En Mai-Juin 2010 je me suis rendu en Éthiopie et au Somaliland (je posterais le carnet du Somaliland dans un message à part). L'Éthiopie c'était un peu ma destination rêvée. Un endroit où je me devais d'aller. Pourquoi? Parce que pour moi l'Éthiopie ne se résume pas aux famines, à la pauvreté, aux guerres, non. L'Éthiopie c'est le pays de l'une des plus ancienne civilisation au monde, le pays africain qui n'a jamais été colonisé, le pays où l'on écrit en amahrique... Certains rêvent d'aller en Italie, en Grèce, en Chine etc pour visiter ce qui concerne les civilisation anciennes, moi mon rêve c'était l'Éthiopie.
Vous trouverez ici petit à petit mes impressions sur ce pays. J'espère me faire comprendre facilement. À tête froide je me rends compte maintenant que le rêve est devenu réalité, je ne vais pas pouvoir m'en "débarasser" facilement. Ce fut mon premier voyage en Éthiopie, certainement pas le dernier.
First time in Ethiopia ?
A quatre heures du matin, Addis-Abeba est une ville morte. Non qu’il n’y ait personne dans les rues, au contraire, elles sont pleines de mendiants, d’amputés de guerres et de chèvres. Sauf que tous dorment ! Le taxi que j’ai attrapé à l’aéroport semblait être dans ces rues la seule trace de vie. Musique à fond, le chauffeur, tout en brûlant les feux rouges et en poussant sa vieille Lada au maximum, me parle avec les mots d’anglais usuels :
« Where you go ?... No no no 250 birrs[1], this is really good price!... First time here ?... Like soccer ?... You know, Arsenal is best team ! ».
Après un trajet sans aucun stop depuis l’aéroport, j’arrive à l’hôtel Taitu, premier à avoir été construit en Ethiopie et qui, à défaut d’avoir conservé son charme des années 1900, offre un confort d’origine. Me voilà arrivé, je ne sais que penser.
Pourtant j’étais prévenu, l’Ethiopie est difficile à imaginer, il faut y aller pour comprendre. Mes premières quarante-huit heures ici ressemblent un peu aux premiers moments d’une relation amoureuse. Elles sont les prémisses de la relation à venir. L’Éthiopie me semblait être une fille pleine de promesses mais hermétique au premier contact. Il faut s’armer de patience pour la découvrir, mais une fois que l’on sait comment l’aborder, elle enchante.
Après cette première nuit, il me fallait commencer mon voyage. Quoi de mieux pour sentir une ville qu’expérimenter les transports publics ? De nombreux minibus arpentent les principales artères de la ville. Le principe est simple : pour un itinéraire donné, ils partent d’un même endroit, une fois remplis, ils démarrent, déposent les passagers à leur destination en en faisant monter d’autres en chemin. Addis se prête bien à ce système de minibus avec ses grandes artères qui permettent de naviguer facilement d’un quartier à l’autre et ses nombreuses places très utiles pour servir de terminus aux Toyota. Il y a neuf places assises dans la Toyota mais le coxer n’hésite pas à embarquer jusqu’à 14 personnes. Les minibus sont pratiques mais ne sont pas fait pour quelqu’un qui débarque et ne parle pas un mot d’amharique. A l’intérieur, on croise la « classe moyenne » éthiopienne, principalement des fonctionnaires, des étudiants et des personnes âgées. Le coxer représente l’archétype du travailleur exploité. C’est à lui qu’il revient de crier la destination à travers la fenêtre, d’ouvrir et de fermer la porte du véhicule et de faire payer les passagers. La conduite et la programmation de la radio sont réservées au chauffeur (qui en profite pour nous révéler ses préférences musicales).
Mon but consistait à trouver l’ambassade du Somaliland pour y faire mon visa. Une fois l’ambassade découverte – pardon, le bureau de liaison puisque le Somaliland n’est reconnu par aucun pays –, le processus administratif fut d’une rapidité à toute épreuve ! Trente minutes et quarante dollars plus tard, mon passeport se voyait attribuer le visa numéro 160… Il ne me restait plus qu’à arranger mon départ pour le Nord du pays, premier périple de mon voyage.
Marie vit depuis 19 ans à Addis, elle possède une jolie maison fleurie sur les hauteurs de la ville. Il y a 30 ans, elle découvrait l’Ethiopie et depuis, elle ne s’en est jamais vraiment remise. Photographe de profession, elle a pu sillonner le pays de long en large. Pour y avoir vécu aussi longtemps, elle a réussi à le démystifier. Comme un vieux couple, l’Ethiopie et Marie ne peuvent se séparer, mais Marie sait y poser un regard critique. Je ne pouvais tomber sur meilleure mine d’informations avant de partir ! De plus, Marie connaît beaucoup de monde. Grâce à elle, j’ai pu avoir un 4x4 plutôt qu’un bus pour me transporter jusqu’à Gondar, ma première étape dans le Nord, de précieux contacts dans l’Est et, surtout, des conseils qui m’ont permis d’apprendre à aborder l’Ethiopie.
« Non, ne va pas là, c’est pourri par le tourisme… Alors, tu fais bien attention, hein, parce qu’ils ne vont pas te faire de cadeaux… Ah mais alors, si tu vas là-bas, il faut absolument que tu appelles Yaya ! Tu voyageras en bus ? Bon, bah, tu es au courant que ça va prendre du temps, hein ? Avant de payer la chambre, tu regardes s’ils lavent les draps… »
Une fois les dernières formalités remplies, il ne me restait plus qu’à passer ma dernière nuit au Taitu, à ingurgiter ma première platée d’injera[2] et à me réveiller pour un long trajet vers Gondar. Mon tout premier contact avec l’Ethiopie m’a surpris. Au Canada, j’avais essayé des restaurants éthiopiens, écouté de la musique éthiopienne et remarqué à quel point tout était particulier. Mais une fois en dans le pays, j’ai compris une chose : l’Ethiopie fut, est et restera toujours un monde à part. Elle s’est affirmée à sa manière, n’a jamais accepté de se faire envahir et a su s’adapter aux cultures auxquelles elle était confrontée pour les rendre « éthiopiennes ». En une seule journée, j’ai découvert qu’il ne fallait pas que je m’attende à quelque chose en particulier, puisque tout pouvait arriver, pour le meilleur comme pour le pire. Il me fallait percer l’intrigue.
J’ai rendez-vous à sept heures avec mon chauffeur. Très vite j’apprendrais que les Ethiopiens se lèvent tôt, très tôt. Alors qu’à 4 heures du matin, la ville m’avait paru morte, à 7 heures, elle vibre. Les minibus s’affairent à transporter le plus de gens possible, les vendeurs à la sauvette commencent leur longue et éprouvante journée, les bus longues distances partent vers leurs destinations, les cafés s’emplissent de gens qui viennent pour le premier de leur dix expressos/macchiatos quotidiens. Moi, je pars à Gondar, 750 km au nord-est d’Addis-Abeba.
Le Nord de l'Ethiopie consiste en une succession de hauts plateaux (altitude moyenne 2000-2500 mètres). Ainsi, lorsque l'on sillonne les routes de cette région, on admire au loin le relief et, tous les 200-300 km, on dégringole d’un plateau pour monter sur le suivant. Dégringoler n’est pas un vain mot : la descente est très abrupte, la remontée tout autant... Le paysage est splendide, certes, mais on prie le ciel pour que le chauffeur soit raisonnable ! Une fois remonté sur un plateau, même scénario : 200-300 km au milieu de champs ponctués de villages, descente, puis remontée. Hormis le paysage, ce qui fascine, c’est l’activité au bord des routes. D’innombrables personnes marchent sur le côté, parfois accompagnées d’un âne ou d’une vache. En raison de manque de transport, les Ethiopiens marchent. Les enfants agrémentent leur randonnée jusqu’à l’école de jeux stupides, du genre « Qui va rester le plus longtemps possible au milieu de la route à l’approche d’un véhicule pour l’éviter au dernier moment en sautant sur le bas-côté ? ». Les femmes se rendent au marché en commérant. Les paysans naviguent d’un champ à l’autre en débattant sur la force respective de leur mule. Les pèlerins profitent parfois de la platitude de la route pour en faire un lit… Autant dire que conduire n’est pas de tout repos pour le chauffeur qui doit sans cesse faire attention à n’écraser personne.
