Chaltén: hike
9) El Chaltén: hike and bus back to El Calafate
10) El Calafate: Perito Moreno Glacier
11) Flight to Bariloche. Car rental and surrounding areas
12) Seven Lakes Region
13) Nahuel Huapi National Park region
14) Flight to Salta. Car rental
15) To Tilcara
16) To Humahuaca
17) To Purmamarca
18) To Jujuy via the salt flats
19) To Cafayate
20) Around Cafayate
21) To Cachi
22) Back to Salta
23) Flight to Iguazu
24) Waterfalls on the Argentine side
25) Waterfalls on the Brazilian side and flight to Buenos Aires
26) Buenos Aires
27) Return flight
28) Morning arrival
Happy reading!..
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.
The latest travel journal about Turkmenistan dates back to 2019. Here’s a quick update on this vast desert country, which is now a bit easier to visit than before.
This is my first travel journal. If you have any questions, don’t hesitate to ask. The country is slowly opening up, but it’s still possible to visit sites where you’ll be completely alone. In five days, I saw two Hongkongers, a few Germans, and a Chilean at the crater, ten Chinese people in a capital bazaar, and that’s it!
It’s possible to visit Turkmenistan from Uzbekistan. The easiest and most economical way is to take a taxi to the border from Bukhara. The trip takes a little over an hour.
Crossing the border takes quite a while because many Turkmen bring back items bought in Uzbekistan to resell in Turkmenistan. For example, diapers, baby products, or beauty products.
It took me over 2.5 hours to cross the border. To visit Turkmenistan, it’s mandatory to have a guide and go through a travel agency. British agencies often offer three-, five-, or seven-day trips for over 1,500 or 2,000 €.
But if your budget is more limited, you can contact a few Turkmen agencies directly by email, and they’ll make you an offer between 700 and 1,300 € for three to seven days. I took a five-day trip from Turkmenabat in the northeast of the country to Dashoguz in the north. The goal was to visit the main UNESCO-listed sites, including Merv, and archaeological sites like Nisa or Gonur Tepe.
Your guide will also be your driver. They’ll pick you up at the border. The formalities are very long because customs officers have to stamp multiple documents, and obtaining the visa you previously requested from your travel agency requires several checks. But the process goes relatively smoothly, even if each step takes a while.
Once on the other side, the first surprise is the brand-new highway all the way to Turkmenabat. A very long line of trucks stretches for several kilometers on the Turkmen side to cross the border into Uzbekistan. According to my guide, Turkmen trucks transport gas and cotton (though not this season, since the harvest is in September), but they mainly fill up their tanks because fuel is much cheaper in Turkmenistan. A full tank for a car costs about 3 €, which is unbeatable.
From the Farap border post, the goal is to reach the city of Mary, which is home to the UNESCO-listed site of Merv in its suburbs, about thirty kilometers away. This city is known as a foundation by Alexander the Great in the 4th century BC under the name Alexandria of Margiana. Several fortresses are visible.
After more than three hours on the road, we have lunch at a Turkish restaurant called Aladdin. Several quotes from the president are visible along the highway, but the road is in good condition, and we move along easily. This will be by far the best road in the country—things will get much worse later.
Roundabouts are particularly interesting because they feature emblems of Turkmen culture, like the dog, a carpet, the Ahal Teke horse, or Muslim symbols, even though the presence of Islamic artifacts is quite limited.
This time, I landed in Monastir on a direct flight from Nice, again with Tunisair. We left about ten minutes late, and the flight lasted around 1 hour 30 minutes. A meal was served on board (cucumber salad with Edam-like cheese, carrots, and two small portions of dishes I couldn’t identify—semolina with peppers, olives, and parsley, two small rolls, a square of processed cheese, and a chocolate cake). It’s worth noting because it’s not common on flights this short.
In February, France and Tunisia were in the same time zone, but now Tunisia is one hour behind. This time difference and the flight duration work perfectly for a short 15-day trip since it takes me a few days to adjust to jet lag.
Luckily, I’d asked my hotel about the taxi fare from the airport because the drivers (there were several around me) didn’t hesitate to quote outrageous prices. The actual fare is 20 dinars, but one asked for 120 dinars. I refused, and another offered 60 dinars. I replied, "That’s too expensive—I’ll take the metro!" (Having tried the Tunis metro, I had no desire to repeat the experience in Monastir with a suitcase!). I started walking toward the metro, and one of the drivers caught up with me, saying, "20 dinars is fine!" I’ll skip the details, but the negotiation took a little while.
When I arrived at the hotel, I told the receptionist someone had asked for 120 dinars. He put his hands to his head and said, "They’re awful!" He remembered our phone call two days earlier when I’d booked (he’s the one who told me I could take the metro).
The Mezri Hotel isn’t expensive. I got a sea-view room for 75 dinars (22 €). (I’d booked a balcony room for 90 dinars but wouldn’t have had time to enjoy it.) It’s well-located but noisy because there’s no double glazing.
The receptionist is a very kind older gentleman. He called a friend whose wife is from Tozeur to find out if I should take a bus or a *louage* tomorrow and what time.
I arrived at the hotel around 7:00 PM and had time to stroll along the corniche to the ribat. Despite some run-down buildings, the seaside seemed livelier and cheerier than Sousse’s.
Monastir is the hometown of former president Bourguiba. I passed his mausoleum by taxi. There are Tunisian flags along the avenue by the sea because every year on April 6—the anniversary of Habib Bourguiba’s death—the president of the Republic visits the Bourguiba Mausoleum in Monastir to pay respects.
The taxi driver mentioned other Tunisian presidents. He complained about rising prices and insecurity, blaming President Kaïs Saïed (I’d already heard that security was better under Ben Ali).
At the end of my stay, I’ll take time to explore Monastir, but tomorrow morning, I’m off to Tozeur—a long bus ride awaits me.
Here we go!!!
I left home at 4 AM on October 31st and headed to Barcelona. Driving through Barcelona on the ring road stresses me out a bit, but at 6 AM the traffic is smooth, and I arrive at the airport without any issues. I call the valet, who quickly comes to pick up my car. He takes photos of it from all angles before letting me go.
