Who’d like to share their best and worst travel memories in a few lines?
For me, it’s watching the TAJ MAHAL at sunrise and getting chased by dogs at the top of a mountain pass in GREECE on the way back from ISTANBUL.
THANKS GUYS
My fiancé and I went to the clinic for another bout of bronchitis (I collect them). When we got back, two hours later, our living room had caught fire, my TV exploded. We found our dog dead from asphyxiation. The worst nightmare of my life...
My best memory? On Sunday, all our friends—expats and Turks—came to help us clean the living room, the furniture, the walls, etc. Without them, we wouldn’t have known what to do.
This will be the most beautiful memory I’ll keep of Turkey: the help from our friends.
Now, we’re learning to live without our baby. Luckily, we’re well supported...
Nil, who’s completely devastated
Zen Attitude!
"Rester, c’est exister : mais voyager, c’est vivre!''
Hi Nil,
Still another misfortune that can’t be helping the stress you were starting to feel from missing your family 🙁 (and those hugs from your dad 🙂).
Unfortunately, the dog paid the price, and I’m sad about it since this is my third one—I adore them. The first two also died in terrible circumstances, and it took me a while to get over it.
About the TV, a small clarification: a cathode-ray tube TV doesn’t explode—it implodes. I know, it’s not great, but there’s a vacuum inside the tube, and the implosion often causes a short circuit that can start a fire.
Long live flat screens! Though they often sting us on the price, and that *does* make me explode. So there’s still a risk 😏
A night spent at the top of Rocher-de-Naye, in Switzerland. Swiss fondue, wine, two Swiss folks, a Quebecer, a Czech... an unforgettable evening with sunrise and sunset over the Alps, Lake Geneva, and Mont Blanc far on the horizon...
My worst: a minor elective surgery in a German hospital, where not all the nurses spoke either French or English... luckily, I have a decent grasp of German, but still... home felt far away for that week...
Have a great day!
Bianca
La Grande Déroute (www.lagrandederoute.com)
*Prochaines destinations : Jordanie/Israël/France/Espagne/Allemagne*
My worst memory was the first time I went to Senegal. I was really tanned and looked like a Lebanese woman. I was waiting for the *car rapide* to leave, and my hand was hanging outside. A Senegalese *mama* jumped on me, insulting me, and dug her nails into my hand—she even tore off a piece of skin! I didn’t understand a thing. The *car rapide* left, and later someone explained that Senegalese people didn’t like Lebanese people. Oh well!
Best memory? There are so many! I’d say walking the Camino de Santiago around 5 AM, leaving from Cebreiro. There was this immense sea of clouds with incredible colors that lasted over 3 hours. It was divine, surreal—a pure wonder of nature. I wish everyone could experience it.
Sans savoir trop ce que j'y recherche, j'y trouverais ce qui m'est destinée.
MANA
Only when traveling, otherwise it’s impossible to keep track since we each have a massive dream library:
_ Thirty years ago in Mexico: three days in prison for sleeping in a Zócalo (I think that’s what village squares are called, but my memory’s fading😕) and refusing the "offers" to sleep at the school with a gentleman from the police force
_On a bus in India: sitting on my wooden bench by the window, getting the red juice of a betel quid splattered right in my face, spat out vigorously by the passenger in front of me🏴☠️
A wonderful memory: the impromptu concert by six musicians from Karachi at the top of Bolan Pass, while we were eating a juicy orange alone with the ochre mountain as our horizon. They’d screeched to a halt in a cloud of dust, leapt out of their car like devils in gray robes—we were so scared!—and it turned out to be so magical.
Dom.
I think with this new French word, you’ve just summed up every traveler’s passion 😮—and for that, it really should be in the dictionary.🤪 Anyway, it already exists online since it’s called VF 🙂
I can't add the music because it would be the sound of fear pounding in my ears, so it's not exactly melodic.
And afterward, the fleeting moment had passed, and all that's left—it's true—is the magic that slipped into my treasure trove of dreams, and I can't even lend it to you😕
The worst: In Cancun: a Mexican guy shoves me against him on a bus and "kisses" me by force... it was so violent and disgusting.... by the way, I hated Cancun...
The best: There are so many, it's so hard to choose!! I'd say a dream night with a handsome stranger, walking on the beach under the stars and... somewhere on the Pacific coast...
Il faut rajouter de la vie aux années...et non des années à la vie.
Worst memory:...getting lost in the streets of Valencia, Spain during a language-stay trip! I was only 13 and spoke very little Spanish! I wandered around for 3 hours looking for Plaza de la Virgen!...around 11 PM! Total panic! I finally found someone who spoke French! Phew! Thankfully, there was a happy ending!
Best memory! It was two years ago, watching a sunset while sailing on the Nile! A moment of unparalleled serenity that still stands out today!..
Great memories among so many others:
San Andrés Xecul (Guatemala) at sunset for the light that flooded the facade of the unusual church, and also for the sounds and smells: clap-claps of women preparing corn tortillas and the scent of wood fires.......
Still in Guatemala, waking up in the Petén jungle near Sayaxché to the sound of howler monkeys
Dakar, Léopold Sédar Senghor Airport on 20/05/03, it's 11 PM, and we're waiting to board our flight back to France. I'm with my dad, my Senegalese sister, and my mom, who's 100% disabled in a wheelchair—she's had Parkinson's for 15 years.
We're called, go through the final check, and board the bus to the plane.
After ten minutes waiting in the wind and nighttime cold, the pilot comes out of the plane and shouts from the gangway that he never requested boarding.
Everyone heads back to square one in the departure lounge.
Some people wait patiently, while others even leave the international zone and come back with total impunity. It's chaos. Nothing to eat, no drinks since everything’s closed at this hour, and the airport staff couldn’t care less. They’ve done their hours, and that’s that.
The loudspeakers announce a 3-hour wait with no further details.
After three endless hours, they tell us we can board. Round two: we head back to the aircraft, and the pilot comes out again, loudly announcing: *mandatory passenger check and baggage identification*. We Europeans comply willingly, but the Senegalese passengers don’t understand and get angry.
30 minutes later, the pilot comes out again and says there’s no way the plane is taking off—something’s wrong...
Back to square one, with insults I won’t repeat. My mom was in bad shape.
30 minutes later, we’re told the flight will leave at 8 AM due to an unsolvable technical issue for now.
All passengers sleep on the floor, quietly and with dignity. I take care of my mom, who’s in terrible shape sitting up when she should be lying down.
At 7 AM, we board again with another full check ordered by the pilot—he personally verifies everything (baggage ID, documents, etc.), something I’ve never seen in all my years of flying. This time, we finally take off. Over the intercom, the pilot explains he had to delay the flight because a slide lighting lamp was out of order, and maintenance had already left. He preferred to depart at a time when daylight made the slide lighting unnecessary.
5.5 hours later, we arrive in Paris. I suffered for my mom. I had to make a one-day stopover in Paris so she could rest at a hotel before catching another flight to Strasbourg.
I’m not angry at anyone—the pilot knew he had to be firm to ensure proper safety.
I wouldn’t wish this experience on anyone.
Roger.
nous en Europe, nous avons les montres. Et en Afrique, ils ont le temps
My worst memories were in Nicaragua, in the slums—a child taking a hard blow to the head from his brother because he hadn’t brought back enough money. The child looking at me with tears in his eyes, I could see the suffering in his desperate gaze... yet such inner strength that the tears streamed down his face, and he said nothing, just cried silently while staring at me. It was horrifying; I was paralyzed, a lump in my throat and stomach, an unbearable feeling of not being able to hold the gaze of that 7- or 8-year-old kid...
My best memories... phew... so many. Every trip brings me so much—the beauty of the beaches in New Caledonia, chilling out and smoking, the birth of a sincere friendship with a Peruvian woman, the tears and laughter of women and children in Nicaragua, the songs of women in Ukraine that give you chills and bring tears to your eyes, Machu Picchu...
Take care...
Aud
"Si l'eau d'un étang reste immobile, elle devient stagnante, boueuse et fétiche. Elle ne peux rester claire, pure et transparente qui si elle remue et coule en liberté, il en est de même pour l'homme qui voyage"
Hi Audrey,
I don’t have any bad memories from my travels. Actually, we only keep the good ones—it’s just human nature. Besides, I don’t hold onto useless things. I’m not one to hold grudges, and I slip away when I’m in the way or when I sense someone means me harm.