Peu à peu, je m’habituerais à ce spectacle permanent qu’est la route en Ethiopie. Mais au début je suis resté fasciné devant tant de vie. Nous croisions un village à peu près toutes les trois heures. Dans chacun d’entre eux il y avait foule au bord de la route (rude tâche pour le chauffeur…). Kapuscinsky notait en qu’en Afrique, les maisons sont trop petites pour qu’on vive à l’intérieur, « les cases ne servent en effet qu’à dormir »[3]. Le trajet nous prit deux jour. Un bon premier aperçu de l’Ethiopie rurale après ma brève expérience de l’Ethiopie urbaine à Addis : j’étais préparé.
[1] Environ 15 dollars US. Le trajet se fait normalement pour 70-100 birrs.
[2] Les repas éthiopiens se composent d’une sorte de crêpe « l’injera » sur laquelle on dépose différents ragoûts (wat). La technique consiste à envelopper avec ses doigts une partie du ragoût avec des morceaux d’Injera puis de les diriger vers sa bouche.
Deux jours de route plus tard me voilà arrivé à Gonder. La ville fut fondée en 1635 par l’empereur Fasilidas après deux siècles durant lesquels la monarchie resta itinérante. Ville de province par excellence, ses habitants sont plus bavards que dans la capitale.
Le caractère historique de la cité est immédiat dès les premiers pas. Construits autour d’un vaste château, Gonder et ses alentours abondent en édifices rappelant chacun à leur manière les différentes époques de l’histoire éthiopienne depuis sa fondation. Le château renferme des bâtiments datant du XVIIe au XIXe siècle, époque à laquelle la capitale fut transférée à Addis-Abeba. Les Italiens, qui envahirent brièvement l’Éthiopie dans les années 1930 offrirent à la ville de somptueux bâtiments Art déco ; en effet, ils avaient eu le projet de faire de Gonder une des capitales administratives de « l’Africa Italiana ». Enfin, Mengitsu ne put s’empêcher de créer une place de la Révolution, tribune d’honneur et route militaire incluent pour que défilent les troupes, en souvenir de l’amitié qui liait l’Ethiopie à Moscou !
Aujourd’hui, Gonder compte environ 150 000 habitants. Elle a perdu de son aura administrative au profit de Bahir Dar (capitale de la région Amhara). Selon les gens d’ici, la ville vivrait plutôt sur son passé. Elle reste néanmoins une destination touristique privilégiée pour son importance historique.
Gonder est plus agréable et plus accessible qu’Addis pour un premier contact avec l’Ethiopie. Bien moins étendue et mieux entretenue, elle offre de nombreuses surprises. D’abord , le château, Fasil Ghebi de son nom local. Enclosure royale d’environ 70 000 mètres carrés ses bâtiments de divers styles architecturaux alternent entre influences arabes et indiennes. L’église de Debre Birhan Sélassié, ensuite, dont l’intérieur est l’un des plus raffiné que connaît l’Ethiopie. Les murs sont recouverts de peaux de chèvres sur lesquelles ont été peintes des scènes de la Bible, tandis que le plafond est orné de 81 anges, tous différents. On s’émeut face à ces peintures d’un style que l’on pourrait qualifier de naïf mais qui révèlent une richesse incroyable. Les lignes graphiques sont simples mais dictées par un code bien précis déterminé par les patriarches orthodoxes. Les yeux, par exemple, sont peints de manière à ce que l’observateur se sente observé quel que soit l’endroit où il se trouve. Certainement une bonne manière pour l’Eglise d’affirmer son pouvoir sur ses sujets.
Je ne pouvais toutefois limiter ma visite à ces lieux historiques. Pendant mon séjour, l’Ethiopie était en pleine fièvre électorale et je voulais en savoir plus. Les dernières élections en 2005 avaient fait plus de 200 victimes, suite à la manipulation du scrutin par le parti au pouvoir (l’EPDRF). Je voulais savoir comment celles-ci allaient se dérouler et ce que penseraient les Ethiopiens de ce scrutin. La victoire de l’EPDRF était acquise. Le Premier ministre Meles Zenawi, qui ne voulait absolument pas renouveler le scénario de 2005, avait enfermé ou exilé tous les opposants crédibles. L’opposition restante, MEDREK, était constituée d’une plateforme de partis aux idées bien distinctes, dont le seul fil d’Ariane consistait en… une opposition au gouvernement en place ! Toutefois, pour éviter les conflits entre les différents partis, la coalition avait choisi d’instaurer une présidence tournante, ce qui rajoutait au désordre ! Enfin, nul besoin de parler amharique pour comprendre que les trois quarts des nouvelles concernant les élections étaient réservées aux abeilles, symbole de l’EPDRF. Bref, un parti au pouvoir ultra-dominant, une opposition désorganisée et des medias aux ordres : tout était en place pour une victoire sans surprise. Restait à savoir ce qu’en pensaient vraiment les Éthiopiens et comment les abeilles allaient orchestrer leur spectacle démocratique.
Je me rendis donc dans un « quartier populaire », c'est-à-dire un quartier où les visiteurs ne mettent généralement pas les pieds. J’y allais avec un peu d’appréhension, n’étant pas informé des quartiers fréquentables et infréquentables de la ville. Comme partout en Afrique, une nuée d’enfants se dirigea rapidement vers moi. Tous cherchèrent à me serrer la main, les plus téméraires m’accompagnant quelques pas. Certains en profitaient pour répéter les trois phrases qu’ils avaient apprises à l’école : « Hello Mister!.. How are you ?... Where coming from ?... », où encore la phrase apprise dans la rue : « One birr please ! ». Au bout d’un moment, pensant m’être suffisamment éloigné du centre-ville, je m’assis dans un ché bet (littéralement maison à thé) : quatre bancs protégés de la pluie, un petit comptoir où bout de l’eau où l’on vend quelques morceaux de pain. Très vite, je fus rejoint par les quelques habitants ayant de vagues notions d’anglais, trop heureux de pouvoir pratiquer. Je ne tardai pas à amener la conversation sur les élections, avec tout d’abord des questions d’ordre général.
« So, how is the voting system ?
– We receive a card, after we go to the pool and we vote.
– How many people are registered in the pool ?
– Sorry, repeat, I don’t understand what you say
– How many people go to vote in the pool ?
– There are more or less 400 people that should vote at the pool.
– You think voting is good ?
– Wait, wait ! You are election observer? Journalist ?
Très vite, en effet, je fus soupçonné de cacher mon jeu. Alors je trouvai la réponse la plus simple à leur question : je faisais des recherches sur les processus démocratiques en Afrique et c’est pour cela je m’étais rendu en Ethiopie. Parler à un étudiant chercheur était peut-être ce qui effrayait le moins, je pouvais continuer à poser mes questions, tout en sachant qu’il me fallait y aller molto-crescendo.
« You think voting is good ?
– Yes, voting is very good.
– And who do you think is going to win the elections ?
– You know… government they always win!
– Why ? (Pourquoi ?)
– Because they control everything, and they have money !
– So are you going to vote?
– Yes we will go, if I don’t go they will know it.
– So why do you think voting is good ?
– Voting is good in real democracies, not in Ethiopia »
Après quatre heures de bus depuis Gonder sur une route cahotante, je suis arrivé à Debark. Debark est la ville étape type, où l’on passe sans rester. Située à mi-chemin entre Gonder et Shire, elle est la porte d’entrée de la région des Simiens, ce qui lui a permis de se développer. Du sud au nord on traverse successivement le bureau du parc, la station-service, la station de bus, le marché, quelques maisons et puis voilà : rien ne séduit à Debark, mais pourtant c’est une Éthiopie, un Afrique, en taille réduite.
