March 2nd — Departure by bus from Latour at 6:50 AM. The journey isn’t direct: we pass through Elne then Corneilla. In Perpignan, I switch to a BlablaBus heading to Barcelona’s northern bus station. Before reaching Le Perthus, French police stop us to check IDs. Several people aren’t in order, but after about fifteen minutes, we’re on our way again. We’re checked again at La Jonquera: this time, the wait lasts almost forty-five minutes while police identify those in violation and wait for a vehicle to pick them up. The driver then tries to make up for lost time; we finally arrive at our destination half an hour late.
I quickly head to the Arc de Triomphe metro station, located 200 meters away: you have to cross the bridge along the bus parking lot, then walk through a large garden; the station is on the right before the garden entrance. The trip to the airport isn’t direct: I have to change at Tomasso and take the line to the airport, where I arrive at 1 PM.
At the Emirates counter, I learn my flight was just canceled due to the war in Iran; they offer me another flight for the next day. I have to wait at the airport until 7 PM before being taken to a hotel; the next morning, I’ll take a flight to Vienna (with an 8-hour layover), then an Air India flight to Delhi, and finally a flight to Kolkata. I agree: I don’t know Vienna, so it’ll be an unexpected discovery.
At 7 PM, a small group is taken to the hotel, 35 minutes from the airport, where we’re served a light dinner upon arrival.
March 3rd — A taxi picks me up at 6:30 AM; the flight to Vienna takes off at 9:30 AM and arrives at noon. I’m free until 7 PM; the metro is direct to the city center. The weather is pleasant and not too cold, luckily, since my clothes are light.
When I exit the metro, I spot the St. Stephen’s Cathedral tower in the distance and approach it: the roof, made of glazed tiles, is remarkable.
Entry is free, and the interior, a mix of Gothic and Baroque styles in the center, is stunning.
Not far from there is St. Anne’s Church
, also Baroque, adorned with beautiful frescoes
—a music concert adds an enchanting atmosphere to the visit.
I continue my walk at random through the pedestrian streets lined with magnificent buildings: I’m charmed by the city.
Before heading back to the airport, I stop at a lovely tea salon. My flight will eventually leave with a delay.
Wednesday, March 4th — Delhi and a little luggage scare
We arrive in Delhi shortly after noon. Immigration is quick, and good news: my bag was checked through from Barcelona to Kolkata. I head to the connecting terminal and arrive half an hour before boarding: the flight goes smoothly. Upon arrival, the luggage comes out quickly… except mine. After filing a report, I’m told my bag is in Delhi—I have to retrieve it before taking another flight. I didn’t know (or had forgotten): with the delays, I wouldn’t have had time to pick it up and make the connection.
I take a taxi to the Ichamati Hotel. The welcome is warm, and the room is clean but very small. Without my bag, I feel a bit lost—I have nothing to change into.
Tonight, I’m dining with Raja and his friends at a beautiful restaurant, an old colonial house turned into a hotel.
We’re happy to see each other and have a comforting evening together.
Qui a l'habitude de voyager sait qu'il vient toujours un moment où il faut partir...
Paulo Coelho
I slept really well—the hotel is super quiet, you can’t hear a sound. I need to head out and find an open restaurant for breakfast. I didn’t go the right way at first, but I found one near the hotel on a parallel street, the Prince Hotel, which is nice and very local.
It’s past 10 a.m. when I set off to explore the city. I pass by the museum and continue to the Shaheed Minar, located on Esplanade. The column is 48 meters tall and was nicknamed the "cloud-kissing monument."
I reach an intersection in the BBD Bagh neighborhood, and St. Andrew's Church comes into view. It’ll be my landmark during my stay.
I keep going until I reach Tiretta Bazar,
then I wander into the alleys in search of the Chinese temples. There are five in this neighborhood, but I only visit two, including the Sea Ip Church. The others are closed—it’s already past noon. These small temples, hidden in a maze of alleys, are colorful and exude a peaceful atmosphere, contrasting with the hustle and bustle of the nearby streets.
I continue my walk through a lively market until I reach the Nakhoda Masjid.
Women can only enter the courtyard. Two basins allow men to perform their ablutions before entering the mosque.
The Buddhist monastery closes at noon, so there’s no point in heading there—it’s way too late.
I set off in search of St. John’s Church but can’t find the cemetery, which should be nearby.
I end the day with a visit to Eden Garden, which didn’t really impress me in the end. I take a moment to rest before receiving a message from the hotel saying my bag has finally arrived at the airport.
I decide to walk back to the hotel despite the distance. A Uber driver then takes me to the airport and even accompanies me to the baggage claim service. First, I need to find the right counter, which is upstairs. I show my passport and the receipt I was given, then wait for a staff member to retrieve my bag. The wait is a bit long.
Before handing it over, the staff takes a photo of the bag alone, then another of me holding it, probably to confirm the handover. Once the formalities are done, the taxi takes me back to the hotel. I’m exhausted and have dinner at the same restaurant as this morning.
Qui a l'habitude de voyager sait qu'il vient toujours un moment où il faut partir...
Paulo Coelho
After breakfast, I set off to find Mother Teresa’s dispensary to drop off some dressing supplies I’d collected from a friend. Once there, I realize I’m in the wrong place. Fortunately, a sister agrees to take the supplies and ensures they reach the dispensary.
Before arriving, I stop at a small market—just the kind of authentic spot I love.
In Calcutta, it’s common to see men washing up on the sidewalks, using simple water spouts as showers. Though surprising at first glance, this scene is part of the city’s daily life.
Next, I’m near College Street and pass through Boi Para, the famous book market. Booksellers line both sides of the street for its entire length, creating an impressive open-air library where books stack as far as the eye can see.
I then head to the Victoria Memorial. Given the distance, I decide to take a taxi. I only visit the gardens, having already explored the interior on a previous trip.
From there, I walk to St. Paul’s Cathedral, located near the planetarium.
I take a bus to the G.P.O. (General Post Office), an old colonial building.
I continue my walk to Metcalfe Hall. Since the entrance is paid, a young man helps me make the payment using his phone. Inside, I discover modern exhibitions that contrast with the building’s beauty and elegance—its architecture is truly worth seeing.
I take another taxi to reach the James Prinsep Memorial, which is quite far from the center.
I then take another taxi to drop me near a metro station, as the traffic jams in this area are too heavy. I take the metro to Maidan station, then a bus before walking to the flower market, which is as lively and colorful as ever.
I decide to walk back and make a detour through New Market. I spend a long time in a large shop where I find some lovely pants I really like.
Tonight, I’m dining at the restaurant I discovered ten years ago: Mocombo. It’s still as elegant, and the food is just as excellent. The restaurant is only 500 meters from my hotel, which is much appreciated after such a long day.
Qui a l'habitude de voyager sait qu'il vient toujours un moment où il faut partir...
Paulo Coelho
Saturday, March 7
I take the metro at Park Street to go to Marble Palace, getting off at Mahatma Gandhi Road station. The palace isn’t very far, but you have to weave your way through the neighborhood’s narrow alleys.
The visit is free, but photos are forbidden, even outside. At the entrance, the guard still asks me for 100 rupees. Another staff member then comes to get me and escorts me to the house’s hall. First, I have to sign a register. There’s a lot of staff around, and a man gives me a quick tour of the place.
After that, I’m just a five-minute walk from Tagore’s house, which I really enjoyed during my last visit. Entry costs 500 rupees, with an extra fee to visit the outside area, which I decide not to pay—no need to go overboard! Here too, I have to sign a register before entering.
I continue my walk on foot to Kumartuli. Along the way, I discover several typical scenes of daily life: a barber set up right in the street.
A basket-weaving shop also catches my eye.
I also pass by a magnificent colonial building, now a hospital.
I finally arrive in the potters’ neighborhood. Here, they make clay statues of deities. At first, they’re just straw structures tied with ropes, which are then covered with several layers of clay and left to dry in the sun. Later, they’ll be painted and richly decorated.
I then take the metro toward Dakshineswar Kali Temple. I still have to walk about a kilometer to get there. When I arrive, it’s already 2 p.m., and the temple has just closed. Oh well, I’ll come back another time.
I head back to Park Street and look for a pastry shop where I can sit for a while to rest after this busy day.
Dinner at Mocambo.
Qui a l'habitude de voyager sait qu'il vient toujours un moment où il faut partir...
Paulo Coelho
Sunday, March 8: Medinipur
Yesterday evening, I asked the hotel manager to book a taxi to take me to the station at 9:30 AM. I was on time for the meet-up, but no car showed up. So I went back to the reception, and the manager immediately booked another one, which arrived very quickly.
It took us about 15 minutes to get to the station. There was no one at the counter to buy a ticket to Medinipur. Someone just pointed me to the platform, but since I couldn’t find the train, I asked for help—it was actually right in front of me!
The train was supposed to leave at 9:20 AM, but with the delay, it was already 10:20 AM. This setback actually worked in my favor, as I was able to catch it without waiting for the next one. The train was packed, but I managed to find a seat. It stopped every three or four minutes, and we made over thirty stops before reaching our destination.
Some travelers weren’t as lucky as me and had to stand the whole way. At every stop, vendors boarded the train to sell all sorts of things: food, small items, dish towels… You could really find anything. The ride was lively—there was always something happening, which made the time pass pleasantly.
The scenery flew by with bright green rice paddies. Every now and then, I’d spot fields of flowers, often marigolds.
When I arrived, I took a rickshaw to the Light House Hotel, which I’d found on Google. It’s a small family-run place. The receptionist didn’t quite understand my request, so he called the owner, who arrived quickly with his wife and daughter, curious to meet this Frenchwoman—they clearly don’t get foreign tourists every day.
The room was decent and clean. I wanted to visit Pathra, the temple town, that very afternoon. The owner knew a taxi driver who arrived quickly. The distance wasn’t far, but we moved slowly behind numerous trucks that kept stopping.
The temples of Pathra are right by the road, in the middle of the countryside, surrounded by rice paddies. The site is well-maintained, and a few young people were hanging out there. The setting was peaceful and very pleasant.
The temples of Pathra are divided into three main groups: the Nabaratna temple complex, the Kalachand complex, and the Rasmancha complex.
The Kalachand complex is the most elaborate of the temple complexes in Pathra. It’s on the left side of the road for visitors coming from Midnapore.
The Kalachand temple, a rectangular flat-roofed structure with decorative pillars supporting five arched doors, stands by the roadside.
Behind it are three sloping-roofed Shiva temples (aat chala) and a pancha ratna (five-spired) temple. Further back stands a roofless rectangular laterite structure, preceded by a veranda and locally known as the Durga Mandapa. Next to the Durga Mandapa is the dilapidated home of the Zamindar, whose staircase, still visible, leads to the roof.
Further down the road stand two temples built in the aat chala and panch ratna styles. The temples in the Kalachand complex only retain remnants of terracotta ornamentation, without intricate details. The complex also houses several ruined structures completely overgrown with vegetation.
Right across from the Kalachand temple complex stands the Nabaratna temple complex, centered around the imposing nine-spired (nabaratna) temple. It’s the only nine-spired temple in Pathra and the tallest of all the town’s temples.
A left turn after the Kalachand temple complex, followed by a winding dirt path passing a small unknown aat chala temple, leads to the Rasmancha complex.
Built by the Bandopadhyay family, it’s also known as the Bandopadhyay temple complex.
The Bandopadhyay family’s temple complex includes three pancha ratna Shiva temples, the octagonal Rasmancha, the Kacharibari, and two smaller Shiva temples.
The three Pancha Ratna temples feature fine terracotta ornamentation, while the Rasmancha is adorned with stucco. The octagonal Rasmancha, with its nine spires, stands out clearly from the others.
A great discovery—I’m really happy with this outing. I had dinner at a small open-air restaurant by the road near the hotel.
Qui a l'habitude de voyager sait qu'il vient toujours un moment où il faut partir...
Paulo Coelho
Monday, March 9
At 8:30 AM, there's a knock at my door. The receptionist brings me an omelet, but no toast or tea. I ask if it’s possible to get some. After a long wait, he returns with three very greasy toasts, each accompanied by a piece of a new omelet! I’m a little embarrassed because I’ll have to eat all of it… and the whole thing is rather unappetizing.
I then leave by bus for Pingla. The trip isn’t direct, and I have to make two changes. The first is in Debra, where I cross the railway tracks to catch a bus toward Balichak. The next bus drops me off at an intersection, where I take an auto to reach Naya.
It ultimately takes me over three hours to cover just 45 kilometers. The road winds through magnificent landscapes, lined with vibrant green rice paddies.
Naya is famous for its Patachitra paintings. The community of artists is gathered at the village entrance, where you can discover their workshops and traditional craftsmanship.
Patachitra refers to a type of scroll painting practiced by a unique community of artists who are painters, lyricists, and singers from the village of Naya in West Bengal, India. The tradition itself dates back to the 13th century; the scroll painting is called Patachitra, while the "Poter Gaan" are the songs associated with the stories painted on the scrolls. In the past, the traditional bearers of this visual and oral art lived on alms they received in exchange for their door-to-door performances, which gradually declined due to a lack of patrons. However, over the years, the artists have evolved and diversified their offerings, creating an artist collective called "Chitrataru." Today, the Patuas of Naya form a recognized community of artists with over 250 practitioners from more than 80 families who have won numerous national and international awards.
I go from house to house discovering these beautiful paintings.
I watch the songs as the scroll unfolds—it’s moving.
At one house, I’m invited to lunch with the whole family. I eat an excellent thali; we’re seated on the floor on a mat. I buy a few small paintings—they’re really beautiful.
I was supposed to visit another craft village, but it’s too late. I take a direct bus to Balichak, then a train to Medinipur—it’s much faster.
When I arrive in Medinipur, the hotel owner’s daughter spots me, and we head up together by car.
In the evening, I dine at a restaurant where I’m the only customer. I’m not very hungry, so I order a paneer 65—it’s really good and very filling; I can’t finish it.
I head back quickly—I need to repack my bag. Between 11 PM and 1 AM, I hear music and firecrackers in the street: it must be for a wedding.
Qui a l'habitude de voyager sait qu'il vient toujours un moment où il faut partir...
Paulo Coelho
Hi,
You need to go to "my account - my options" and confirm that you want to receive an email notifying you of new messages in the followed discussion.
Pierre
Thanks for this travel journal—we’ll be following it with interest! We easily recognized Kolkata and its bustling activities. We’re going to check out your route since it’s a region we’re not familiar with.
Hi,
You need to go to "my account-my options" and confirm that you want to receive an email notifying you of new messages in the followed discussion.
Pierre
I’ve double-checked—everything’s set up correctly, but I’m no longer receiving any messages.
Qui a l'habitude de voyager sait qu'il vient toujours un moment où il faut partir...
Paulo Coelho
Tuesday, March 10
At 8:30 AM, the waiter brings me breakfast. Today, the omelet is served separately from the toast, which is no longer swimming in oil, along with a cup of tea. All good—I can finally have a normal breakfast.
I leave the hotel to head to the train station. My train to Bishnupur leaves at 9:30 AM. It’s on time, and the journey takes an hour.
In Bishnupur, the train station is far from the city center. The auto-rickshaw driver asks for 200 rupees and refuses to negotiate. My hotel, the Suryadeep, is about a kilometer from the bus station. I booked it via WhatsApp.
The welcome is warm. Western tourists don’t seem to be very common here, as they seem surprised to see a French woman. Or maybe it’s because I’m traveling alone and I’m not exactly young anymore—it always raises eyebrows.
Once settled in my room, a boy brings me a nice cold lemon juice.
The receptionist offers to book an auto-rickshaw for sightseeing, but I prefer to do everything on foot despite the distances. I’ve got all the time in the world, and I love strolling, observing, and wandering. I plan to visit all the main sites on this first day.
First on my list is the Rasmancha, located three kilometers away. The entry ticket, at 300 rupees, also gives access to the Jor Bangla and Shyam Rai temples.
The Rasmancha is a magnificent structure with many side arches supported by pillars. Its base rests on a raised laterite platform. Built around 1600 by King Malla Hambhir, this temple once hosted all the idols of Radha and Krishna from the city of Bishnupur during the Vaishnava Ras festival, where they were gathered to be worshipped.
The Rasmancha is the oldest brick temple in Bishnupur and remains one of its most iconic monuments.
I continue my walk to the Garh Darwaja, now in ruins and overgrown with vegetation.
I keep going down the same road and arrive at the Jor Bangla temple, whose name evokes two traditional huts joined together. I really like its sloping roofs connected to each other, giving it such a unique silhouette.
The walls, both inside and out, as well as the ceiling, are beautifully adorned with terracotta panels.
The sculpted scenes, with incredible detail, remind me of comic strips—they tell so many stories through their many characters and intricate details.
Right next to it is the Radhashyam temple, recognizable by its single spire. Built from laterite, it’s adorned with delicate lime stucco decorations.