That said, I have an unforgettable memory from visiting a leper village about 1 km south of Mbour in Senegal. It’s a village entirely for people with leprosy, who live there with their families. Everyone knows this disease isn’t contagious. I was there with my wife. We walked through the sandy little alleys of the village.
On either side, there were straw huts, and people with leprosy (men, women, and children) came up to us. They stepped out of their homes, and we touched them to say hello, to show our friendship—often carefully, since their wounds were open and bandaged somewhat haphazardly.
We did it naturally, and also to show them that their illness didn’t bother us. I won’t list all the injuries we saw. The villagers quickly took us in, and it was pure joy. Since my wife is a nurse, she quickly reassured me there was no risk of contagion. So we let ourselves go... I sent a child to buy a big bag of candy from a nearby shop in the village, and we started handing them out.
Then we went to have tea in one family’s courtyard. There was a crowd, I swear. Word of our presence spread fast through the village. I speak a little of their language, which made things easier. Everything was clean in their homes, and we were showered with gifts (masks, *cora*, peanuts, *pain de singe*, *bissap*, etc.). Tears in my eyes. Yes, I had them because I couldn’t hold back my emotions in the face of so much generosity—me, the tough guy back then. I found myself in an unusual situation, to say the least... I felt so small next to these people, who showed such vitality despite their wounds. The joy on the faces of these people, many of whom were missing fingers, hands, feet, and so on... Anyway, it was an unforgettable experience I’d recommend to anyone. You come out of it feeling humble. Were we the visitors of the year? I don’t think so, or at least I don’t dare to imagine.
Then it was time to leave, with a crowd of leper children all wanting to hold our hands to walk us to the village gates.
We came back the next day with big bags of rice to thank them for their hospitality. Same thing—tea, peanuts, and we had lunch with them.
It was an amazing memory. Since then, every time we go to Mbour, we visit that village.
roger
nous en Europe, nous avons les montres. Et en Afrique, ils ont le temps
I was with my brother, and we were supposed to take a flight at 8 PM. Once we arrived at the airport, problem—we were told our flight was at 1:30 AM. I was also feeling terrible, barely standing, some kind of malaria-like thing that wasn’t actually malaria...
Anyway, we went back at 1:30 AM, the plane took off at 4 AM, and we had a connection in Rome for Marseille. We arrived in Rome with an 8-hour delay, so no connection left... I was on the verge of passing out and yelling to just get me home! A few hours later, they sent us to Milan, and from there, another flight took us back to Rome and then to Marseille. So, nearly a full day of flying just to get home. And the cherry on top? When we got to Marignane, we found out our luggage had gone to Brazil!!!!
Yep... travel is unpredictable from start to finish!
Sans savoir trop ce que j'y recherche, j'y trouverais ce qui m'est destinée.
MANA
I’d say my worst memory was in Zermatt, Switzerland. Having rollerbladed for years, I tackled the asphalt road running down the mountain. No problem at first—until I hit a stretch dotted with drainage channels for water. Impossible to brake. I tried, but I wore my wheels down to the plastic. I sped downhill for a good kilometer until a cyclist finally caught up with me. I’d never had issues with downhill before, but now it’s become a phobia, especially since one side of the road had the mountain and the other a ravine.
As for my best memory—let’s see...! There are so many. I’d say a sunrise from St. Barth’s beach with my boyfriend. The colors were stunning, and the sea took on those same pinkish-orange hues. Even the clouds matched. It was truly breathtaking!
"Dream as if you'll live forever, live as if you'll die tomorrow"
I don’t have many “worst” travel memories—probably because, aside from a few minor bouts of traveler’s diarrhea, nothing serious has ever happened to me.
But on reflection, one of my worst memories is actually tied to one of the best:
On one of the prettiest and least-known Greek islands, Karpathos, I was hiking alone. Unfortunately, there wasn’t a single decent map available, and the only one I had was pretty inaccurate. I quickly got lost after following goat trails that led nowhere. I ran out of water and was dying of thirst. After a while, I started to panic a little, turned back, and ended up hiding my backpack in an easily recognizable spot so I could come back for it later. I retraced my steps and, after walking for a while, finally found a real path, which I followed to a small hut perched on a hill. I arrived there completely exhausted and parched. An old farmer saw me coming and, without exchanging a word (since he only spoke Greek, which I didn’t understand), invited me to sit down. He offered me fresh water, a black coffee, and some homemade cheese with a bit of bread. He sat down next to me without saying a word, and we admired the stunning bay and the entire northern part of the island unfolding before our eyes. Once I’d recovered, I was able to go back for my backpack and find the right way back.
Another similar adventure, also due to hiking with inadequate maps, but this time in the Lofoten Islands, northern Norway. I’d set off on a marked trail toward an unmanned mountain hut to spend the day. No problem when I arrived. The next day, though, there was a thick fog (and, of course, the midnight sun), making it impossible to tell day from night. I stayed there for over a day without really knowing how much time had passed. Then I took a poorly marked path that was supposed to lead down the other side toward a fjord. The trail was awful—downhill at first, then along the fjord—until it ended at a small shack. Just beyond it, a sheer cliff dropped straight into the fjord. No way to continue to the village. I knocked on the shack’s door, and a local fisherman, who had just woken up (it must’ve been around 7 AM—I had no idea what time it really was), answered. He was heading to the village by boat to do his shopping and luckily took me with him, since that was the only way out of there.
for the best , here it is: last summer in Egypt, in Luxor, my bus was driving along a diversion canal parallel to the Nile, heading toward the Valley of the Kings. Suddenly, to my right, a strange shape made a triangular wake on the water’s surface—a crocodile, in the wild! All the guides said we’d only find them at Lake Aswan, much farther south... then a second crocodile!
🙁 My worst memory? 🙁 The rest of the story... because 300 meters farther up, in the direction the crocs were heading, three kids around 5-6 years old were swimming in the canal. I’ll never know how the story ended, though I hope it had a happy ending!
You gave me chills with that crocodile story! When I think about it, everyone kept saying there weren’t any downstream from the dam, so I swam peacefully in the Nile at Luxor and then at Elephantine Island in Aswan for several days. 🙁
It’s true that the day before we arrived in Aswan, an engineer tinkering with his outboard motor by the Nile had just been eaten by a huge crocodile—but that was just on the other side of the dam, upstream.
The worst (well, the worst ones since it happened twice): a layover at Roissy when just two snowflakes on the runways cause flight cancellations. No information, a free-for-all among travelers trying to rebook on other flights, and the aggressiveness of completely overwhelmed staff. After 12 hours in that hysterical fishbowl atmosphere, you start to lose it. And one thing’s for sure—Air France will deliver your luggage 72 hours late.
The best: there are so many.
Maybe that first dawn on the Niger River in Bamako. 5 a.m. The river and its banks bathed in golden light. Pirogues glide by, barely rippling the water’s surface. Occasionally, a fisherman casts a net that unfurls and sparkles. Absolute silence.
It's true this is a great discussion—so mldiane57, why not keep it going???😉
Here’s my contribution: one of my best memories:
a few years ago in Cuba, I arrived on foot, alone, at a spot with a lookout point. Of course, there was a guy selling fruit juices and other things to all the tourists who arrive by bus, snap photos of the stunning landscape, and leave after 10 minutes. I wanted to buy an orange juice, but the vendor refused to sell me one because I only had pesos and no dollars. I walked off to sit in the grass a little farther away and was completely mesmerized by the beauty my eyes and heart were discovering. After about an hour, the guy came over with an orange juice and a mango. I told him I still didn’t have any dollars to pay, but he said he was giving both to me for free.
Worst memory: actually, I don’t have a worst memory, just a few that could’ve gone badly but ended up being pretty funny. Still in Cuba. The people hosting me in Santiago told me they had family who could put me up in some other city I can’t remember, and that their son would be waiting for me when I got off the bus. So I arrive in this city whose name I’ve forgotten, a guy is waiting at the stop, I ask if he’s the son whose name I’ve also forgotten, he says yes, and takes me to some people I hand the letter from the family in Santiago to. A few hours later, while out for a walk, an elderly woman approaches me, asks if I’m Beatrice, then tells me she’s the sister of the people in Santiago!!!