Soulagement, je peux enfin sortir du bus ! Le choc en comparaison de Gonder est fort, ici point de bajaj[1] où de minibus qui filent en tous sens, quelques garis[2] et encore… La seule circulation à laquelle on peut s’attendre est celle des véhicules empruntant la route Gonder-Shire. Comme partout en Ethiopie, l’étranger ne passe pas inaperçu, surtout dans une région touristique. Mais cette propension des gens à vouloir vous parler relève plus de la curiosité personnelle que de l’intérêt commercial. On cherche à pratiquer son anglais, à se faire de nouveaux amis, à ne pas laisser seul l’étranger, car ici la solitude n’est réservée qu’aux fous, même les mendiants ont un groupe. À Debark j’ai rencontré Giber, il m’a montré les terrains d’entraînement de l’association d’athlétisme locale (un champ à peu près plat sur lequel on a tracé des marques de distance), les quartiers du bourg, on a parlé un peu des élections. Ce genre de rencontre est facile en Ethiopie, à chacune de mes étapes, quelqu’un m’a servi plus ou moins de guide local, d’introduction auprès de certaines personnes. Ce qui m’a aidé à mieux comprendre ce pays, à l’apprécier.
J’ai ainsi pu dans l’après-midi organiser mon trek et rencontrer mon équipe : le guide, d’une gentillesse à toute épreuve, un gardien armé d’une vieille kalachnikov et une mule avec son conducteur pour transporter mes affaires. Je me suis senti comme un vrai pacha ! Mitiku, mon guide, m’a invité à partager son repas la soirée avant de partir, injera et shiro[3] au menu, ce qui serait le menu de tous les soirs suivants.
Le réveil à 6h00 a été difficile. Je voulais prendre une douche car je savais que ce serait un luxe dans les montagnes. Mais le matin, pas d’eau, ou plutôt, réticence marquée du propriétaire de l’hôtel pour allumer l’eau.J’effectue mes derniers achats avec Mitiku, puis nous partons vers les montagnes. Très vite nous pénétrons dans une campagne traditionnelle. Nous croisons une multitude de paysans qui vont et viennent dans les deux sens car mercredi, c’est jour de marché à Debark. Les femmes marchent par groupe de maximum quatre, bébés sur le dos, sac dans les mains et commérages constants au bord des lèvres. Les adolescents ont été réquisitionnés par les parents trop âgés pour porter leur maigre production. Parfois passe un convoi exceptionnel : un tronc d’eucalyptus qui a été déraciné pour être vendu à un grossiste de Debark.
Tandis que femmes et enfants sont partis s’affairer au marché, les hommes s’occupent à labourer la terre. Là aussi, technique de base : forme un Test formé avec deux troncs en bas duquel est fixé une lame tordue. La partie supérieure du T est fixée au dos de deux ânes, deux chevaux ou deux vaches (cela dépend du niveau de vie du fermier) qui vont faire de constants allers-retours dans le champ à contre flanc de la montagne. Des montagnes qui sont en fait de hauts plateaux, dont nous atteignons rapidement les sommets. De là, spectacle incroyable : une vaste plaine perchée à plus de 3 000 mètres d’altitude et dominant d’autres plateaux. Le premier choc vient de l’immensité du paysage alentour, aux reliefs acérés mais où chaque précipice, du point de vue d’où l’on se situe, semble n’être qu’un vulgaire trou. La végétation là-haut est quasiment absente mais dès que l’on redescend et que l’on s’approche d’une rivière, elle devient luxuriante.
Nous continuons notre route en longeant la crête. Après m’être pris pour un pacha, me vient la sensation de dominer le monde. Il me semble à portée de main ici, comme si je pouvais tendre mes bras et le façonner selon mes désirs. La marche est moins dure que ce que j’attendais. Mitiku est impressionné, il me dit que je vais très vite alors que d’habitude les non habitués ont tendance à souffrir, notamment de l’attitude. Au bout de sept heures de marche à vive allure, nous arrivons au camp de Sankaber à 3 600 mètres de haut. L’installation se fait rapidement et nous profitons des derniers rayons de soleil pour aller observer la faune locale. J’ai pu prendre une douche, ce sera la dernière des 4 prochains jours.
Plus j’avançais dans le trek, plus j’appréciai le cheminé J’aimais aussi me sentir coupé du monde. Nous marchions vers quelque chose d’indéfini. Pour mon équipe, c’était clair, nous nous dirigions vers tel sommet, tel camp en prenant telle route. Moi, je ne savais plus ce que je découvrais. Etaient-ce les paysages ? la vie locale ? la faune ? la flore ? Mes émotions étaient confuses. Bien sûr, c’était évident, je découvrais tout cela en même temps. Mais tant de nouveautés en un seul coup mélangeaient mon esprit, je ne savais plus où donner de la tête. A cela s’ajoutaient les contrariétés matérielles : la sensation d’être sale, le froid, la pluie. Celle-ci s’infiltrait la nuit dans la tente, tandis que les oiseaux ne trouvaient rien de mieux à faire que d’y donner des coups de becs, intrigués par ce nouveau relief… Vers la fin du trek, le manque de repos commençait à gêner ma marche. Rien de bien grave, juste une sensation continue de fatigue qui rendait mon jugement de plus en plus difficile chaque jour.
[1] Tuk-tuk, le nom Bajaj vient du nom de la compagnie (indienne) qui les fabrique.
Je suis arraché de mon lit à 4h30, la nuit est encore noire, une longue journée m’attend. A moitié endormi, je rejoins le bajaj qui doit m’amener à la gare routière. Les grilles ouvrent à 5h00, mais déjà la foule devant forme une masse compacte : voyageurs, coxers et vendeurs à la sauvette. L’ouverture de la gare est épique : tout le monde court en tous sens pour rejoindre le plus rapidement son bus. Non pas pour s’assurer une place, il reste des sièges vides jusqu’au départ, mais pour choisir la bonne. Chacun a sa préférée, mais en général, on s’accorde pour désigner les places avant comme les plus confortables. En effet, le chauffeur conduit son bus comme s’il ne le faisait que pour lui. Dès qu’il doit franchir un obstacle sur la route, il ralentit, passe doucement les deux roues avant, puis, ne ressentant plus aucun cahot, il accélère un grand coup sans se préoccuper de ses suspensions arrière ! Malheur pour la moitié de l’équipage …
Les bus stationnent serré les uns contre les autres, de manière à ce qu’un maximum puissent tenir dans la gare. L’espace entre chacun d’eux correspond plus ou moins à une corpulence humaine. Une fois les passagers installés, les coxers évaluent le nombre de sièges restant à vendre et partent à la pêche aux voyageurs perdus en quête d’un bus se rendant à leur destination. La loi éthiopienne interdit de faire voyager plus de personnes que de sièges assis dans le bus. Les propriétaires rivalisent alors d’ingéniosité pour en optimiser le nombre dans leur véhicule. Les options sont variables : créer des sièges sur le moteur (trois de plus), remplacer lesbanquettes de deux passagers confortablement assis pour des banquettes de trois passagers serrés (10 sièges deplus). Installer un petit banc dans la rangée du milieu (huit sièges de plus). Toutes ces solutions peuvent évidemment se combiner, l’important étant que chacun soit assis, peu importe comment !