Baggage check-in hasn’t started yet, and there are already several of us waiting.
Once free, everything happens very quickly. The flight to Abu Dhabi is on time and goes smoothly. I’ve never had any problems with this airline, which I’ve been using for several years.
The flight to Bangkok arrives at 7 AM as scheduled. This is my first time in Thailand and Bangkok. I’m used to traveling in India, and I notice that everything here is well organized—the customs process is quick, and the luggage is already on the carousel.
I booked a taxi on Booking. All I have to do is find the right exit and door based on the agency’s instructions. A large sign with the names of people who booked is posted on a wall. A hostess greets me and calls the taxi, which arrives 5 minutes later. I booked one night at the Lost Inn BKK hotel in the Phra Nakhon district, and we arrive at 9 AM. The welcome isn’t warm, and I have to wait until noon, sitting on a chair, before I can check into my room. I’m exhausted, and sleeping sitting up isn’t ideal. Noon finally arrives—the room is small but clean, which is fine for one night. I quickly take a shower to wake up because I plan to spend the afternoon visiting the Grand Palace. First, I need to exchange some money, and the banks are all close together on the same street, which is very convenient. When I enter one, a hostess gives me a ticket and invites me to sit down. There are about twenty counters, and I wait quietly until my number is called. The exchange is quick, so I can head out to find the Royal Palace. It’s actually very easy, and the walk is pleasant.
Entry to the Royal Palace (500 baht).
It’s magnificent and grand, and there are quite a few of us visiting. The sky is gray, it’s very humid, and a shower interrupts the visit. It’s a vast complex of temples and palaces. The buildings are colorful and sparkling, with a great sense of serenity (without the tourists, of course). I quietly enjoy the place and try to take photos without tourists, which isn’t easy.
Very close to the Grand Palace is Wat Pho, one of the oldest Buddhist temples in the capital.
It’s very famous for its 46-meter-long reclining Buddha statue.
Walking around the temple, you can see different representations of Buddha, all covered in gold leaf.
Inside the temple, on one side, monks recite their prayers, while the other side is reserved for tourists who come to meditate in silence.
Before returning to the hotel, I have dinner at an Indian restaurant. I go to bed early because tomorrow’s wake-up call will be very early again.
Saturday, November 2nd
Wake-up at 4 AM, departure from the hotel at 4:30 AM. The taxi I booked via Booking is waiting for me and takes me to the airport. The trip is fairly quick—he takes small roads, and at this hour, there’s no traffic.
The flight to Phnom Penh is on time. Before boarding, I realize I left my fleece jacket on the carousel, but it’s too late to go back for it.
The flight goes well, and customs is quick.
At the exit, I take a tuk-tuk to Julieka’s GH near the museum. The welcome is friendly. I won’t be able to check into my room until noon, so I take the opportunity to exchange some euros on the market street. The street is lined with restaurants, and I’ll have my first meal there.
The museum is right across the street, so I don’t waste any time visiting it.
The representations of Hindu deities are very different from those in India, and I don’t recognize them. Many beautiful Buddhas are on display.
The museum is very pleasant, and there aren’t too many people, which is a plus.
At the exit, I return to the GH, settle into my room—which is decent and clean.
The Royal Palace is 1 km away. I walk along a garden, and at the end of the street is the Tonlé Sap, but I turn right. I arrive at a large esplanade and see the buildings with tiered roofs and glazed tiles. The entrance to the palace is a little further away.
At the entrance, I notice there isn’t the same crowd as at the one in BKK.
Khmer architecture is magnificent. The complex consists of gardens, palaces, pagodas with golden roofs, and slender spires.
The Silver Pagoda houses the small Emerald Buddha, which is actually made of jade. The silver flooring is covered with carpets. Photos are not allowed.
The walls surrounding the pagoda are covered with frescoes depicting scenes from the Ramayana.
My partner and I traveled from Sunday, July 5, 2026, to Wednesday, July 22, 2026.
We spent a long time debating whether to rent a car or use public transportation. In the end, after reading so many posts about travelers getting scammed by police or rental companies—even those recommended by blogs and reviews—we decided to stick with public transport. It worked out really well. Sure, we had a little less freedom to go where we wanted, but it was way less stressful for us.
Sunday, July 5:
Arrived at Cancun Airport. Withdrew cash from the ATM in the terminal just before exiting. The ADO bus counter (they pronounce it "A-Jee-O") is right behind you when you're facing the ATM. Bus to downtown Cancun cost 145 pesos per person.
Stayed at "Rose 5," booked on Booking. The studio was super clean and perfect for one night. The owner’s instructions for accessing the place were very precise, with photos included. Check-in was self-service with a code. The ADO bus terminal isn’t far, and there are shops and restaurants nearby. We really appreciated that the AC was already on when we arrived. By the way, I’d recommend always booking places with AC—it’s *really* hot in Mexico.
Monday, July 6:
Bought a SIM card with data from a TELCEL store. My partner, who’s on Free Mobile, was able to use her regular plan. Just so you know, I found the network pretty unstable. As soon as we left the cities, neither of us—me with TELCEL or her with Free—had any signal.
Another thing to watch out for: roaming charges. I had to turn my SIM back on for less than 30 seconds to get a bank SMS code, and my phone apparently connected to the internet—resulting in an 8-euro roaming fee.
Left on an ADO bus to Chiquila for 278 pesos per person. During our trip, ADO buses were always on time, comfortable, and clean. The AC is *cranked* though, so bring something to cover up with—it gets cold. Some routes were fully booked even in the low season, so try to reserve 1 or 2 days in advance either via the app (when it works) or at the counter.
When we arrived at the ADO terminal in Chiquila, the ferry company counters were right next to it. Ferries leave every 30 minutes, alternating between companies, so no need to book ahead. Just take whichever one is leaving next (330 pesos per person).