The temple is surrounded by high walls, and its entrance is through a three-domed gateway with Islamic influences, contrasting with the architecture of the sanctuary.
It has a unique feature: a tulsi mancha, a raised platform where the tulsi, the sacred basil, grows—a plant particularly revered by Hindus.
I continue walking down this road, which leads me to the main gate of Bishnupur, the Pathar Darja, the "Stone Gate." Built from laterite, it stands two stories high and was once one of the main entrances to the fortified city.
A few steps away is a second, more modest gate: the Garh Darja, which also marked the entrance to the old fortress.
Qui a l'habitude de voyager sait qu'il vient toujours un moment où il faut partir...
Paulo Coelho
I had to backtrack—I’d forgotten to visit the Shyam Rai Temple, located at the junction near Garh Darwaja. Luckily, it wasn’t too far away. I don’t regret the detour at all; it’s one of the most beautiful temples in Bishnupur.
Also known as the Temple of the Five Jewels, it gets its name from its five spires, each symbolically representing a jewel. Accessible through a three-arched entrance on each of its four sides, it’s entirely covered in stunning terracotta panels, even on the inner walls and spires. The scenes depicting the love stories of Krishna and Radha are remarkably delicate.
Afterward, I passed back through the city gates and headed toward the stone chariot.
Nearby, women were doing their laundry. Across the way, a narrow alley caught my eye. Music was drifting out, and the atmosphere was lively. The women were all sitting in front of their homes while a little girl danced in the middle of the street.
When they saw me, they waved me over—they wanted me to take their picture. I stayed with them for a while.
A little later, some men arrived with a large basin filled with a sweet preparation. They offered me a bite: a kind of meringue, light and delicious.
I then continued my visits toward the Madan Mohan Temple. Along the way, I made several stops to take photos. The locals are really friendly, and I had some great moments with them. A smile, a few words, sometimes just a glance is enough to create a connection.
The Madan Mohan Temple is quite a distance away, but the walk is easy. It’s also magnificent, with a single spire and a rectangular roof with slightly rounded edges, reminiscent of the traditional thatched-roof houses of Bengal.
The terracotta panels adorning the temple depict scenes from the Ramayana, with incredible detail. Across from the temple stands a long terracotta structure that once housed the temple kitchens.
Bishnupur is a truly unique city, where every monument holds a new discovery.
I returned to the hotel by crossing the market. When I arrived, the manager offered me tea. I then had dinner at the hotel restaurant, where all the staff were incredibly attentive. It was really nice!
Qui a l'habitude de voyager sait qu'il vient toujours un moment où il faut partir...
Paulo Coelho
Hi Marie Jo,
I stumbled upon your new travel journal by chance. Still going strong, I see! Well done!
Once again, you’re making me want to follow in your footsteps...
There are the places you visit, but it’s your way of traveling that really resonates with me—so much like mine before I settled down in Kerala. You’re making me want to grab my walking staff again.
Unfortunately, I want to go where you’re going, but my legs aren’t what they used to be...
Did you switch cameras?
Hi Jean Marie,
To really follow me, you’d better have good legs—I don’t know any other way to travel. I need to take my time and "get lost" among the locals. I love discovering off-the-beaten-path places, the more authentic, the better. Even in touristy cities, I always find unusual spots. This is how I like to travel, though I don’t think many others do—my travel journals in India and elsewhere don’t get much attention.
I’m still using the same camera and the same phone, which takes great photos, in my opinion.
Have a nice day.
Qui a l'habitude de voyager sait qu'il vient toujours un moment où il faut partir...
Paulo Coelho
To truly follow me, you’d better have legs—I don’t know any other way to travel. I need to take my time and "get lost" among the locals. I love discovering off-the-beaten-path places, more authentic spots. Even in touristy cities, I always find unusual corners. This is how I like to travel, though I don’t think many travelers do it this way—my travel journals in India or elsewhere don’t attract much attention.
But that’s just it—you seem to have misunderstood my point. What I love about your journals isn’t your prose or your photos—though they *do* make me want to visit the places they show—but the spirit behind them. Your way of traveling is *exactly* how I travel. I also adore your mindset, your philosophy, your taste for risk (like when you set off on a motorcycle at your age to some remote place with a stranger...).
Reading you, I see myself wandering those same spots, strolling through markets, lingering in little streets lined with shops displaying their treasures... I’d love to take YOUR trip, the way YOU do it. I envy you. I want to do exactly what you do and go where you take us. But... I don’t have the legs for it anymore...
So next time, we’ll go together—and *you* can push the wheelchair...🤣
I can already hear you yelling: "Oh no! Not you!"
I love this way of traveling, though I don’t think many travelers do it this way—my journals in India or elsewhere don’t attract much attention.
If you think your journals don’t attract much attention, I don’t think it’s because of *how* you travel...
I don’t think there are many travelers in this situation because my travel journals in India or elsewhere don’t attract much attention.
Hey Marie Jo!
Well, I’m into them because your itineraries give us a break from the "classics"! So I’m sticking with you, but just a heads-up—I won’t have the patience you show when it comes to delayed transport or lost bags 🏴☠️
I wouldn’t have the patience you show when it comes to transport delays and lost bags 🏴☠️
Me neither! But I found a way around it: traveling with Air France and flying from an airport in France near my place—or even my own city—to a major Indian airport. That way, I check my bags at departure and pick them up at my final destination. I hate Air France. It’s really expensive, but the comfort, reduced stress, and less fatigue make it worth paying an extra 200 or 300 €.
Plus, the free wheelchair for long corridors, transfers between terminals, and priority lanes for various formalities, etc...
Wednesday, March 11
Breakfast is included in the room price: omelet, toast, two bananas, and a gulab jamun. The server also lets me try a very spicy fried snack, but at breakfast, it really doesn’t sit well.
I then head to the bus station, located a kilometer from the hotel. Today, I’m going to Panchmura. The bus is already there and fills up quickly; we leave promptly. The village isn’t very far, but the driver makes a long stop before arriving.
In Panchmura, I set off in search of the potters.
I get the impression there were more of them when I passed through ten years ago, and their stalls are less stocked today. Still, I find a small terracotta horse.
I walk past an alley where a woman is painting pots. They’re beautiful, but far too fragile for me to buy one at the start of my trip.
At the end of the alley, I spot two traditional kilns. They’re built on two levels: the firebox is at the bottom, and the firing chamber is above.
A little further on, men are working at their manual wheels, shaping the clay with remarkable skill.
Almost every house has its own small temple in the courtyard. I wander through the village for a long time and spot several small animist shrines.
Back on the main street, I ask several shopkeepers where the Ayurvedic hospital is. Finally, a man knows the place. He explains I need to take a rickshaw (200 rupees). He stops one for me and gives the driver directions himself.
We take a very small, badly damaged road full of potholes. We move slowly, jostled at every bump; I can’t wait to arrive. The route crosses rice fields and then a sal forest.
When I arrive, I’m surprised: this hospital doesn’t look anything like what I imagined a healthcare facility would. Under an open hall, several women are kneeling. They grind different herbs on a grooved stone, endlessly repeating the same motion until they get a paste.
Patients sometimes come from very far away. One man is accompanying his father, who has cancer and lives in Ranchi, in the state of Jharkhand. After the consultation, the doctor prescribes herbal preparations that patients buy immediately from the pharmacist set up next to the hall.
This ancient medicine is still practiced here, using methods passed down from generation to generation. I wonder if such a system hasn’t become almost unique these days.
There’s no bus back to Bishnupur. The man I met at the hospital also needs to go there to catch his train. So we share the same rickshaw for the return trip.
Qui a l'habitude de voyager sait qu'il vient toujours un moment où il faut partir...
Paulo Coelho
The driver drops me off at the market entrance, and I set off on foot to explore the Jor Mandir temple complex.
This complex consists of three temples—two large and one smaller—nestled in the heart of a meticulously maintained park. All three are built from laterite, on raised platforms, with sloping roofs topped by a single shikhara. The entrance facades are richly adorned with sculptures.
Outside, the smallest temple is also the most decorated. You’ll find scenes from the Ramayana and the Mahabharata here.
I continue my visit with the Radha Madhab temple, also built from laterite. It has a triple-arched entrance, but only two sides allow access to the interior.
The bas-reliefs, remarkably well-preserved, depict incarnations of Vishnu, floral motifs, as well as birds and various animals. Several scenes from the Ramayana are also featured here.
I finish with the Kalachand temple, located in a pleasant complex with beautiful gardens and magnificent trees.
Afterward, I head back to the hotel, wandering through the village alleys and skirting the rice fields.
An open-air cowshed—there are so many in this region—I don’t remember seeing this many cows before.
A peaceful walk that nicely wraps up this day of discoveries.
Qui a l'habitude de voyager sait qu'il vient toujours un moment où il faut partir...
Paulo Coelho
, I wouldn’t have the patience you show when it comes to transport delays and lost bags.
Hi Kate!
When it comes to traveling, I’m up for anything.
I collect unexpected surprises right from the start of my trips ;)
For Laos, all my flights were delayed, and this time, one was even canceled. The next one??? I’m still heading back anyway :|
Qui a l'habitude de voyager sait qu'il vient toujours un moment où il faut partir...
Paulo Coelho
Thursday, March 12
Today, I’m heading to Joypur. On my way out of the hotel to the bus station, I stop by an optician’s: he fixes the frame of my glasses and I take the opportunity to pick out a pair of sunglasses.
At the station, my bus is about to leave—perfect, no waiting.
Arriving in Joypur, I take a path along a canal. The place is quiet, no traffic, very pleasant. I pass by temples in very poor condition, as well as a large building that once belonged to wealthy merchants, the same ones who had these temples built.
The temples of Datta Para and De Para are nine-spired temples, built on two levels. Two of the entrances feature beautiful triple arches adorned with terracotta motifs, while the other two are badly deteriorated.
The central panel, in the shape of an arch, is divided into two parts: the upper section depicts Krishna, Radha, and the gopis. The lower section is itself divided in two: on the right, Rama surrounded by Sita and Hanuman; on the left, a figure seated on a throne, surrounded by three women and a man. This is a representation of Radha as a reigning queen.
The left arch panel illustrates the battle between Arjuna and Karna during an episode of the Mahabharata.
Above, a row of nine terracotta panels depicts different scenes:
Garuda, Vishnu’s mount, appears twice: once with hands joined and wings spread, and another time devouring the elephant-tortoise.
Krishna, Radha, and the gopis boating.
Krishna killing Bakasura, the crane-demon.
Four mythical beings, half-human and half-animal, exceptional musicians.
Krishna planting a tree.
Krishna and Balaram overthrowing King Kamsa from his throne in Mathura.
Krishna and the gopis with Barayi.
I continue for about 200 meters to reach the Navaratna temple of Raddh Damda, called the Sridharlal temple. To get there, you have to enter the courtyard of a house. This temple, also on two levels, closely resembles the previous one architecturally, but its decorations differ: they depict scenes from the Ramayana.
The lower panels show nobles, saints, and monkey-soldiers alongside Rama and Sita, seated on their throne.
I then decide to walk to Gokulnagar, taking a small road through the countryside. A man on a motorcycle stops beside me and offers me a ride. Along the way, I spot an animist temple decorated with terracotta; it intrigues me, so I’ll come back on foot to check it out.
Throughout the journey, we pass by fields: it’s potato harvest time, and you can also see a few rice paddies.
He drops me off at the entrance of the temple, which is located within a fortified enclosure. Built from laterite, it has five spires.
I walk back and discover three temples adorned with terracotta, nestled at the foot of trees.
The one I had noticed on the way there is impressive. I make sure not to step on the sacred area at the entrance.
I then head to the bus stop. While waiting, I look at my photos and realize that a series I took in Bishnupur didn’t save.
Back in Bishnupur, I pass by the Shyam Rai temple again. I stay outside to avoid paying the entrance fee again. As I walk past the statuette stalls, I notice one that catches my eye.
I stop for a chai and notice my backpack is stained—flies are sticking to it. When I look inside, I find a completely squashed banana. It’s pretty gross—and the people around me find it hilarious.
Back at the hotel, I wash my bag before going out for dinner.
Qui a l'habitude de voyager sait qu'il vient toujours un moment où il faut partir...
Paulo Coelho
Friday, March 13
I continue my visits around Bishnupur and head to Hadal Narayanpur today. The bus ride takes about two hours. The stop is near the Radha Damodar temple and the palatial residence of the Mandal family. The estate was divided among the three brothers: Baro Taraf for the eldest, Mejo Taraf for the middle brother, and Choto Taraf for the youngest.
The main temple is a two-story *rasmancha*, located opposite the large family mansion. Octagonal in shape and built in 1854, it features exceptional ornamentation: finely sculpted terracotta panels decorate each of its eight sides.
These panels depict various scenes:
– Durga surrounded by her family
– Shiva with Nandi and Bhringi
– Gostho Lila
– Shiva’s wedding
– Vishnu
– Rama and Sita
– Krishna and Radha
The Baro Taraf residence, with European influences, is painted yellow and has a cylindrical entrance. Each window is adorned with an arch. At the entrance, several men are present, and one of them accompanies me on the tour.
We pass through a door leading to a large courtyard, the Thakur Dalan, where Durga Puja is celebrated. A small courtyard then leads to a set of three temples. The most impressive is the Radha Damodar, with its five spires. Opposite are two more modest temples dedicated to Shiva.
On the way out, I ask the guard where the Radha Damodar is. He takes me there: we pass through a gate and follow a street to a temple near a pond. It’s truly a marvel.
The central panel depicts scenes from the Ramayana, with Durga at the center. Another panel shows Vishnu lying on a bed of snakes, surrounded by his wife Lakshmi. A third reveals a rare composition: Rama and Krishna united in a single figure, holding both a bow and arrow and a flute.
On a fourth panel, Ganesh is seated on a rat—symbolizing desires and ignorance. By dominating it, he embodies wisdom and the ability to guide people beyond materialism, as well as the power to overcome obstacles.
I then head back to the bus stop and look for an autorickshaw to take me to Sonamukhi. It’s hard to find one, but after insisting, one driver agrees to take me for 300 rupees. I accept, though I have to show him the bills first.
We drive through landscapes of rice fields and potato fields, which are also being harvested.
In Sonamukhi, the main street is jammed with traffic. The temple isn’t far: I get dropped off and continue on foot. I take a narrow alley to reach the Sridhar Mandir, tucked away in the heart of a house. This temple has twenty-five spires, which is extremely rare—only five of this type exist in Bengal, and this is the last one to have been built.
The terracotta panels depict:
– Krishna with young cowherds
– Rama and Sita seated on a throne
– Krishna with the *gopis*
– Durga and her family
There’s also a wide variety of scenes from the Ramayana and Mahabharata, as well as musicians, dancers, animals, birds, scenes of daily life, and floral motifs. It would take hours to see everything.
A remarkable feature of this temple is the [*i]mrityulata[/i*] or "vine of death": a vertical terracotta panel where human and animal figures seem ready to attack the one below.
I spend a long time admiring and trying to interpret these scenes. The owner comes to meet me, surprised and delighted to see me so interested. While chatting, he tells me it’s possible to return to Bishnupur by bus. I follow his directions and head to the bus stop.
On the main street, a man calls out to me from his shop. He pulls out a large register and asks me to write my name, the date, and sign it. Before leaving, we take a selfie together. It’s surprising and fun—this country is truly unique.
The bus is already there. It takes about an hour to get back to Bishnupur. Today, the heat is unbearable.
Dinner: paneer butter masala and jeera rice.
Qui a l'habitude de voyager sait qu'il vient toujours un moment où il faut partir...
Paulo Coelho
Saturday, March 14
It’s my last day in Bishnupur. I decide to spend the day wandering and visiting more modest temples, away from the most well-known sites.
Google Maps has the great idea of leading me through quieter alleys, dotted with small, lively markets.
I end up in the weavers’ neighborhood, guided by the steady clatter of looms. I’m delighted to discover them. Here, it’s the men who weave. They work in dark, cramped rooms where the heat is stifling despite a fan. It takes them about four days to make a sari. The ones I see are made of silk, with beautiful patterns, all unique.
A little further on, two men are setting up the warp threads. They stretch them over several meters, each at one end. Once secured, they pass a comb through, carefully checking each thread before starting to wind them. What impressive work.
I continue my walk to Sridar MandirBose Para,
then to Murli Mohan Temple,
before finishing at Madan Mohan, which I’ve already visited.
I stop regularly by women who are piercing nuts to extract small beads. They then string them onto a thread, making necklaces worn by men. I buy two from them, and one of the women ties them delicately around my wrist.
Further on, a woman is doing her dishes,
another is doing her laundry.
Everyday scenes unfold simply.
They all happily agree to pose for a photo, and we exchange knowing smiles.
The men present also join in the fun with pleasure.
