Over 5 years later, I’m finally getting around to writing the travel journal for our first trip to East Africa: Tanzania. *Polé Polé*, as they say! 😎
A trip I’d started planning just 6 years ago, in February 2019, for my post-internship exam vacation.
After returning to South Africa in July 2019 with my family, this trip, planned for September 2019, would be all about discovery and a few firsts: first trip with friends, first trek, first time in East Africa.
I really wanted to attempt the Kilimanjaro ascent, try to still see some of its "eternal" ice, and Alison wanted to do as much safari as possible. Unlike with the Zulus, Himbas, or San, visiting a Maasai village wasn’t on the agenda.
Thanks to the Kessy Brothers agency, who were super responsive, Sandy from VF, and other members who helped prepare our trip, we settled on the following itinerary:
Day -1 (8/30): Departure from Pointe-à-Pitre
Day 0 (8/31): Departure from Paris
Day 1 (9/01): Arrival at Kilimanjaro Airport / Ameg Lodge (Moshi)
DAY 2 (9/02): Machame gate / Machame camp
DAY 3 (9/03): Shira / Shira camp
DAY 4 (9/04): Baranco / Baranco camp
DAY 5 (9/05): Barafu / Barafu camp
DAY 6 (9/06): Barafu + Summit at midnight / Mweka camp
DAY 7 (9/07): Mweka gate / Sal Salnero Hotel (Moshi)
DAY 8 (9/08): Arusha National Park / Kanga camp
DAY 9 (9/09): Tarangire National Park / Kanga camp
DAY 10 (9/10): Tarangire National Park / Twiga Lodge
DAY 11 (9/11): Lake Manyara / Twiga Lodge
DAY 12 (9/12): Ngorongoro Crater / Simba campsite
DAY 13 (9/13): Serengeti National Park / Seronera campsite
DAY 14 (9/14): Serengeti National Park - Uoga Kuria Camp
DAY 15 (9/15): Serengeti National Park / Waso campsite
DAY 16 (9/16): Lake Natron / Maasai Giraffe Ecolodge
DAY 17 (9/17): Kilimanjaro Airport
Day 18 (9/18): Zanzibar
Day 19 (9/19): Zanzibar
Day 20 (9/20): Zanzibar
Day 21 (9/21): Zanzibar
As I mentioned in my first travel journal about our South Africa trip, I’ve had a special connection to Tanzania for a long time. Growing up in the Indian Ocean without ever visiting Africa, those wildlife documentaries on TV when I skipped my pharmacy classes... I imagined and dreamed about this land and country so much.
The original plan was to go just the two of us with Alison, but somehow—though I don’t quite remember how—we ended up organizing the trip with our friends Mélissa and Doriane, who joined us in Arusha after our Kilimanjaro trek for the last two weeks and their very first safari. I think it was Melissa who had the idea to crash our trip, and she was right to do so! 😉
Flights: Pointe-à-Pitre-Grand Case and Grand Case-Paris with Air Caraïbes.
Flights: Paris-JRO and ZNZ-Paris with Kenya Airways (layover in Nairobi).
Flight: JRO-ZNZ with Air Tanzania.
Woke up at 8:30 AM for the big departure day and quite the adventure ahead of us.
A bit tired, of course—between my last shift in the ER the day before and all the last-minute prep;
Left Vieux Habitants, where Alison used to live, for the Pointe-à-Pitre airport (Pôle Caraïbes) around 10:30 AM.
For our flight to Paris from Pointe-à-Pitre, we had to take a flight with a layover in Saint Martin. I was caught off guard when I tried to book the tickets at the end of March—even with 5 months’ notice, the prices for Pointe-à-Pitre to Paris on 08/30 were sky-high. I hadn’t thought about the end of school holidays and back-to-school season at all. Luckily, my dad saved the day by giving us some Air Caraïbes miles, which let us pay just 88 € per person for Pointe-à-Pitre to SXM and 125 € for SXM to Paris. Phew!