When we got to Holbox (pronounced "Hol-bosh"), we’d booked a place via Booking called "Casa de Nana." It was a huge studio with a fridge, cooking plate, and utensils. The best part? The *location*. It was 100 meters from the beach and 200 meters from a Chedraui supermarket. They provided bath towels and beach towels, and the AC worked perfectly. There’s a key box so you can leave your keys inside when you go out. The only downside was that no one was there to let us in when we arrived, so we had to wait a while. The Wi-Fi was good, which was lucky because during our 4-day stay in Holbox, the phone network *never* worked. According to locals, that’s pretty common in Holbox, along with water outages.
Luckily, I’d had the good idea to download an offline map, which helped us find our way back to the place more easily. You can walk there from the dock.
The restaurant next to our place (La Barracuda) was great if you like seafood—I’d recommend their octopus dishes.
Tuesday, July 7:
We did a kayak tour in Holbox’s mangroves at 6 AM. We were looking for a sunrise kayak tour with a French-speaking guide. That’s exactly what we got with "Kayaking Holbox," where Diego, the owner, speaks English and French. He was joined by Gustavo, another guide.
We’d booked for a group tour, but we were the only ones. Diego still went ahead with it instead of canceling due to lack of participants, so we got a private tour at the group rate—really professional of him. They showed us this amazing ecosystem for over 3 hours. We saw all kinds of birds: pink flamingos, pelicans, egrets, frigatebirds... rays, a horseshoe crab, and a little crocodile that was *so* well hidden. Diego and Gustavo have a real eye for spotting animals—I could’ve passed by the crocodile 100 times and never seen it, it blended in so well. Their explanations about the flora and fauna were super interesting. We also got a little break where we tasted mangoes and bananas that taste *nothing* like the ones in France. A real treat—those little Mexican yellow mangoes! I’d definitely recommend Diego and his agency for a French-language kayak tour (1000 pesos per person).
In the evening, we walked to Punta Coco to see the bioluminescence. No need for a guided tour—if you really don’t want to walk, you can take a taxi. At Punta Coco, you have to pass the beach bar/restaurant and then go left into a kind of inlet that forms a lagoon. You have to wiggle your feet or move your hands in the water to create movement, which makes the light appear. Just don’t expect the kind of photos you’ve seen online—they’re all edited! It’s fun to see, but you won’t be dazzled by the light...
Wednesday, July 8:
Whale shark tour with "My Holbox Tours." Why recommend this agency over others for swimming with whale sharks? Simply because Valérie surrounds herself with top professionals to make your experience unforgettable. We were with Captain Fernando, who does everything to position the boat perfectly and make your swim easier. In the water, we were with Humberto, who also goes above and beyond to make sure you have an incredible time. He doesn’t just "supervise" like some guides from other companies who leave you on your own. No, Humberto reads the whale shark’s trajectory and guides you—all you have to do is follow him. He really puts in the effort, even holding your hand to guide you through this quick but intense encounter. Humberto also films the moment and will offer to show you the videos and sell them to you. His footage is really high quality.
Fernando and Humberto also prepared food for us. Special mention for their guacamole! Valérie is there to make sure everything goes smoothly on the boat and to answer your questions in French, English, or Spanish about these animals. If you choose My Holbox Tours, you can be sure you’ll get a top-notch experience.
About the tour itself: before you go, you should know that the sharks can be *really* far away. The day we went, it took 3.5 hours by boat to reach them. The boats are small, and let me tell you—on the way there, when we weren’t going with the waves, it was *rough*. Out of 9 passengers, 4 got seasick. But once you’re face-to-face with the shark, you forget all about that. Even if swimming with a whale shark isn’t exactly a walk in the park—they swim pretty fast, so you need some endurance to keep up. You’ll usually get 2 turns. Our first swim lasted a little over 4 minutes, and the second about 2 minutes because the shark was moving fast and we were still tired from the first swim. It might seem short, but when you’re swimming, it feels *long*. Either way, it’s an experience you *have* to do—but choose your company wisely. On the way back, there’s a stop at Cabo Catoche. Honestly, the snorkeling is pretty disappointing if you’ve done it elsewhere in the world. But the lunch stop at Cabo Catoche is really nice for relaxing (white sand and hammocks).
Thursday, July 9:
Short morning walk to Punta Mosquito at 6 AM. Really nice.
Ferry to Chiquila (330 pesos per person) + ADO bus to Valladolid (300 pesos per person).
In Valladolid, we booked "Casa Lucia" via Booking. The hotel is gorgeous, with a colonial style, and very close to the ADO bus terminal and downtown. It’s super quiet and clean. There’s a shared kitchen you can use with a fridge, microwave, and water dispenser, plus a big table by the pool and a nice indoor terrace. Breakfast was simple but included. The only small downsides were the tiny room and bathroom, no mirror in the room, and a noisy fan.
Friday, July 10:
Not far from the ADO bus terminal is the colectivo station for Chichen Itza. They offer a round-trip to Chichen Itza with an option to stop at Ik Kil cenote on the way back and then drop you off in Valladolid for 370 pesos per person (Ik Kil entrance included).
For the Chichen Itza visit, we’d booked a tour with a guide often mentioned in groups—his name is Juan Pat. He’s a Maya who lives near the site and speaks excellent French. He reserves spots in advance for you and queues up to be the first on-site. It cost 500 pesos per person + entrance fees. His tour lasts 2 hours and focuses mainly on the main pyramid and the ball court. He’s passionate and fascinating, even if some of his claims, as a Maya, might be a little biased. I think it’s *really* important to have a guide—otherwise, you’ll miss so much. You can contact Juan Pat on WhatsApp at +52 985 121 2381.
Afterward, we went to Ik Kil cenote (showers and life jackets mandatory, lockers available). It’s *very* crowded, but still really beautiful with its lush vegetation.
Saturday, July 11:
Since we didn’t have a car but still wanted to visit other cenotes that seemed hard to reach by public transport, we decided to book a taxi for the day. We agreed on 1200 pesos to take us to 3 different cenotes and wait for us at each one. (To find taxis, just look where they park near the ADO bus station.)