The day passes peacefully. I spend wonderful moments in their company. I deeply love these moments of wandering, where you discover local life in all its simplicity.
The heat is even more oppressive today, and I decide to return to the hotel in the early afternoon.
In the evening, a group of Indian tourists arrives. They’re very loud. At dinner, a couple is seated not far from me: they’re talking loudly, and I get the impression they’re arguing.
Dinner: paneer 65 and yogurt. The paneer 65 isn’t as good as the one in Medinipur.
Qui a l'habitude de voyager sait qu'il vient toujours un moment où il faut partir...
Paulo Coelho
Sunday, March 15 and Monday, March 16 – Purulia
A stop in Purulia, not essential, mainly planned as a transition point for changing buses or trains.
Today, municipal elections are taking place in France, and the French won the Six Nations tournament.
At the restaurant, a group of Indians is already seated and being served a buffet. The waiter brings me an omelet and toast; I ask for a puri. He returns with poha, dhal, and the puri. I won’t eat it all.
I take the 9:30 AM train and arrive in Purulia at 12:10 PM. I booked a room at the Rupasi Hotel via WhatsApp, but upon arrival, they refuse to give it to me. They insist I take a suite at a much higher rate. I refuse, and after lengthy discussions, I finally get the originally booked room.
I book a taxi with them for the next day to go to Chirudih.
In the afternoon, I want to visit the Kashipur Palace. No bus goes there. Near the bus station, taxis are waiting; I approach and negotiate the trip for 1,800 rupees round-trip.
After an hour’s drive, we arrive in front of a huge palace surrounded by a high wall. The entrance is closed, but the guard opens the gates to let us in. As soon as I get out of the car, another guard intervenes: the palace is not open to visitors; it’s private. He only allows me to take a few photos of the exterior before asking us to leave. I had read it was open every day... so much for that.
Back in Purulia, a violent storm breaks out, preventing me from going out again. Dinner is pretty mediocre. I want to take a shower before bed, but there’s no water. An employee tries to fix it; after a long time, he ends up moving me to another room.
Monday, March 16
The taxi is very late. He doesn’t know Chirudih, but the receptionist, who seems to know the area well, shows him the route on Google.
We finally leave at 10 AM and arrive at 1 PM in a remote village in the middle of the countryside. Men are sitting in the shade; we stop to ask them where the painted houses are. The village is indeed called Chirudih, but it’s not the one we’re looking for: there are several villages with that name, far from each other.
There’s nothing to see here, and we turn back. I’m really disappointed with these last two days.
Qui a l'habitude de voyager sait qu'il vient toujours un moment où il faut partir...
Paulo Coelho
I booked a room at the Rupasi Hotel via WhatsApp, but when I arrived, they refused to give it to me.
Back in Purulia, a violent storm breaks out, preventing me from going out again. Dinner is pretty mediocre. I want to take a shower before bed, but there’s no water.
The village is indeed called Chirudih, but it’s not the one we’re looking for: there are several villages with that name, far from each other.
That’s what they call a streak of bad luck 😏
But Marie Jo, patient and fearless, carries on…
Yeah, it’s that "law of series" thing Kate mentioned. Oh well, not everything can be perfect all the time...
I know you found the right Chirudih much later... Did you jot down the GPS coordinates or anything to locate that village? As you know, I’m planning another trip to West Bengal and Jharkhand (thanks for the ideas!) and I’d love to visit that artists’ village. There are a few Insta or Facebook posts, but nothing to pinpoint its location, and my searches on maps show 3 or 4 Chirudihs in Jharkhand! It’s tough to find info on these off-the-beaten-path spots.
They don’t call it the law of series for nothing 😏
But Marie Jo, patient and fearless, keeps going…
Yep, I’m patient and stubborn—I *will* find the right Chirudih.
The law of series wasn’t over yet, but I didn’t know that at the time… suspense required 🤪
Qui a l'habitude de voyager sait qu'il vient toujours un moment où il faut partir...
Paulo Coelho
Yeah, the law of series, as Kate says. But hey, not everything can be perfect all the time...
I know you found the right Chirudih much later... Did you note the GPS coordinates or anything to locate that village? As you know, I’m planning a new trip to West Bengal and Jharkhand (thanks for the ideas...) and I’d love to visit this artists’ village. There are a few Insta or Facebook posts, but nothing to pinpoint its location, and my searches on maps show 3 or 4 Chirudihs in Jharkhand! It’s tough to find info on these off-the-beaten-path spots.
Christine
Hey Chris!
You’ll need some patience and have to wait a few more days before heading to that amazing village. I didn’t note the GPS coordinates, but I know how to get there—it’s lost in the middle of nowhere.
Qui a l'habitude de voyager sait qu'il vient toujours un moment où il faut partir...
Paulo Coelho
Tuesday, March 17
I’m leaving this morning for Ajodhya.
At 7 AM, I go downstairs to order my breakfast and, at the same time, ask for the bus schedules. The receptionist checks and gives me three options; I’ll take the 9:20 one.
An hour later, I’m still waiting for my breakfast: they have to serve the group that arrived the night before first. I go to the kitchen and wait even longer. Eventually, they bring me four pieces of toast—no butter, no jam, no omelet—and a cup of tea. Nothing else.
I pay for the meals and the taxi from Sunday—the room was already paid for when I arrived. Yet the receptionist tries to make me pay for it again. No way. I storm off in search of an auto. The hotel boy runs after me and stops the driver from leaving. I get out and walk away; it’s not far. A tuk-tuk finally picks me up and drops me off in front of the bus. Purulia really isn’t an interesting stop.
The bus, though, has more comfortable seats—finally, a nice surprise. A young woman and her little boy sit next to me. The child is very outgoing: he’s not scared of me and comes to sit on my lap, squirming all over the place.
When I arrive in Ajodhya, I need to find an autorickshaw to get to Ajodhya Hills and visit the sites along the way. Taxis are very expensive, and autos are rare. I wait a long time until my savior arrives. He asks for 500 rupees, while taxis wanted 2000. I don’t hesitate.
He first takes me to Mayur Pahar, then to Sita Kunda, which isn’t very interesting. The landscapes are still very pretty, though.
We continue to the marble lake… which leaves me cold. I prefer those in the Hautes Pyrénées—I’m getting picky.
He then stops at some waterfalls where I go without much enthusiasm. There are a lot of Indians here; they love this place, which was why I came.
In the end, the waterfalls are beautiful: it’s the most interesting spot of the day.
We carry on to Dighal Homestay in Ajodhya. The house is simple, but the welcome is very warm. I feel at home right away. The rooms are upstairs, and a large terrace with tables and chairs is available for guests. The house is surrounded by rice fields, right in the countryside.
I go for a walk in the rice fields.
I spot egrets and a woolly-necked stork with a long beak. Flowering trees line the fields; I get closer: they’re palash flowers, the "flame of the forest," used in medicine.
Qui a l'habitude de voyager sait qu'il vient toujours un moment où il faut partir...
Paulo Coelho
Wednesday, March 18
I heard music in the distance all night. This morning, everything is quiet, even though the house is full. Indian tourists arrive in the evening and leave in the morning; every night, it's fully booked. At breakfast, I'm served tea, an omelet, and puris.
Yesterday, I booked a rickshaw driver for the morning. He's on time, and we start at the Lahariya Sita temple. The place is packed with Indians, who come in large numbers. I run into some tourists I met at the guesthouse this morning. We take a few photos and selfies. The place radiates deep devotion.
A person is lying in front of the temple, holding incense.
Behind it, a lake attracts walkers. A woman moves forward, prostrating herself regularly, lying on the ground at intervals until she reaches the temple.
In the courtyard, my gaze stops at a sacred tree where small fabric pouches containing wishes are hung.
We hit the road again, pass through Charida, and head to a huge dam,
before returning to Charida, the city of masks used for Chhau dances. On both sides of the street, workshop-shops display these masks.
The men work sitting on the ground in cramped spaces.
The masks are all stunning and beautiful. I won’t be able to see the dances—it’s not the season; you have to come in January. I buy a miniature model and hope I don’t damage it during the trip.
Chhau dance is a tradition from eastern India, inspired by episodes from great epics like the Mahabharata and the Ramayana, as well as local folklore and abstract themes. It comes in three regional styles—Seraikella, Purulia, and Mayurbhanj—with the first two using masks. Closely tied to regional festivals, especially Chaitra Parva, the spring festival, it draws its origins from tribal dances and martial practices. The movements blend simulated combat techniques, stylized animal imitations, and gestures inspired by daily tasks. Traditionally passed down within families of artists or local communities, it’s performed at night, outdoors, to the sound of instruments like the mohuri and shehnai, accompanied by percussion. Today, industrialization, economic pressures, and the influence of new media threaten this practice and reduce collective participation.
Back at the homestay, my kind driver refuses to set a price and lets me decide. He turns down the 1000 rupees I offer—too much—and accepts 800 with a big smile.
The homestay manager tells me he organizes Chhau dance performances for tourists with other accommodations. But the season is over, and these shows no longer take place. Too bad.
In the afternoon, I go for a walk in the rice fields on the other side of yesterday’s fields and venture into a small hamlet. The locals seem quite wary when they see me.
Qui a l'habitude de voyager sait qu'il vient toujours un moment où il faut partir...
Paulo Coelho
Ranchi, March 19–23
March 19
Breakfast is served at 7:30 a.m. before my departure. I settled the bill the night before. At 8:30 a.m., I leave the place: the manager gives me a ride on his motorcycle to the bus stop. We take a dirt path through the rice fields that leads to the village. He waits with me for the bus, puts my bag in the storage compartment, and gives the driver a few instructions.
The trip includes a long stop, and we arrive in Johar around 10 a.m. An auto-rickshaw then takes me to the train station. The driver helps with my bag and walks me to the platform after I buy my ticket. The train arrives at 10:30 a.m.; two hours later, I reach Ranchi.
A rickshaw takes me to my hotel, Collection O Ranchi, where I’m warmly welcomed by a young receptionist. Once settled, I go back to see her: she recommends a traditional market happening this afternoon, Namkum Market, about 6 kilometers away. I have plenty of time and decide to walk there. Google Maps leads me down small roads, far from traffic. I don’t feel like I’m in a big city.
The market is huge. Along the road, red and white saris with varied patterns are for sale; women will wear them for the Sarhul festival.
As I walk down an alley, I come to a large square filled with the vegetable market. Men and women run the stalls, and everyone happily agrees to be photographed.
The atmosphere is warm, and I have a great time.
Sometimes a little shy or hesitant
but quickly amused
I then take an auto-rickshaw back to the hotel. In the evening, I dine at a nearby restaurant-pastry shop.
Qui a l'habitude de voyager sait qu'il vient toujours un moment où il faut partir...
Paulo Coelho
March 20
Breakfast is included in the room price, but it’s not great and is only served after 8:30 AM: three doughnuts and a yogurt, with no tea.
I set off on foot toward the Tribal Research Institute, the tribal museum, located over 6 kilometers away. It’s already hot, and the traffic is heavy. The city is dirty and dusty.
Along the way, I pass a small market where women are making small containers out of sal leaves, just like in Chhattisgarh.
Inside, the fruit and vegetable stalls are well-stocked and, as always, beautifully displayed. Everything looks fresh and tempting.
A little further on, I take a tuk-tuk to the museum. The driver doesn’t know the place, so I have to guide him using Google Maps.
The museum is quite large, and entry is free, but nothing is really highlighted, which is a shame. However, the room dedicated to the different tribal paintings from Indian states is interesting.
These are more modern, in a different style.
On the way out, I want to continue my visit to the State Museum, located over 8 kilometers away. I struggle to find an auto-rickshaw, and the one who agrees to take me drops me off quickly, considering the trip too long. A young girl then arrives on a scooter. She explains the route to the driver, but he still refuses. She then offers to take me there herself.
Unfortunately, she takes the wrong direction, and we drive about fifteen kilometers to an agency she knows well. I’m not happy. She then tells me the museum is closed and offers to take me back to the hotel. In the end, she drops me off at the entrance of a park—the old museum, also closed—where I had already passed in the morning. I cross the park, where a few statues are on display.
I then head back. Along the way, I buy some still-warm pastries for my next breakfasts; I taste one immediately—it’s delicious.
I stop by the bakery before returning to the hotel.
The receptionist tells me about another market happening the next day, about fifteen kilometers away.
I have dinner at the same restaurant: paneer butter masala, naan, and dessert.
Qui a l'habitude de voyager sait qu'il vient toujours un moment où il faut partir...
Paulo Coelho
Saturday, March 21
I set off on foot toward Jagannath Mandir, located 6 kilometers away. Along the way, I pass a street lined with barbers hard at work, their clients seated in front of mirrors hung directly on the walls—a lively and typical slice of life.
Upon arrival, I have to climb a long series of steps. The temple, painted in pink and white, is very colorful—like a real cake.
From there, I want to reach Santraji Market, about fifteen kilometers away. I use the Rapido app: a bike arrives in under two minutes. Once there, I spend a great time among the many stalls, mostly selling fruits and vegetables, taking photos.
Here, the women easily join in the fun and are delighted to see themselves on the screen.
I still have time to try visiting the museum, which is quite out of the way. I call another bike via Rapido. The driver finds the destination very far but agrees to take me. He doesn’t drop me at the right entrance, and I have to finish on foot. Unfortunately, the museum is closed today—no luck. The building is new and nicely decorated, though.
I head back on foot, then take two shared tuk-tuks; the last one drops me off in front of the pastry shop, where I take a little break.
Qui a l'habitude de voyager sait qu'il vient toujours un moment où il faut partir...
Paulo Coelho
A little later, the Sarhul festival begins with a parade accompanied by music.
Sarhul is an ancient tribal festival celebrated mainly in Jharkhand, marking the worship of nature and the start of spring. The word "Sarhul" literally means the worship of the sal tree, which holds a central place in tribal beliefs as it’s considered the home of the goddess Sarna Maa.
Women and young girls wear festival-specific saris in red and white.
Women have flowers tucked into their hair, while men also sport red and white scarves tied around their heads.
Trucks blasting music move slowly, and the whole crowd follows them. Women link arms to dance, forming moving chains. The atmosphere is joyful and lively, with everyone joining the procession in a kind of collective momentum.
But the sudden arrival of a storm and rain unfortunately cuts the celebration short.
I take shelter under a tarp as the road turns into a river. Once the downpour ends, everyone scatters, and I have to walk through the dirty water.
I get back to the hotel soaked; my sandals and pants are covered in mud. I wash everything before taking a shower, then head out for dinner.
Qui a l'habitude de voyager sait qu'il vient toujours un moment où il faut partir...
Paulo Coelho
Sunday, March 22
Today, I planned to go to Khunti to visit a weaving workshop. I took a shared taxi that only leaves when it's full—we were ten passengers.
The taxi dropped me off near the market, about a kilometer from the city center. I strolled around leisurely.
At the market entrance, I was impressed by the work of the blacksmiths, who belong to a local tribe. A man and a woman took turns striking a red-hot piece of metal pulled from the fire with a heavy mallet, while another held it with tongs. The movement was precise, rhythmic, almost choreographed. The woman, dressed in traditional attire, refused to be photographed. I didn’t insist and continued my visit.
I then set off on foot toward the city center in search of a rickshaw. One quickly stopped beside me and offered his services. Looking for a weaving workshop, I showed him a photo. He didn’t know the place but asked around in several shops. Finally, a man recognized the location and gave him directions—it was about ten kilometers away, in the middle of the countryside.
Along the way, my driver stopped several times to check the direction. Just before arriving, he took a dirt road that led us to a dilapidated building surrounded by a few houses. The weavers likely lived in this small hamlet.
We had indeed arrived at the Nimacha Cluster Open Field.
The room was huge, bathed in light, and filled with looms from another era. The warp—those long stretched threads that form the base of the fabric—extended well beyond the loom itself and was held in place by simple wooden stakes planted in the ground. The whole setup was rudimentary, almost fragile in appearance.
A weaver sat right at the loom, focused on his work. In front of him, the perfectly aligned red threads formed an already dense surface. With precise movements, he passed the weft—the horizontal thread—through the warp, then packed it all down with a piece of wood to tighten the fabric. The motion was repetitive, fluid, almost meditative.
Despite the simplicity of the tools—worn wood, ropes, handmade structures—the result was remarkably fine. The fabrics produced were even, taut, and of beautiful quality. The contrast between the roughness of the means and the delicacy of the result was particularly striking.
Only two men were working today, on this Sunday. The demonstration was simple but captivating.
One man then sat down at his spinning wheel, made of simple pieces of wood assembled together. The whole thing looked fragile, almost unstable—you wondered how it could still stand and function. Yet, as soon as it started moving, everything became fluid. The wheel turned steadily under his precise movements, transforming the fiber into thread with surprising efficiency.
Again, the simplicity of the tool contrasted with the mastery of the gesture. Nothing was superfluous; everything relied on habit, patience, and know-how passed down through generations.