Entre 5h00 et 5h30, les trois quarts du bus se remplissent, mais il reste un dernier quart à vendre. Quelle que soit alors l’étape, tant qu’elle se trouve sur le trajet, il s’agira d’attirer le badaud concerné. Pendant ce temps, s’invitent dans le bus vendeurs de cafés, de beignets, de chewing-gum, de fruits, de gâteaux, de journaux, prêcheurs chrétiens et musulmans et tout autre petit métier susceptible d’accrocher le voyageur Vers 6h15, le chauffeur commence à s’énerver, les coxers s’activent de plus belle. Le moteur se met à vrombir, mais le départ n’aura lieu qu’une demi-heure plus tard. Le chauffeur aura eu le temps de régler son MP3 préféré et de s’assurer que sur le toit, fonctionne le haut-parleur qui sert à se faire annoncer de loin, lors de l’arrivée dans un obscur village, pour permettre de récupérer deux à trois passagers de plus. Puis c’est tout un art pour le chauffeur d’extraire son véhicule du stationnement. Avancer en braquant doucement, puis reculer, avancer, reculer encore, avancer encore, klaxonner, reculer une dernière fois… Une nuée de gamins s’attelle à indiquer l’espace restant de chaque côté pour que le bus ne vienne pas cogner ses voisins. Une fois dégagé, on se croit en route pour de bon… Non ! Voilà le chauffeur qui descend et abandonne le bus au milieu du passage. Pas pour longtemps, car bientôt la portière rouvre, tandis que monte au volant le vrai chauffeur, qui s’assure que son employé a bien rempli le bus, a installé le bon MP3… et nous voilà partis ! Il est 7h00, ce n’est que le début du voyage.
En Ethiopie un bus c’est une communauté de destin. Tout le monde est embarqué dans la même galère. On bavarde avec son voisin, on voit si l’on n’a pas une connaissance en commun, on lui demande d’où il vient et où il va. Quand un passager se sent mal, tout le bus se met sens dessus dessous pour s’assurer qu’il ne va pas vomir, l’un ouvre la fenêtre (sinon elle reste fermée durant tout le trajet[1]), l’autre va chercher un sac en plastique auprès du chauffeur, le troisième s’enquiert d’une bouteille d’eau auprès de ses voisins… Dans ce pays, le groupe est extrêmement solidaire, peu importe d’où l’on vient, ce qui touche un membre de ce groupe implique l’ensemble.
Le trajet est chaotique. On ne dépasse pas les 25 km/h en montée, les 50 km/h sur le plat. Il faut un sacré sang-froid pour conduire ces mastodontes sur les routes éthiopiennes. Un bus mesure environ 6 m de long sur 2 de large, les quatre roues motrices ont la taille de roues de tracteur. Ces engins durent au moins 15 ans et c’est bien ainsi, quasiment que de la mécanique, beaucoup plus facile à réparer en cas de problèmes de moteur en route. La tâche la plus ardue, c’est de passer les virages, et dieu sait s’il y en a ici étant donné le relief du pays. Dans chaque descente, on prie le ciel que les freins ne lâchent pas et que les chauffeurs des bus qui montent soient aussi prudents que le sien…
Nombre d’évènements qui dans d’autres circonstances ne mériteraient guère d’attention pimentent ce voyage long et fatiguant. La pause toilette, par exemple, ne s’obtient qu’au bout d’une dizaine de demandes et permet aux quarante autres passagers de se dégourdir les jambes. Chaque étape dans un village signifie pour les uns la fin du voyage, pour d’autres une opportunité de se rendre à destination plus rapidement qu’à pied. Les nouveaux arrivants animent parfois le bus avec les poules qu’ils emportent avec eux. Dans l’Est du pays, les bus sont assaillis par les marchandes de qat dès qu’ils ralentissent. Ce sont les travaux qui entravent la circulation. La scène est alors la même sur toutes les routes. Deux ou trois ingénieurs chinois donnent à des ouvriers éthiopiens en haillons et chaussés de frustes sandales des instructions qui seront exécutées avec des outils rudimentaires.
La pause déjeuner permet de souffler un peu et de se préparer à la deuxième partie du voyage, tout aussi éprouvante que la première. Il faut aimer la nourriture éthiopienne et ne pas être trop regardant sur les conditions d’hygiène ! On s’arrête dans les endroits les plus improbables, là où, probablement, le chauffeur a un arrangement avec le restaurateur local. L’esprit de groupe fonctionne alors de manière mécanique. Comme on ne peut occuper une table à cinquante, on se divise en groupes d’une dizaine de personnes qui partagent ensemble le repas, devisant sur les péripéties passées et à venir. Les groupes se forment naturellement, par classe d’âge, de sexe, de professions.
Quand le bus approche de la destination de ceux dont bientôt la souffrance va s’achever, on sent monter l’excitation à bord. Les heureux élus rassemblent leurs effets, saluent leurs compagnons encore en route, s’assurent de n’avoir rien oublié à bord. Enfin, le bus s’arrête, les portes s’ouvrent, le coxer décharge les valises du toit, et une multitude de porteurs improvisés tente sa chance auprès des débarqués. De nouveaux passagers potentiels, courent vers le bus (premier arrivé premier servi), les marchands essaient de refourguer bouteilles d’eau et snacks. Une fois les nouveaux passagers débarqués, le bus lui, dans un nuage de poussière, repart, il lui reste encore de la route à faire…
[1] La légende raconte que l’origine de cette tradition plutôt étrange viendrait d’une recommandation du l’empereur Haile Selassie pour éviter les grippes. L’autre explication plus rationnelle est que les fenêtres sont fermées pour éviter que le bus ne se remplisse de poussière.
Je suis allé plusieurs fois en Ethiopie.
On ne peut être que séduit par ce pays..qui est en fait loin, très loin des clichés traditionnels.
tu le raconte trés bien.
Si tu veux aller à Gambela.. regarde mon post àce sujet.
« I swear by God in Whose power I am, that all that is written is the truth, and there is much more than what I have written » («Je jure par le Dieu dont je suis le serviteur que tout ce qui est écrit est la Vérité, et il y a bien davantage encore que ce que j’ai écrit ») Francisco Alvares, missionnaire et explorateur portugais, premier Européen à avoir, au début du XVIe siècle, découvert Lalibela
Quand j’évoque Lalibela, je ne peux m’empêcher de citer cette phrase qui traduit avec tant de justesse l’émotion ressentie lors de la visite de ce lieu magique. Lalibela : onze églises monolithes creusées et taillées en profondeur dans le roc. Pourquoi creusées en profondeur ? Il n’existe pas de réponse précise. Ce qui enchante à Lalibela, c’est le mystère que ce site porte en lui. Quand l’Eglise éthiopienne prétend que les églises furent édifiées en un jour grâce à l’aide des anges, les historiens se battent pour déterminer une période allant du VIIIe au XIIIe siècle…
Lalibela est située au sud du pays Wollo – l’épicentre de la famine de 1984–, une région restée longtemps inaccessible par avion. Cette situation à l’écart des grandes routes commerciales, où rien à priori n’attirerait militaires, voyageurs ou commerçants, incita très probablement le roi Lalibela à faire de Roha (l’actuelle Lalibela) sa capitale. C’est lui qui ordonna la construction de ces églises, actuellement rassemblées en deux groupes : 6 églises dans le groupe Nord et 4 dans le groupe Est. A l’écart, plus au sud, se situe une dernière église, Bet Giorgis, la seule à ne pas avoir été recouverte des toits hideux érigés par l’UNESCO pour protéger les autres églises sérieusement menacées par l’érosion. L’objectif du roi Lalibela était de bâtir une nouvelle Jérusalem, laquelle avait été envahie par les musulmans. Lalibela devint la capitale de l’empire d’Abyssinie entre les XIIe et XIIIe siècle. Par la suite, la monarchie éthiopienne devint nomade, s’installant au gré des saisons et des nécessités militaires dans des campements qui ne duraient pas plus de six mois.