He picked us up at Zaci cenote, which we’d walked to. We got there at opening time and were the first ones there—had the place to ourselves for a while! 150 pesos per person. A pretty cenote in the city center with lush vegetation. It’s a bit like Ik Kil but without the deep cylindrical effect.
Cenote Xcanahaltun: the most beautiful cenote we visited. Entry 250 pesos per person. It’s a closed cenote with a hole that lets light in—a cave-like setting. You can kayak inside. There are little fish at the edge that nibble dead skin off your feet. Since it’s closed, the water is *freezing*!
Cenote Palomitas: entry 250 pesos per person. Another stunning closed cenote, even more enclosed than Xcanahaltun. The hole in the ceiling is smaller, so it was pretty dark when we arrived—kind of an eerie vibe. But when the staff turned on the lights, it looked like a "Gothic cathedral" full of bright stalactites.
Cenote Sac Aua: entry 290 pesos per person. The ticket includes a guided cave tour (tip-based). This cenote is really unique with its central island and way less crowded than Suytun. Just so you know, the water is *really* cold in cenotes. In these three, in July, we had the place to ourselves for a while and never saw more than 2 families at once—so peaceful!
Sunday, July 12:
ADO bus to Bacalar (536 pesos per person).
In Bacalar, we stayed via Airbnb with a host named Luli, who offers several rooms with shared bathroom and kitchen.
The room is nicely decorated in a pleasant setting. It’s ideally located near the lagoon and downtown. The shared kitchen is handy. The mosquito net over the bed is useful because there are *a lot* of mosquitoes in Bacalar. Luli provides a water jug, which is really nice. The only big downside is the lack of water pressure in the shower—we had to rinse off by filling a bucket. Also, there’s no real door separating the room from the bathroom. We never met Luli in person, but she was very responsive via messages. The terrace in the middle of the vegetation is lovely.
From the ADO terminal to the place, we took a taxi for 40 pesos. Since this driver was honest about the price (we’d checked beforehand), we decided to use him every time we needed a taxi in Bacalar. Here’s his WhatsApp: +52 983 184 3585.
Monday, July 13:
We did a boat tour on the lagoon with "Bacalar Francophone Activities." Since we were just the two of us, it cost 3500 pesos. If we’d managed to be 4 people, it would’ve been 1000 pesos per person.
We had a private 4-hour tour on the lagoon with Steeve and his very comfortable boat. He’s from Quebec, so his French is perfect. During those 4 hours, Steeve showed us the lagoon’s iconic spots *and* places other boats don’t go. He told us about the lagoon’s history and gave great tips on where to go and where to eat. As a little bonus, he gave us a video taken with his drone during our swimming break.
Tuesday, July 14:
We went to Los Rapidos by taxi (400 pesos round trip) and entry was 225 pesos per person. It’s *very* touristy but really beautiful. You can eat there (expensive), relax, and go down the "rapids" as many times as you want. It’s worth it if you spend a few hours there. You can’t bring in food or drinks—you leave them at the entrance and pick them up on the way out.
Wednesday, July 15:
On Wednesdays, navigation is banned on Bacalar Lagoon, so we’d planned another excursion.
Visit to Calakmul from Bacalar with ABCtours (WhatsApp +52 983 319 8359).
This agency organized a trip from Bacalar to Calakmul with a French-speaking guide. Communication beforehand via WhatsApp was smooth. Mr. Checo, the driver, and Fernando, the guide (who spoke great French), picked us up on the day. Mr. Checo drove very carefully on the long road and always made sure we were comfortable. Fernando is passionate about flora and fauna—he’s a biologist with a degree in ornithology, so he knows *everything* about animals. The slightest sound or song, and he knows what it is. He’s got an eye for spotting them, from the biggest to the smallest.
During the trip, we stopped at km 27 for a short forest walk, then went to see the two main pyramids on the site. On the way back, we stopped at the bat cave for the magical spectacle of millions of bats flying out at dusk. In the end, we saw or glimpsed (some briefly) spider monkeys, howler monkeys, a toucan, 2 tapirs, turkeys, 2 deer, and lots of birds. If, like us, you’re more into flora and fauna than archaeology, I’d *highly* recommend this agency and tour with Fernando.
It’s not cheap, but the road between Bacalar and the site is *long* (3.5 hours). Price: 3900 pesos per person for 2 (3500 for 3, 3200 for 4).
Thursday, July 16:
ADO bus to Playa del Carmen (614 pesos per person).
In Playa del Carmen, we stayed in an Airbnb. The building is on the town hall square, next to the casino.
The best thing about this place is the *location*—super close to Fifth Avenue (La Quinta). The kitchen is pretty basic, but the fridge works well. There are supermarkets nearby. The rooftop pool is really nice. The two big downsides, though, are the soundproofing (you can *hear* the neighbor’s alarm and all the events on the square) and the *total* lack of water pressure in the shower. We had to fill a trash can with water to pour over ourselves. When we told the owner, he said it wasn’t normal and someone would come fix it, but we never heard back. Based on previous reviews, this seems to be a known issue that never gets resolved.
Playa del Carmen is *very* touristy on Fifth Avenue, but in a fun, musical vibe—we never felt unsafe. There are *tons* of little souvenir shops for tourists on this street. There’s a beautiful monumental sculpture on the beach (the two figures meeting in the air), next to which you can see the Voladores show (men climbing a pole, tying themselves with ropes, and descending headfirst while "flying" around the pole). The show is tip-based and happens several times a day. In our opinion, Calle 38 is prettier than Fifth Avenue—it’s lush, green, and quieter, with the sea at the end. Great for an early evening stroll. We had really good meals at great prices at "El Tio Noy" tacos, just a few meters from Fifth Avenue in a side street.
For souvenirs, we’d recommend going to Walmart instead of Fifth Avenue—you’ll find skulls, tequila, mezcal, keychains, mugs, glasses... at good, fixed prices.
Friday, July 17:
We did the excursion to Isla Contoy. Isla Contoy is an uninhabited, highly protected island. Only 200 people are allowed to land per day on a rotating basis, so only a few companies have permission to dock there. Most agencies subcontract the day to a third-party company.