On my way out, I didn’t dare venture further into the hamlet. No one invited me in, even though my presence hadn’t gone unnoticed. I still walked along the path leading to a river, in a peaceful landscape.
I took the time to savor this suspended moment before rejoining my devoted driver.
Back in town, I returned to the market where I enjoyed an excellent samosa, fresh out of the fryer. In the same shop as the samosas, delicious pastries caught my greedy eye. The gulab jamun, those little golden balls soaked in fragrant syrup, sat alongside other sweets whose names I didn’t know: round doughnuts with a hole in the center, like little rings, and, slightly set back, orange balls that added to the temptation of the counter.
It was hard to resist in the face of so many colors and unknown shapes… In India, every region has its own treats, and every shop window seems like an invitation to discovery.
I wasn’t in a hurry to return to Ranchi.
I had to take a taxi in the city center, at an intersection where several vehicles were waiting. I spotted the one for Ranchi at the end of the line. I was the first to arrive, and we waited with the driver for nearly half an hour before leaving.
Back at the hotel, I asked about the bus schedules for the next day. I also took the opportunity to check if my laundry was ready. Unfortunately, it was returned to me just as it was—still dirty. It clearly hadn’t been washed. I hope to take care of it at the next stop; otherwise, I’ll have to do it myself.
I ended the day with a biryani, which, unfortunately, was much too spicy for me.
Qui a l'habitude de voyager sait qu'il vient toujours un moment où il faut partir...
Paulo Coelho
Monday, March 23 – From Ranchi to Jamshedpur, between religious fervor and colorful houses
I leave Ranchi, where I’ll be passing through again in a few days. It’s just a short stop, just enough time to change buses.
The bus is ready to leave, but for now, there aren’t many travelers yet. That doesn’t last long: passengers quickly board, and the bus fills up completely. It’s a "luxury" bus, and I pay 350 rupees for the trip.
After a few kilometers, the bus drops me off at the side of the national highway. I want to visit the Diuri temple, located about two kilometers away, but I need to take a small side road. No autorickshaws in sight... All I can do is hitchhike.
After a few minutes of waiting, a car stops near me. I approach and ask the passengers if they can take me to the temple. They agree easily and kindly drive me to the entrance.
A Brahmin welcomes me and suggests I leave my bag in a nearby garage. Then he accompanies me to the Maa Dewri Mandir.
I’m immediately struck by the crowd. There are so many people, and a strong sense of devotion fills the place. The faithful arrive with their offerings, some with their families, others here to perform a specific ritual.
I notice a man who came to have his motorcycle blessed, carefully decorated with flowers for the occasion. Here, vehicles can also receive a blessing before hitting the road.
The exterior of the temple is very colorful, richly adorned with decorations. The dome, with its vibrant colors, is magnificent.
The Brahmin waits for me at the entrance and lets me skip the long line. It’s a privilege that surprises and touches me.
The Maa Dewri Mandir is a unique temple in Jharkhand: the ceremonies (pujas) are performed by Pahans, priests from tribal communities, alongside Brahmins.
The temple is dedicated to the goddess Dewri, depicted with sixteen arms. Thanks to the Brahmin, I can move forward to the sacred area. In front of me, many devotees wait patiently for their turn, holding their offerings in their hands.
Outside, life at the temple continues. Small stalls surround the building, and women sit on the ground selling souvenirs, flowers, or items for offerings.
I notice a wall and a sacred tree whose branches are covered with yellow and red threads. The faithful come here to tie a wish. When it comes true, they return to the temple to untie the thread as a sign of gratitude.
It’s time to head back to the national highway to catch another bus. Once again, I need to find a solution.
I pick up my bag from the garage and spot a van parked by the side of the road. The driver is at the wheel. I ask if he can take me to the bus stop. He kindly agrees and even stays with me to wait for the next bus. When he sees it, he signals for it to stop.
When I try to thank him financially for his help, he refuses.
That’s life in India... These small spontaneous gestures from strangers you meet on the road are part of the memories that stay with you.
I continue my journey to Jamshedpur, a name I still struggle to pronounce. I check into The Villa, a pleasant surprise: a friendly and very clean place.
Qui a l'habitude de voyager sait qu'il vient toujours un moment où il faut partir...
Paulo Coelho
Next, I want to explore the village of Amadubi. I take a taxi to get there, but upon arrival, I find that the cultural center is unfortunately abandoned. I’m disappointed because I was hoping to learn more about this place.
But that disappointment is quickly forgotten. On the way, I had noticed a street lined with houses beautifully decorated with paintings. I ask the driver to stop and set off on foot to explore this neighborhood.
What surprises me, beyond the beauty of the paintings, is how clean this street is. The houses are well-maintained, the facades are neat, and the whole village gives off an impression of harmony and care.
It’s a lovely surprise, especially since this isn’t the first time I’ve noticed this during my trip. In the different states I’ve traveled through, I’ve often seen that tribal community villages are particularly clean and well-kept. The homes, the areas around the houses, and the living spaces seem to receive special attention.
Beyond the traditions and colors, it’s also this way of taking care of their environment that strikes me.
At that moment, I don’t yet know the history behind this art of painted houses or its significance. I’ll discover it in more detail in a few days, but already I’m amazed by what I’m seeing.
Some houses are simply decorated with a colorful stripe,
while others display full murals. The colors brighten the facades and give the village a joyful atmosphere.
A man invites me into the courtyard of his house. Here too, the walls are carefully painted. Everything is cheerful, vibrant, and full of color.
A little further on, I discover houses adorned with floral friezes. Even the door frames are delicately decorated. Each facade seems to tell a story.
Gradually, the locals come out of their houses, curious about my presence. Smiles appear, and conversations begin. I take lots of photos and selfies with them, happy to share this simple and warm moment.
The children come to play around me, amused by this unexpected encounter.
In the end, this impromptu walk through this colorful village will remain one of the highlights of my day. I arrived without knowing about this tradition, simply drawn in by the beautiful colors I’d spotted from the road... and I leave with the memory of a wonderful human connection.
I don’t know it yet, but I’ll soon rediscover this tradition of painted houses from a different perspective, with more explanations about its history and its place in the local culture.
Qui a l'habitude de voyager sait qu'il vient toujours un moment où il faut partir...
Paulo Coelho
Your last two posts are full of beautiful things! That dome is truly stunning!
Yes, this temple is magnificent, and so is the atmosphere. It was a wonderful discovery.
This region is absolutely not touristy, and I found it very difficult to find information about it. I passed through places that didn’t excite me—maybe it’s better to go with a guide, but on a 20-day trip through this state, that would make for a hefty budget if I’m traveling alone.
Qui a l'habitude de voyager sait qu'il vient toujours un moment où il faut partir...
Paulo Coelho
March 2nd — Departure by bus from Latour at 6:50 AM. The route isn’t direct: we pass through Elne then Corneilla. In Perpignan, I switch to a BlaBlaBus heading to Barcelona’s northern bus station.
I saved reading this travel journal for when I’d have the time to give it the attention it deserves, and today I’m finally diving in.
At Marie-Jo’s, no long, unnecessary deliberations about the circumstances and intentions behind the trip like you find with Pagal and others 😄
This *in medias res* opening (starting the story right in the middle of the action) throws us right in without any warm-up!
I saved reading this travel journal for when I’d have the time to give it the attention it deserves, and today I’m diving in.
At Marie-Jo’s, no long, unnecessary rambling about the circumstances and intentions behind the trip like you find with Pagal and others 😄
This *in medias res* opening (starting the story right in the middle of the action) throws us in without any warm-up!
Welcome, Pagal.
Hold on tight—I don’t dawdle, and the road ahead is long, with both great and not-so-great discoveries. A journey into the unknown.
Qui a l'habitude de voyager sait qu'il vient toujours un moment où il faut partir...
Paulo Coelho
Tuesday, March 24
Yesterday, on my way back, I arranged for a taxi to pick me up at 9 AM for a new excursion: Chirudih, the right village this time.
At 9:30 AM, the car still hadn’t arrived. The reception desk was closed, but luckily, the guard was sitting near the gate. I tried to explain that I was waiting for a taxi. Since I didn’t have the driver’s number, he called the owner of the guesthouse, who took charge. The driver finally showed up—with a good twenty minutes late.
Chirudih is about sixty kilometers from Jamshedpur. It took us nearly an hour and a half to get there.
The village is lost in the countryside. When I arrived, I got out of the car and walked down the main street. Very quickly, the first painted houses appeared. Here, the walls are true works of art.
This art is called Sohrai painting, a tradition unique to Jharkhand. The motifs, inspired by nature, depict animals, plants, and scenes from daily life. They’re made using natural pigments mixed with mud: yellow ochre, white (kaolin), black (charcoal), and red (iron-rich clay). The women apply them with their fingers, rags, or small chewed twigs that serve as brushes.
This art is closely tied to the Sohrai festival, celebrated after Diwali, during harvest time. Cattle are honored and decorated, symbolizing gratitude for their essential role in agricultural life. The paintings express this deep connection between humans and nature, as well as respect for ancestors and hopes for prosperity.
In the past, these murals adorned the mud walls of houses. Today, as construction methods evolve, this medium is gradually disappearing, putting the tradition at risk. Yet, thanks to the women of the village, Sohrai art lives on. Girls learn it from a young age from their mothers and grandmothers, passing down this knowledge.
I’ll come back to this art in more detail later in my trip.
Three young people came up to me and offered to show me around the village. Without them, I never would’ve found all these scattered houses. They introduced me to the artists, some of whom were very young.
I noticed that all the murals were signed. One name kept coming up: Amrita. I’d meet her a little later.
We passed through the courtyard of a home where a woman was resting with her granddaughter. Our presence didn’t seem to bother her; without leaving her charpoy, she welcomed me with a smile mixed with surprise.
We walked through another courtyard where a woman was sorting dried straw, probably rice or another grain. The movement was slow, precise, endlessly repeated. Around her, bundles of straw piled up, likely meant to feed the livestock.
The scene was simple, almost silent, yet it spoke volumes about life here—paced by the seasons and agricultural work.
Next, my guide took me to visit the school. When I arrived, the class quickly emptied, and the students came outside to gather around their teacher. They all welcomed me outside, curious and smiling.
They seemed so proud to have me in their little school, and I was touched by this simple and warm welcome.
We ended the visit at the small museum.
At one point, two young men were fixing a sound system. Soon, a French song started playing. A thoughtful, unexpected gesture just for me.
A villager arrived with a jug of water to welcome me. Then, young girls in saris improvised a dance in my honor. Everything was spontaneous. So much kindness and generosity—I was deeply moved.
Before I left, Amrita joined me and gave me a small painting. I was so touched by the gesture.
I realized then that I’d come empty-handed. All I could do was give them a few rupees to thank them for such a natural welcome—yet so precious to me.
I’d just experienced a rare moment. A simple, sincere encounter, but one of particular intensity. I already know I’ll carry this memory with me for the rest of my life.
Qui a l'habitude de voyager sait qu'il vient toujours un moment où il faut partir...
Paulo Coelho
Back in Jamshedpur, I take a walk in a park that’s still quiet at this hour.
I then cross a street lined with bookstalls that reminds me of the one I discovered in Calcutta.
Back at the hotel, I ask about the next day’s plans. I want to visit Chaibasa, and it’s possible to do a day trip there and back. I feel so good here that I eventually decide to extend my stay by one more night. The team is thrilled with my decision and seems happy to know I’m enjoying my time with them.
After dinner, I walk through the market, which is lit up with lots of decorations. The sight is unexpected—almost surreal in this city.
Colorful lights transform the streets into a festive scene.
In the middle of the street, despite the traffic, white chairs are set up facing a stage. I wonder if a wedding ceremony is planned.
A stage set up right in the street, ready for an event—maybe a wedding.
Later in the evening, fireworks go off. Maybe they’re celebrating a wedding nearby.
Qui a l'habitude de voyager sait qu'il vient toujours un moment où il faut partir...
Paulo Coelho
Mercredi 1er avril Hazaribagh J’ai rendez-vous avec Adam Iman, guide et artiste peintre. Il vient me chercher à l’hôtel à 10h. Un autre voyageur, originaire de…
INDE DU 10 OCTOBRE au 3 DECEMBRE 2012 10 octobre: Me voilà repartie pour mon dernier périple en Inde qui comprendra: 1. Le MAHARESHTA (Mumbai, Aurangabad,…
Avant de commencer je tiens à remercier Michèle Buisson et ses « carnets de Misha » qui m’ont bien aidé à réaliser ce voyage. Il est difficile de trouver des…
Je ne chôme pas, voici un autre carnet sur le Rajasthan avec comme toujours des nouvelles découvertes. Jeudi 25 janvier: Départ de la maison à 04h30 et…
Me voila en direct de Delhi, minuit passe, au moins 30 degres... Je voulais poster le debut de ce carnet de France mais je n'ai pu trouver le temps, donc le…
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 you're looking for great tips and offbeat spots, if you love exploring uncharted parts of a country, if the exotic is your adrenaline, then move along!
Our 15 days in early May in this part of Turkey (a country I first discovered during a city trip to Istanbul in 2017) will only tread well-worn paths and revisit popular routes. Simply because I kept hoping until the very end that our flight to Jordan wouldn’t be canceled. Events in the Gulf proved me wrong, so we left with:
Zero preparation.
Not a single hotel booked (well, except the first one), no visits planned, just a flight ticket bought three weeks earlier. No guidebook, no app—just the desire to explore southern Turkey and Cappadocia, whose images and the chance to stretch our legs had caught my eye.
Oh, wait—I did bring along a new guide: Gemini! Yes, my friends, generative AI was my chief advisor throughout the trip for sites to visit, accommodations, routes, and even restaurants! An experiment I wanted to try to form my own opinion on using this new technology. And what better way to test it than a Turkish getaway?
The verdict? You’ll have to wait for the trip recap to find out!
The main idea of the trip is also relaxation.
So, the plan is Antalya for a few days, the Turkish Riviera for a few more, Cappadocia as the highlight, and a return via Antalya to wrap up the trip. And it was all planned by AI!
So, if you're ready, fasten your seatbelts—cabin crew, doors to automatic and cross check—boarding for Turkey now!
Bonjour tout le monde, nous voici rentrés d'un RT USA organisé par nos soins du 31/07/2026 au 26/08/2026.
La destination : Le Sud-Ouest USA avec le Texas, l'Arizona et le Nouveau-Mexique. 7000 kilomètres effectués à la louche.
L'Auto : Une Chevrolet Equinoxe pour deux en passant par BSP Auto et Avis. Et dedans 2 valises, un sac de voyage, deux valises cabines, la glacière de chez Walmart, le matos photos et les bouteilles d'eau (pack de 40).
Le trajet : Dallas DFW, Fort Worth, Houston, Austin, San Antonio, Alpine, El Paso, Tucson, Sedona, Albuquerque, Amarillo et Dallas pour finir avec départ sur DFW.
Les voyageurs : Deux séniors bien avancés dans l'âge (73 et 75) mais toujours en activité (pas épuisante physiquement) (pour rester vivants et financer les voyages), autonomes physiquement à 100%, intellectuellement beaucoup moins, passionnés des USA, pays où tout est possible, plus marcheurs que randonneurs, plutôt hôtels à partir de 3 étoiles que motels de bord de route, plutôt restos Italiens que nourriture US, adeptes des arrêts fréquents pour les photos, plutôt musées que rien, Plutôt sieste que marches forcées. Pas trop râleurs, juste ce qu'il faut pour rester français au pays du grand Satan qu'ils disent.
Pas trés doués pour les langues, Anglais des rues (mais bien pratique), Espagnol nul pour moi hormis : " Hola ! Una Cerveza por Favor ! " Cela fait court. Madame comprend tout mais refuse de parler.
Le coût du RT : Environ 12 000 euros avec les vols AF, Auto, Essence, cadeaux, visites et tutti quanti. Bien maitrisé puisque 13500 euros prévus au départ.
Le bilan positif : Un régal avec les longues routes à perte de vue. Des Musées à découvrir. Le constat de la présence Hispanique et de son Histoire importante dans ce secteur de l'Amérique. Des locaux adorables. Des touristes plus ou moins sympas. Un accent Texan abominable et difficile à comprendre. Des stations Gas qui sont de véritables magasins avec nourriture préparée et autre alcools vendus en Arizona et Nouveau-Mexique et des employés au top ! Toujours prêts à rigoler !
Le bilan négatif : La chaleur tout au long du séjour...43° sur Dallas en fin de séjour. Impossible de sortir dans les rues. Beaucoup de "Homeless" dans les rues de l'Hyper Centre de Dallas. Les breakfasts Hôtel toujours les mêmes. On s'y fait.
Donc, positif certes mais le concept commence à fatiguer. Il se pourrait que le modèle RT autonome soit repensé pour le prochain. SI celui qui est en haut nous prête vie.