A la différence des autres chrétientés africaines, la chrétienté éthiopienne n’a pas été imposée par les colons. L’Ethiopie fut chrétienne avant même que Rome ne le devînt. En 337 après J.-C., Ezama fit du christianisme la seule religion officielle de son Empire (dont la capitale était alors Axum). Lors de l’arrivée des jésuites en 1622, Suseyos, le roi de l’époque, tenta de convertir le pays au catholicisme. Mais, abandonné par ses sujets, il abdiqua en 1632 tandis que montait sur le trône Fasil (le roi fondateur de Gonder). Dès lors, l’Eglise éthiopienne retrouva et conserva son statut de religion d’Etat, s’alliant à la noblesse pour maintenir le régime féodal. Ce ne fut qu’en 1974 que fut abolie cette féodalité, au profit d’un régime communiste qui confisqua toutes ses terres à l’Eglise et à la noblesse. Une fois le Derg[1] renversé, le régime foncier ne fut pas modifié en profondeur (ce qui est notamment une des causes du manque actuel de productivité agricole en Ethiopie)
Lalibela est aujourd’hui pour les chrétiens éthiopiens un important lieu de pèlerinage, égalant Jérusalem en sainteté. Tous les mois, des centaines de pèlerins affluent des quatre coins du pays, souvent vêtus d’une simple couverture blanche (gabi) et avec pour tout bagage un bâton. Loin d’être un simple site historique, Lalibela reste avant tout un lieu saint, que la timide fréquentation touristique ne dénature en rien. Bien sûr, les prêtres essaient d’en profiter, mais ils le font autant avec les pèlerins qu’avec les touristes. Le mystère du lieu est savamment exploité par les autorités religieuses. Bet Maryam, considérée comme l’église la plus sainte de Lalibela, est construite autour d’un pilier sur lequel serait révélé comment les églises sont sorties de la roche et comment finira le monde. Mais les prêtres recouvrent ce pilier d’un drap, qu’ils changent tous les ans, prétendant que la faiblesse des humains ne leur permettrait pas de supporter ces vérités. De même, le prêtre de Bet Abba Libanos convainc les visiteurs qu’un point lumineux sur le mur intérieur de l’église brille 24 heures sur 24. Or l’Eglise n’ouvrant que le jour, difficile de vérifier cette affirmation…
Tandis que nous nous cheminons vers Bet Giorgis, mon ami anglais et moi, nous sommes accostés par un petit garçon qui veut nous parler. Par habitude, nous feignons plus ou moins de l’ignorer, mais il insiste. Au bout du compte, comme il parle assez bien anglais, nous nous mettons à échanger. Il nous propose un jeu : nous choisissons un pays et il nous en donne la capitale.
« England ?
- London !
- The USA ?
- Washington !
- Kenya ?
- Nairobi ! Come on this is too easy !
- Ok ok, Romania ?
- Bucharest !
- Chile ?
- Santiago! I told you I know everyone!.. »
Nous sommes impressionnés par ses connaissances en géographie, mais aussi en l’histoire : il nous cite les voyages de Marco Polo, évoque les débats qui suivirent les découvertes de Galilée… Lorsque nous lui demandons pourquoi il étudie autant, il nous répond qu’il voudrait être avocat ou docteur et qu’il il faut donc beaucoup travailler. Sa famille vivant à 40 kilomètres de là, il réside chez sa tante à qui il doit payer une contribution qu’il finance en cirant des chaussures. A l’approche de l’église, il nous quitte précipitamment car si la police le voit avec nous, elle risque de l’embêter.
Je rencontrerai Benjamin deux jours après au marché. Il me guide dans les étals, me montre les épices, le café, m’aide à négocier du miel. Il se fait parfois rabrouer par les locaux qui lui ordonnent de me laisser tranquille. Il me présente sa mère qui est venue de son village pour vendre sa maigre production. Je rends un hommage particulier à cet enfant de dix ans d’une maturité que certains n’atteignent pas à vingt ans ! Il essaye de s’en sortir dans un pays qui lui ne lui fera certainement pas de cadeaux, mais je garde l’espoir de le revoir dans vingt ans revêtu d’une robe d’avocat ou d’une blouse de docteur. Il me quitte en me promettant de prier pour moi, mais c’est moi qui prierai pour lui.
[1] Littéralement comité. Nom donné au régime de Mengitsu Haile Mariam qui gouverna l’Éthiopie de 1974 à 1987
Une vaste plaine verdie par les pluies, telle m’apparaît la région Somali d’Éthiopie lorsque je la survole. J’ai embarqué dans une sorte de bus volant qui part d’Addis-Abeba et dessert plusieurs villes du « Far East » éthiopien. Les passagers me dévisagent avec étonnement lorsqu’ils réalisent que je vais descendre à Jijiga, la capitale de la région. Géographiquement parlant, je suis toujours en Éthiopie, mais sur le terrain la situation est plus complexe. Cette région, peuplée de Somalis, un peuple musulman aux traditions très différentes de celles de l’Éthiopie chrétienne, est encore affectée par les combats qui opposent toujours le FLO, le Front de Libération de l’Ogaden (partie de la région limitrophe de la Somalie), à l’armée éthiopienne.
A l’aéroport je suis accueilli par Yaya, un chauffeur du Haut Commissariat aux Réfugiés de l’ONU. Il me dépose à mon hôtel et s’excuse de devoir me laisser mais il est appelé sur le terrain pour fixer quelques poutres dans un camp de réfugiés situé à proximité. Assis sur la terrasse, je me remémore les mots de Marie lorsque nous discutions de Jijiga :
« Toi, tu ne réalises pas où tu vas atterrir! »
La ville est coupée en deux par une artère qui ressemble plus à une piste d’atterrissage qu’à une avenue. D’un côté le quartier Amhara, où se sont installés les premiers fonctionnaires coloniaux éthiopiens. On y trouve de nombreux bars crasseux dans lesquels trône une table de billard et où l’on peut parier une bière avec son voisin sur l’issue de la partie. De l’autre côté, le quartier des Somalis, plus commerçant, où les marchandises électroniques fraîchement arrivées du Somaliland voisin sont plus faciles à trouver que la moindre goutte d’alcool. Pour la plupart des habitants, les relations sont cordiales mais distantes avec les membres de l’autre groupe ‑ on ne peut ignorer les tensions qui existent à quelques kilomètres de là. Au marché, on ne demande pas à un étranger s’il est en visite mais s’il travaille pour la CIA où le Mossad. Dès que la nuit tombe, les portes des hôtels sont cadenassées, les fenêtres barrées. Tout le monde est soumis à une fouille plus ou moins rigoureuse à l’entrée dans un bar où un restaurant. Les conversations tournant autour du FLO sont prohibées en public. Enfin, l’armée impose un semi couvre-feu à partir de 19h00, seules les voitures privées sont autorisées à circuler.
Assis à la terrasse du café de l’hôtel, j’ai le temps d’observer ce qui se trame autour de moi. Les assemblées d’anciens débattent du commerce, des affaires de familles, des mariages dont le but est surtout d’apaiser les tensions et/ou agrandir les troupeaux. Les quelques visiteurs qui peuplent les chambres des hôtels sont soit des fonctionnaires gouvernementaux, soit des commerçants. Les hôtels les plus chers abritent les hauts gradés de l’armée, les travailleurs de l’ONU et les membres des ONG. Ces deux derniers, totalement dépendants des autorités éthiopiennes pour la bonne réalisation de leurs tâches, sont volontairement coupés de la population locale qui ne les apprécie guère, les accusant d’être à la solde du gouvernement et d’adopter un comportement hautain.
Je traîne deux jours à Jijiga pour tenter d’en savoir plus sur le Somaliland et m’assurer des contacts. Puis enfin, me voilà en route pour Hargeisa, la capitale. Une camionnette archi-bondée me mène jusqu’à la frontière où je devrai trouver un camion de marchandises acceptant quelques passagers pour arrondir ses fins de mois. À la frontière, l’ambiance tout à coup s’anime. Alors que Jijiga et ses environs paraissent vivre sous une chape de plomb, la ville frontière de Wajaale grouille d’activité. Des camions chargés de qat arrivent d’Ethiopie et repartent pleins produits électroniques échangés contre leur chargement avec des camions somalis, ceci à longueur de journée. Comme toute ville frontière, elle grouille de petits contrebandiers qui font des allers-retours avec téléphones portables, pierres précieuses ou cigarettes.
Une fois réglées les formalités administratives, je réalise brusquement que, voilà, j’y suis, au Somaliland, cette région sécessionniste de la Somalie réputée pour être l’une des plus dangereuses au monde. Peu de personnes osent s’y aventurer, les informations dont on dispose sont maigres. Je n’ai pas la prétention d’apporter une vision éclairée sur les problématiques somaliennes, je veux seulement témoigner de ce que j’ai pu observer sur place.