We booked through VRM (Viviendo Riviera Maya), but it was Ocean Tours Mexico that handled the tour. Contoy is a little paradise. We were accompanied by multilingual guides, including French speakers, throughout the day. Steffy gave us info about the island during a short walk on the marked trails, and Leño Tlatemoa kept the mood up on the boat rides with music and dancing. Isla Contoy is *truly* stunning, and the lunch was delicious: grilled fish and chicken, guacamole and tortilla chips, rice, fruit, drinks (everything is brought and taken back by the guides). The snorkeling part was pretty disappointing if you’ve done it in Cozumel, though. The stop at Isla Mujeres isn’t very interesting either—it’s too short to explore, and the island is *extremely* touristy. Still, the excursion was very well organized, and we had a great day (2970 pesos per person).
Saturday, July 18:
We wanted to go snorkeling in Cozumel but thought the prices from French-speaking agencies were too high. Plus, for snorkeling, we figured we didn’t *need* a French-speaking guide.
So we found a much cheaper solution by taking the ferry from Playa del Carmen ourselves and choosing an agency in Playa. The round-trip ferry cost 663.50 pesos per person. Then we took a taxi to the snorkeling boat (100 pesos). The agency we chose is called Mystic Snorkel—they don’t have a physical office. The tour cost 1400 pesos per person. It was a small boat, but that day we were the only ones, so we got a private tour at the group rate. We stopped at 4 different sites, all very different and beautiful. We saw all kinds of fish, corals, a nurse shark, and turtles. El Cielo, with its huge starfish, is *exceptional*. If you’re going snorkeling in the Yucatan Peninsula, this is *the* tour to do—the other sites are pretty "poor" in comparison.
Sunday, July 19:
Morning dive with Triton Diving. I chose the Cozumel dive option. Great experience.
Booking via WhatsApp was easy. On the day of the dive, Selene, who speaks French, was our guide. She’s *very* attentive to the group’s safety. The briefings are clear and precise. In Cozumel, we did 2 very different sites: the first was a drift dive with lots of life—beautiful corals and fish. The second was a wreck, the C53, a 56-meter boat you can enter. Not much marine life, but a beautiful wreck intentionally sunk for divers—still in great condition. An unforgettable moment. Selene even took videos during the dive, which the club sends you for free afterward. I’d *highly* recommend this club.
Just so you know, in Playa del Carmen, the beaches were full of sargassum during our stay, despite barriers and daily cleanup. Locals told us the problem is getting worse and the sargassum is arriving earlier in the season. Tourism has taken a *big* hit this summer, and they’re wondering if tourism can even survive the sargassum season anymore. A lot of tourists are heading to the islands—Isla Mujeres and Cozumel—to enjoy the beaches, as the west side of those islands is sargassum-free.
Monday, July 20:
Colectivo to Puerto Morelos. First, a colectivo toward Cancun that drops you off between Puerto Morelos town and Puerto Morelos beach (40 pesos per person), then another from that junction to the beach (10 pesos per person).
In Puerto Morelos, we’d booked a room via Airbnb at "Piedra del Caribe." *Best* place we stayed in Mexico. It’s an aparthotel. Our room was ready before check-in, so they let us in early. The place matched the description—spacious, with a comfortable king-size bed. The shower had *great* pressure, which isn’t a given in Mexico. The staff was super friendly and welcoming. They let us use the pool, restrooms, and rooftop shower after check-out while we waited for our ride to Cancun Airport. They even kept our luggage. I *highly* recommend this place.
In Puerto Morelos, there was *way* less sargassum than in Playa del Carmen—it was actually swimmable.
We did the snorkeling tour with the fishermen’s cooperative for 450 pesos per person for 2 hours. The reef is close to the beach (you’re not allowed to swim there), so the boat ride is short. It’s not as pretty as Cozumel, but it’s nice and affordable. On Puerto Morelos’s page, you can also access a small, not-very-well-preserved reef. There’s also a cenote in the sea where fresh water mixes with saltwater—the water is murky there. We had a great dinner and excellent cocktails at "La Choza del Puerto."
Tuesday, July 21:
Wandered around Puerto Morelos (check out the church and read everything—it’s entertaining!), relaxed by the hotel pool, and left for Cancun Airport by taxi (400 pesos) booked via InDrive to head back to France.
Our highlights:
- Holbox
- The whale shark tour
- The cenotes
- The local flora and fauna (so present!)
- Isla Contoy
- Cabo Catoche (except for the snorkeling)
What we liked least:
- The bioluminescence (barely visible despite good conditions)
- The food—we found it not very diverse in taquerias
- The constant tipping
- The lack of water pressure in showers (fixed, wall-mounted, no hose or showerhead)
Don’t hesitate to ask if you have any questions while it’s still fresh in our minds.
Here we go—finally, the big day has arrived! A trip the whole family (my two kids, my husband, and me) had been looking forward to for so long.
To keep it short, we left from Nice, arrived in Namibia on June 25, 2025, and left again on the 21st—four weeks later.
We used an agency for all the camping reservations, activities, and the car rental. At least that side of things was taken care of. Michaël was our contact throughout the planning and the trip itself.
We spent our first night at Londiningi BB. A bit out of the city center but very quiet. The rooms were spacious and clean, and we could eat on-site that evening. Perfect for recovering from the flight.
This travel journal is our second on VoyageForum, following last year’s where we recounted our four weeks in Vietnam.
The goal remains the same: since some members on this site share tips, experiences, and great deals that help us prepare for our trips, we do the same after returning—both to give back a little and in the hope that our experiences might be useful to others in some way.
Our route was as follows: Bangkok, Siem Reap, Krabi, Suratthani, Koh Phangan, Koh Tao, Chumphon, Bang Saphan, Prachuab Khiri Khan, Sam Roi Yod, Hua Hin, Phetchaburi, Bangkok.