Stopped by the pharmacy in Moudong Sud to pick up the atovaquone/proguanil we’d ordered, and arrived at the airport at the same time as our friends Sophie and Enzo, who are taking care of Alison’s car while we’re away.
We dropped off our bags at the counter and checked in for our evening flight from Saint Martin.
I was a little worried because when I tried to check in online, I got an error message, followed by a notification saying we were on the waitlist for the next flight (the next day) and to contact the airport. Not the kind of joke I appreciate, knowing we’re starting our Kilimanjaro summit trek as soon as we land in Tanzania.
We had a drink at the airport with Sophie and Enzo, then headed to the departure lounge at 1:15 PM and boarded one of Air Caraïbes’ usual ATR72s.
Took off at 1:55 PM and landed in Saint Martin at 2:45 PM under cloudy skies. It’s rainy season and cyclone season here, and Saint Martin hasn’t forgotten...
So far, so good. Big trips with multiple layovers are always a bit stressful, especially after last year’s delay in Alaska when my bag (with the tent inside) went missing,
followed by my suitcase (with part of my move) getting lost for 10 days during our family road trip in South Africa last month...
We took a taxi to the famous Princess Juliana International Airport on the Dutch side—30 €—and took off for Paris at 6:30 PM.
Landing at Orly 4 at 9:45 AM.
Our luggage is there. 😇
I leave Alison at Starbucks and take the tram to Belle Epine, then the TVM to Thiais village to pick up our package at Decathlon with our last-minute gear for Kilimanjaro.
It’s a shame I can’t remember what it was, but it was important enough to pick up.
Back at Orly, fatigue and sweat start to kick in. 😊
I buy a sandwich, and we pack the new items into our luggage.
At 2 PM, we take the Direct Bus to Roissy. Little do we know, this will be the last time we take this bus, even though it was really handy.
Alison falls asleep, and I doze off a bit too.
Arrival at Roissy Terminal 2E around 3:30 PM.
We head to the restroom and check in our luggage right away.
We’re extra careful to stick the luggage tag on properly—I’m still traumatized from my last trip to South Africa last month.
We quickly move to departure lounge K after a thorough check of the size and weight of our carry-on bags.
Luckily, I didn’t overpack my 70L bag.
Hardly anyone’s around.
I withdraw 1400 dollars at a rate of 1 € = $0.94, even though the actual rate is 1.10... Bad move—I should’ve exchanged on the spot.
Boarding starts around 8 PM. Oddly, we’re at the back of the plane and the last to board.
No big deal, though—we still have space for our backpacks.
Takeoff at 9:05 PM.
Super Boeing 787-9 in perfect condition.
The guy in the aisle seat moves, giving us a three-seat row to ourselves—perfect for our second consecutive overnight flight.
The crew is super friendly.
I watch the movie *The Order of Doctors*.
Our vegetarian meals are served way before everyone else’s and make some people jealous. The passengers up front took all the pasta—only chicken’s left. Tough luck for the others... and the chickens.
We crash right away. Alison stretches out.
Wake up 1.5 hours before landing for breakfast.
We slept pretty well.
A few bumps flying over South Sudan.
Before landing, we turn around and get to see the sunrise over Kenya.
Landing in Nairobi, Kenya, at 6:30 AM local time (1 hour ahead of mainland France), where we have a layover.
Jomo Kenyatta Airport is nice—I really like the vibe. You can already feel a bunch of differences compared to southern Africa.
We head straight to the departure lounge. Our flight isn’t displayed yet.
We find a spot where I can get Wi-Fi and Alison can lie down to sleep.
I wake Alison up at 10:30 AM.
I buy 2 T-shirts, then we go look for food.
We buy 2 salmon bagels for... $32!!
We’re shocked. Especially since the bagels aren’t even that great.