Pour la suite, attendons les premières photos triées et passées à la moulinette.
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
Il arrive souvent qu'on nous demande quoi visiter en Belgique .
Et les réponses ramènent le plus souvent à Bruges , Gand, Anvers et Bruxelles , avec raison , ces villes valant la peine d'être visitées 😉 .
Toutefois, la Belgique, bien que petite , ne se limite pas à ces 4 villes .
J'habite l'une d'entre elles ( Bruxelles) , passe avec plaisir du temps dans les trois autres , mais j'ai envie d'aborder d'autres coins moins connus , qui pourront compléter le séjour de ceux qui ont envie d'en voir un peu plus , ou de voir autre chose .
C'est qu'entre deux voyages , j'aime bien visiter l'un ou l'autre coin du pays où j'habite .
D'où l'idée d'un carnet de balades .
La plupart des endroits dont je vais parler peuvent être visités en faisant l'aller-retour le même jour , au départ de Bruxelles , que ce soit en transports en commun ou en voiture .
Dans l'ordre chronologique des sujets abordés :
- Le barrage de la Gileppe ( province de Liège) -message 2 , page 1
- Le domaine de La Hulpe ( Brabant wallon ) - message 3 , page 1
- Malines ( province d'Anvers ) message 4 , page 1
- La côte - message 5 , page 1
- Le Westhoek , au départ de La Panne - message 6 , page 1
- Le Zwin, au départ de Knokke - message 7 , page 1
- Lier ( entre Malines et Anvers ) - message 8 , page 1
- Mons (Hainaut) - message 9 , page 1
- La région de Florenville . - message 12 , page 1
- Les Cantons de l'Est - message 13 , page 1
- Dinant - message 18 , page 1
- Le jardin japonais d'Hasselt - message 24 , page 2
- Louvain message 29 , page 2
- Louvain-la-neuve - message 32 , page 2
- Ostende - message 42 (page 3) et message 166 (page 9)
- Les floralies de Grand-Bigard . - message 43 , page 3
- Le bois de Halle -message 44 , page 3
- Les pralines - message 54 , page 3
- Charleroi - message 68 , page 4
- Namur - message 92 , page 5
- Le Bois du Cazier ( Marcinelle) - message 95 , page 5
- Les couques et les gozettes - message 96 , page 5
- Liège - message 99 , page 5
- Tournai - message 115 , page 6 .
- Audenarde ( Oudenaarde ) - message 121, page 7
- Jardin botanique de Meise - message 124, page 7 .
- Tongres ( Tongeren ) - message 125 , page 7 .
- Château de Beersel ( Brabant flamand) - message 126, page 7 .
- Bruxelles confinée ( messages 150 et 154 , page 8 )
- L'hôpital Notre Dame à la Rose , à Lessines ( messages 161 et 162 , page 9 ) .
- Westende ( message 167, page 9)
je complète cette liste au fur et à mesure de l'avancement du carnet ...
This travel journal is therefore intended solely for my photos, to present a consistent style.
All the shots were taken with a simple Samsung Galaxy smartphone and with whatever was at hand.
All stays combined, I’ve spent the equivalent of a year at most in Thailand, and I’m no great expert.
However, after many trips, lots of reading on VoyageForum and other sites, and conversations with many locals as well as expats, my view of the country is becoming clearer, though it’s constantly evolving. You never stop discovering and learning.
I guess I wanted to deliver a puzzle, mainly for those who want to get an idea of the country here and for those who feel nostalgic about it.
I don’t know if this minimalist sharing will interest anyone, but it’ll do me good to put it together. After so many months without traveling and then these other long months with VF closed, there’s plenty of material available.
There’ll be a mix of places, periods, and subjects, but it might well be intentional.
I suspect many Thais have dogs because they make excellent guardians for the home. Nothing better to deter burglars or to signal the presence of a snake. You’ll often see Thais tapping the top of their dog’s head, but don’t be fooled: it’s a sign of affection from them. Judging by the dogs’ reactions, they’re used to it.
Thailand is one of the countries on the planet where rabies is still present, so keep that in mind. It’s not just bites that can be dangerous, so don’t let just any dog lick you. Especially on a wound, of course.
Even though dogs often fear humans—this dangerous and unpredictable predator—we still need to stay cautious.
Be careful when walking into alleys because the dog will defend its master’s big yard. Be careful at night, and be careful when they’re in packs.
It sometimes crosses our minds that Thailand isn’t all that made for walking around, and dogs are one of the reasons.
That said, it’s not uncommon to see them chasing bikes or scooters. Cars, though? Much rarer—they’re too big.
It seems Thais prefer to give their dogs freedom by not locking them behind gates. Though sometimes the gate is closed, the little side door is wide open. Oh, and sometimes there’s no gate in front of the property, or it’s been full of holes for years.
You’ll often see dogs sleeping on the roadside, sometimes right on the road. When you approach, they move aside nonchalantly—or not at all. It’s less funny when they suddenly appear from thick vegetation, reminding visitors not to drive too fast. As a result, you’ll notice that dogs with injuries or missing legs aren’t that rare.
Since they believe in reincarnation and respect for all forms of life, they don’t chase dog packs away too much, and they don’t sterilize them enough. When you see a small pack roaming freely in the countryside, you think twice about running into them at the edge of a field.
A darker side of this is that euthanasia isn’t often practiced. Twice, we saw dogs at death’s door in temples, enduring terrible suffering with no one to help. The image (and the smell) of one of them, agonizing and exuding the stench of death, still comes back to me sometimes.
Some of you may have seen the YouTube vlog of a French woman living in Phuket who was given a little pig by her Thai friends. The animal, well-fed, quickly became a happy and enormous beast with its own garden. Yet it didn’t take long for it to fall seriously ill and become incurable. In her video, the French woman described how difficult it was to find a vet willing to perform euthanasia.
You’ll often see bowls by the side of the road. Thais leave food and water there for stray cats and dogs. Overall, they have a big heart for animals.
If you ever pop into a shopping mall, you might see people pushing their small dogs in strollers. It’s not just for fun—these strollers are provided for customers to put their pets in, otherwise you can’t bring them inside. It looks a bit odd when you expect to see a baby.
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.
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.
This trip had been on my mind for about fifteen years.
But the discomfort of overnight stays, the difficulty of communication, and the prices of the few car rental options kept making me postpone the project.
And then, everything suddenly fell into place—I told myself, it’s time!
The preparations took longer than usual; the destination is still far from mainstream.
A bit of Kazakhstan?
Not in the end.
The south or not the south?
Yes, in the end.
Pre-book or go with the flow?
Only two stops were a leap into the unknown.
To help me find the ideal route, I made great use of this forum (thanks to everyone for patiently answering my questions!), pored over travel journals and blogs (Christian, Jeff), zoomed in on Google Maps and Yandex, and bought the guide published by OunTravela about this destination (the guide has been updated since).
---/---
You’ve got your passport, international driver’s license, bank cards, and euros?
Off we go to Lyon—just one night left before our early morning flight.
Tomorrow night, we’ll be sleeping in Bishkek!
(Steak for my partner’s mischievous nephews...)
You’ll find here a post with some practical information.
And here, the version of the travel journal without comments.
---/---
As a supplement, the route track.
Not necessarily ultra-accurate since Google has serious gaps for this destination...
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...
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!!!
January 2026
Here we go again for new adventures and the pleasure of sharing them with you here! First of all, I’d like to thank everyone who helped me with the preparations, even with some last-minute improvisations just days before departure. Thanks to Montagnard74, Jojoone1, Songsam, Attila, Dennis2, NadegerFERM, and the authors whose travel journals about Laos inspired me (Montagnard74, Muriel18, Mavietongs...).
In this story, written by Richard and illustrated by me, we’ll tell you about the journey of four friends: Catherine, Richard, Nathalie, and Bruno. A reinvented but overall successful trip, filled with discoveries and surprises, the scents of spices and frangipani flowers, (too) spicy food, sunsets, and... one big mess.
Preamble:
Africa was calling to me, so a year ago, with our usual travel companions, we decided to return to the continent we love so much.
Where to go?
Uganda quickly caught our attention—wildlife we’re used to seeing, plus gorillas and the shoebill we missed in Zambia.
We got in touch with Paul, who’s been mentioned several times on the forum back in September, booked our flight tickets, secured the gorilla permits, and by early October, the most important things were done.
We still had plenty of time to hold our "prep meetings" for the final itinerary.
Three days before departure, I sprained my ankle (my weak spot, as you’ll recall from our Colombia trip).
I wasn’t in great spirits, but after a year of waiting, nothing was going to stop me.
We’d see how it goes!
Off we went for our new adventures
Come along, I'm taking you to this country where it's so nice to wander and slow down...
This trip was in 2023, but when I wanted to write my travel journal, VF was still closed to contributions...
So, now that I've just finished my Japan travel journal here, I figured it was high time to honor this destination we came back from so enchanted.
Disclaimer 1: This is a written travel journal. There’ll be text! Too much, for some!
Disclaimer 2: This is an illustrated travel journal. There’ll be photos! Too many, for some!
I have to say, every time I try to discipline myself, to keep it shorter, to include fewer photos... I end up adding more. It feels like my dear Aunt Nicole, who exhausted us with her slide-show evenings in the 70s/80s, decided to take her revenge. The upside for you, readers, is that you can slip away anytime without offending Aunt Nicole. I won’t even notice!
Anyway, since I love maps, here’s one to give you an idea of where I’m taking you. As you can see, we only saw a tiny part of Laos (the areas circled in red); we only had 3 weeks for ourselves (my husband’s newly retired, I still work), and we prefer taking our time over rushing around like crazy.
In broad strokes, it was very classic:
First, we “settled in” at Luang Prabang (8 days), because we wanted and needed to.
From there, we took three days to venture a little further north—not far in kilometers, but as we know, distances aren’t just about km!
Then we flew south to Paksé, letting ourselves drift down to the 4,000 Islands while stopping by the pre-Angkorian archaeological sites.
We wrapped up with the Bolaven Plateau.
A few practical notes: We arrived via Bangkok, then took a Bangkok-Luang Prabang flight, having picked up our luggage in Bangkok to check it in for Luang Prabang. No issues—the Bangkok airport, which many of you know, is very well organized.
We got our visas on arrival in Luang Prabang. Quick, but to be fair, we were on a “small” plane, and the big flights had arrived earlier, so we weren’t too crowded in line!
At the end of our trip, we didn’t fly out of Paksé but from the nearby airport in Thailand, Ubon Ratchathani (a 2.5-hour drive from Paksé), then Bangkok and Paris.
You’ll notice we skipped Vientiane to stay longer in Luang Prabang. That said, there’s now a high-speed train between Vientiane and Luang Prabang—good to know—and soon the (Chinese) train will go all the way to Bangkok and even Kuala Lumpur!
With that intro out of the way, let’s dive into the heart of the matter.
To be continued: Slowing down the pace... in Luang Prabang
I’d been wanting to discover Sulawesi for years. But then life happened—COVID, the cost of flight tickets, you name it. Long story short, years went by, but we finally set off as a family for a three-week trip in southern Sulawesi: Rammang Rammang, Rantepao, Sengkang, Bira, and Selayar.
I like to spend a good amount of time in the places I visit, giving myself the chance to really get to know the area and meet locals. So no island-hopping this time—just the south. But when I say "just," it’s not restrictive at all, given how rich this island is in landscapes, little encounters, and magical moments.
Wednesday 07/08 - Thursday 07/09:
We left Montpellier for what was supposed to be five flights, though we only took four to start, landing in Jakarta.
We picked up our luggage there to catch a flight to Makassar the next day. That’s the only way we could get an affordable ticket (702 €).
I won’t bore you with the flight details—there’s not much to say. We arrived at 7 PM and considered heading straight to Makassar that evening. But we opted for a recovery night before taking off again. Good thing we did, because my son’s suitcase was missing...
First contact with the locals was a bit stressful—a trip without your luggage isn’t exactly fun. But right away, a woman reassured us: the suitcase was just enjoying some extra time in Singapore. Maybe it was doing some last-minute shopping. Anyway, nothing serious—it was supposed to arrive at 9 AM the next day. That gave us some breathing room since our flight wasn’t until noon.
So off we went to our hotel (Days Hotel & Suites) near the airport. It was cheap (40 € for three rooms—my kids are older and need their space), but it wasn’t worth much more. The place had definitely seen better days. But no big deal—we were only there for the night, and... we got to watch France beat Morocco in the World Cup live at 3 AM. That’s what really mattered!
Friday 07/10: In search of the lost suitcase
First challenge of the morning: finding our missing suitcase. They sent us to the airport basement, to the staff entrance. We were greeted with smiles, and an airport employee led me through the underground corridors back to the baggage claim. Right on time at 9 AM, the suitcase arrived, just like they’d promised. We were finally complete!
Off we went to change terminals, grab a well-deserved meal, and board our fifth flight to Makassar.
Little side note: I struggled for a while trying to book domestic flights directly on the airlines’ websites with no luck. Without meaning to advertise (though I guess I am a little), I realized it’d be easier to use sites like tiket.com or Traveloka. That turned out to be a great choice—I even ended up booking hotels through them later in the trip.
12:40 PM: We were on our way to Makassar. First good news: we were the only tourists. Well, the only European tourists on the flight, anyway.
No, you’re not dreaming—the bag is full of... potato chip packets.
To each their own souvenirs, I guess...
When we arrived in Makassar, a driver was waiting to take us straight to Rammang Rammang: 250,000 IDR (12 €) to our guesthouse (Rammang Rammang House). Forget about meeting people on the bus—we were headed straight to the first stop of our trip, and it was already stunning.
My kids’ guesthouse:
Ours:
View of the little lake:
But not everything is straightforward around here.
I wanted to get a local SIM card for internet and calls. I found them expensive at Jakarta’s airport (20 € for 20 GB), so I decided to wait. Well, no luck in Rammang Rammang either. You can’t just buy one from the local shop—you need a Telkomsat store (they have the best coverage). So we’d have to wait for Rantepao to get Wi-Fi... When I say "local shop," I mean the little shack around the corner. No big deal—we’d find one easily in Rantepao for 5 € and 25 GB. So there we were, offline, just the four of us enjoying the amazing view.
Saturday 07/11: Rammang Rammang
We woke up early to the sound of wedding music blasting through the village (everyone’s invited!). Off we went to explore the area.
A little walking, a little boat ride (shared with a French tourist and a Polish one—yes, there *are* tourists here, just not many; 750,000 IDR for up to 8 people) through a lovely canal, and we discovered the karst site. It was peaceful and beautiful.
The river:
The karst site:
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)
Okay, Palermo—we know it. We go there to marvel at the architectural wonders born from the Arab-Norman-Byzantine-Gothic mix. And rightly so. We also go to treat our taste buds to all kinds of delights, both savory and sweet. Again, rightly so. We go to succumb to the charms of Palermo’s women, their sun-kissed skin glowing with golden highlights. Still, rightly so. And all while fantasizing about a mafia we’ll never actually see. Anyway.
But you’ll also find street art everywhere, even in the historic center. Sometimes, you just need to step a few meters away from the main tourist highways like Cassaro, Via Maqueda, or the main arteries of the Ballarò, Capo, or Vucciria markets to stumble upon some amazing murals. Duck into one or two slightly grimy alleys, weaving past trash and crumbling walls, and you’ll find real gems.
For example, just 50 meters south of the main artery of the Mercato del Capo, there’s a great spot with dozens of murals in a tiny neighborhood of run-down mini-houses. You’ll find plenty more south of the Mercato di Ballarò, in the Albergheria (the grittier side, not the one near Cassaro). There’s some in Ballarò itself too, but it’s hard to spot when the market’s in full swing with stalls everywhere. La Kalsa isn’t left out either, nor is Vucciria—just step away from the restaurant-packed streets.
Here are a few examples that really caught my eye.
(In the heart of Albergheria, on a street every visitor walks down—lovely message from an unidentified artist)
We landed in Victoria Falls, Zimbabwe, and headed straight to Kasane in Botswana to pick up our car.
Our vehicle is a 4x4 because in Zambia, it's practically impossible to use anything else, especially in the national parks. I’ve already had the pleasure of visiting South Luangwa National Park—it’s one of the reasons for this trip, the main one being to travel in Africa with one of my sons.
First stop: Livingstone on the banks of the Zambezi River. Along the way, we discovered a lovely restaurant at Socrates with a super-friendly owner (we’ll actually stop there again on our way back). We spent our first night in the rooftop tent after a stunning sunset, accompanied by the grunting of hippos in the river.
The next day, we set off early, heading to Kafue NP. In fact, we’ll always leave early—waking up between 5:00 and 5:30 AM and hitting the road an hour later. Kafue is a lesser-known park, mostly forested, and the animals are skittish because they’re not used to human presence. We crossed the park from south to north and came across various antelopes. Near Lake Itezhi-Tezhi, there are plains where wildlife is easier to spot.
