Here we go!
Cattle graze in the area, under the watchful eye of their owners and near wildebeest, zebras, impalas, gazelles, and topi, without disturbing each other—at least, not visibly. Further on, there are elands, a large herd of buffalo, a family of warthogs, elephants in a thicket—there’s never a dull moment. Mickaël is very attentive but not used to photographers’ whims, never stopping exactly where the light and angle are best. Plus, he seems unsure about which direction to take, as we exit the park toward Bushra only to re-enter near a rundown hut and a rusty, twisted barrier where we still have to show our permits, receipts, and passports to grumpy rangers. The herders here are more discreet, staying at the park’s edge, their livestock barely mixing with the many wild animals grazing as far as the eye can see across the rolling plains. You can spot zebras, Thomson’s gazelles, large herds of wildebeest, buffalo wallowing in the marshes, and in the distance, a cluster of Toyotas. As in any African sanctuary, where there’s a crowd, there’s a feline—sure enough, in front of the 12 vehicles parked in a semicircle on the roadside, a cheetah and her four cubs lie about twenty meters from the track. Mom is stoic, clearly used to this, but the little ones stare at the strange machines bothering them with agitation.
Not a fan of this kind of situation, we leave quickly, much to our driver’s surprise, who was waiting his turn to get as close as possible. *Weird folks*, he must be thinking. The vast savanna around us regains its tranquility, as all the tourists in the area rush in for the family photo. That leaves us plenty of time to observe the nearly overlooked thousands of herbivores populating these expanses—mostly wildebeest, zebras, Thomson’s gazelles, hartebeest, and topi.
I like close-up shots.
Cattle graze in the area, under the watchful eye of their owners and near wildebeest, zebras, impalas, gazelles, and topi, without disturbing each other—at least, not visibly. Further on, there are elands, a large herd of buffalo, a family of warthogs, elephants in a thicket—there’s never a dull moment. Mickaël is very attentive but not used to photographers’ whims, never stopping exactly where the light and angle are best. Plus, he seems unsure about which direction to take, as we exit the park toward Bushra only to re-enter near a rundown hut and a rusty, twisted barrier where we still have to show our permits, receipts, and passports to grumpy rangers. The herders here are more discreet, staying at the park’s edge, their livestock barely mixing with the many wild animals grazing as far as the eye can see across the rolling plains. You can spot zebras, Thomson’s gazelles, large herds of wildebeest, buffalo wallowing in the marshes, and in the distance, a cluster of Toyotas. As in any African sanctuary, where there’s a crowd, there’s a feline—sure enough, in front of the 12 vehicles parked in a semicircle on the roadside, a cheetah and her four cubs lie about twenty meters from the track. Mom is stoic, clearly used to this, but the little ones stare at the strange machines bothering them with agitation.
Not a big fan of this kind of situation, we leave quickly, much to our driver’s surprise, who was waiting his turn to get as close as possible. *Weird folks*, he must be thinking. The vast savanna around us regains its tranquility, as all the tourists in the area rush in for the family photo. That leaves us plenty of time to observe the nearly overlooked thousands of herbivores populating these expanses—mostly wildebeest, zebras, Thomson’s gazelles, hartebeest, and topi.
We have a meet-up in the woods where we’ll camp for the night, but Mike doesn’t know the spot, so we drive in circles for a while before spotting the lanky silhouette of MDH’s assistant coming toward us through the tall grass, where three huge buffalo are resting. They bolt at his arrival or the sound of the engine. We follow him through the maze of the gallery forest and end up in a clearing. Our host greets us with the legendary phrase, “Mr. and Mrs. B…, I presume!” He offers us a drink and introduces us to Motoron. A strange nickname for a proud warrior, you might say? His mother named him that because at birth, he was near death and only started living after several “jolts.” He’s about thirty years old, polygamous—more precisely, “trigamous”—with no children but owns a nice herd of cattle. His English is excellent, his face is kind and smiling, and his gaze is sharp. He’s well-regarded, having hunted three lions and is considered an unmatched tracker. He’s a cook, dishwasher, butler, and—as I mentioned earlier—a tracker, but above all, the master of the place since his family owns this patch of land. He’s been guiding our photographer since he was young, so they know each other perfectly. The first contact is friendly, which bodes well for the rest, both with the young man and his elder, whom I’ll describe in a few words since I don’t think he’d want much said about him. He’s a bit younger than us, renowned as one of the best wildlife photographers in the world (the remarkable books he’s made with his wife prove it), a specialist in this area where he’s been working for thirty years—so much so that he’s been named an honorary citizen of Kenya, allowed to go off-track with some restrictions, camp inside the park, and is an expert on this region, like some of his peers. He only hosts two photographers, four or five times a season—one in the morning and one in the evening—which is a dream come true for Yolande, since I didn’t even pack a disposable 12-shot camera. He doesn’t roam the bush looking for scoops or tons of images but focuses on two or three subjects, or even one, per outing, in search of the exceptional shot, since he’s seen and done it all here. Besides the richness of the place, we came to witness the famous Mara crossings that English speakers call “crossings.” The rains have been heavy in the neighboring Serengeti, so the herds are late in starting their wild journey, and we’ll likely miss these poignant but brutal scenes. Oh well—the show promises to be nonstop! Mister M immediately saw we were used to outdoor life but still gives us the usual advice: safety rules and recommendations about the shower and toilets, where besides toilet paper, you need a lighter to dispose of it—I won’t go into detail. Yolande and I will sleep on the roof rack of our 4x4, our host on his, and our Kikuyu and Maasai each under a ground tent. Though the two ethnic groups have stopped fighting and show a cordial understanding, they haven’t reached the point of sharing the same canvas. The old Land Rover, specially equipped for photography (on the driver’s side and through the sunroof), will be for Yol, the student, and her teacher, who’s more interested in people who listen than in those who’ve seen and done it all, as there are many on safari. The other vehicle is for the rest of the team—no crowding, and I love that above all: “happiness settles in”!