I know there’s no salmon in Kenya, but I can’t help thinking that in Namibia, it’d cost $3 and come with an ocean view, haha. 😇 Anyway, we’re starving, so...
After finishing my meal, I start getting terrible stomach cramps... My ultimate weak spot! I feel awful. We find seats near gate 16 and settle in. I can’t move. I hope I’m not getting food poisoning.
And the Imodium is in my suitcase... 🤪
Eventually, the cramps ease up a bit.
It’s 12 PM, our flight takes off at 12:45 PM, and we still haven’t been called to board...
I get up and realize our gate has been changed.
We run to gate 14, where we’re told the plane just landed and will be about 20 minutes late.
Takeoff around 1:10 PM.
Lots of clouds during the flight.
We got the window seat on the left side of the plane—east side—specifically to see Kilimanjaro, but we won’t spot it. However, we do get a pretty good view of Mount Meru.
The approach to the runway is rough with lots of turbulence.
After a few scares, we land safely at Kilimanjaro International Airport in Arusha at 2 PM, right in the middle of dust tornadoes.
We fill out health questionnaires about Ebola risks. And off to immigration! Total chaos... 😐
After 43 hours of travel, we’re starting to get a little fed up.
In line, we meet a white guy from Zaire who’s been living in Tanzania for about 20 years. He’s just come back from South Africa and is just as exasperated as we are.
1.5 hours to hand in our form, get our fingerprints taken, register our passports, pay for the visa, and finally get the visa stamp.
A big breath of fresh air, and we’re finally in Tanzania—the promised land! :)
Luckily, our suitcases are there—phew!! First trip without lost luggage in a while.
But our new Congolese friend doesn’t have his. 😮
Dozens of drivers are waiting for passengers. We easily find ours, sent by Kessy Brothers.
I go buy a Vodacom SIM card while he pays for parking. I didn’t plan on using my phone, but unfortunately, I’ll need to stay reachable for my internship simulations and choices.
And off we go for a 1-hour drive to Moshi. Yihiii!
We arrive at Kessy and Jessy Brothers’ office at 4:30 PM. As expected, they’re super friendly, and we hit it off. They received my transfer, which I’d been late to send.
We have a quick briefing about our upcoming 7-day trek.
5 PM at Ameg Lodge. The porters run to the car to grab our stuff.
Welcome cocktail.
As agreed, since the pool is under construction, we’ve been upgraded.
Our junior suite is amazing. Huge bed, nice bathroom.
We shower and check out the little lodge.
Back to our suite to pack our bags, and at 7 PM, we head to the restaurant.
Delicious buffet with lots of vegetarian dishes. We treat ourselves for just $12 per person.
Pack up the bags, and I go to bed at 9 PM, Alison at 10 PM. 😇
Woke up at 8 a.m. after a great night in a comfy bed.
A nearly perfect night, interrupted by a wakeful stretch between 4 and 6 a.m.—a quiet moment to take in the adventure ahead and channel my excitement before finally falling back asleep before the big day we had in store.
Shower and breakfast lived up to yesterday’s buffet. Plus a little Malarone tablet.
We packed up our suitcases, and at 10 a.m. the taxi came to pick us up. The buzz started to build.
We arrived at Kessy Brothers’ office, dropped off our suitcases for the duration of our trek, and set off with an assistant guide to exchange dollars for small bills, buy some chewing gum, and get a second water bottle each. Oh, and a padlock since we’d left one at the lodge.
A little stroll around Moshi—such a vibrant, energetic town.
Back at the office, our team was there.
We met our guide, Elias, aka Eli.
We handed over my laptop and our telephoto lens to the brothers, and the adventure could begin.
Drive to Machame Gate (elevation 1,800 m) with Manuel, arriving around noon.
Today, we’ve got a 5- to 6-hour hike ahead of us to reach Machame Camp at 3,000 m.