After Kafue, we headed to South Luangwa. This journey requires stops in Mumbwa and Petauke. Two pleasant stops where we found lodges (a nice change from the rooftop tent) at affordable prices and met welcoming people.
For me, South Luangwa is Zambia’s most beautiful park—the river is stunning, the landscapes are gorgeous, and there’s a wide variety of wildlife, including, of course, big cats. A tip for those, like us, who aren’t with a guide: if you’re staying near the park for several days, don’t hesitate to do a "game drive" to scout out where the animals are so you can return the next day with your own vehicle. Of course, in the dry season, you’ll want to focus on waterholes to see the animals—and you’ll need a bit of luck too. The elephant population is growing, and we were lucky enough to see around sixty elephants crossing the Luangwa at dawn, spread across several groups. South Luangwa is the westernmost point of our trip, and we’re now heading east to Lower Zambezi.
Lower Zambezi is Zambia’s side of Mana Pools on the Zimbabwe side. We took a boat ride on the Zambezi to see elephants, hippos, crocodiles, and a multitude of birds living along the water and on the river’s islands. The sunset there is also magnificent.
To explore the park, we followed the waterways parallel to the Zambezi, mostly on the western side (see our route). Lower Zambezi is the last park we visit, and the final leg of our trip will be Victoria Falls.
Victoria Falls—or Mosi-Oa-Tunya ("The Smoke That Thunders")—are truly impressive, even during the dry season. We saw the falls from both countries: in Zambia for the overall view and the bridge that serves as the border, and in Zimbabwe to get as close as possible to the most spectacular parts of the falls.
This marks the end of our trip, which, despite a blown tire on the road, went off without any major issues. Zambia is a beautiful country that immerses you in wild, still-preserved nature.
From Southern Shikoku, between land and sea, to the blue waters of Miyakojima and finally Tokyo’s megacity
Hi everyone,
I have to admit, I really hesitated before deciding to write this travel journal... Writing one takes a lot of time and energy, and since this is my 4th trip, I wondered if it would actually interest anyone other than myself (both for the discovery and the writing). But after a few "Are you going to write a journal?" requests and especially the renewed pleasure from reading other travelers’ travel journals about Japan or elsewhere on this forum or elsewhere, I’ve decided to share this 4th installment in the Land of the Rising Sun here.
The itinerary:
27 full days, from late May to late June 2025, right in the middle of the rainy season, including:
-->13 days in Shikoku, from Kochi (Kochi Prefecture) to Matsuyama (Ehime Prefecture)
-->7 days in Miyakojima (Okinawa Prefecture)
-->7 days in Tokyo
The trip was decided on fairly last-minute this year, as usual.
I regularly check flight prices to track fluctuations for this destination, even without concrete plans. Finding a slightly cheaper direct flight (900 €) than what I’d seen in previous months (around 1,200–1,400 € on average) for a Paris-Tokyo route with Japanese airline ANA was too tempting to resist the urge to return to this enchanting country. After long hesitations between exploring the San’in region (Matsue, Tottori, Yamaguchi) and southern Shikoku, the decision was made—I took the plunge! The tickets are booked: Paris to Kochi with a layover in Tokyo, all with ANA, the airline I’d been dreaming of... for 1,120 € per person. Okay, it’s not cheap, but it’s still better than in 2023.
We leave in 2 weeks!! Now it’s just a matter of getting everything ready!
Intense work ahead in these 2 weeks to:
finalize a more precise itinerary and reach an agreement—yep, because even though we both love Japan, our preferences differ slightly, and we have to choose between exploring new places or taking time to revisit beloved spots...
decide how much time to spend in each selected area without rushing while still exploring
research places that might interest us and watch videos about Japan
book accommodations: yes, it’s possible to do this on the spot as we go, but last year, we noticed that last-minute options were pretty expensive, so we’re booking ahead—even if it means keeping a few options open while we decide or see if better deals pop up later
reserve rental cars
order yen
check the weather regularly and wonder if choosing the *tsuyu* (rainy season) was really a good idea—and whether we’ll be stuck in non-stop rain???
What a tough job, right? Traveling to Japan for a month—such a hard life!
Despite this being my 4th trip, the excitement is just as intense as the first time.
The only small downside is that when we booked the flight tickets, there were only a few seats left, so we’re only sitting together on the international return flight. Plus, on the outbound flight, we’ve got the middle seats.
Another lingering question: what French-language films will be available? According to the internet, the selection seems limited.
Oh well, these are just minor details—it’s almost time to fly!
PS: I’ll be posting slowly and irregularly... so for those interested, be patient or maybe set an alert...
Before Our Departure
Preparing for this trip started 9 months before our departure in June. For those planning a similar itinerary, it’s important to book accommodations well in advance, especially in the Okavango and Savuti campsites—otherwise, you might not find any availability.
Introduction
After visiting Zambia three years ago and Namibia and western Botswana a year and a half ago, this year we chose Zimbabwe (Hwange NP) and the northern half of Botswana.
Our flight from Paris was to Victoria Falls with Ethiopian Airlines, with a layover in Addis Ababa. We rented a 4x4 from Bushlore in Kasane, complete with two rooftop tents since there are four of us on this adventure. Bushlore picked us up from our guesthouse to collect our 4x4 and, most importantly, gave us a rundown of the vehicle and its equipment. Pay close attention to what they tell you—it could be crucial if something goes wrong, as it did for us during the trip.
Our Itinerary
We arrived on June 12th at noon. At Victoria Falls Airport, we got our double-entry visa right away—I’d already pre-booked it online on the site https://www.evisa.gov.zw/.
Since our vehicle was in Botswana, we had to cross the border from Victoria Falls into Botswana for the first time.
The next morning, Bushlore picked us up from our guesthouse to collect our 4x4. After completing the formalities, we headed toward Zimbabwe and the town of Victoria Falls.
We woke up early the next morning to be at Victoria Falls at sunrise. The scenery was stunning, but since it was the start of the dry season, the Zambezi was still high, so the falls had a strong flow. This made it hard to fully appreciate their beauty.
In the early afternoon, we left for Hwange NP, where we stayed for 4 days. Two days at Gwango campsite near Dete, followed by two days at Robins Camp. We expected to see more animals at Robins, but that wasn’t the case. In Hwange, we didn’t spot any predators, but we did see plenty of mammals (buffalo, elephants, giraffes, zebras, and antelopes).
After a few days in Zimbabwe, we crossed back into Botswana at Pandamatenga. We stopped at Nata Lodge for a good night’s rest—driving on the dirt roads is exhausting.
We left Nata and headed toward Nxai Pan. The road was sandy but manageable. We made a small detour to admire some beautiful baobabs at "Baines Baobabs." Then we continued to our campsite, Nxai Pan South Camp. Keep in mind that many campsites in Botswana aren’t fenced (except for the shower/toilet areas), so animals can roam freely within the camp. Take precautions, especially after dark.
After our stop in Nxai Pan, we headed to Maun. We decided to break our journey in Maun before heading to Moremi and the Okavango Delta for three reasons: first, we needed to stock up on supplies and fuel for the next 5 days; second, our fridge had broken (luckily, Bushlore has a branch in Maun); and third, the drive from Nxai to our camp in Xakanaxa in the delta would’ve taken too long. I always avoid driving after dark.
We arrived at our Xakanaxa camp on June 21st in the early afternoon. Not wanting to waste time, we booked a boat ride on the Okavango Delta, leaving at 4:00 PM for a 2-hour sunset cruise. For those interested, to the right of the Xakanaxa X1 site, there’s a sign for boat rides. The organizer is very professional and offers prices that are nothing like those of the lodges.
It was a beautiful ride through the delta with a stunning sunset. Being on a boat is much more relaxing than driving on the dirt roads. That didn’t stop us from doing self-drive safaris the next morning and late afternoon, though.
Then came the time to leave the delta and head toward Savuti, a much drier region. And that’s when the toughest part of our trip began. First, we decided to go up via Khwai. The rainy season was over, but the area was still marshy. We had to cross a few small water patches, testing the depth to make sure we could get through. Luckily, a sign on the road pointed us toward a drier route. We reached Khwai without any issues, but then we made a major mistake. Instead of taking the main track toward Mababe Gate to reach Savuti Camp, we took a straight path north and then a right turn to get to our camp. Bad call—we got stuck in the sand, with one rear wheel buried halfway and a front wheel off the ground. We were genuinely scared we wouldn’t get out, especially since we were on a deserted track, 20 kilometers from our destination, with night falling in two hours. This is where paying attention to the vehicle instructions really paid off—we had to use the jack to get out of the mess. The result: we arrived at Savuti campsite just before dark (Distance: 146.3 km, Duration: 9 hours, 56 minutes, and 3 seconds, Average speed: 14.7 km/h, tracked with Osmand). At reception, the staff couldn’t understand how we’d gotten there—we hadn’t passed through any of Savuti’s reserve entry gates.
The next morning, no one felt like driving, so we did a game drive with a guide. I don’t know if it was some kind of reward, but the outing was amazing. We saw three lions and, best of all, a pack of African wild dogs that we had time to admire and photograph. The next day, we did a short self-drive and found one of the lions from the day before drinking at a waterhole. That was the end of our Savuti adventure.
Now we’re heading to Kasane. We returned our vehicle and settled in for our last two nights there. The next morning, since we no longer had a car, we decided to do one last early-morning game drive in Chobe NP. It turned out great—we followed two brother lions and saw plenty of other mammals. The only downside of Chobe is the number of tourists, which was a change from the other parks we’d visited. That said, we’re tourists too, so...
In the evening, we took one last boat ride on the Chobe River to end on a high note with a beautiful sunset.
After a good night’s sleep and plenty of wonderful memories, landscapes, animals, and emotions, it was time to leave. We left early in the morning with the same taxi company as before to cross the border into Zimbabwe one last time and head to the airport, where we took off to return to France.
We all have two lives. And the second one kicks off the day you realize you only have one, with the determination to spend the time you have left on what truly adds sparkle to your life, Kevin! I like to elegantly introduce a trip with a philosophical quote. First, it gives you the illusion that I’m some kind of deep thinker, and second, it lets me fill up the first few lines of my blank page when I don’t know how to tell you I’m diving back into what really lights up my life: another adventure beyond the horizon! And nearly every other year, like a toxic relationship, my horizon tends to take shape in Uncle Sam’s backyard. And this, despite his cousin Donald calling the shots. Speaking of which, it was partly that impulsive guy who pushed us to be just as impulsive and snag our four flight tickets at a ridiculously low price—a direct result of foreign tourism taking a hit from BetaMax’s repeated antics... Four tickets? Who are the other lucky ones? In this case, our lucky ones are actually lucky ladies: My Flo, always up for exploring the world with me on foot, camelback, or scooter, is obviously in on the fun. The other two seats went to our daughters, Sasha and Luna, both thrilled to be part of this new American adventure...
But what’s the American West like in February?... A gamble. Let’s call it Russian roulette since we’re not landing during peak weather season. That’s why we encouraged our transportation and accommodation to get cozy and produce a little camper van, so we can stay ultra-flexible in the face of any weather tantrums. We’ll be roaming in Kara the van with the motto "Follow the sun!" Bad weather? We bolt. Snow? We speed up. Sunny? We act like it was the plan all along and soak it up.
"Okay, but why keep coming back to the same corner of the globe? After ten American adventures, you must be tired of seeing the same things, right?" But I’m not crazy, you know!... The American West is like making love to your gorgeous wife over and over, always enjoying it just as much. And contrary to what you might think, the American West isn’t just the Grand Canyon, Monument Valley, Las Vegas, and Bryce Canyon. Proof is, after ten trips to the U.S., my retinas are still untouched by three-quarters of the places I scribbled on a napkin for this adventure... Oh, and add to that my wife, who I’ve easily converted to my religion, and boom... relapse is even easier! Because yes, we’ve landed in Los Angeles after a sunny flight over Greenland, still under Danish flag for now. And we’re already heading east through the XXL traffic of L.A.’s eight-lane highways, eager to dive into our first discoveries. But first, night is taking over the sky, and second, we’ve been officially awake for 24 hours, so I suggest wrapping up this intro. I’ll tell you more tomorrow morning. Sound good?
This travel journal aims to help future travelers (well, I hope so!), since there’s so little information available about this remote archipelago. Big thanks to Lolodesiles and Ayis for answering my questions while I planned this trip!
Context
This is our fourth trip to Indonesia as a couple—after Java-Bali in 2011, Flores-Komodo in 2013, and Sulawesi in 2016—each time for three weeks. It’s also our tenth trip to Southeast Asia overall.
We’re traveling like we have in previous years: with a rough itinerary that often changes based on who we meet, tips from other travelers, how tired we are, or what we’re feeling in the moment. In the Moluccas, it’ll change constantly, mostly depending on transportation.
Our only accommodation booking: the first few nights in Ambon when we arrive.
Planned route (to be refined on the spot): Ambon - Banda Islands - Lease Islands - Ternate - Tidore - Halmahera (between Sofifi and Tobelo) - Morotai and the neighboring unnamed archipelago.
Flights: Lyon-Paris-Singapore on Air France (428 € round-trip), with good meals, champagne, and wine (we like our little comforts when going on vacation 😏). Then Singapore-Jakarta-Ambon on Air Asia and Garuda.
Return flight: Ternate-Jakarta-Singapore on Lion Air, with a 3-day stopover in Singapore before heading home.
Episode 1: Ambon to Banda
Our guesthouse, booked two days before departure, is 45 minutes from Ambon Airport, near Natsepa Beach (northeast of Leihitu). It’s a pretty average beach—quiet on weekdays but packed on Sundays (we saw the difference). It’s lined with warungs.
This rainy day helps us readjust to the atmosphere of this country we love so much.
Our “Solim Guesthouse” is a lovely house with a living/dining room and garden, costing 15 € per night for two, including a hearty breakfast.
Dinner is at Gaba Gaba, a great restaurant just a short walk away, right by the water, recommended by our host. Fun fact: it’s in the Lonely Planet, and it might be the only LP-listed spot in the Moluccas that actually matches the description (the others either don’t exist or have nothing to do with what’s advertised 😠).
For the next two days, the super-friendly owner lends us his scooter. We set off to explore the coastal villages in northern Leihitu (the western part of Ambon Island, which has a weird shape).
Laundry and trucks washed in the same stream.
Liang Beach, described as the island’s most beautiful, is almost gone (climate change or something else?), but the colors are magical.
We continue 25 km toward a snorkeling spot our host recommended, taking a gorgeous, deserted little road through tiny villages in clove plantations (oh, those unforgettable scents!), stunning coves, and dense forest.
We’re greeted dozens of times with “Hello Mister”—a daily routine in the Moluccas. Every time we stop, we pose for photos to be saved on locals’ smartphones. They don’t see tourists often.
We ask for directions to the snorkeling spot (not easy—we only know basic Indonesian like *Selamat pagi*, *siang*, *sore*, and other polite phrases). Not many people know where it is (especially since we never know which village we’re in), but we eventually reach a small village that seems to be the right place. 🙂
We ask a local to take us there by boat (it’s not reachable by land).
The spot is at most 100 meters long, but the coral is in good condition (apparently not dynamited by fishermen, unlike in other parts of this beautiful country where fishing methods are destructive and nature pays the price 😠). The fish are plentiful and diverse. It’s a great start before heading to Banda. We’re happy to have the place to ourselves… though we don’t yet realize we won’t see a single tourist for the rest of the trip!
After two days of rest, we head to Tulehu Port in the morning, aiming for the Banda Islands. We know the journey is often tricky: the Pelni ferry runs twice a month but doesn’t match our dates, the 10-seat Suzi Air plane is always full (you can’t book—you have to show up on Mondays and Fridays), and it’s often canceled due to weather. So we opt for the Tuesday speedboat (which also gets canceled if there are waves or wind), with the next one on Saturday.
We’re used to Indonesian ports—crowded, rusty boats, no English speakers—but we still feel lost. When I ask about the speedboat to Bandaneira, people gesture wildly, someone takes me to the “harbor office,” then tells me there’s no boat, others try to sell me tickets, and some just say, “No boat.”
Luckily, an English-speaking local approaches us and confirms the speedboat is broken. The next one will be Saturday *if* it’s fixed—otherwise, even later. 🤪 😠
We’re crushed. We came here for the Banda Islands… 🙁
We decide waiting five days for a maybe-boat isn’t an option, so we decide to head straight to North Moluccas, which was planned for later. We’re so disappointed we don’t even want to stay in the area. The Lease Islands don’t appeal to us despite what we’ve read, and Seram would deserve its own trip with its remote mountain tribes.