- --Note--
Je vais dans ce post continuer à mettre des textes sur l'Éthiopie. J'ai aussi un carnet sur le Somaliland que vous pouvez consulter si vous souhaitez continuer à voyager "dans l'ordre de mon voyage"
Merci.
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Harar, un nom qui fait rêver des milliers de fanatiques de Rimbaud. Harar, la cité du commerce, la quatrième ville sainte de l’Islam, les légendes qui l’entourent, son peuple si particulier, les Harari. Unique ville entourée de murailles qui subsiste dans l’Est de l’Afrique, Harar est à l’opposé de l’Éthiopie chrétienne.
Située sur un plateau s’élevant à près de 2000 m, Harar surprend en premier lieu par sa végétation. Que l’on arrive de Somalie (à l’est) ou du Danakil (à l’ouest), Harar reste une oasis verdoyante. Tout autour de la ville est cultivé le meilleur qat du pays, expédié à grande vitesse aux quatre coins de la région, soit par avion, soit en « Al-Qaïda » (des petits camions japonais qui tiennent leur surnom de la vitesse à laquelle les conduisent leurs chauffeurs…). Vient ensuite la ville fortifiée, le Jugal, qui rappelle un souk : dédale de ruelles dont chacune à sa fonction – la rue des tailleurs (rue des machines à coudre), la place des bouchers, la place du Qat… Impossible enfin d’évoquer Harar sans parler de sa spiritualité, avec ses quatre-vingt-dix-neuf mosquées disséminées dans le Jugal. Chacune dispose de jours et d’heures à laquelle elle peut appeler à la prière grâce à un accord âprement négocié entre les imams locaux. Il s’agit en fait de maisons réaménagées sur lesquelles ont été édifiés les minarets ; mais les appels à la prière se font davantage du haut du balcon que du haut du minaret. Habitué aux mosquées imposantes, j’ai l’impression d’être devant des temples de poupées !
Les habitants d’Harar s’enorgueillissent de leurs différences, les visiteurs se laissent séduire par cette ville profondément musulmane à l’intérieur d’une Éthiopie chrétienne. Mais il existe une part d’ombre. Harar a toujours été la ville des commerces les plus répugnants de la région. Le poète Arthur Rimbaud y séjourna entre 1880 et 1891 pour organiser un trafic d’armes plus ou moins légal avec l’empire Éthiopien (il se lia d’ailleurs d’amitié avec Ras Tefari, le futur Hailé Sélassié). Richard Burton explorateur anglais, dans la description d’Harar qu’il fait en 1855 confirme l’opinion des Somali : « Harar est un paradis peuplé de faces de culs. »
À vrai dire, je n’ai trouvé Harar ni merveilleuse ni répugnante. C’est une ville intéressante à visiter pour ce qu’elle représente mais elle ne vaut pas à elle seule un déplacement en Éthiopie. L’influence française se sent fortement dans la région, la voiture la plus populaire n’étant autre que la Peugeot 404 ! On en voit circuler par dizaines sur l’avenue principale de Charleville-Mézières, avec pour fonction de tenir lieu de minibus. Ce que je retiendrai surtout d’Harar, c’est son petit côté ville coloniale à la française. Le Jugal est intéressant, mais cela n'est après tout qu'un souk et il en existe un bien plus beau de l'autre côté du golde d'Aden, Sanaa. C’est aussi la seule ville au monde où l’on m’a recommandé de ne pas m’aventurer seul la nuit afin d’éviter de me faire dévorer par… des hyènes !
Grand souvenir Chris ..... 😉 j'ai meme un film .... mais de la a se faire devorer, n'exagerons rien, je me rappelle le premier soir y etre alle et avoir vu cette Maman partir dans le noir, avec son bebe dans le dos, les Hyenes derriere elle et pas le moins du monde inquiete .....
Dire que Harrar n'est pas une ville fantastique est manque de discernememt .... j'y suis alle par deux fois, et c'est vraiment magique ... pas beaucoup d'endroit de par le Monde ne m'ont laisse une telle impression de bout du monde ....
Et parler d'influence francaise ..... 🤪 alors que la majorite des anciens baragouinent encore un mauvais italien ....
Dire que Harrar n'est pas une ville fantastique est manque de discernememt .... j'y suis alle par deux fois, et c'est vraiment magique ... pas beaucoup d'endroit de par le Monde ne m'ont laisse une telle impression de bout du monde ....
J'essayais juste d'interpréter ce que j'ai pu ressentir à Harrar. Je conçois tout à fait que l'on puisse adorer Harrar et la trouver magique, je n'ai juste pas été touché comme certain on pu l'être par cette ville. Tu parles d'une impression de bout du monde, ceci je l'ai ressenti à Jesus au Parguay, dans un village abandonné en Alberta... Pas à Harrar.
Je ne nie pas que ce soit une ville formidable et très intéressante. J'ai essayé de pondérer au maximum mes impressions mais c'est vrai que j'ai été déçu par Harrar (comme certains peuvent être déçu par l'Éthiopie en général). Je pense avoir été aveuglé par les récits dythirambique que certains on pu faire sur Harrar et que je m'attendais à beaucoup plus. Comme on dit en anglais: too bad for me.
Et parler d'influence francaise ..... 🤪
J'évoque le fait qu'Harrar est la ville "la plus française" que j'ai visité en Éthiopie. Voir des peugeots, un centre culturel français et l'avenue Charleville Mézières en Éthiopie me marque plus qu'un ancien qui baragouine italien où des édifices arts décos (choses relativement communes en Éthiopie) .
En me relisant je reconnaît m'être mal exprimé. Harrar n'est pas "une ville coloniale française" mais j'y ai ressenti l'influence de la France. C'est le seul endroit en Éthiopie que j'ai pu comparer à Dakar par exemple. L'influence française est quand même très présente, Rimbaud et Monfreid sont les plus connus mais il y eut nombres de français (où d'Européens francophiles) qui se sont établis à Harrar et aux alentours.
Mon dernier arrêt sur la route entre la Somalie et Addis-Abeba sera Bishoftu. Située à 80 kilomètres d’Addis, la ville est le lieu de week-end favori des habitants de la capitale. Les rues s’étendent entre trois lacs volcaniques dont un qui s’assèche 6 mois durant pendant l’année. Le premier lac, le lac Bishoftu, a été envahi par diverses constructions à vocation hôtelières dont le goût est plus que discutable. J’ai pu néanmoins « admirer » les goûts architecturaux des nouveaux riches Éthiopiens! Le deuxième lac important, le lac Hora, a été protégé de la destruction paysagiste grâce à la présence de l’ancien palais de villégiature d’Hailé Sélassié. Un sentier suit les berges du lac mais la présence de brigands oblige à être accompagné pour en faire le tour. La nature est luxuriante, un paysage auquel je n’ai guère été habitué en Éthiopie. Le plus envoûtant pour moi fut d’observer les oiseaux au plumage multicolore. Je comprends facilement que Bishoftu soit apprécié par les éthiopiens. La ville est calme, la nature y est reposante et on est proche d’Addis. Les premiers à en profiter sont les militaires qui disposent à Bishoftu de plusieurs centres d’entrainement et de repos parmi les plus avantageux pour eux.
De retour à Addis, je retrouve Marie, malheureusement pas aussi disponible que lors de notre première rencontre. Son déménagement en Colombie approchant, elle était en proie à une grande tension. Je suis resté quelques jours dans la capitale, rendant visite à mes contacts, aidant Marie dans ses démarches et profitant des quelques musées.
Je suis sûr que chacun de nous a une liste d’endroits où il rêve de mettre les pieds même si il n’y connaît strictement rien. Addis, ça fait partie de mes endroits mythiques quelque chose d’irrationnel m’amenait à penser que cette ville était ma propre Atlantis. C’est une ville fascinante, parce que c’est l’Éthiopie actuelle tout en étant son avenir. Là où se rassemblent les destins de la mosaïque de peuples que constitue l’Éthiopie.