They gave us our lunch boxes, and we ate at the picnic tables with our very first blue monkeys while the guides weighed the various bags.
We headed down outside the gate with Elias, and vendors swarmed us, trying to sell all sorts of stuff.
I bought batteries for our headlamps and two waterproof covers for our backpacks.
We signed the departure register and then had to wait a bit for "some bank issue." Okay.
Our first steps were imminent—and with them, a mountain to discover and a summit to conquer...
We start the hike at 1:30 PM with Elias. The porters are still weighing their loads, but we set off into the humid forest. We’re all alone, and walking in this environment is really enjoyable. Elias encourages us with his "Twende dju, polé polé!"—an invitation to move forward slowly but surely.
From time to time, porters—loaded like oxen—pass us with fascinating energy, their music echoing through the mist. We catch up with them on the climbs, a back-and-forth that feels almost choreographed.
The forest is simply stunning, bathed in a mysterious fog. The atmosphere is magical, almost otherworldly.
Halfway through, we pull out our trekking poles for the first time. A novelty for both of us: while Alison isn’t convinced, I find a certain satisfaction in focusing on where to place my poles with each step. It adds a playful rhythm to the hike.
We spot monkeys jumping from branch to branch, adding a touch of life to this natural haven. Every now and then, we stop for a break, sitting on a fallen tree trunk to drink and breathe in the fresh air.
While we’re standing still, a sudden noise startles us. Something falls on us. My first thought? A monkey’s fecal attack! But no—it’s two chameleons locked in a fierce battle. Excellent!
We eventually leave the forest
The goal in sight
and reach Machame Camp at 6:30 PM.
Just in time to admire a breathtaking sunset. The view lives up to our expectations.
We sign the register, but there’s a line. Judging by the number of people, we must be the last to arrive for the day. That suits us just fine, as our camp is set up off to the side, at the edge of the forest. A little clearing all to ourselves—a real luxury.
The temperature drops quickly. Our tents and sleeping bags are already set up, along with our portable toilets. The porters bring us our backpacks, and hot water is provided for a quick wash. Then, it’s off to the dining tent where a hot tea awaits us.
The aperitif—hot chocolate and popcorn—plunges us into a cozy atmosphere, a moment of connection by candlelight.
Next, Brysson, our server, brings us dinner: soup to start, followed by pasta, and finally a mix of vegetables... with beef! Six months of specifying to Kessy Brothers that we prefer vegetarian meals... Oh well. 🏴☠️But hakuna matata—the pasta is delicious and soothes the day’s efforts.
Bananas for dessert cap off this hiker’s feast.
We wanted to photograph the stars, but the sky clouded over during dinner. A small disappointment, quickly replaced by the need for rest. Unfortunately, I’m hit with abdominal pains after the meal, but they pass quickly.
It’s very cold. We bundle up in our leggings and sweaters before crawling into our sleeping bags. Lights out at 10 PM, the body tired and a bit jet-lagged but the spirit fulfilled by this first day of adventure.
Hello Pierre,
So glad to see you again—I’m joining you to explore Tanzania, which I haven’t visited yet.
Alright, I won’t keep up with you young folks; I’ll just enjoy your photos! 😉
"Voyager est un triple plaisir : l'attente, l'éblouissement et le souvenir." Ilka Chase
Hey Pierre!
A new travel journal from Pierre—can’t miss that! Especially about Tanzania, which is really catching my eye!
And even more so knowing it ends (or starts, apparently) at the top of Kilimanjaro!!
Must be nice to be young…
"Le véritable voyage de découverte ne consiste pas à chercher de nouveaux paysages, mais à avoir de nouveaux yeux."
Marcel Proust
We were supposed to wake up at 6:30 AM, but we were woken up at 6:15 by the porters’ laughter.
I slept really well, but my bladder was bothering me. I forced myself to drink a lot yesterday even though I hadn’t sweated much.
So I had to get up three times during the night when it was about 5°C outside.