Beyond rediscovering Bangkok, our objectives were the long-held dream of seeing Angkor and exploring southern Thailand, much of which isn’t overly touristy.
A quick big thank-you to Barbot, who took the time to answer several of our questions.
12/07/2013
The cheapest flight we found earlier this year was a Paris-Bangkok route with a layover in Moscow for 1440 €, total for two people.
So, this time we tried Aeroflot. Airbus A318 for the first leg, A330 for the second. Nothing particularly annoying to report—the passengers were very calm, the cabin temperature was comfortable, and we had enough legroom.
That said, the quality of the meal trays was pretty mediocre, and the flight attendants weren’t exactly comedians.
We’d like to remind everyone that it’s best to exchange as little money as possible at the airport upon arrival, since the rate is about 5% worse than at city banks.
Of course, we made sure to take the airport exit where you can catch official taxis to avoid getting scammed. So, we queued up, a little lady gave us the ticket, and off we went with the driver.
Generally, this system works well because these drivers are registered, know their duties, and the risks they face if they break the rules. Except that day, right off the bat, we got the scammer of the day. His first move was to snatch the ticket from my wife’s hands—the one you’re supposed to keep in case of a complaint. My husband saw it, but after a full day of travel, we were a bit out of it, and honestly, there was no reason to be suspicious. But once we started driving, the guy refused to turn on the meter. We insisted more and more firmly, but nothing. So, I used the famous method of opening the door and starting to step out of the car. At 40 km/h, that scares the driver more than the passenger. He finally turned on the meter, but that didn’t calm him down—quite the opposite. For the next half-hour, he ruined the ride by demanding extra fees here and there. Having dealt with several scam attempts last year in Vietnam, this wasn’t exactly new, and we were proud of ourselves for staying pretty zen. Still, this guy was a little scary—he was completely wired and aggressive. Honestly, it was hard not to think he was on something. He’d be perfect for a *Scarface* remake. When we finally arrived at the hotel, he followed us to the entrance. We paid the two tolls (25 and 45 baht), gave him the usual 100 baht extra for the ride, and stayed polite but firm. So, meter: 245 baht + 100 baht + 25 and 45 baht for tolls—we paid the exact amount, no way we were tipping this guy. He left furious, but he was already like that before picking us up... Anyway, avoid Mr. Chartree Chidchen, number 089 826 7308, car E2663!
We were so relieved to finally settle in at Feung Nakorn Balcony hotel in the temple district. 42 € per night, great reception, all the staff is friendly. The AC works fine, the bed seemed hard at first but turned out to be comfortable. The hotel is quiet, away from the nightlife, but at this time of year, many places are less crowded than in high season. Even with a nice fish pond and outdoor breakfast area, it’s a decent hotel, though we felt we could’ve found something better.
After a night on the plane, the first afternoon is always a bit of a slog. We napped for a few hours, and when we woke up—guess what—we were starving. We visited a temple across from the hotel (nothing special) and then decided to take the Chao Phraya Express, the river shuttle that serves many piers along the river. It was a really enjoyable experience. The steel gangway wobbles when you board and disembark, the boat sits low in the water, and sometimes you get splashed. During peak times, you’re packed in like sardines, but most of all, there’s that exotic urban landscape passing by, especially the temple rooftops.
At that exact moment, the boat was packed. We didn’t see a ticket booth at the pier, and we tried in vain to pay the few baht for the ride. The cashier on the boat was too busy, and another employee we called didn’t have time to help us. Oh well, we weren’t going to force the issue. Still, this mode of transport is super practical for avoiding traffic, and at the piers, the lines with station names are clearly marked, with colors matching the flags on the boats. Combined with a map like the *Routard* guide, it’s easy to navigate.
We easily made it to the restaurant *Harmonique*, located near one of these piers. It’s a unanimous favorite on this forum, and let us tell you—it’s well-deserved. What a wonderful experience that evening! We only saw the outdoor gazebo because there was no way we were dining inside. It’s not flashy, so those looking for a luxurious setting should look elsewhere.
That night, the staff was a bit slow, and we had to track them down several times to move things along. But oh, my friends—what a feast on the plate! Start with the appetizer platter for two at 250 baht, featuring four specialties, each more tempting than the last, followed by their famous crab curry for 200 baht. There’s *so much* crab in there! The dish is so delicious and rich that when you finish, you feel—how to put it—like it was almost *too* good, to the point where you’re almost put off eating for days. And also, oh yes, we *will* be back. Their satay chicken is just as amazing, and it would be a crime not to mention their generous dessert with ice cream, warm banana, and chocolate, plus their *excellent* almond milkshake.
Later, we took a taxi to Kao San Road, mainly to book a Ko Tao-Chumphon trip for 600 baht per person at the Lomprayah counter. In hindsight, we should’ve booked all three of our trips there right away.
Kao San Road is *ultra*-touristy—better for younger crowds, but it’s still worth seeing. There’s rock ‘n’ roll, hippies, and crowds everywhere.
We walked back to the hotel, and when we got a little lost near a canal, a really nice older Thai man spontaneously appeared out of the night to kindly point us in the right direction.
Finally, a real long night of sleep ahead—we cranked up the AC. Sweet, the vacation has begun!
Hi there,
I just got back from a trip to Sri Lanka from December 18th to January 1st with 2 adults and 2 kids (12 years old).
If it helps, here’s my itinerary.
We left on December 18th from Madrid with Qatar Airways. No complaints. I booked my tickets back in March for 800 € per person. (I flew from Madrid because I live near the Spanish border and was too worried about strikes in France.)
We arrived on December 19th at 4 PM (local time). Before leaving France, I’d booked a taxi through MyTransfer for 59 € to Sigiriya. A van was waiting for us at the airport exit.
A never-ending 3-hour drive to Sigiriya. We stayed at Samana Guesthouse—very simple, clean, with a pool and an excellent Sri Lankan breakfast. Shower and straight to bed.
Friday, December 20th: Beautiful weather, but very humid and hot. We visited Lion Rock (36 € for adults) and then Pidurangala.
I loved both sites—they’re a must-do in my opinion.