Il y a bien sur le bordel ambiant, les vendeurs à la sauvette, les mendiants, les minibus, la circulation chaotique, les cireurs de chaussures… C’est le premier contact que certains ont d’Addis et souvent le dernier. Toutefois il existe d’autres manières de l’appréhender, lorsqu’on décide vraiment de s’intéresser à la ville elle nous révèle toute sa beauté et sa complexité.
C’est la ville de l’intelligentsia éthiopienne. Les étudiants, les professeurs de lycée, les membres assidus des représentations culturelles occidentales, tous se sont donnés rendez-vous. On dirait même qu’ils ont tous convenu de se rencontrer à Piazza où ils organisent d’interminables débats sur la situation de leur pays tout en sirotant leurs cafés.
Mélange de peuples africains, Addis est aussi le mélange le plus étrange de peuples européens. Italiens, arméniens, grecs, français… Tous semblent un peu perdu dans ce pays qui ne sera jamais vraiment le leur. Pourtant jamais il ne pourrait le quitter, où l’abandonner totalement. Ils y ont vécu tellement de moments inoubliables que pour rien au monde ils ne pourraient être arrachés d’une terre qui n’est pas totalement la leur.
Mais avant tout Addis est une grande ville africaine, or en Afrique les villes reproduisent généralement les structures villageoises en 10, 15 fois plus grand. Les quartiers sont des rassemblements d’exilés ruraux. Les cérémonies rituelles s’y déroulent toujours de manière traditionnelle. Il n’est pas rare d’y voir des bergers traverser les grandes avenues embouteillées au milieu de la journée avec leurs chèvres ! C’est là toute la beauté et la complexité de ces villes, si déroutantes pour les novices.
L’avenir de l’Afrique se dessine dans ses villes, que ce soit Addis, Nairobi, Lagos, Dakar, Johannesburg, Kinshasa. Toutes ces villes vivent la transition qui s’opère en Afrique. Je dis transition car je crois fortement que le continent est sur la voie d’une transformation. Où cela mènera, je n’en sais rien. Il existe nombreuses routes pour les années à venir, mais j’ai espoir que l’Afrique empruntera celle qui lui siéra le mieux.
Harar est une fille prude, à contrario des beautés bipèdes que l'on peut croiser dans ses venelles à la tombée du jour... Elle ne se découvre que lentement, par petites touches, à un coin de rue, dans une échoppe du marché couvert, à la terrasse du café Alibal de la place Feres Megala, devant un brasero de tibs de chèvre à la nuit venue, ... Harar n'est pas au bout du monde, elle est une monde en elle-même. On la découvre petit à petit au fil des séjours entre ses murs (j'y suis déjà allé 4 fois), elle se livre vraiment que si l'on prend la peine de ne pas la brusquer. Elle se donne vraiment qu'aux personnes contemplatives, peu pressées et prêtes à tout découvrir. Inutile de vouloir l'apprivoiser en deux jours! Harar est une fille facile, mais plutôt difficile à dévoiler.
Inutile de lire tout Rimbaud et Monfreid pour partir à sa découverte, mais se plonger dans cette époque trouble (fin 19e, début 20e) permet de "lire" la ville close avec une approche particulière peu affectée par le développement actuel. Suffit de monter sur le haut de la ville en direction de Jijiga pour être plongé dans un calme propice à la méditation, s'imaginer à la belle époque des trafiquants d'arme et surtout contempler la ville avec un recul nécessaire. Quant à dire qu'Harar est la ville la plus française d'Abyssinie c'est méconnaître Dire Dawa, son chemin de fer et surtout son histoire presque totalement influencée par la France. Harar n'a de français que le fait que Rimbaud et Monfreid (accessoirement) y aient séjourné. Arrêtons de voir Harar comme la France en Éthiopie: Harar est profondément éthiopienne, ou tout au moins somali. Seul la Légion et les militaires/fonctionnaires français basés à Djibouti y séjournaient du temps d'Hailé Sélassié, lorsqu'ils désiraient passer des vacances "à la montagne".
Les Peugeots hararis sont montées depuis Djibouti dans les années 50-70, ont été pieusement conservées à travers les troubles des guerres éthio-somaliennes et l'époque du DERG. Aujourd'hui elles sont maintenues en état de rouler grâce aux copies des pièces de rechange fabriquées au Brésil et en Thaïlande. Mais les Bajajs (tricycles indiens) les concurrencent dangereusement et l'époque on l'on pouvait se faire véhiculer dans Harar en se vautrant dans le vieux cuir odorant d'une 403 est bientôt révolu. Dommage selon moi!
N'hésitez pas à découvrir la vraie Harar, parfois cachée, mais si facile d'accès. Car si Harar n'est pas l’Éthiopie, l’Éthiopie sans Harar n'est pas vraiment l’Éthiopie.
Je suis tout à fait d'accord avec toi concernant le charme d'Harar.
Chaque fois que je vais en Ethiopie (2 fois par an), je fais un saut pour passer une journée à Harar (et aussi pour rendre visite à Mama Kiki à Awash).
Les hyènes...bon.
Que cela amuse les touristes et permette à quelqu'un d'avoir un revenu : tant mieux.
Harar est profondément éthiopienne, ou tout au moins somali
Je ne trouve pas qu'Harar soit Somali. Même si de nombreux somalis y vivent, Harar est avant toute chose Harari. Lorsque je visitait Harar je revenait du Somaliland J'ai vraiment senti la différence qu'il existe entre les deux cultures (Harari-Somali). Bien sur, à force de co-exister ensemble elles ont pu mutuellement s'influencer.
Comme toute ville, il est nécessaire d'y passer un certain temps avant de l'apprécier à sa juste valeur. Mais ce n'est pas tout le monde qui a l'opportunité d'y aller plusieurs fois par an. Encore une fois, je n'essaie pas de dire qu'Harar c'est nul, ça ne vaut rien etc etc... J'exprime juste le fait que j'ai été personellement déçu par rapport aux attentes que j'avait. Il y a des villes que l'on aime au premier contact (New York/Rome/Londres/Chicago/Buenos Aires) et des villes qui laissent indifférentes les premiers jours mais qui peu à peu s'avèrent passionantes(Montréal/Montevideo/Athènes/Addis Abeba/Los Angeles). Personellement je classerai Harar dans cette deuxième catégorie, libre à chacun d'établir ses préférences.
J'adorerai aller à Harar avec l'un de ses fervents défenseurs et je suis sur que j'apprécierai mieux la ville.
Pour le côté français encore une fois je ne prétends pas qu'Harar est une ville française, mais que l'influence de la france s'y fait ressentir beaucoup plus que dans les autres endroits que j'ai pu visiter en Éthiopie. J'imagine bien que Dire Dawa est bien plus "française" mais je n'y suis pas allé.
😛 allez je vais y mettre mon petit grain de sel moi aussi ....
Harrar est une ville totalement différente du reste de l'Ethiopie : adieu les hauts plateaux abysins et les paysans amharas en short et chamas , adieu le sud et ses tribus fascinantes , adieu la vallée du rift et les lacs , et ainsi de suite je pourrais citer toutes les régions du pays , rien de comparable .
Harrar , j'ai adoré bien sur , bien plus que les grandes villes du monde dont tu parles , mais ceci est un choix uniquement personnel ....
Je ne suis déjà pas trop emballé par les grandes mégapoles , sans pour cela les trouver dénuées de charme ...
Donc d'emblée on ne part pas sur la meme "grille de départ " ce qui faussera tout le jugement futur ...
Tu en attendais trop et tu n as pas été séduit c'est tout ...peut etre ton age n 'est-il pas aussi propice que le mien à une certaine forme de séduction et que tu en attendais autre chose !
Alan par exemple qui adore trainer dans les grandes villes de ce monde est pourtant tombé lui aussi sous le charme de Harrar ...
Harrar vous séduit , vous charme ...
Harrar se vit une fois , deux fois , toujours surement
Je n'y suis allé qu'une fois mais quand je retournerais en Ethiopie , avec quelques jours devant moi , je ne manquerai pas son marché au kat , ses venelles tortueuses ses restos cachés , sa population bigarrée , ses mendiants , ses remparts ...etc...