Alison was a bit embarrassed—she was wheezing last night, so she took two puffs of her Ventolin.
At 6:45 AM, they brought us hot water for a quick wash, then served tea and hot chocolate in the tent. Royal! It was still chilly when we left our tent, but the sun quickly warmed the air.
At 7:30 AM, breakfast in the tent, along with our Malarone tablets.
Meanwhile, the porters were busy dismantling the camp with impressive efficiency. By 8:15 AM, with our bags on our backs, we started walking with Elias and Faustin under a bright blue sky. Today’s stage is shorter: 5 kilometers and 900 meters of elevation gain to reach Shira Cave Camp.
I grabbed my trekking poles right away to save my energy for the coming days.
Elias wanted us to go *pole pole* (slowly), but we preferred to start with a sprint to pass the group that had left before us. Alison is still walking strong, even if her feet are bothering her a bit, like they did in Alaska last year.
The trail is pretty narrow on this stage, and we’re not fans of walking behind everyone.
Communicating with Elias isn’t easy—he doesn’t understand French at all, so I often have to switch to English. It’s not a big deal for now. We’re taking the opportunity to learn a bit of Swahili.
We found our rhythm and are walking well.
I’m happy—I feel like we’re in good shape.
The first part of the climb is rocky, then it turns to dust.
We took a few breaks to enjoy the stunning view—a sea of clouds stretching as far as the eye can see, with the majestic Mount Meru rising on the horizon and the snow-capped peak of Kibo dominating the landscape.
The sun was blazing during the last stretch, and the climb was a bit tiring, but we quickly reached the ridge at 3,900 meters and descended calmly toward Shira Camp.
Today was very different from yesterday—full sun, very hot, with breathtaking panoramic views. However, the trail was narrower, and we were constantly overtaking or being overtaken.
We arrived at Shira Camp (3,850m) at 12:30 PM after 4 hours and 15 minutes of walking.
Most of the porters were already there, setting up the tents and preparing lunch.
According to the logbook, we’re the 9th and 10th tourists to arrive.
I quickly counted that there were about 140–150 people at the camp last night.
We settled into our tent.
This time, we’re in the middle of all the other tents, but the ground is pretty flat, and the camp is huge, situated on a flattened slope of the mountain.
I took a quiet moment to close my eyes, while Alison enjoyed the view with some music. At 2 PM, a delicious meal awaited us: carrot soup, fish, vegetables, potatoes, and an orange for dessert. A welcome feast after the effort. We dug in.
The sea of clouds began to roll into the camp, slowly enveloping the tents. After a short nap, we set off at 4 PM for an acclimatization walk. This relaxed stroll was a chance to learn more about Swahili and Maasai culture from Elias and Faustin.
Despite the fatigue, the atmosphere in the camp was electric—excitement was building among the hikers. Everyone was talking about the challenges ahead and the high-altitude passage waiting for us tomorrow.
How will the next few days go? What will the weather be like?
The first two days weren’t too tough, and even though there’s a small helicopter drop zone at Shira Cave, most altitude-related issues don’t happen at this elevation.
Tomorrow, we’ll have to climb to the Lava Tower, at over 4,600 meters.
For most of us, this will be the first time we’ve been at such an altitude. The unknown...
Back at camp by 5:30 PM, we witness a spectacular sunset.
Mount Meru stands proudly above the clouds, bathed in pink and orange hues.
It’s a magical moment, an unreal memory that reminds us why we’re here.
After a comforting dinner in the tent—cucumber soup, rice, and vegetables—we attempt a nighttime photo session.
But the cold is biting, and we quickly retreat to our sleeping bags, bundled up in all our layers.
By 9 PM, lulled by the icy silence of the mountain, we drift into a restful sleep, ready to tackle the Lava Tower.
Early wake-up at 6:30 AM at Shira Cave camp.