The worst:
When I woke up in a dingy room in Peshawar back in 1974, with nothing but a few clothes and about $100 in my pocket, after being robbed during the night by a roommate (a Spaniard, that b@$t@rd!). Passport, Kaboul-Paris flight ticket, and the rest... gone!
The best:
A week I spent with a half-Thai, half-Chinese family on the beach in Ko Pha Ngan in 1981, long before the big crowds arrived 🙂🏴☠️
Back from Laos and Cambodia,
Stop in Kungtep at Pai’s aunt’s place,
Mokata/karaoke night and rock café
(mainly Carabao)
The phone rings,
Pai’s dad needs emergency surgery;
Holiday season means
all flights, VIP buses, and sleeper trains are fully booked.
We end up taking a 2nd-class seated train:
11 hours on a hard bench,
Tough on the back, but what an experience!
Packed to the brim,
even the dogs travel with the same calm as the humans.
Across from us:
A modest couple who smell of the rice fields,
weathered, with calloused hands,
The woman has a very gentle look,
she spends the whole time worrying about her husband’s comfort.
Not submission, tenderness.
Several times she buys drinks or food and,
each time,
asks me, the well-off Farang, if I want to share with her.
You said *sharing*?
the negative:
On that same train, the same day, leaving Bangkok, a couple filming the slums along the tracks.
They spend a lot of time watching the footage and laughing—about what, I don’t know and don’t want to know.
The worst: Crossing the Bronx on a Saturday night in a small van... stopped in front of a gang car blockade, we had no choice but to speed around it. In Kanchanaburi, Thailand: a drunk German starts violently insulting a Thai police officer, ending with a "Heil Hitler"... the officer had his hand on his belt, ready to draw. I don’t dare imagine what would’ve happened if his friend hadn’t intervened. Super tense moment.
My best moment: An evening spent in Quebec—no doubt about it, the cousins know how to savor life’s good moments.
The worst (nothing too serious, I’d say I’m lucky): those two hours spent at the police station in Trivandrum, India, after getting robbed of $300 in my hotel... We went in as victims and left as suspects!
The best: tough choice, there are too many!
A sunset on the banks of the Mekong in Laos, when the kids were playing in the river.
A sunrise over Inle Lake in Myanmar, when the sky, water, and mountains blended into a grayish-blue, with only the stilt houses and fishermen on their boats standing out—balancing on one leg in that strange, graceful pose.
The May Day protests in Sucre, Bolivia, surrounded by a hopeful crowd just after the president announced the nationalization of hydrocarbons.
Swimming in the Galápagos when the sea lions decided to come play with us.
The World Cup in Quito, with the city in celebration mode.
And above all, the encounters—so many but unforgettable...
To get back to the actual topic, which is, admittedly, pretty nice, here are my memories. The best: when my wife asked me in Quepos (Costa Rica) to have a child with her, and I fulfilled her wish a few days later in Playa Flamingo (Guanacaste - Costa Rica). The worst: my wife disappearing for two days during a dive at Pulau Payar in Malaysia during the tsunami.
... "when my wife asked me in Quepos (Costa Rica) to have a child with her and I fulfilled her wish a few days later in Playa Flamingo (Guanacaste - Costa Rica)."....
I can't pick just one best memory... plus, the question brings back so many things...
A worst one first: being held hostage by protesters in Côte d'Ivoire in 2004 for 8 days! The fear of my life!
So many best ones: hiking in the cirques of Réunion Island 30 years ago, learning about France's World Cup victory in '98 while sipping an apéro at 11 PM, soaking in a natural pool in Landmannalaugar, Iceland; facing a multitude of different animal species grazing peacefully on the Kenyan savanna under a flight of thousands of pink flamingos; stumbling into a sort of cinema in Harlem and attending a gospel mass; exchanging a glance and a hug with an elderly woman in Laos who told me full of regret, "Ah! France!"; drinking tea on a low wall with an Uzbek grandpa...
Want more?
La liberté, c'est un cadeau qu'on se fait à soi-même - (L.Gauthier)
worst memory
back in 1996, I remember driving 5,000 km to meet a girl in Vancouver. Total flop, and it ended with the cops and sleeping outside in the cold.
best memories
a recent one
Christmas 2007 in Pakistan with Sufi musicians and fellow travelers from all over the world
in 2005, an unforgettable memory
Hossam, my Palestinian host in Damascus, had asked me to bring back some soil from Palestine for his parents, who’ve been refugees since 1948 and were originally from Tiberias near the Sea of Galilee. They want to be buried with a bit of soil from their homeland when they pass.
I promise him, and when I return from Palestine to Damascus, I call them.
I can feel how moved they are by this offering. His mother starts crying as she takes the soil in the palm of her hand, explaining the history of this land to her little granddaughter sitting beside her. His father isn’t there—his gaze is distant. Memories are flooding back. His face shows no emotion. I imagine him later, in private, crying silently. And me, trying to make myself invisible, sinking deeper into my armchair.
I’m reviving this discussion that had kind of fizzled out…!
my two worst travel memories:
🙁 November 2005, in Aleppo (Syria)
A Syrian teenager, probably excited to impress his friends, starts groping my chest as I walk by—even though I was with someone. So embarrassing.
😠 April 2008, in Bandipur (Nepal)
Despite my best diplomatic efforts, an 8-year-old boy starts spitting at me because I refused to show him the digital screen on my camera and the photos on it. So embarrassing.
my best travel memory:
🙂 February 2000, between Mandalay and Bagan (Myanmar)
The slow boat drifts down the Irrawaddy from dawn till dusk. The impressions, landscapes, and faces of this golden country have stayed unforgettable for me.
A thought for this country, devastated since by a recent and terrible cyclone...
Claire2A
"en Inde, beaucoup de gens se perdent ... c'est un pays qui est fait exprès pour cela "
Nocturne Indien, Antonio TABUCCHI
Alright, I'll play too!
Best memories: my kids (ages 3 to 7!) taking a hip-hop class taught by an Indian guy at a hotel in Mamallapuram!!! We were laughing our heads off—he was so serious! His friend even filmed the scene: my kids over the moon, their dad and I blown away!
A stay in the Thar Desert with a camel herder who sang opera pieces in German and Italian, perfectly and with a voice worthy of any tenor at La Scala—absolutely mind-blowing, I’ll never forget it.
Worst:
A Māori meal in Rotorua (New Zealand) where I was invited to take part in their warrior ceremony! I never figured out how much of it was playacting or serious, but I was terrified for my life!
Having our passports confiscated on the Bakassi Peninsula (Cameroon), surrounded by dead-drunk Nigerians, boats transporting drugs between Cameroon and Nigeria, under the Kalashnikovs of the Yoruba! In those moments, you think, "This is it!!!" I was six months pregnant—did that save us? I don’t know, but I had stomach pains for days, burned by adrenaline and an acetone crisis!!!
» L'expérience est une lanterne accrochée dans le dos qui n'éclaire que le chemin parcouru ..." Confucius
Hossam, my Palestinian host in Damascus, had asked me to bring back some soil from Palestine for his parents, who have been refugees since 1948 and are originally from Tiberias near the Sea of Galilee. When they pass away, they wish to be buried with a little soil from their homeland.
The best moment of my hitchhiking trip is hard to pin down!
But there were so many great ones!
In Bouillon (Belgium), I asked an English couple to take my photo. After they did, we chatted a bit (in English, of course!), and after about fifteen minutes of conversation, they said: "We’d like to invite you to dinner tonight!" A little surprised, I replied, "If it’s no trouble, I’d love to." Then the guy said: "No problem—you’re our guest. Meet us at the restaurant (I don’t remember the name!) at 7:30 PM!" Awesome! A great meal, I tried Belgian beers, and met some really nice people! And when I was setting up my tent that night around 10:30 PM, I met a camper and his wife, who invited me for an apéritif! Super cool—I had an amazing evening!!!