Spent the late afternoon by the pool.
Saturday, December 21st: Another gorgeous day. The guesthouse manager offered us a free 2-hour tuk-tuk tour. We first visited a lake, rice fields, the temple, and the Sigiriya market, plus the usual tourist trap—the botanical garden (no pressure to buy anything at the end).
Then we took a tuk-tuk to Dambulla Temple, the Golden Buddha, and the wholesale market.
Sunday, December 22nd: Still beautiful weather. I’d booked a taxi for 8 AM. We did all the long trips by taxi to save time. I’d ask for prices from 2 or 3 WhatsApp taxi agencies 2 days or the day before—super responsive, always got replies within 5 minutes. We headed to Ella (4-hour drive) for 22,000 LKR.
Arrived in the afternoon at Rest Full Homestay—a small, family-run guesthouse. Clean, cozy, and an amazing Sri Lankan breakfast.
In the afternoon, we went to Nine Arches Bridge. It was a Sunday, a Sri Lankan holiday, so it was *packed*—mostly locals and very few white tourists! Even though it was crowded, it was cool because it was all Sri Lankans. We waited an hour for the train. It’s worth seeing, but honestly, I didn’t think it was that amazing.
Then we headed to the station to check if we needed to book tickets for the train to Haputale—turns out, no.
Monday, December 23rd: Beautiful weather. We hiked Ella Rock—a gorgeous trek. The final stretch is steep but shaded, so it wasn’t as tough as I’d read. The whole hike is stunning from start to finish. We saw the train pass twice (one blue, one red) and lots of women picking tea.
After that, we did Little Adam’s Peak. It’s not hard, but it was *packed* with tourists—meh. Luckily, at the top, you can walk a bit farther (down one side and back up) to get some space to yourself.
What I *didn’t* like was the commercial vibe at the big café/restaurant with a pool at the entrance of Little Adam’s Peak. Loud music, all that money being made right next to little souvenir stands run by Sri Lankans or tea-picking women. Felt off.
Ended the day buying souvenirs at one of the few shops we found during the trip.
Tuesday, December 24th: Beautiful weather. Took the train to Haputale. We got to the station 30 minutes before the 9:30 AM train. We could’ve taken 2nd or 3rd class—I went with 2nd (160 LKR per person).
It was crowded, but we managed to get seats—first 2, then 3. Only a 1-hour ride, but I *loved* it—windows and doors open the whole time.
Arrived in Haputale around 11 AM, and the mist was already rolling in.
We walked to our guesthouse, The Mist Holiday Bungalow. Simple but clean, with a great view of the tea plantations. The owner’s wife is Vietnamese and used to work for French tour operators, so her French is still pretty good—helpful for us since our English is terrible. They booked us a tuk-tuk for 4:45 AM the next day (2,000 LKR) to Lipton’s Seat.
Spent the afternoon wandering around Haputale. Not much charm, but there’s a nice fruit and veggie market and a short walk through the tea plantations.
Wednesday, December 25th: Beautiful weather. The tuk-tuk was on time to take us to Lipton’s Seat. We were the first ones there—the sky was just starting to turn pink. In the end, only about ten of us watched the sunrise. The guesthouse had packed us breakfast, and we walked back down (half on the road, half through the plantations). Didn’t see any tea picking since it was Christmas, but the walk was still incredible. We took detours through villages full of kids.
After that, we visited the tea factory. The tour was really interesting, and we took the bus back down to Haputale. Such a great moment—whole families were heading to mass, dressed up and made up. All so beautiful.
At noon, we left for Udawalawe National Park. Taxi for 14,000 LKR. Stayed at River Inn Safari Cottage. *Warning*: It’s the same place as Eagle Safari Cottage. I don’t recommend it. We’d always stayed with families before, but here it was just staff—totally different vibe. The pool was nice but not very clean (water was murky). The bungalow was big and fine, but it was brand new—so new the asphalt floor wasn’t fully dry. It’s in the middle of nowhere, so we had to eat on-site. Couldn’t leave a review on Booking because they never confirmed we’d stayed, and they canceled our reservation the next day.
Thursday, December 26th: Beautiful weather. I’d booked a safari through the hotel for 5:30–10 AM for 54 USD. Honestly, yes, there are a lot of jeeps, but it was great. The kids loved it—we saw everything there was to see.
Left by taxi at 11:30 AM for Welligama (12,000 LKR).
We didn’t stay in Welligama city but at Coconut Beach, between Welligama and Midigama. *Total crush* on the guesthouse: Sky Mountain Café with View. Such a lovely family. The mom makes amazing meals at reasonable prices. The view from the hill over the sea is unreal.
Spent the afternoon walking along the beach.
Friday, December 27th: Beautiful weather. My kids are surfers. Unfortunately, there weren’t any boards their size to rent at Coconut, so we took a tuk-tuk to Welligama Bay (1,000 LKR). They surfed from 8 AM to 5 PM—rental was 5,000 LKR for the day. Meanwhile, we walked the beach and swam. Water was 29°C.
Saturday, December 28th: Beautiful weather, rain from 4 PM until midnight. Same surf day. They were so well-behaved the whole trip, so this was their reward.
Sunday, December 29th: Beautiful weather. Beach day at Coconut. *Warning*: It’s a reef break. For surfers, there are three spots (Coconut Left, Middle, and Right). The boys bodysurfed (with fins) all morning, and at 1 PM, we took the bus to Hikkaduwa.
Stayed at Hotel Universal Beach. Nothing special—right on the water, but the rooms were dark even though they were clean. The manager was super nice, but the rest was meh, and breakfast was mediocre compared to what we’d had before (2 eggs and 3 slices of toast). Plus, it was late—8 AM.
First impression of Hikkaduwa wasn’t great—way too many Russians for our taste.
Monday, December 30th: Beautiful weather. Spent the whole day exploring. Turtle Beach, then the other side of the beach (toward Galle) near the fishing port. The beach there is much wider, with scattered hotels and super quiet. It’s beautiful—I should’ve booked somewhere in that area. Ended up having a great day away from the crowds.