After a relatively peaceful night—just one nocturnal trip to pee—I wake up full of energy. The sky is a pristine blue, but the cold air reminds us we're at altitude and gives us a taste of what's to come...
In the morning chill, we're offered hot tea in the tent, but we prefer to enjoy it with breakfast.
At 7 AM, hot water is brought to us to help us wake up before the meal.
Half an hour later, the sun finally breaks through, bathing the camp in its rays and dispelling the cold. A hearty breakfast awaits us in the mess tent: toast, omelets, pancakes, mangoes, coffee, and hot chocolate. We don’t forget our Malarone tablets and, for the first time, Diamox, which we’ve finally decided to take as a preventive measure—before any symptoms—against altitude sickness (this isn’t medical advice, and if it’s based on any recommendations, I don’t remember which ones). As promised, no more porridge on the menu—thank you so much. We tried it, but neither Alison nor I like it.
We set off at 8:15 AM. Today, a more demanding stage awaits us: 800 m of elevation gain to Lava Tower, then 600 m of descent, for a total of 10 km to Barranco camp.
The first section takes us to Lava Tower, at 4,630 m. A gentle but steady climb, maintaining a good pace, accompanied by Faustin, our assistant guide, while Elias stays behind at camp for a bit.
The climb is more pleasant than yesterday’s, with multiple parallel paths that spread out the groups. Mount Meru still watches over us, majestic, but seeming lower and lower—are we starting to surpass it? Hard to say. The two mountains are 67 km apart.
After an hour and a half of walking, at 4,200 m, a slight headache starts to creep in. Unusual for me. I take a short 10-minute break to acclimatize, rest, drink, and pee. My urine is quite concentrated for the first time—my hydration since last night hasn’t been optimal, a choice to limit nighttime wake-ups, but I’ll need to adjust that. One sip of water at a time, and I quickly feel better.
I give Alison a beanie because she still hasn’t protected her head, and the sun is beating down hard.
We continue on our way, and at noon, after less than four hours of walking, we reach Lava Tower.
This mineral stronghold, perched at 4,630 m, is a crossroads for climbers. Some set up their tents here for a night of acclimatization, while others use it as a base for the final ascent. We dig into our lunch boxes with Faustin and Elias, who’s caught up with us, swallowing another Diamox tablet before setting off again at 12:45 PM.
“Twende tchini,” Elias encourages us as we head toward Barranco.
The landscapes continue to delight us.
To the right, Mount Meru keeps us company, reassuring, watching over our ascent;
To the left, in the north, Kibo looms with grandeur, challenging us. Or maybe it’s the other way around...
The descent is more technical than we imagined: dust and gravel make every step precarious and potentially dangerous.
We’re almost alone this afternoon, and we appreciate these moments with our guides even more, who tirelessly remind us “pole pole dada,” “pole pole kaka,” urging us to slow down.
In the distance, Barranco Camp finally comes into view, nestled in the mountain’s fold at the foot of a steep cliff. The descent winds along a stream lined with lush vegetation, where majestic giant groundsels—endemic plants of the Kilimanjaro’s afro-alpine zones—stand tall with their unique silhouettes. A breathtaking beauty that leaves us gasping... and our breath gradually but surely growing shorter.
We arrive at Barranco Camp (3900m) at 2:30 PM. The camp is nearly empty.
After signing the register, we find our tent and our belongings, carefully transported by the porters.
Satisfaction: we’re in great shape, despite a little heat exhaustion. The scorching sun got to us a bit, even with sunscreen.
At 3:15 PM, it’s tea time, accompanied by popcorn. Water, salt... hmm. The gears start turning. Tomorrow, we’ll have to tackle the famous Barranco Wall, and if all goes well, tomorrow night will be the final ascent to Uhuru Peak.
Back to our tent for a well-deserved nap.
Later, a really nice walk around the camp and some photos to capture these special moments in front of Kibo and the Barranco Wall.