Quelques villes pour lesquelles j'ai bien accroché te donneront une idée pour comprendre comment Harrar a su m'accrocher :
Saana au Yemen une ville magique , Habbaba dans les montagnes du nord Yemen et sa citerne , Mascate au sultanat d'Oman surtout mutrah et la corniche , Luang Prabang au Laos malgré le rush touristique , Vancouver au canada , Manado à Sulawesi indonésie , Fira à Santorin iles greques mais hors saison , Ispahan et Yazd en Iran ...
d'emblée on ne part pas sur la meme "grille de départ " ce qui faussera tout le jugement futur
Je comprends ce que tu veux dire. D'ailleurs je n'ai pas vraiment aimé Vancouver que tu as apprecié (et encore une fois je ne risque pas de me faire beaucoup d'amis 😊).
Quoi qu'il en soit je retournerais certainement en Éthiopie et je retournerai à Harar rien que pour rencontrer les amis que je me suis fait là bas et aller qater avec eux! Je pense qu'avec le recul j'apprécierai mieux la ville. De là à dire que je la classerai comme mon endroit préféré en Éthiopie... Je suis quelqu'un de têtu 😏
je ne suis encore jamais allé en Ethiopie... et donc ne peux participer à la polémique sur Harar😉!
en tout cas merci pour ce récit qui me confirme dans l'idée de découvrir ce pays que je ne connais que par reportages TV interposés ou témoignages comme le tien.
Mon désir étant de découvrir la vallée de l'Omo puis celle du Rift en descendant vers le Kenya, accompagné de ma fille!... est ce réalisable?... je n'en sais rien pour le moment!
lorsque je préparerai ce voyage je viendrai m'enrichir sur ce blog
merci encore pour ce témoignage... et toutes ces réactions qu'il suscitent😉
Je ne connais pas du tout la région que tu envisages de visiter malheureusement. Je pense que c'est faisable avec une fille mais peut être pas avant qu'elle ait 7-8 ans. Pour qu'elle puisse avoir des souvenirs déjà et aussi qu'elle soit plus forte (parce que c'est dur de passer de l'Europe à l'Afrique, il faut faire ses défenses corporelles).
Le moment venu, il faudra préciser l'âge de ta fille.
Le sud de la vallée de l'Omo vaut vraiment le voyage.
Si tu veux te faire une idée, va voir ma page perso : maesjl.perso.sfr.fr
Ensuite, si tu veux, je pourrai tenter de répondre à tes questions.
ma fille à 12 ans et elle a (déjà) l'habitude des voyages "roots"; elle est déjà allée entre autre en Indes et Bornéo, Namibie, ....
cet été 2011 je prépare notre voyage au Pérou et en Bolivie avec quelques jours en forêt amazonienne (côté péruvien ou bolivien, je ne sais pas encore car je veux la découvrir hors des gros circuits touristiques)
Quelques villes pour lesquelles j'ai bien accroché te donneront une idée pour comprendre comment Harrar a su m'accrocher :
Saana au Yemen une ville magique , Habbaba dans les montagnes du nord Yemen et sa citerne , Mascate au sultanat d'Oman surtout mutrah et la corniche , Luang Prabang au Laos malgré le rush touristique , Vancouver au canada , Manado à Sulawesi indonésie , Fira à Santorin iles greques mais hors saison , Ispahan et Yazd en Iran ...
Dans cette liste je ne connais encore que Sanaa, Isfahan et Yazd, et j'imagine alors aisément combien Harar me prendra aussi...
Je commence à m'intéresser sérieusement à l'Éthiopie et vos carnets m'y transporte déjà. Merci !
Du coup je me réécoute les émissions de "Là-bas s'y j'y suis", il nous propose d'ailleurs une visite d'Harar... 😉
Génial ce Daniel...
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!!!
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 😊.
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’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!
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, 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
"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...
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.
Last October, we landed in Marrakech to spend a few days with family exploring Morocco’s roads.
Transport: a rented Dacia.
Accommodations: small guesthouses.
Our first stop was just a few kilometers from Marrakech, at a lovely house perfect for relaxing and recharging before continuing. It’s called Bleu House, a little paradise on the outskirts of Marrakech. The welcome was very warm, with a beautiful pool and a lovely garden.
Next, we headed toward the Tichka Pass. The road has really improved in recent years—it’s much easier to drive now. No more getting stuck behind trucks, and today, the construction is practically finished.
Morocco has turned green after the recent rains. It’s a joy for the herds and shepherds.
I hesitated about writing this travel journal...
This summer, we only did the classics (the 3 northern parks and Zanzibar) and let a local agency take care of everything from start to finish.
No craziness, no risks, no sleeping under the stars, no self-drive, no venturing off the beaten path, no incidents, and not even any delays in the pre-planned itinerary...
But don’t think we were disappointed!
The whole family (there were 6 of us) came back with smiles and memories of great moments spent together.
So, if you're looking for a "classic" way to discover Tanzania, this is the place to be.
Our 2-week itinerary:
- Arusha (1 night upon arrival)
- Tarangire (1 night)
- Ngorongoro (2 nights in Karatu then Irmisigiyo)
- Serengeti (3 nights in Robanda, Togoro Plains, and Seronera)
- Zanzibar Stone Town (1 night)
- Zanzibar Matemwe (3 nights)
- Zanzibar Jambiani (3 nights)
Come along, I'm taking you to this country where it's so nice to wander and slow down...
This trip was in 2023, but when I wanted to write my travel journal, VF was still closed to contributions...
So, now that I've just finished my Japan travel journal here, I figured it was high time to honor this destination we came back from so enchanted.
Disclaimer 1: This is a written travel journal. There’ll be text! Too much, for some!
Disclaimer 2: This is an illustrated travel journal. There’ll be photos! Too many, for some!
I have to say, every time I try to discipline myself, to keep it shorter, to include fewer photos... I end up adding more. It feels like my dear Aunt Nicole, who exhausted us with her slide-show evenings in the 70s/80s, decided to take her revenge. The upside for you, readers, is that you can slip away anytime without offending Aunt Nicole. I won’t even notice!
Anyway, since I love maps, here’s one to give you an idea of where I’m taking you. As you can see, we only saw a tiny part of Laos (the areas circled in red); we only had 3 weeks for ourselves (my husband’s newly retired, I still work), and we prefer taking our time over rushing around like crazy.
In broad strokes, it was very classic:
First, we “settled in” at Luang Prabang (8 days), because we wanted and needed to.
From there, we took three days to venture a little further north—not far in kilometers, but as we know, distances aren’t just about km!
Then we flew south to Paksé, letting ourselves drift down to the 4,000 Islands while stopping by the pre-Angkorian archaeological sites.
We wrapped up with the Bolaven Plateau.
A few practical notes: We arrived via Bangkok, then took a Bangkok-Luang Prabang flight, having picked up our luggage in Bangkok to check it in for Luang Prabang. No issues—the Bangkok airport, which many of you know, is very well organized.
We got our visas on arrival in Luang Prabang. Quick, but to be fair, we were on a “small” plane, and the big flights had arrived earlier, so we weren’t too crowded in line!
At the end of our trip, we didn’t fly out of Paksé but from the nearby airport in Thailand, Ubon Ratchathani (a 2.5-hour drive from Paksé), then Bangkok and Paris.
You’ll notice we skipped Vientiane to stay longer in Luang Prabang. That said, there’s now a high-speed train between Vientiane and Luang Prabang—good to know—and soon the (Chinese) train will go all the way to Bangkok and even Kuala Lumpur!
With that intro out of the way, let’s dive into the heart of the matter.
To be continued: Slowing down the pace... in Luang Prabang
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.
Last October, we landed in Marrakech to spend a few days with family exploring Morocco’s roads.
Transport: a rented Dacia.
Accommodations: small guesthouses.
Come along, I'm taking you to this country where it's so nice to wander and slow down...