Tuesday, December 31st: Overcast, then beautiful, rain at 4 PM. Had to end the year (and the trip) with some surf. Rented boards for the kids (3,000 LKR per board for the day). Bad luck—the waves were on a reef break but small. Not great for them, but no big deal. They still got out of the water by 2 PM. Walked the beach (which is gorgeous), had a juice, and went for a swim. Then back to surfing in the rain at 4 PM.
Wednesday, January 1st: Left by taxi at 5 AM (18,000 LKR). Flight at 10 AM. Arrived in Madrid at 8 PM.
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.
We did the Langtang trek (hike) from September 10th to 17th, with the first and last days being the trip from Kathmandu and back—so 6 days of actual walking. It’s a fairly well-known trek but certainly not as famous or crowded as those in the Annapurna or Everest regions, which is why we chose it.
In theory, it’s mandatory to have a guide for this trek. In reality, it seems there are ways to bypass the regulations: we met at least two people hiking without a guide—a South Korean, a New Zealander, and possibly also a couple of English women and an American couple, though we’re not sure if they had a guide.
The agency we booked with had told us it was an affordable trek for relatively older people in good shape—which is our case (I’m 72 myself). I have to say upfront that we found it quite challenging, maybe because we didn’t have good weather—it was the end of the monsoon season. To be clear, no matter your fitness level, I’d say doing this trek in the middle of the monsoon season would be suicidal.
Day 1 – Journey from Kathmandu to Syapru Besi
On Monday, September 8th, there had been violent protests in Kathmandu against the government, which had, among other things, blocked access to social media and been accused of nepotism and corruption. There were 19 deaths. The situation was very tense on the day of our departure, Wednesday the 10th. The agency warned us that public transport was very unreliable. So, we decided to take a jeep, at an additional cost of $100 ($160 minus what was already budgeted for the bus).
We left a little before 7 a.m. and it took us a good hour just to reach the outskirts of Kathmandu. Along the way, we saw several houses and vehicles set on fire by protesters.
The road to Syapru Besi is only 120 km, but it’s frankly awful. It’s always narrow, winds through endless mountains, and the shoulders range from bad to confusing to nonexistent. Several sections are just dirt tracks. We didn’t regret opting for the jeep, as we could stop several times at our convenience—if only to let Y (my Thai partner) throw up everything she had. She’d taken her usual motion sickness medication, but the constant turns, accelerations, and braking eventually made her terribly carsick.
In Nuwakot, we stopped for breakfast at a nice little restaurant, Jimbu. It was around 8:30 a.m., and we’d barely covered 60 km. The restaurant has a lovely garden overlooking the Trishuli Ganga, the river flowing down from Syapru Besi. First photo: the river in the bottom right corner, mist and clouds over the mountain on the other side.
An hour later, my second photo: the hills along the Trishuli Ganga. You can see the different crops—lush green rice paddies in the lower right and corn, already yellowed and likely harvested, in the foreground on the left. And of course, the mist and clouds through which you can glimpse the mountain on the other side of the river.
We were trapped, and even our guide looked nervous. After what felt like an eternity (though it was only a few minutes), the herd finally moved on, freeing the track. That afternoon, we did a self-drive safari and—you guessed it—we had zero interest in running into elephants again.
The next day, we headed back to Lilongwe for our flight home. It was a fantastic, varied trip with some intense moments (sometimes *too* intense). Malawi offers amazing opportunities for those who want more than just wildlife reserves.
2- Around San Pedro
Vila beach
Sunset behind Santiago
The rocks and sea at Ponta Preta
At the summit of Monte Batalha
Calheta
Calheta de Baixo
The beaches just keep coming...
The dunes
The 3 coconut trees, a landmark to find the track
Boca da Ribeira beach
The hills on our right
Ribeira Dom João
Barreiro
The old track
The church in Vila do Maio
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.
On the right, the "welcome marker"—those dates offered everywhere as a sign of hospitality. On the left, a tribute to those stunning doors worn by time, admired all over the old quarters, including the abandoned ones.
Hospitality will often lead you to accept a small coffee, an "Omani coffee," very light, subtly flavored with cardamom, maybe a touch of saffron, and occasionally rosewater.
Here, I’ve depicted a man in the common everyday attire of Omanis: the dishdasha, mostly white (during the week and daytime; colors are more common in the evening or on Fridays and Saturdays). While you’ll see some men dressed in Western clothes, they’re very few. The white dishdasha is truly the shared attire of all men. The dishdasha, which has no hood, is distinguished by a small pom-pom attached to the collar, the furakha, which is soaked in perfume. And believe me, Omanis go overboard with it! "It smells like the pom-pom" is an expression that’s now part of our shared language, my husband and I.
Another must of men’s attire is the kuma, a small round head covering, usually white with brightly colored patterns. The keffiyeh is also worn (but without the cord called an agal in Arab countries), and it’s mostly worn by those with roots in the desert, from what I understood.
And what about the women, you might ask? Some are veiled, some in full black (but not a burka—more like a chador + abaya), due to the influence of Saudi Arabia and the United Arab Emirates, whereas the traditional outfit used to be a layering of very colorful dresses. Most of the women we saw wore neutral clothing, a plain veil over their hair, but with their faces uncovered. We also saw many saris and colorful veils—don’t forget that 40% of the population consists of Indian, Nepalese, and Bangladeshi immigrants, who work a lot in tourism, hospitality, restaurants, services, and construction.
Just to clarify, as a tourist, there’s no pressure to wear a veil, and never any disapproving looks. Of course, you’ll save the mini shorts, plunging necklines, bare shoulders, and midriffs for the hotel terrace—but I’d say that’s the same for men and women, and with the sun being strong, it’s better for your skin too.
Here’s the introduction! In the next post, I’ll tell you about my itinerary, and we can dive in!
Roundabouts are particularly interesting because they feature emblems of Turkmen culture, like the dog, a carpet, the Ahal Teke horse, or Muslim symbols, even though the presence of Islamic artifacts is quite limited.