Dinner is served at 6 PM.
I don’t linger and by 7:30 PM, I’m in my sleeping bag, pretty tired, while Alison goes out to take some night photos.
No sea of clouds tonight—the day ends under the stars, filling our hearts with gratitude.
The night was interrupted by a first wake-up at midnight for a discreet and freezing bathroom break, followed by a hard time falling back asleep and then another trip at 4:30 AM... 🏴☠️ This story’s gonna end with a prostate check-up! The 6:30 AM alarm didn’t even wake me, and it was Brysson, our porter/server, who finally roused us at 6:40. Alison got a bit cold last night.
Outside, everything was white with frost—grass and water basins covered in a thin layer of ice. At 7 AM, as usual, they brought us hot water, a blessing in this freezing air. By 7:30, breakfast was served, and we could finally warm up.
Barranco Camp is nestled in a basin between the Barranco Wall, the summit of Kibo, and a towering cliff. It was still in shadow at this hour, so it was *very* cold. We got ready for the legendary part of the day: crossing the Barranco Wall.
This is the only truly technical section of the Machame route, though it’s known to be very accessible. The part that makes it into guidebooks, travel journals, and videos. A cliff of several hundred meters of crumbly rock with little safety, exposed to the wind, climbing single-file in freezing cold.
We set off at 8:15 AM, still in the shade. The icy air stung our nostrils with every breath. The climb demanded focus and caution. In some spots, you literally had to hug the rock face to avoid slipping or falling. Almost all of us left camp at the same time, and some sections created bottlenecks on the wall, giving us welcome breaks to enjoy the view—but also exposing us to the cold again.
A group of young American women ahead of us sang to keep warm. The vibe was great for this "last day."
Finally, we reached the top of the wall at 4,250 meters, bathed in sunlight. We lingered for a moment, exchanging a few words with a French couple we’d met earlier. Below, clouds were slowly rising, gently wrapping Kibo in a white veil.
The descent to Karanga Camp was another challenge—unstable gravel and dust made every step tricky. Despite our trekking poles, we slipped several times, nearly falling. Luckily, our ankles held strong. Even the experienced and fast porters stumbled occasionally... After a steep, nerve-wracking descent, we finally reached Karanga at 3,900 meters by 11:50 AM.
The camp was shrouded in clouds, swept by a cold wind. Our "mess tent" was already set up, and we took refuge there to enjoy a ratatouille broth.
Those doing the 6-day ascent would stay here for the night, but not us: at 1 PM, we set off again with Elias for the day’s final leg to Barafu Camp.
The climb was slow—"polé polé"—through thick fog. Not many photos, then. The cold and poor visibility made the ascent tough, but Faustin caught up with us along the way, bringing some human warmth. Gradually, the clouds lifted, revealing a stunning view of Mount Mawenzi. The atmosphere was almost Martian: an arid, reddish landscape that seemed like another planet. Kibo, though, remained hidden in the clouds.
We finally reached Barafu Camp at 4,650 meters by 3:30 PM. The camp was logically more rudimentary than the previous ones, a bit dirtier too, but we were lucky to have an ideal spot: flat, sheltered from the wind, and with a clear view of Mawenzi.
Though we were pretty satisfied and reassured by our performance so far, we crossed paths with a young Asian woman being urgently escorted down to lower altitudes. She was staggering, stumbling like a zombie... The helicopter was waiting for her below. It was over for her. She wouldn’t go any further and would likely be hospitalized, hoping she’d recover quickly. The scene was chilling and a stark reminder of the danger lurking around us.
The rest of the afternoon passed quietly. Hot water to freshen up, followed by our usual cup of hot chocolate.
Despite the hike, we felt surprisingly good, which left us both puzzled and optimistic.
After dinner at 5:30 PM and a briefing with Elias and Faustin, we crawled into our sleeping bags at 6:30 PM for a very short night. The wake-up call was at 11 PM. The final ascent was tonight. The guides were confident about the weather. The satellite phone updates were positive. A mix of excitement and apprehension... the adventure continues.