In Bourg-en-Bresse: it was 7:30 PM, raining, starting to get dark, and I was hitchhiking! After about fifteen minutes, a car stopped and picked me up! We talked, and he told me he was going all the way to Montbéliard! Perfect—I needed to get to Alsace! This guy, so cool, took me about 350 kilometers, invited me to eat at his place that night, I slept in a real bed at his house, and the next morning, I got breakfast and a shower! In short, an awesome encounter that really made my day! 😉
For me, I haven’t had any bad experiences, except for some kids who thought it’d be fun to throw rocks at my tent and nearly hit my head! It was dangerous, but I think when you’re 8 years old, you don’t really realize it, so I just moved and set up my tent a little farther away! 🙂
The worst, uh... definitely my 10 days in prison in Syria—50 people in a single room for 10, one meal a day, all in an underground prison. But it was a really enriching experience; I made a bunch of friends there I’m still in touch with 😏.
The best? Four months in the Sahara Desert—a tent, some bread, a campfire, and those starry nights that make you a happy man every evening.
For my part....
My worst memory....
After staying at a youth hostel on the East Coast of Australia... My boyfriend and I realized we had our heads full of lice... It only happened once in a year across all the hostels.... BUT.... for over 2 months... we dragged those lice around... Every week, we’d start the treatments all over again. But given how thick my hair is, my boyfriend couldn’t get them all out, I guess... So they kept coming back... Scratching your head intensely for two months... while traveling when your car is your home... It’s not always fun.. hihihi...
As for my best memory.... I have so many.... Hard to say....
Probably in New Zealand on the Akaroa Peninsula, where I went sea kayaking.... and we met a pod of wild dolphins.... and while paddling, they came up to me and swam around me for a good 5 minutes!! WOW...
Paradise!!
Le bonheur, c'est moins l'objectif que le chemin parcouru pour l'atteindre ; )
My worst travel memory isn’t really a memory—it’d be not being able to travel anymore 🙁
Some amazing moments: the glaciers in Patagonia and the chunks breaking off and crashing into the blue water with a deep rumble, drinking Chilean wine in the middle of the Atacama Desert at sunset, the Sydney Opera House at dusk, the light in Cape Town, South Africa, the Songzanlin Monastery and the kindness of Tibetans in Shangri-La (Yunnan), the smiles of kids in Laos, a canoe ride on Inle Lake in Myanmar, a little monk dozing off during prayers at a monastery in Bhutan...
hi everyone
my best holiday memory is always the same—it renews itself with the same emotion and happiness every time: camping out, the smell and sounds of dawn breaking, the calm breathing of my horse at the moment, and the sound it makes while chewing the grass
worst memory: on a plane, a strong kerosene smell in the cabin during takeoff in San Francisco while the wind was howling like a storm and the plane was bouncing around like a yo-yo
any other memories in a few words, please?
salut ma parenté , à vous tous , le cœur bon , j'offre ma main pour la marier avec la votre
Hi everyone, and sorry in advance for any spelling mistakes. So, one of my worst memories was in a small resort in the Alps. The morning started with beautiful weather, so I decided to hit the slopes with my snowboard—something I’ve been doing for 15 years. Around noon, I decided to grab lunch at a little mountain chalet and from there, I wanted to explore some unmarked trails. After about an hour, the weather really took a turn for the worse. It started snowing so hard you couldn’t see a meter ahead, and the fog rolled in. They call this a "whiteout" there, and suddenly, I had no idea where I was. I couldn’t even see the tip of my snowboard—visibility was zero. I decided to walk to be extra careful, but then disaster struck: the snow was up to my waist. I spent a good two and a half hours trying to find my way back to the resort, and night was falling. But then, a miracle—off in the distance, I spotted the headlights of a snowmobile. I headed in that direction, and thankfully, at the bottom, I could see the lights of the resort. When I finally made it to the bar, everyone stared at me like I was a ghost. "Where the hell did you come from? The slopes have been closed for four hours!" Since that day, I always check the weather conditions before heading into the mountains.
One of my best memories that will forever be etched in my mind was in the Dominican Republic. There were four of us friends, and we wanted to do the excursion to swim with dolphins. We decided to do it the next afternoon, but while we were goofing around in the water at the beach, suddenly, far from the shore—I should mention—we spotted a dolphin. We swam toward it, thinking it would swim away, but to our surprise, it stayed. We were able to touch it with our fingertips, and it played around us for at least three minutes before leaving. I’ll never forget that moment, and thanks to that dolphin, we each saved $90!
Another misadventure in Tunisia—my whole trip went perfectly: beach, sea, meeting locals—basically the vacation I’d planned. But on my way back at the airport in Tunisia, at customs, a grumpy customs officer asked for my passport. Nothing unusual there, but then he asked if I had a visa for France and started speaking to me in Tunisian. I told him I didn’t understand the language and didn’t see why I’d need a visa since my passport is French and I’m French through and through. He started getting angry, saying I shouldn’t mess with him. Then I realized he’d misread my last name. My name is NOURDIN, but in Tunisia, there’s a similar surname, NOURDINE, and there’s also a Moroccan soccer player who played for Nantes, I think, whose name is Nourdin (but pronounced Nourdine). Phew, I almost ended up in a Tunisian prison!
Another bad memory, this time in Spain. I was with a friend, and the vacation had gone amazingly well—until the return trip. At customs, driving back, a Spanish officer stopped us and asked us to open the trunk, suitcases, bags, etc. He then asked me to follow him to the station for a document check. Suddenly, five officers showed up with a drug-sniffing dog. They searched the car and even started taking it apart. I got angry, asking why, and he told me a Spaniard had reported me for transporting a large quantity of drugs hidden in the vehicle. In the end, I spent eight hours at customs, the car was completely dismantled and then put back together—of course—and all I got was a "Thanks, goodbye, have a nice trip," with no apology. Needless to say, I wasn’t carrying any drugs at all.
Another moment I’ll never forget was in Morocco in the summer of '94. I had just turned 18 and was on my first trip without my parents. I was on a wild beach and decided to go for a swim toward a cove. There, a young Moroccan woman was swimming far from the men’s gaze—modesty required. When she saw me, she didn’t want to get out of the water, and I quickly understood why: she was naked. Others might have taken advantage, but I didn’t. I held out my towel, but she refused. She asked me to leave so I wouldn’t come off as a creep, so I moved to where our eyes couldn’t meet. Fifteen minutes later, she came over and told me I could go to the cove if I wanted, which I did—the water was as clear as the Caribbean. She followed me and started telling me a bit about her country’s customs and some stories. The next day, I went back to the cove around the same time, and there she was again in the water, but this time, she was dressed. I was able to stay near her, and we started laughing, swimming, and just having fun. Every day after that, we met at the cove. On the last day, I told her I was leaving the next day, and she told me she was glad to have become friends and that she’d like to stay in touch. She was 24, and I was 18. Our last hour together, we spent kissing—nothing more, I should clarify—and we kept in touch for a year. We had plans to see each other again, but she was forced into marriage, and I never heard from her again.
Worst expat memory: Condom issue in sub-Saharan Africa in a country with high HIV/AIDS prevalence... and the guy’s terrible joke a few days later, telling me he’d gotten tested and was HIV-positive.
Obviously, I didn’t find the joke funny at all... And then, I didn’t know what was true anymore. I panicked for months before finding the courage to get tested myself. Fortunately, it was negative.
The best...: no single best, but so many best moments... renewed with every trip...
Listening to tropical rain and smelling the wet earth, lying in a hammock with a purring cat on my stomach, alone in the middle of Guinea - a sunset at the top of Angkor Wat - a nighttime walk in a stunning national park in the heart of Chad with the man I want to spend my life with - amazing friendships - feeling lost at the edge of the world with my partner in Namibia - and recently: the sight of a whale, a childhood dream.
Je demarre une nouvelle discussion:je voudrais savoir quelle a été la chose, la personne, qui vous a vraiment marqué pendant vos voyages. Ce souvenir peut être…
Réflexions de voyageurs › Asie du Sud-Est · 104 replies
Je rêvais de voyages en pays chauds en voyant par la fenêtre toute cette neige tomber (je suis à Paris en ce moment) et me suis souvenu du plaisir qu'il y a à…
A chaque pays avez-vous que rapportez-vous comme souvenirs? Pour ma part je collectionne les mug Dans chaque pays que je visite j'achète toujours un mug à…
Pour faire suite à la question posée par GillesB, "De tous vos voyages, quelle est la chose la plus importante que vous ayez ramenée", je vous faire part d'un…
Je m'intéresse aux objets du voyage. Au moment de rentrer chez soi, on est tous tenté d'acheter des souvenirs, des bijoux, des vétements etc. Pourquoi d'après…
"It seems to me that poverty would be less painful in the sun" wrote Aznavour...