While our Kenyan friends set up camp and prepare dinner, the three of us head out to admire the day’s last colors, so characteristic of Africa, and observe the wildlife all around our quarters for a first lesson near a trio of impressive buffalo, then a gathering of hartebeest, zebras, wildebeest, gazelles, and topi getting ready for the night. The images are magical in the sunset, among the dark silhouettes of the acacias. When I say images, I don’t mean those trapped in Canon or Nikon lenses but those my eyes behold. We return at dusk—the temperature is mild, and the atmosphere is delightful. The table is set under the awning, lit by spotlights. We toast to this initiation into the wild, then share an excellent meal: an appetizer, a dish made with lobster pieces (yes!) and shrimp (too bad the chef found the seafood sauce’s aroma unpleasant and threw it out), accompanied by braised vegetables and a great fresh fruit salad. Our host is a gourmet who’s organized his life so he lacks for nothing, even in the heart of the bush.
You’d almost forget you’re in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by wild and dangerous animals—except for Mickaël, for whom this is all new. He’s never slept in a tent, never dined in the bush, let alone in the middle of a park, and I can tell he’s very anxious! For us, everything’s great—we savor our coffee and this first starry night, punctuated by the African serenade dominated by the “Nightnoises”: the hippopotamus’s grunt, the lion’s roar, the jackal’s yip, the birds of prey’s hoots, and especially the hyena’s cackle. To my taste, the crickets’ chirping is missing, but there aren’t any right now. At 10:20 PM, after a “Number One” just steps from the vehicle—you can never be too careful—we climb onto our roof.
Still, a little apprehension for me!
Crowned cranes’ courtship display.
Mom puts her little one back in line.
But I want to see.
Of course, there’s the grass!
Let’s go; there are too many people.
A second one...
Careful, it's hot!
Good night....
A little sneak peek?
Come along, I'm taking you to this country where it's so nice to wander and slow down...
I’m inviting you on a stroll through my drawings—a completely subjective, far from exhaustive, and totally personal take, since it’s based on my own sketches. I put this travel journal together after returning in late 2024, mostly using felt-tip pens and pencils, with a few collages thrown in. I worked from our personal photos.
And in Kyoto, Nishiki Market:
Since Albania isn’t part of Europe when it comes to phone service (at least not yet! :-)), we had to buy a physical SIM card—otherwise, the bill would’ve been sky-high if we’d used our French plan! We got one from Vodafone AL at the airport. You can buy online before leaving with a virtual SIM (e-SIM) for compatible phones, so you don’t have to swap cards. But given the uncertainty about choosing a plan online, we preferred buying one directly at Tirana Airport. Cost: 31 € for 100 GB. That’s way too much—100 GB is overkill. For 40 GB, it’s 27 €, and the plan lasts 21 days. The price difference isn’t huge, and it was cheaper than online. This plan covers all the countries along the Balkan range.
Money tip: All guesthouses and accommodations accept euros. The local currency in Albania is the LEK. In Montenegro, it’s the euro. Bank fees for withdrawing money from an ATM in Albania are pretty steep: 8 € for a withdrawal of 600–700 LEK (about 200 €)! So it’s better to withdraw cash (euros) in France. Oh, and we booked all our accommodations before leaving, but payment is always in cash. Budget around 400–500 € for 9 days of trekking.
I really liked Shköder, especially its pedestrian street lined with restaurants and lit up at night. It’s a great place to stroll and eat. The food isn’t expensive—two big salads and two beers: 14 € :-) . Fruit prices are also very reasonable: 3 € for a kilo of cherries, compared to 9–10 € in France.
Religions coexist peacefully in these countries—Catholics and Muslims. From our balcony, my friend heard the call to prayer for the first time, coming from one of the city’s mosques.
We slept in the heights of Theth at a new guesthouse, "Mountain Vista Shkafi," with an amazing view.
But Bologna’s real charm lies in its porticoes, which were added to the UNESCO World Heritage list in 2021: 62 km of arcades running along buildings, letting you walk sheltered from the sun or rain. Back in 1288, the city required houses to include private arcades for public use. In the city center, you can stroll under 32 km of porticoes in all sorts of styles—some plain, some ornate—with a strong presence of red tones.