Huge disappointment—we’d been dreaming of Banda for months, with its incredible drop-offs like Bunaken, its islands covered in nutmeg trees, etc. I’d read that Banda is in the world’s top 5, alongside Bunaken (amazing—we went in 2016), Komodo (incredible—we went in 2013), Sipadan, and another spot I’ve forgotten.
We take a taxi back to Ambon (45 minutes) to a travel agency to buy plane tickets to Ternate. There’s a daily ATR72 flight at noon—perfect timing.
Ambon is the capital of South Moluccas (or Central, depending on who you ask!) with 300,000 people. The city doesn’t seem unpleasant, but we don’t stop.
On the plane, there are only about ten passengers for 72 seats. The flight attendants are stunning, as always with Wings Air—clearly, they’re hired for their looks. 😊
Stopover in Bacan—a runway in the middle of coconut trees serving a tiny town—then we fly over countless volcanoes, the last one towering over Ternate.
Bonjour,
De retour sur le forum - et première rédaction d'un espèce de carnet de retour de notre 4ème voyage en Indo.
Contexte : une trentaine de jours, en scooter et en duo, sur Florès (et une petite incursion dans l'archipel de Solor, plus précisément à Lembata (chut, faut pas trop en parler !!!), qui donne envie d'en faire beaucoup plus là bas malgré les infrastructures sporadiques), en partie dans des destinations déjà bien connues du forum (la classique Ruteng / Bajawa / Riung / Moni voir baie de Maumere) ... et qui ne parlera pas du PN de Komodo ou de Wae Rebo, puisque nous n'y sommes pas allés 🏴☠️.
Texte en anglais (issu d'une autre plateforme). Sans nul doute, des traducteurs intelligents ou pas marcheront à merveille en cas d'anglophobie 🤪.
Disponible à toute fin utile pour des détails ou infos.
Equippement : Yam' Nmax 155 ; 2x saccoches cavalières (25L) + sac de selle (30L) + saccoche tunnel (15L pour le matos photo) ; casques et vêtements d'enduro amenés depuis la France.
Itinéraire : boucle depuis Labuan bajo jusqu'à Pulau Lembata ; juillet-août 2026
Road conditions graded from A (excellent) to D (very bad, at least for a Scooter… a CRF/KLX or even honda ADV would do better on that)
D1 : Labuan Bajo – Reok via Ranggoe, Rego & Tagol (130km ; 5hrs). Section LBajo – Rego (90 km ; B) is quite good tarmac, despite a lot of elevation with many small valleys and passes. Rego – Tagol (10km ; D) is a stone road (not gravel), some ascents & very poor condition ; necessary to lower tyre pressure. Tagol – Reok port (22km, quality depends considerably from D to B). Reok port – Towncenter : B. Night @Iffah Homestay (100k for fan room, mandi attached, no breakfast), simple but clean. Notes : path to danau Sano Limbung was closed ; access to Tiwu Pai & Wae Kuli (waterfalls) not permitted in july 2026.
D2 : Reok – Riung via Pota (105km ; 3h-3h30). The road is very narrow in some part, thanks to the uncut bushes (lowering visibility hence extra caution as animals/people can suddenly appear in a turn…) but generally good condition except many eroded sections and some unpaved ones. Grade C/B. 2 nights @Mentos (285k for AC room)
D3 : Boat tour in Riung (booked directly with a captain, 800k for two for private boat incl. lunch and NP fees) + sunset from Watu Mitong Riung (should not be missed).
D4 : Riung – Muku Saki via Mbay (around 100km ; 3h30). Quality varies from A in the vicinity of Mbay to eroded sections (C) in secluded places. Night @Sao Paolo Homestay (250k for fan room with mandi, maybe overpriced but nice house and great food). Note : if you happen to pass by Mbay on Saturday, the market is well worth a stop (cheapest Ikat on the trip : you’ll be asked normal prices providing you’re OK in Bahasa…)
D5 : Muku Saki – Tanjung Kajuwulu (near Ndete) (90km, 3h). Many patholes, eroded (C). Night at Déjà Vu Homestay (220k for a matress on the floor & outside mandi/toilets ; I woud define this as a tourist trap – the quote we had for food was double priced too…)
D6 : Tanjung Kajuwulu – Waiterang (east of Maumere, 55km , 1h30). Pathholes till maumere, then All good (TransFlores), C/A. Night at Sunset Cottage (new concrete room, very serene place ; 270k for AC with bathroom ; much prefered Sunset over Lena House (more customers, more built up).
D7 : Waiterang – Larantuka via Boru and Eputobi (TransFlores ; grade A ; 115km / 2h40). Particularly liked the drink stalls (marked as Rest Area Eputobi) and the out of order aquatic park just before Larantuka (obyej wisata waiplatin). Night @ Dewy Onong Homestay, which is not advertising itself as Larantuka Beach Homestay as some contributor signals here and on goole maps review. Best breakfast of the trip (Cumi Cumi !!!) ; 275k for AC room with bathroom.
D8 : Local Boat (Kapal Kayu) from the main port to Lembata (Lewoleba). Departure 8am ; price 60k/head + 50k for the bike. Stop enroute on Adonara (where we did not stop due to fights between communities). Night @Elmany Homestay (275k for AC room with bathroom, fan room with shared bathroom also available). Whole afternoon at Pantai Hadakewa, fantastic place (good snorkeling, great views of Ile Api aka Gn Lewotolo). Road condition : A (did not expect the TransLembata to be that good…).
D9 : Loop around Ile Api (50km, 2hrs), anticlockwise. Stops enroute at Situs Tulang Paus (whale squeletton), pantai Jotona, pantai Wena (we expected to snorkel from there, but wind was very strong that day), situs Watu Nale, Selat Sonia. The western coast is far less interesting. Road conditions : bad (C) on the eastern side (up to Riangbeda), good (B/A) afterwards. Night @Elmany Homestay.
D10 : Lewoleba – Lamalera via the western and south coast (70km, 2h30). Good road (B) for roughly the first 55km (up to Tapobali), then eroded track for the last 15km (in some parts steep and dangerous) up to Lamalera (D/C). Notes : 1/ Kuma resort denied us the entry for some drink ; 2/Pantai Waijarang « complex » is abandonned but closed with fences ; you can still sneak in ; 3/ some reports advise to skip Bukit Cinta (foreigner entry fee) for Bukit Doa Watomiten (stations of the cross) ; well Bukit Cinta has also been abandonned (well spent money…sic) but remains opened with structures falling (quickly) appart. Night @Lamalera Inn (200k per head including meals ; very basic fan room + attached mandi). Planned 2 nights, spent only one, as it’s the only tenant I had difficulties with (only interested in money, initially stated crazy prices, starts loud music at 6am … and drinking moke at 8am…)
D11 : Trip to Wulandoni for the Barter Market (Saturday only). Bad road (C) along the coast. Had to report at the Kantor upon arrival, which quite surprisingly asked 100k per person (foreigner) to go inside the (outside) market. Other « local » tourists (a group from Jakarta) were not asked to pay. Well, since a market is a public space and not a zoo, we refused payment and enjoyed the activity from the kopi stall next to it. Returned then to Lamalera for the catches of the day, then to Lewoleba via the mountain road (45km, 2 hours). First 10km to Puor is in very bad condition and uphill (D/C). The remaining is on a newly constructed road (A). Note : Air Panas Sabutobo is abandonned and falling apart (again…) but there are still some water pipes along the river that you can enjoy (depending how lucky you are, just with the forest sounds as companion). Night @Elmany Homestay
D12 : Chill day alond the northern coast (Batu Payung, Pantai Hadakewa with lot of snorkeling, drove till Wailolong and backtracked to Pantai Lewolein for more snorkeling (nice canyons there !) and another fantastic sunset over Ile Api (see GMaps pictures)). Night @Elmany Homestay
D13 : Monday weekly market at Pada, southwest of Lewoleba. Renowned but honnestly dont plan any itinerary specifically for it, just an ordinary Kampung weekly market. Returned to Larantuka and Flores with the 12pm local boat (the same boat that leaves from Larantuka at 8am). Same prices as the first leg. Night @ Dewy Onong Homestay
D14 : Larantuka – Waiterang along the northern coast (100km, 3h) via Pantai Kawaliwu, Tewuk Lewokluok (trail is easy to find, very nice snorkelling in a lagoon), Pantai Lato (to my opinion the most beautiful beach on Flores and you’ll be the only visitor, as opposed to Pantai Koka) and Pantai Hia, until rejoining the TransFlores near Nebe. Grade C on the costal eroded road / track. 3 nights @Lena Guesthouse (booked ahead as it fills up quickly, but we prefered its neighbour Sunset Beach Guesthouse)
D15 : Snorkeling trip organised by Lena Guesthouse (200k per head excluding NP fees and lunch)). The drop-off near Pulau Babi is a very nice spot.
D16 : scooter day trip around the Egon Range (too lazy to hike it…), through nice Sikka villages (route : Watublapi, Umauta, Bola, pantai Doreng, Nakatoli, foot of Gn Egon, Air panas Blidit). The track from Natakoli to the foot of Gn Egon is very steep, damaged and wet (with moss) ; I would recommend not to attempt that in case of bad weather.
D17 : Waiterang – Moni (130km, 3h30, transflores grade A/B) via Pantai Koka (refused to pay the mafia entry fee…) and Jopu (some rumah Adat Lio). Stopped at Museum Bikon Blewut, south of Maumere. Very nice artefacts (especially wooden statues from Papuan, great ikat collection) although very disorganized and sadly non-visited (hence masterpieces fall into oblivion). 2 Nights @Liahz Lodge (150k for fan room, basic bathroom… but right next to Air Panas Liasembe (free, no closing time) !!!).
D18 : Sunrise from Kelimutu with a nice weather (stayed until 8.30am). I don’t know if the sunrise is really worth it (lot of people ascending and watching the sunrise – a lot but nothing compared to e.g. Gn Bromo), nearly everyone going down around 7am, then there is virtually nobody. Trip (20km one way, good road B) to Kampung Adat Nggela (Lio). Although the village is habited and mostly out of the beaten path, I have mixed fillings due to the fact that most ladies (some are pushy) try to sell you (bad) pieces of ikat.
D19 : Moni – Ende via Detusoko paddy fields, Kampung Adat Saga (Lio) and Puncak Ndona ; 75km 2h30. We really liked Saga (nice setting on the mountain, friendly villagers, no selling, mix between traditional and more modern houses in that lively village). Sunset from Bukit Raja, on the peninsula with a 360 view on Gn Iya, Gn Meja Kota Ende and the mountains behind. Note : at the end of the road (search for Gunung Meja Tourist Info Center), there is a (sand) track leading to the path. 1/ only intend the track if you have off road driving experience ; 2/ dont trust the walking time stated by Maps.me. Took us 45mins on a steady pace to reach the summit. Night @Hoja Homestay, 300k for a comfortable AC room with bathroom.
D20 : Ende – Bajawa, via Air Panas Mengeruda ; grade A, 120km, 3 hours. Note : don’t plan to short in Mengeruda (Soa), very easy to spend a half day there, especially if playing with local kids. Stay @Cinnamon GH, 250k for double with fan and hot shower (cheaper options with shared hot shower availlable).
D21 : First day in Bajawa : Watu Nari Wowo (Avatar Hill, sic…), Kampung Adat Ngada Tololela & Gurusina (very very friendly people, complementary views of Gn Inerie & Wolo Deru). Sunset from Puncak Manulalu (well… Heaven’s door Bar & Restaurant)
D22 : Second day in Bajawa : Kampung Adat Ngio (hardly visited, best view on Gn Inerie), Air Panas Malanage, Kampung Adat Bena (the most visited Ngada village (after Bela ?) in the area, we went there at the end of the afternoon to avoid tours, early morning would be fine too), and Gunung Wolobobo for a terrific sunset
D23 : returned to Gunung Wolobobo for sunrise with Gn Ebulobo in the distance (search for a track on the eastern slope, near the communication antenna). You can circuit the rim to the usual viewpoint (westside, sunset spot), the path is easy to find. Then took again the road to Aimere, visiting Kampung Adat Belaraghi enroute (the setting is maybe less rewarding than all the previous villages). 56km ; 1h30. The road to Belaraghi is fine, except the final part.
D24 : Aimere – Ruteng (105km, 3h30). Nice detour by the paddy fields of Wodo (southwest of Golo Loni) of Sunset from Golo Curu (nice encounters with locals). Night @Tange GH, 130k for room with outside (private) bathroom, no breakfast.
D25 : Surroundings of Ruteng (paddy fields north and east of ruteng ; Maps.me has funny tracks starting from Kenda), and the rather pleasant city itself (pasar, churches, lapangan). We finally skipped Liang Bua.
D26 : Ruteng - Labuan Bajo (130km, 3h30). No visits of the waterfalls close to the TransFlores (entry fee (with bule prices) + mandatory guide etc…). Sunset from Bukit Hercadi with very few locals (Bukit Sylvia & Bukit Amelia, just south, were packed). 2 nights @Wellamas Homestay, away from the harbour and its advantages/disadvantages. 230k for comfortable AC room with hot shower.
D27 : New road to Golo Mori Convention Center (another big money well spent…), with nice views on the strait separating Flores from Pulau Rinca. Some empty beaches (e.g. Pantai Pasir Pajang ; we were there on a weekday perhaps frequented by people from LBajo only). 30km (40 mins) one way, perhaps the fastest road of Flores…
D28 : Morning on the peninsula north of Labuan Bajo before taking a flight to Jakarta in the afternoon. On Google maps, the asphalt road only goes to Teras Langit ; it now (august 2026) continues to Puncak Basok and is still in progress towards the eastern part of the peninsula. On the way back, two other nice Bukit where you can enjoy nice views on the bay (and the resorts…) : Bukit Lontar & Bukit Beta. Note : we only found one public (and nice and quiet) beach in the area ; tagged as Sunset Point Beach on Gmaps. All the rest was closed by fences ; they are privately owned (although the Indonesian consitution grants the coastline as public space).
We're a family of five: one dad, one mom, and three kids aged 10, 15, and 18.
Before diving into each stop in more detail, here are a few general thoughts:
We wanted to sample a bit of everything Japan has to offer in terms of landscapes, accommodation, and transport. We were after walks, temples, restaurants, shopping, and some downtime—but no "all-inclusive experiences" or museums for this first visit.
Three medium-sized (60x42x25) canvas suitcases, plus a duffel bag and a few small backpacks. 23 kg in the hold on the way out, 60 kg on the way back. 36 kg of shopping, without even trying. I think this is the maximum suitcase size if you don’t want to stress on the Shinkansen: they fit easily in the overhead racks.
Round-trip with Cathay Pacific, layover in Hong Kong: no need to collect luggage in Hong Kong—we checked it in at departure and picked it up in Tokyo, and the same on the way back (checked in Osaka, picked up at our final destination). This let us explore Hong Kong without worrying about our bags. Food and entertainment were pretty good—meals included a little Häagen-Dazs on each flight, and the entertainment had way more Asian cinema than you’d find on a Western airline, which was a nice way to see how much weight Western culture carries in Asia.
The original plan was to fly directly from Ishigaki to Hong Kong, but due to Typhoon Dolphin, we had to cancel the Ishigaki leg. Cathay didn’t bat an eye about swapping the Ishigaki-HK flight for an Osaka-HK one, even though it was twice as long.
We were a bit too attached to the idea of ending the trip with some beach time and replaced Ishigaki with Shirahama. It was a mistake—we should’ve visited Hiroshima or spent a little more time in Tokyo instead.
Last February, I made a trip using "public transport" from France to southern Senegal via Spain, Morocco, Western Sahara, and Mauritania.
It’s a journey of about 5,000 km, where I took trains (as far as Marrakech), ferries (to cross Gibraltar and then to reach Casamance from Dakar), and mostly buses on the long desert straightaways. I hadn’t planned any stops in advance or booked any hotels, except for the very first train to Spain, which left plenty of room for the unexpected.
Why travel by land and sea? In recent years, flight-free travel has been gaining popularity. On social media, posts explaining how to cross Europe by train as quickly as possible go viral. Traveling without flying—and making sure people know about it—has become a great way to earn a badge of eco-responsibility: an essential totem for anyone wanting to prove both their dedication to the ecological cause and the wisdom of slow travel.
I haven’t flown in years, and this journey to West Africa could easily be filed under "responsible travel." But it wouldn’t be honest to say that: in reality, it wasn’t really my aversion to flying that motivated this long trek. I see overland travel primarily as a way to experience the world’s geography at a grounded, earthly pace—the pace of the locals. Besides, I’ll be flying back, which disqualifies any claim to being a model of sustainability.
So no eco-badge, and no adventurer’s badge either: you won’t find any heroic tales of camel rides in lost lands or mineral train wagons in this account (popular with influencers, the Mauritania iron ore train now attracts tourists from all over the world, turning "the experience" into something you "have to do at least once in your life"). This five-part story, written on the road, has no other ambition than to recount a journey through places and people, and to share the thoughts they inspire in me. As simply and, I hope, as humbly as possible.