Not sure...😕 Who can prove that people in hot countries are happier than others?
What do you think?
Is it better to live in Montpellier than in Lille?
Are the Pygmies happier than the Inuit?
Are Canadians less happy than the people of Louisiana?
Are there more French expats in hot countries?
And your travels? Do you choose your destinations based on the climate?
Do you rejoice when a bit of sunshine appears?
Hi everyone, just this once I’m not posting for a travel story, but to share a thought for Venezuela.
If you didn’t know—since it’s not making headlines—the country was hit by two 7.5-magnitude earthquakes last week. Over 2,200 people have died, more than 50,000 are missing, and some coastal towns have been completely destroyed.
Maybe when the scale of the humanitarian crisis becomes clear, our media will cover it a bit more... especially since earthquakes with this many casualties usually make the front page, but there’s been nothing in France.
So here’s a thought for this country, which, whatever you think of its politics, is a true jewel of South America, both for its landscapes and its people.
hi there
I’d like to invite you to discover my coastal province in central Vietnam: Quang Ngai.
This year, my province has really improved its infrastructure—mountains, countryside, and sea are all authentic here.
No harassers or thieves, and no Russians either.
A local lunch costs around 1 €.
A *** hotel room is about 25 €, and you can find hotels right on My Khe Beach.
We have a specialty: *banh xeo*—10 crepes for just 1.5 €.
You can rent motorbikes to explore the province and maybe visit the many ethnic minorities.
I live here—I’m not selling anything, but I can help if needed (my father-in-law is a traditional Vietnamese doctor and he’s very skilled).
Hi everyone! 😉
I’m Typhaine, 35 years old. Five years ago, I left France for a solo round-the-world trip—no planes, just a van, hitchhiking, cycling, and even a canoe in the Amazon! Today, I work as a naturalist guide in Argentine Patagonia.
Wherever I go, my compass stays the same: observing and photographing wildlife, which I deeply admire and respect.
My project: I’d love to share this experience through a sustainable, authentic, and immersive nature tourism initiative. But to build something meaningful, I need to understand how other nature enthusiasts experience their own adventures.
If you:
Are over 20 years old
Have a true passion for Nature
Have already taken at least one trip lasting more than 3 nights (in your country or abroad) in your life
Promise: I’m not selling anything, this isn’t marketing. Your answers are 100% anonymous and will only help me shape this wild project.
A huge thank you to everyone for your help and kindness! Looking forward to chatting in this thread 😛
(Dear admins, this is purely a collaborative effort for my project study, with no commercial purpose. Thank you so much for your support!)
Photo: Grizzly Bear (Ursus arctos horribilis), female on the left and her cub on the right. Photo taken by me in Alaska, Denali National Park.
It’s something we often notice in this forum—and many others—this behavioral shift.
A long-time member, or even a new one, asks a question.
They get one or more answers, some brief, some detailed, and then... nothing???
Not even a simple thank you!!!
From what I’ve gathered, if the answers don’t align with what they wanted to hear, it seems natural for the asker to just disappear!! 😕
Unless—(and I fear this is the case)—basic politeness is no longer part of our society????
I spent 3 weeks in Bali last summer (+ 3 nights on Gili Meno and a day trip to Kawah Ijen in Java). So I wanted to see what ChatGPT could suggest for comparison...
Here’s the prompt I gave:
"You’re a local expert guide for Bali.
- Plan a 20-day itinerary for Bali with a side trip to Gili Meno and a day trip to Kawah Ijen in Java without staying overnight.
- I’m traveling with my wife, and I love visiting historical sites, hiking, relaxing at the beach, snorkeling, and exploring rice terraces...
- For the duration of the stay, I don’t want more than 8 places to sleep, and I’d like to stay at least 2 days at each stop to avoid unpacking too often. Except for the last night, where I’m okay with just one night near the airport.
- I prefer neighborhoods that are walkable and try to avoid typical tourist traps, though I don’t want to miss the must-see spots. So suggest a mix of iconic sites and hidden gems.
- Recommend hotels or guesthouses with a budget of 50 to 100 € per night, including breakfast. Make suggestions in areas popular with travelers, specifying the vibe (I prefer quiet), and consider safety and proximity to attractions.
- For lunch and dinner, suggest two to three restaurants that are well-rated by customers.
- Give me a day-by-day program with details on travel times, visiting times for each point of interest, and recommendations for transportation (taxi, train, bike, etc.).
Estimate the total cost of the trip, including accommodations, food, transportation, and activities, and suggest two tips for saving money in each category.
- Don’t make anything up—be realistic about travel times, take into account the opening dates and hours of sites, and give me the entry fees for places to visit.
- Ask me all the questions until you’re 95% sure you understand what’s being asked. Don’t generate your response until you’ve understood."
The AI asked for a few clarifications:
"Great request—I can build you a really optimized and enjoyable itinerary, but to be 95% sure I hit the mark, I need a few key clarifications (this will really influence the pace, areas, and accommodations)."
In the end, it proposed a program very close to what we actually did.
I’ll skip its accommodation and restaurant suggestions...
Its proposal:
"Ubud (4 nights) => we did 5 nights
Sidemen (2 nights)
Amed (3 nights) => we’d planned 2 nights
Gili Meno (3 nights) => we did Gili between Sidemen and Amed
Munduk (3 nights) => we did 2 nights before Pemuteran
Pemuteran (3 nights) with Ijen => we did 4 nights
Sanur (2 nights + 1 last night) => we chose Jatiluwih instead of Sanur
It suggested "activities" (and accommodations too):
IN UBUD:
- Walk around central Ubud (1–2h)
- Campuhan Ridge Walk
- Tegalalang Rice Terrace
- Tirta Empul
- Gunung Kawi
- Massage / market / slow café
IN SIDEMEN:
- Rice terrace hike (2–3h)
- Cooking class
IN AMED:
- Snorkeling
- Japanese Shipwreck
- Beach + relaxation
- Volcano sunset
ON GILI:
- Snorkeling at Gili Meno Turtle Point, Nest Underwater Statues
IN MUNDUK:
- Jungle & waterfall hike - Munduk Waterfall + Melanting Waterfall
- Loop: 3–4h (perfect for your level)
- Ulun Danu Bratan Temple
- Twin Lakes
IN PEMUTERAN
- Snorkeling: Menjangan Island
For Kawah Ijen, it detailed the day well:
👍 from Pemuteran = best possible option
12 PM: leave hotel (we left at 10 PM)
1 PM: ferry
3 PM: arrival in Java + transfer
11 PM: start ascent
2 AM–6 AM: volcano
Return to Bali around 11 AM–12 PM (we got back at 4 PM)
👍 still very intense, but doable with an agency
💰 ~80–120 €/person all-inclusive
IN SANUR:
- Relaxation
- Quiet beach
- Proximity to airport (30 min)"
I’ve kept the habit of blowing my nose in the sink and then washing my hands—a custom I picked up in India. Sometimes, non-travelers are shocked when they catch me in the act... 🤪
Also, when I run out of toilet paper, it doesn’t bother me—unless I’ve got company over... 🤪
Just got back from walking a friend’s dog (while they’re on vacation), wearing a djellaba and Tibetan boots... 😏😏😏 Oh, for sure, if I’d run into locals, I probably would’ve shocked them? 😏
Anyway, as long as I’m not spitting on the floor at a restaurant or squatting on the side of a highway with a water bottle in hand...
After taking a little trip around the world, I came back a few months ago with an idea in mind.
I mostly do diving, and I love observing animals in their natural habitat without disturbing them.
During the trip, I realized it was quite complicated to know where and when to see certain species.
For example:
where to dive with sharks or manta rays
where you might get a chance to swim with whales
I even discovered thresher sharks during my trip… I didn’t even know this species existed before, even though they’re incredible to see.
We spent a ton of time searching for info all over the place, especially on social media, without ever getting a clear picture.
So I started putting all this together on my own, in the form of a map, to make it easier to visualize where to go depending on the seasons.
I recently put a first version online (it’s called Fauneya).
There are probably mistakes, inconsistencies, or things to improve, and that’s partly why I’m posting here.
I’d really love to know how you all go about planning this kind of trip.
As part of my Master’s thesis, I’m currently conducting a public survey on a topic that concerns all of us when planning a trip: artificial intelligence and the role of human contact in travel planning.
These days, we’re using more and more digital tools to find ideas, compare options, and book trips... but is the role of human advisors still essential? At what moments? And for what types of trips?
The survey is anonymous and takes about 7 minutes.
It’s aimed at anyone who travels (or has traveled) for leisure, whether you plan everything yourself or go through an agency.
While browsing the forum to gather info for my upcoming trip to Thailand, I often see the terms "traveler," "great traveler," and also "tourist"—so what’s the nuance for you?
I've traveled quite a bit in Vietnam over the past few years—from the southern delta to bustling cities and even some small islands—but what really sticks with me is the north, the high mountains.
Up there, there's something different—maybe slower, more raw. The morning markets with ethnic groups, women in traditional clothes, the colors...
The stilt houses, kids following you and laughing for no reason, the terraced rice fields—it almost feels unreal at times, so vast and quiet, yet so human and simple.
You often hear that Sapa has become too touristy, and that's partly true, especially in the center. But as soon as you move a little farther away, everything changes quickly. The landscapes open up, encounters feel more natural, and you rediscover something truly authentic.
I think it's that contrast that struck me—the difference between what you imagine before going and what you actually discover when you take the time.
And you—what memory do you hold onto from Vietnam? A particular place that touched you more than others?
Hello,
We’re finalizing the plans for our upcoming trip to China in May 2025. The second-to-last stop will be in Zhangjiajie, where we’ve planned to stay for 2 full days before heading to Shanghai.
We’re traveling solo using local transport and have arranged to stay in the city of Zhangjiajie.
We’ve seen that there’s a lot to see:
Tianmen Mountain, the Grand Canyon and the glass bridge, Zhangjiajie National Park, and that the sites are quite far apart with fairly expensive entry fees.
We’re thinking of dedicating one day to the national park and the Grand Canyon (glass bridge) and one day to Tianmen Mountain.
But we’re not sure if this plan is realistic—any thoughts would be much appreciated!
I should be serving a warming drink to the participants in the discussion about gardens and parks that provide us with beautiful photos, I could mention the delicious buttery scent wafting from bakeries in the thread about returning to France, but my heart, its powerful pulse that nourishes my entire being, is elsewhere.
Dasht-e Lut, Yazd, Esfahan, Bam, Kerman, Qeshm, Hormuz—a melody, a prayer at the heart of desire.
A dream, an unattainable fantasy? No. Not anymore.
A very serious Italian travel agency is organizing this trip for 6 people this winter. I’m signed up, I’m going, I’m living. Maybe.
"But you’re completely crazy!!!!"
I know... I know that every civilization, every society has a vital need to create scapegoats to define and justify itself, pathetically. And Iran is one of them, top of the list. I laugh or sigh, and it doesn’t bother me.
But that unchanging red, deep red and garnet, so beautiful in itself, in all the Western chancelleries repeats, whispers, shouts: don’t go, don’t go, don’t go, you’re putting yourself in danger and we can’t do anything for you. You’ll be turned into mere bargaining chips, into arguments for endless negotiations. Fear must be instilled, its power absolutely preserved, no concessions made to the enemy. The information (how many French hostages, real or fake, compared to the number of travelers?) is always lacking.
Traveling becomes a merciless confrontation between desire, the vital pulse, and anxiety, its ghosts.
Hi everyone, here’s our itinerary. Arriving on the evening of December 13th. Departing on January 7th.
Thanks in advance for your tips and valuable feedback.
Manila – 1 night
Coron – 4 nights
Coron to El Nido cruise – 2 nights
El Nido – 4 nights
Port Barton – 5 nights
Flight from Puerto Princesa to Vigan
Vigan – 2 nights
Sagada – 2 nights
Banaue – 2 nights
Bagabag – 1 night
Manila – 1 night
I’ve only booked the flight to Manila and the Manila/Coron flight so far. Is it possible to book boat trips, accommodations, and the Puerto Princesa flight last-minute?
Really disappointed with Costa Rica! Pura vida? The scam of the century!
(Costa Rica pure emptiness).
The country where animals are free and people are in cages.
3 weeks in December in this country and never again. Imagine the trailer of a movie that seems interesting, and when you go see it, you realize it’s a flop and the best moments were in the trailer.
Well, that’s exactly how we felt with Costa Rica pure emptiness.
My wife and I have traveled quite a bit and didn’t expect to be so wrong about a place.
On the main routes, we visited:
San José
Alajuela
Limón, Cahuita, Puerto Viejo, Manzanillo (Caribbean side)
Jaco, Quepos, Manuel Antonio (Pacific side)
And a few short stops in intermediate towns.
Our dissatisfaction grew gradually like this:
When we arrived at the hotel, the taxi dropped us off on a small street in front of a white metal gate with ground-floor windows barred. We looked at it skeptically, but the sign matched.
He approached the gate, rang the bell, the buzzer sounded, and the door opened slightly. The hotel wasn’t bad for the price, a 10-minute walk from downtown, but with a "Fleury-Mérogis" vibe guaranteed.
So far, so good.
After showering and regaining our bearings, we headed downtown.
What started to unsettle us on the way was seeing houses with bars on the ground-floor windows and even on the second floor.
At first, we thought the hotel’s neighborhood wasn’t great.
Downtown San José:
It’s a generic city, not very exotic, with a pedestrian street and a small mercado where you can eat local food without frills. Very few tourists—if any—which let you blend in with the locals. We had lunch and struggled to make ourselves understood because, aside from one or two shops, English wasn’t spoken.
On the way back to the hotel, we took a different route, and while chatting and strolling, my wife pointed out a beautiful two-story white house completely barricaded like Fort Knox.
From that moment, we started noticing the facades of houses and buildings, and wow, it was creepy—most looked like prisons, some even with barbed wire.
Though put off, we told ourselves it was probably a big-city thing and the rest of the country couldn’t be like this.
So far, so good.
We relaxed at the hotel and had a drink at the bar. Night falls early, around 5:30 PM. By 7:30 PM, we headed back downtown for dinner. A bit unsettling for a capital—downtown was almost deserted, and aside from fast-food chains, very few restaurants were open, with hardly anyone on the streets.
Bars with security guards out front.
I won’t say we felt unsafe that night, but once it got dark, we realized the bars on the windows weren’t for nothing. First day in, and our impression was already mixed.
The next day, we explored the city and surroundings, and our feelings didn’t change.
So far, so good.
Off to Cahuita by bus—4 hours of travel.
The landscapes are very green but quickly become monotonous. The road runs alongside the forest and passes through a few towns and villages, and even in the countryside, there were just as many prison-like houses.
The bus dropped us off at Cahuita’s terminal station—only four of us got off. It’s a village, or rather, a small town. Cahuita is basically one straight road and a perpendicular one, and honestly, doubt started to creep in.
A few restaurants that add 13% tax and 10% service charge—so 23% extra. We dropped our stuff at the hotel and went to explore. In 20 minutes, we’d seen it all. We had lunch and planned to check out the famous park.
Entry is by donation—well, the "entry" is a joke. There’s a path along the forest by the sea, and that’s it.
Nothing’s going right anymore.
We thought it was a total scam, but since we hadn’t gone far, we decided to come back the next day to explore further.
We returned to the hotel, relaxed, and around 8:00 PM, we went out for dinner. Only two restaurants were open, and the streets were deserted.
Creepy!
The next day, we explored the so-called park more thoroughly and really got it.
A path along the forest by the sea—2 hours there and 2 hours back, where you see animals that feel like showing their faces.
A total joke—"all that for this?"
The beach was full of wood debris and coconut husks. We wondered if the photos online were edited because the sea, very rough, wasn’t the azure blue we’d seen in pictures.
But calling this a park is a joke—it’s like a new concept.
When we thought about the reviews online, we started to suspect that professionals with interests in the country were monitoring and countering any negative feedback that could harm their business.
Too bad we didn’t check the negative reviews beforehand—we did while we were there, and it helped. We wondered if we’d become too demanding after all our travels, but no—when something’s bad, it’s bad.