I’m posting the episodes here, which you can also find on my blog (with more photos) at the following links:
Episode 1: Spain, from Avignon to Algeciras
Episode 2: Morocco, from Tangier to Tarfaya
Episode 3: Western Sahara, from Tarfaya to Guerguerat
Episode 4: Mauritania, from Guerguerat to Nouakchott
Episode 5: Senegal, from Rosso to Saloulou
To help those who might want to make the same trip, I’ve also put together a summary of the route with recommendations—you can read it at the end of the story and on the blog:
From France to Senegal Without Flying: Route and Itinerary Recommendations
Hello and welcome aboard this new travel journal!
We’re heading off to Ireland together—a country I’ve wanted to explore for a very long time.
The moment has finally arrived.
We’ll be traveling as a family—my wife, my husband, and our 7-year-old daughter.
Here’s our itinerary:
24/07: Flight from Marseille to Dublin, overnight in Dublin
25/07: Dublin, overnight in Dublin
26/07: Dublin, overnight in Dublin
27/07: Pick up rental car, drive to Dingle, overnight near Tralee on the peninsula
28/07: Visit the Ring of Kerry
29/07: Adare, Bunratty Castle, Galway, overnight in Outheragh, near Galway
30/07: Cliffs of Moher, overnight in Outheragh
31/07: Connemara, overnight in Outheragh
01/08: Drive to Sligo via Westport and Downpatrick Head, overnight in Sligo
02/08: Slieve League, Silver Strand Beach, Glencolmcille, overnight in Sligo
03/08: Drive to Derry via Glenveagh National Park, overnight in Derry
04/08: Giant’s Causeway, Dunluce Castle, Portrush, Derry, overnight in Derry
05/08: Drive to Belfast, visit Belfast, overnight in Lisburn (Belfast suburbs)
06/08: Game of Thrones filming locations: Dark Hedges, Carrick-a-Rede, Ballintoy, etc., overnight in Lisburn
07/08: Drive to the Wicklow Mountains, visit Wicklow Mountains National Park, overnight in Blessington
08/08: Drive back to Dublin and return to Marseille.
Cost breakdown:
Flights:
Outbound flights with KLM via Amsterdam for 3: 175 € + 40,000 Flying Blue miles (so essentially a free ticket)
Return flight with Aer Lingus for 3: 489 €
Rental car:
10 days booked with Enterprise via Carigami: 443 € including zero-excess insurance.
Accommodation:
Dublin: 3 nights at Maldron Hotel New Cross: 394 €
Tralee: 2 nights in a caravan (Ocean Trail Oasis): 292 €
Outheragh: 3 nights Airbnb, family room with private bathroom: 430 €
Sligo: 2 nights at Clayton Hotel: 456 €
Derry: 2 nights at Belfray Inn: 255 €
Lisburn: 2 nights at Temple Golf Club: 232 €
Blessington: 1 night at Baltyboys Lodges B&B: 158 €
That brings our total to 3,325 € for three.
On the ground, visits, fuel, and food cost around 2,500 €.
So this was quite an expensive trip.
A few price examples:
1 liter of unleaded fuel: 1.89 €
3-day pass in Dublin: 18 €
1 scoop of ice cream: 5 to 6.5 €
Castle visit: 15 € per person
A coffee: 3-4 €
A glass of wine at a restaurant: 8-10 €
A half-pint of Guinness: 7-12 €
Now, here’s the day-by-day account of our adventure in Ireland:
Our decision is our decision. And it’s firm and final. Next winter, our plane will spread its great wings toward the island of Ceylon! "Wait a minute... Ceylon... Ceylon... that name rings a bell, but I can’t quite place it on the globe Grandma gave me for Christmas! Ceylon... Oh right, I’ve got it: Ceylon is the name of my tea!" Exactly. But the name on your pretty tea box is also the one used until 1972 for this island nation, a speck on the Indian Ocean at the southern tip of the Indian subcontinent: Sri Lanka!
For this new adventure, I’m exceptionally leaving my Flo behind, cowardly replaced by a double dose of testosterone. To write the book of this journey with me, I’m bringing along my brother, who’s used to this kind of thing, and... a guest star: My model of resilience. My dad! All aboard! Or rather, all aboard our tuk-tuk! Yes, you read that right: A real tuk-tuk, a little colorful rolling box that putters along at two miles an hour. The idea? Well, Sri Lanka and its winding roads overlooking the vastness of lush nature are tailor-made for this kind of vehicle. And since it’s one of only two countries in the world that allow foreigners to rent and drive these mini speedsters, we’ll be crisscrossing the island in our two-square-meter rolling box. Plus, adopting this mode of transport is a surefire way to connect directly with the locals, who’ll surely be curious to see a foreigner driving their iconic vehicle. Not to mention the... let’s say... spicy anecdotes it might generate. I mean, heading into a subtropical zone with my jet-black dad and his unpredictable digestive flora while deliberately choosing the tuk-tuk as our *only* means of transport? That’s the winning combo for an unforgettable adventure! "More seriously, Dad, Sullivan, I’m already loving the idea of living this adventure together, the three of us—brothers and father..."
So, does the intro to this new adventure get your salivary glands going? Yes? Too bad. Because unfortunately, the program handed out by the lady at the entrance has been slightly... let’s say *crumpled*. Some might even say "scrunched up and nearly tossed in the trash." First, six days ago, as the countdown echoed in us like a call to adventure, Cyclone Ditwah grabbed Sri Lanka, played with it like a rag doll, and left it battered on the ground. The toll is devastating: over a thousand dead, thousands of homes wiped out by relentless rains, roads and railways swallowed by massive mudslides. A country wounded once again, after the civil war, the 2004 tsunami, and the post-Covid economic crisis.
But as if this weather disaster wasn’t enough to shake our unbreakable adventurer spirit, fate decided to mess with us further by cutting our trio down to two. The victim? My brother, violently turned away because of a simple date on his passport that didn’t match the border officials’ expectations. Return to sender!
So now it’s just the two of us allowed to board the Qatar Airways Airbus A380 for this trip. If he were here, Denis Brognart would say, "And in the end, only one remains!" Except I know you’ll be with us, following our adventures! Right?
Hello everyone, I’m happy to welcome you to this new travel journal.
We’re heading to Costa Rica together—a Central American destination that dreams are made of for many French travelers and attracts crowds from France.
It was the country’s wild nature and safety that convinced us to go, since we’re traveling with our 7-year-old little one.
We didn’t have much vacation time in February 2026 (only 12 days), so we optimized as much as possible.
Here’s the itinerary:
Wednesday, February 11: Flight from Marseille to San Jose via Paris and Atlanta
Thursday, February 12: Pick up the car, drive to Poas Volcano, visit La Paz Waterfall Gardens
Friday, February 13: Poas Volcano and drive to Manuel Antonio
Saturday, February 14: Manuel Antonio National Park
Sunday, February 15: Nauyaca Waterfall and Playa Linda
Monday, February 16: Drive to Monte Verde and Santa Elena Reserve
Tuesday, February 17: El Tigre Waterfall Reserve and Treetopia Park
Wednesday, February 18: Monte Verde Reserve with a guide and drive to La Fortuna
Thursday, February 19: Sloth guided tour, Observatory Lodge Park
Friday, February 20: Arenal Volcano National Park, Termalistas del Arenal hot springs, and night tour
Saturday, February 21: Return to San Jose, flight to Paris via Atlanta
Sunday, February 22: Arrival in Paris and flight to Marseille.
That gives us a solid 9 days in the country.
Budget breakdown:
Costa Rica is an expensive country, but no more so than France. However, almost all hikes and waterfalls are paid entry, which can really add up.
For meals, sodas (6–10 €) are cheaper than restaurants (10–20 € per dish).
Flights:
We chose Delta Airlines for the price: Marseille to San Jose was 740 € per person (modifiable, with checked baggage and seat selection included).
Other direct flights from Europe were priced between 1200 € and 1600 € with more restrictive conditions.
That’s 2220 € for the family.
Accommodations:
Alajuela, first night: 139 € (1 night) at Rodeo Estancia Boutique Hotel, with personalized airport pickup, transfer to the hotel, and a briefing from Vert Costa Rica agency the next day.
Poas: 66 € (1 night) at Cabañas Tierra Fértil (entire apartment).
Manuel Antonio: 394 € (3 nights) at La Palapa Ecolodge (hotel in the jungle).
Monte Verde: Chalet Aloha Monteverde Cloud Forest (2 bedrooms): 125 € (2 nights).
La Fortuna: Arenal Dream Garden (1 bedroom): 217 € (3 nights).
Total: 941 €.
Car rental:
I went through Vert Costa Rica agency (Vincent is a French expat who set up the agency in Costa Rica and makes great YouTube videos with useful tips).
I rented a 4x4 that was delivered to the hotel the day after arrival and returned at the airport before the flight. The total was 772 €, including full insurance (zero deductible), a child seat, and a phone with a Costa Rican SIM and WhatsApp. The rental company was Poas Rent a Car. The vehicle was well-maintained—no complaints.
Gas: 100 € for the whole trip (3 fill-ups).
Activities:
To get discounts, I bought the pass offered by Vincent, which paid for itself after just one activity. It cost me 30 € (promo since I rented the car through him).
Prices are for 3 people. I’ve added stars to rate them:
La Paz Waterfall Gardens ****: 112 €
Poas Volcano National Park *: 33 €
Manuel Antonio National Park ****: 35 €
Nauyaca Waterfall ***: 25 €
Santa Elena Reserve **: 45 €
El Tigre Waterfall Reserve ****: 141 € (with meal)
Treetopia (ziplining, suspension bridges) **: 250 €
Guided tour of Monte Verde Reserve ***: 113 €
Sloth guided tour (with breakfast) ***: 115 €
Arenal Observatory Lodge (with meal) ****: 102 €
Arenal Volcano National Park *: 34 €
Termalistas del Arenal ****: 20 €
Night tour ***: 116 €
Total: 1171 €.
Meals: 600 €
My favorite restaurants:
Poas: Food court Mercaditas in Fraijanes
Manuel Antonio (near La Palapa): La Langosta and also El Patio
Near Nauyaca Waterfall: Ricar2 el Avión
Between Manuel Antonio and Monte Verde: Soda D’Calle
Santa Elena: HG’s Food
Guadalupe (between Monte Verde and La Fortuna): Soda Río Piedras
Arenal Observatory Lodge restaurant
Arenal Oasis Ecolodge restaurant
Other expenses: 300 € (groceries for breakfast, drinks, ice cream, souvenirs, etc.)
Total overall: 6065 € (about 2020 € per person).
Now, here’s the day-by-day account of this beautiful trip.
In early March, full of carefree joy and happy to return to Morocco, we landed in Marrakech under the sun.
We spent just one night in Marrakech at the Hôtel Toulousain, as we did on our previous trip. And we booked our 3 nights for the end of our trip, the second half of March... Ouch! Ouch! Ouch! But we’re not there yet...
Our first goal is to reach Magdaz, a mountain village in the Tessaout Valley, sometimes called the lost valley.
We discovered the village of Magdaz on this forum, and we were charmed by the photos and comments from travelers who came before us.
The road is easy—it’s dry, and the tarmac takes us right to the village gates at over 2,000 meters above sea level.
We arrive in the afternoon and are left speechless by the beauty of the place. A jewel of Berber architecture! Perfectly restored granaries and kasbahs!
A young man from the village guides us on the visit and opens the doors to the terraces overlooking the village.
Several magnificent collective granaries have been beautifully restored. The warm colors of the stone capture the light wonderfully. It’s stunning!
We won’t find anything decent to stay overnight there, so we head back down a bit and settle in at the Assounfou guesthouse. Lovely welcome. The place is in excellent condition and very clean. It’s spacious, but we’re the only ones there.
First day full of promise!
Hi everyone,
We (two adults, 74 and 70 years old) had already shared a travel journal about our first trip to the Philippines in February/March 2019 on this forum (https://voyageforum.com/v.f?post=9377175;search_string=carnet%20philippines). We had visited Manila, the Banaue rice terraces, Sagada, the Visayas (Bohol, Siquijor, Dumaguette), and on our way back to Luzon, the Taal volcano before returning to France. Delighted by this trip, organized by the French-speaking agency Alizé, we decided to further explore this beautiful country, this time focusing on Coron and Palawan.
Before writing this journal, I should mention that these are personal comments and don’t reflect any differing opinions. Without any literary or photographic talent, I’ll stick to the facts and share a few details about the visits, hotels, and restaurants.
Preparations
We decided to return in mid-January 2025 and consulted three French-speaking tour operators to create a trip based on our wishes (places to visit, type of accommodation) and budget. Comparing three operators helped us weigh their advice and make our choices. Only our first operator respected the budget, a second came close, and the third proposed a slightly more upscale trip. In the end, we chose the agency from our first trip. Our discussions helped refine our itinerary, and when we reviewed it point by point, the document provided was perfect, full of great tips. The most debated point was a 3-day, 2-night cruise between Coron and Palawan. We were tempted but worried about being the only "older" travelers among younger people and feared two uncomfortable nights. Reassured by our tour operator, we finally opted for this "exploration." We’ll come back to that later.
Once the choice was made and dates set, we booked our international flights with Cathay Pacific for 750 € per person, which offers the best schedules (short layovers) at an acceptable price for flights arriving in Cebu. Our trip started on February 25 and returned to Paris on March 15.
International flights
The round-trip flights went smoothly. Cathay does the job well, without frills. The service quality seems to have slightly declined compared to our previous trips with them. Hong Kong Airport is huge but very practical.
Note that not all airlines serve Cebu.
Recommendation: Fill out your Philippine entry form within 72 hours before your flight. This can prevent issues with the airline (possible boarding refusal) and saves a lot of time upon arrival (see the Philippine embassy website).
Domestic flights
For our two domestic flights—Cebu to Coron and Puerto Princesa to Cebu—our tour operator chose Philippine Airlines and their propeller planes. No problems there.
Day 1:
We landed around 12 PM (local time) after 17 hours of travel. A driver was waiting for us at the airport exit and took us to our hotel, intentionally chosen near the airport (Mandaue, about 10 minutes away) to help us recover and get a good night’s sleep before our early morning domestic flight the next day. The Mayoo Hotel, reasonably priced, was perfect for this. Large, beautiful room in a new building—clean, comfortable, with a spa. We could relax by the pool on the 16th floor and enjoy the city view. The breakfast was exceptional, and the staff was smiling, attentive, and helpful. An ATM in the lobby allowed for withdrawals. However, the hotel is in a neighborhood with nothing to see or do. We dined at the Korean restaurant K-GOGI across from the hotel—a real attraction and a great discovery.
Day 2:
After a restful night, we were driven to the airport around 6:30 AM for an 8:10 AM flight from Cebu to Busuanga (Coron).
The flight was uneventful. Upon arrival, we paid 200 pesos per person for the Coron tourist fee before a 40-minute transfer to our hotel: Natura Resort, located outside the city in a secluded spot. The setting is stunning—a beautifully maintained tropical garden, a pleasant pool, and the option to book massages. The cottages are tropical-style with thatched roofs, simple and unpretentious.
The owner, who speaks French, told us that given the heat and our ages, climbing the 721 steps to the top of Mount Tapyas wasn’t necessary. She gave us a few rooftop recommendations to watch the sunset over Coron Bay. After a good swim in the pool and a meal at the resort’s pleasant restaurant, we hired a tricycle to go into town. We were told it costs 150 pesos one way, and depending on the return time, it could exceed 250 pesos. But our driver gave us his WhatsApp number and charged the same price regardless of the time. He just earned two days’ worth of customers.
He dropped us off at the port where bangkas (local boats) gather for day trips. It was the end of the day, so there was a rush. A few shops around the port sold waterproof bags for marine excursions at reasonable prices (compared to back home), after some bargaining. We wandered the town’s alleys looking for the Top Hotel, whose rooftop is famous. Indeed, it’s perfectly located to admire the sunset and enjoy a refreshing drink.
We dined nearby at a small Chinese restaurant, then just had to call our driver to head back.
The night wasn’t entirely restful—our hotel had a soundtrack of all the countryside animals, and it seemed they had no set bedtime! :
Here, the women easily join in the fun and are delighted to see themselves on the screen.
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.
A little sneak peek?
Come along, I'm taking you to this country where it's so nice to wander and slow down...
The karst site:
(In the heart of Albergheria, on a street every visitor walks down—lovely message from an unidentified artist)
Laundry and trucks washed in the same stream.
We’re greeted dozens of times with “Hello Mister”—a daily routine in the Moluccas. Every time we stop, we pose for photos to be saved on locals’ smartphones. They don’t see tourists often.
Several magnificent collective granaries have been beautifully restored. The warm colors of the stone capture the light wonderfully. It’s stunning!