Manuel Antonio’s park is even more ridiculous—there’s a short path along the sea for about 500 meters, and then nothing. You have to climb through mud and hack your way through the forest. We ended up barefoot because the mud was up to our calves. All that to see a raccoon and a few parrots flying overhead.
We didn’t expect Noah’s Ark, but we’ve seen more animals in Bali, Mexico, and Thailand while visiting temples or just walking around than in these so-called parks!
Puerto Viejo, not far from Cahuita and supposedly livelier—well, it couldn’t be worse!
According to Lonely Planet, it had a Caribbean vibe and wild nights, but maybe that was a long time ago. The good reggae music playing everywhere isn’t enough.
In the evening, Puerto Viejo was a bit livelier than Cahuita, but that’s not saying much. Very few tourists—if any—no night market, just two or three shops open selling $20 T-shirts. Same vibe as San José.
No big deal—we enjoyed the beach and the sun, which was reliable.
Our itinerary was supposed to include Tortuguero Park, but after talking to other travelers who’d just been, we changed our minds, knowing we’d be visiting Manuel Antonio Park on the Pacific side.
To get back to the Pacific side, you have to take the bus and go through San José again—5 hours this time—then switch bus terminals and another 4.5 hours to Quepos.
A stopover town to get to Manuel Antonio’s beach and park!
A town just like the others we’d seen—deserted as soon as the sun sets, and not exactly bustling during the day either. (Where are all the tourists?)
Still as many bars on the windows and that feeling of being in the wrong place.
7 km later: Manuel Antonio beach and park.
The beach is very beautiful and quite large, but don’t expect turquoise blue water—the waves stir up the sand, giving the water a brownish color.
Along the beach, shops and restaurants for about 300 meters, and then nothing. At night, after sunset, the town shuts down too.
Manuel Antonio Park is highly praised for its wildlife, so we were eager to see it. When you express dissatisfaction with Cahuita or Manzanillo parks, the response is always, "But you should’ve gone to Monteverde or Manuel Antonio!" No matter what you do or say, they’ll tell you, "You should’ve gone there or here."
Back to our famous park—entry was about $16, and contrary to what we’d heard, it wasn’t crowded!
Guides at the entrance with spotting scopes offered their services for about $30.
The park: a mix of boardwalk and dirt paths through the forest, sometimes running alongside beautiful coves and beaches.
As soon as we entered, a crowd was taking photos of a deer eating leaves.
A little further on, a guide with a group of five stopped. The guide raised his arm and set up his spotting scope! He showed them, about 100 meters away, a hummingbird perched on a branch. Some, looking through the scope, exclaimed, "Oh my God! Amazing! Incredible!"
For a moment, we thought they’d discovered a unicorn or were in Jurassic Park and had just crossed paths with a T-Rex!
The concept is comical—looking at a bird or another animal through a spotting scope because it’s too far away. Isn’t that what TV is for?
For our part, we saw monkeys, ants, an armadillo, an iguana, and the backside of a sloth climbing a tree. Amazing, incredible!
We stayed a few days in Manuel Antonio to enjoy the beach, changing hotels often because prices varied wildly from one day to the next for shameful services. On top of that, they’d quote a price in dollars and convert it at their discretion—thieves!
Alajuela, a city near the airport, has a two-story mall and a local market downtown! No interest except its proximity to the airport.
What we liked:
The climate and, in hindsight, San José—the most authentic city we visited.
What we didn’t like, in addition to what we’ve already mentioned:
Costa Ricans aren’t very friendly or communicative. English is barely spoken, not even by doctors at Quepos Hospital, where my wife ended up with food poisoning (thanks, Google Translate). The widespread obesity among Costa Ricans, who eat like Americans. The insecurity. The eco-hipsters who leave their $150 lodges in minivans with guides to visit parks and other sites, then return to barricade themselves in their fortresses at nightfall (oh my God, amazing, incredible). The blue signs at the entrance of towns that accept this payment method: "We accept American Express." Parking lots that become paid just because a guy is watching your car. Prices displayed in dollars. The cost of living (hotels, restaurants, taxes). Landscapes that are too green and not flowery enough. Beaches—nothing exceptional. Pollution in cities where big American trucks rule. Sewage dumped directly into the sea. Aside from the jungle, there’s nothing to visit—no ruins, monuments, or anything worth seeing.
In short, my wife and I think the hype about this supposedly eco-friendly country is overrated. It’s just the trendy destination of the moment. There are much better, cheaper, and more authentic places.
In hindsight, we keep the good memories and our beautiful photos, but if we had to do it over...
Before signing off, a little message to those who don’t like hearing opinions different from theirs:
Well, some things aren’t up for debate. And to those who’d have us believe that in 3 weeks, we don’t have the right to criticize a country or express our feelings—how can you praise it in so little time? What a scam. Costa Rica is a money pit. Pura vida? Pure cosmic emptiness.
If you like spending your evenings barricaded in your cozy hotel after dark, this country is for you.
For everyone else: run!
Hello,
Since the war between Russia and Ukraine, nothing is simple anymore for traveling to Belarus due to sanctions.
No more direct flights from the EU to Minsk.
Driving is a huge hassle, especially crossing through Poland at the only open border in Brest—you can wait 2, 3, or even 4 days just to get through by car.
The least painful driving option is to come via Lithuania and cross at the only open border, with a minimum wait time of 8 hours, sometimes up to 20 hours or more!!
Controls are very strict and annoying on both the Lithuanian and Belarusian sides. Avoid bringing alcohol, food, or cigarettes—everything will end up in the trash, especially when leaving Belarus for Vilnius, where the Lithuanians are tough, even with EU citizens.
The joy I once knew when visiting my wife in Minsk is sadly over—it’s now a real ordeal.
The fastest solution is to fly. My wife travels to France by taking a bus to Kaunas in Lithuania, where you can catch a flight (though not daily) to Paris Beauvais or Charleroi in Belgium with Ryanair, for example.
For the return trip, it’s the same: a flight to Kaunas and then a direct bus from the airport to Minsk.
The bus crossing is quicker than driving—the 250 km journey, including border checks, takes about 6 to 8 hours for buses leaving Lithuania around midnight, but controls are still strict at the border.
The biggest challenge is finding flight schedules that align with the bus routes between the two countries, given the unpredictable border crossing times.
Now, my wife travels via Charleroi in Belgium (near Brussels), and you can take a train to Paris. Alternatively, you can fly into Beauvais and take a bus to Paris (Porte Maillot).
For those driving, note that EU insurance and assistance policies no longer work in Belarus or Russia. You’ll need to get local insurance, usually limited to third-party liability (I don’t think full coverage exists?), as well as mandatory medical insurance. This is available at the border.
You now have to pay highway tolls—no more BELTOLL boxes. Instead, you pay a flat fee for the duration of your stay. Stop at the first gas station after crossing from Lithuania to fill up on fuel and cigarettes.
From what I know, Lithuania bans carrying more than 60 € in cash, but there’s no limit for USD (though it’s capped at $10,000??).
With a Visa card, you can now withdraw 1,000 rubles per week (about 270 €)—two months ago, it was only 500 rubles!!
For now, you can still pay by card in shops and gas stations.
However, major retailers like KORONA (which may be Russian-owned??) no longer accept foreign Visa cards.
Unfortunately, the additional sanctions announced by the U.S. on August 5, 2025, against Russia—and possibly Belarus—aren’t promising for the future.
After 20 years of visiting Belarus, I’m truly saddened to see the joy of living in this country with my wonderful wife turn into such a bleak situation, all because of human folly.
Hi everyone!
I’m putting together our travel itinerary for Veneto at the end of April. And the more I look and research potential sites to visit, the more I find!
We’ll only be there for a week—my family and I—including 3 days in Venice. So we have to make some choices...
I plan to rent a car when we arrive in Venice and head straight to Bergamo, which would be our first stop. We’d leave the car at the airport when we return to Venice so we can explore the city at our leisure.
What do you think:
1 night in Bergamo (a 2h15 drive from Venice airport),
1 night in Garda,
1 night in Verona,
1 in Padua, and
3 in Venice—would that be doable?
Thanks in advance for your tips and experiences! :)
Now that the curtain has fallen on the past year, it’s time to see what’s happening around here.
It seems pretty quiet, but I’ll read more in detail later.
First, I need to tell you all an anecdote.
My eldest little girl, in her third year of law school, was really scared she wouldn’t pass the year.
I told her:
“Trust yourself, you’ve worked so hard, and worst case, if you fail, you’ll just redo the year.”
“But I don’t think I’ll make it—they changed the rules, and if I mess up even one unit, I have to start all over.”
I knew her grades weren’t exactly stellar, and with what I was about to say, I wasn’t taking much of a risk.
“Here’s the deal, sweetheart: if you pass, I promise I’ll take you to India, just the two of us.”
I have to admit, India is a country I’ve talked about so much to all my grandchildren that in their minds, it’s become a magical, mythical place (hmm).
July had barely begun when my phone rang, her name flashing on the screen.
“Mamido, I did it!”
My promise came rushing back—oh no, oh no, oh no!
“Congratulations, sweetheart!”
A little shyly, she said:
“Is the India trip still on?”
And me, replying:
“Of course it is!”
And that’s that—a promise is a promise, or you risk losing that precious trust that keeps hearts warm and at peace.
We’re leaving in February. Only 8 days—yikes, the carbon footprint!
But we can’t miss her tutorials, or she’ll be kicked out.
Personally, that works just fine for me.
Going to India has become a challenge for me. It’s far, it’s exhausting, I sweat, I hate mosquitoes, the spices bother my mouth when I used to love them. There’s noise all the time—at night, the dogs bark nonstop, and we almost get run over. I’ll get lost in the streets because my sense of direction has vanished. I don’t like rice anymore. All that chaos and those cultural differences that once enchanted me now just overwhelm me.
But I promised.
The upside—and it’s a big one—Raman, the same driver I’ve had forever, will be at the airport with a sign with our names. We’ll stop at the same little shop for chai (or tea, plain and simple) with that aroma that intoxicates me, halfway through the trip.
It’ll be a tiny trip—staying with friends, I’ll show her a few places I love: Chidambaram, Mamallapuram, and the clinic where I worked. Then we’ll head back.
My little girl will go home to her parents.
As for me, I’ll leave right away for our Scottish island with Homme for our chilly winter.
How can you love a country so much you want to live there, then suddenly reject it, no longer able to appreciate what once made it special?
That’s the mystery of love, I guess.
I’ve visited the U.S. four times myself, including two long road trips. The last one was just this past August...
I won’t be going back. I already felt guilty last August, but recent policies have finally convinced me: the humiliation of Zelensky, authoritarian excesses, Gestapo-like methods for detaining people of foreign origin, the murder of innocent people (a mother shot dead), corruption, insane "tariffs," skyrocketing healthcare costs for Americans, the abduction of foreign figures to secure oil, the requirement to disclose social media accounts, and now... threats and blackmail to forcibly take Greenland—a region that belongs to Denmark and thus the European Union!
The reality is that simply posting this could get me denied entry to the U.S.!
In this context, I just can’t keep spending money there. I loved my trips, but there are so many other countries with stunning landscapes to explore.
So I get why you’d want to travel there. I did, and I loved it. But once a country no longer respects any of the values that made us love it, why go?
How can we even consider traveling to a country that threatens to take one of our territories by force?
Hello everyone,
Controversial topic? Not necessarily—maybe just a reflection on a world to come.
I spent the last 15 days of August on a cruise in Greenland, from Kangerlussuaq to Tasiilaq.
I was utterly amazed by this unique world of rock and ice, the little houses in every color, a simple life that’s also complicated by isolation and climate, among other things...
I carry in my heart the kindness of the people I met, the raw and gentle majesty of the icebergs, the colors of the sky...
So, I can’t even imagine a massive presence of raw material prospectors, heavy machinery requiring roads to be built—if that’s even possible—changing their way of life... putting sled dogs out to pasture!
Do fast food and Greenland’s northern lights really mix?
I wouldn’t trade my memories for an ESTA!
All opinions are respectable, which is why this isn’t a controversy—but I’m sorry, I have a soft spot for *my* Greenland.
We’re a couple aged 58 and 63. We’ve just returned from a wonderful trip to South India in Tamil Nadu and a few days in Kerala. We traveled with a local French-speaking guide and his friend, the driver. They both live in Pondicherry. We spent 3 weeks with them in the most authentic way!
We covered just over 2,500 km and visited not only temples but also archaeological sites, museums, and small artisanal businesses making tiles, tea, sculptures, bronze, and silk spinning. We were lucky enough to visit a public school, attend a wedding, and even a death announcement in a small countryside village. We were fully immersed in the culture, food, noise, and colors—it was incredible!
The hotels and guesthouses we chose were very clean and mostly quiet. We’re returning from India with amazing discoveries!
We’re happy to share more info if you’d like!
M-Claire and Jean
This catchy and somewhat mysterious title comes from several questions I’ve been asking myself.
VF has been back open for a reasonable number of weeks and months now.
The number of visitors overall matches past averages, but the number of members online in the last 24 hours seems relatively lower than what we used to see.
Yet, to my surprise, I’m seeing fewer travel journals, way fewer messages, and way fewer questions.
I don’t see many new registered users online, and I notice a number of members who are logged in but either aren’t participating or have stopped participating.
Something’s not adding up for me because, in my opinion, VF is still appealing, and I don’t see which other sites could really compete.
Was there a real break between pre- and post-Covid?
Does it just take more time for some people to discover the site or learn that it’s active again?
Do people now prefer quick consumption on sites like FB or others I’m not familiar with?
Where have the site’s old-timers gone, and what are they doing with their time now?
What’s really going on here?
This isn’t exactly a traveler’s question... I’d like to know who handles the technical side of this forum?
I run a similar forum on a different topic (unrecognized children), and we’re dealing with a few technical issues that are slowly killing our forum... so I’d have one or two questions to ask 😊.
Also, I was wondering who created this forum... who the administrators or moderators are, etc.
I think this forum is great. Much better than Facebook, which I’ve been using since it shut down (so I’m happy to see it’s working again...)
Hi there, I’ve been traveling for 18 years now, at least 6 months a year, and as the years go by, I actually enjoy coming back to France more and more—a feeling I struggled with at first. I mean, we always think the grass is greener elsewhere.
But in the end, I find meaning in that saying about how there’s no place like home. I still love traveling just as much, but now my trips are shorter, and I enjoy spending more time in our beautiful country, even though I don’t hesitate to criticize it.
How about you? How do you handle coming back from your travels?
A few years ago, I went with a group of friends to lend a hand at a small rural school near Thiès, Senegal.
It was a relaxed but hardworking atmosphere—hands in the mortar, laughter, exchanges, and everything that a COOPERATION project can bring.
Today, the little project is flying on its own.
Wanting to explore Senegal’s riches, we set off for some tourism in the Siné Saloum. One girl in our group fell ill (a malaria attack), and we decided to take her to see a doctor at a large tourist complex nearby. Despite her condition, we had to "show our credentials" (if I may say so) just to get in. She was treated and has been fine since.
This "stop" at a Club Med-style resort with a Teutonic twist—resembling Le Grau-du-Roi but fancier—was a horror show for us: pools, massive artificial basins dyed blue, pink, or green (!!!!), animators shouting around wet T-shirt contests or coconut tree climbing, and sunburned (or sun-pinked) *toubabs*.
The entire hotel was surrounded by a huge wall, behind which a small souvenir-seller slum had sprung up, worthy of Dakar’s outer neighborhoods.
On leaving, we saw a minibus of guests returning from an "excursion," loaded with masks, fabrics, and djembés—African souvenirs?
Maybe those will be *theirs*?
What impression did the kids clustered at the hotel gates get?
What about the Black servers in "traditional African costumes," serving cocktails and ice cream nonstop?
For me, who experienced Africa very young and in the bush, this remains a haunting image.
On VF, this kind of vacation doesn’t seem to be the norm among users, and that’s exactly why I signed up.
Have you ever experienced this kind of interstellar travel?
Do you understand the Martians?
Are their motivations peaceful?
Densha Otaku - Lesser-Known Regions
Two weeks under the Puglia sun
Return to Swedish Lapland: Trek on the Kungsleden and Crossing the Sarek
Off on a winter adventure in the American West!
3 weeks in Laos, stress-free
Draw Me Your Japan...
South Africa in safari mode: February/March 2026
Back in Tunisia (live account)
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