Altitude sickness is becoming a recurring topic on this forum—it’s everywhere... 🙁
Well, from my couch, our progress seems to be going smoothly 🤪
But judging by the photos and the number of tents, your ascent looks like a highway?
Even though I’d probably already be on the hard shoulder by now...
"Le véritable voyage de découverte ne consiste pas à chercher de nouveaux paysages, mais à avoir de nouveaux yeux."
Marcel Proust
How is this a recurring topic? I must have missed something.
Well, no, we didn’t feel like we were on a highway at all—except a little on the morning of the Lava Tower ascent and when crossing the Barranco Wall. But in the afternoons, we always ended up alone, which was amazing.
There were between 130 and 140 tourists at Machame Camp the first night. And that’s not counting all the porters... Just the two of us had about ten porters (guide, assistant guide, cook, waiter, porter for the portable toilet).
So far, the steps are still coming together just fine.
More to come!
It’s the big day!
Well, theoretically, it’s still September 5th.
The alarm goes off at 11 PM, but I’ve been awake since 10:15 PM, unable to sleep as this long-awaited moment approaches. The departure, initially planned for 11:30 PM, is delayed by a few minutes to avoid the small group that already left and to steer clear of traffic on the trail.
Tonight, we have to reach the summit of Kibo, Uhuru Peak, which stands at 5,895 meters—nearly 1,200 meters of elevation gain over 5 km. The goal is to get there early enough to avoid climbing in the sun’s heat and to have time to descend to Mweka Camp before tomorrow evening.
A frugal "breakfast": coffee, sweetened rusks called "Glucose" (seriously, haven’t they ever heard of diabetes here?).
I decide to take my two Diamox tablets (125 mg) in one go, knowing we’re supposed to descend to 3,100 meters by tonight.
Finally, after some delays caused by Alison and the guides, we leave camp at 11:45 PM. I’ve layered up, changed the batteries in my headlamp, and I’m feeling great. After waiting so long for this moment, I’m ready to take it on! 😎
Elias tells us that other travelers had to turn back last night, defeated by the altitude. But he’s confident about us. It seems it was the girls from the American group—the same ones who were singing cheerfully this morning on the Barranco Wall. 😕
The nighttime spectacle is magical: the side of Kibo glows with a thousand lights—or rather, dozens of colorful tents, lit from within, illuminating the mountain and creating a fairy-tale scene. Behind us, the majestic shadow of Mount Mawenzi stands out against a sea of stars. The conditions are perfect, a true gift for this long-dreamed-of ascent!
Of course, today we’re only climbing to Camp 4. The porters will wait for our return before descending to the next camp tomorrow afternoon.
Faustin leads the way, followed by Alison, me, and Elias bringing up the rear. Alison, not a morning person, is a bit grumpy. Elias, ever thoughtful, quickly takes her backpack, which she’s loaded like a mule. 🤪
We cross the camp in solemn silence and begin the ascent. Polé polé.
Very quickly, a sharp abdominal pain hits me, like a sudden cramp. I blame the coffee—I almost never drink it, and every time, it upsets my stomach and gives me a headache. What a poison! But as the meters pass, the pain doesn’t go away. I start to feel really bad and struggle to focus on walking.
Still, Alison walks just as fast, so I keep up. We pass several groups. Faustin sets a brisk pace; his physical condition is impressive.
Walking in the ash and rocks is exhausting. We slip often—two steps forward, one step back. Occasionally, a rock rolls down the slope for a few dozen meters, breaking the solemn silence of this almost sacred ascent.
At 5,200 meters, I can’t take the pain anymore. I ask for a first break to take a Doliprane and a Spasfon, all we have with us.
As we resume, the wind picks up, freezing our faces and hands. The pain eases briefly before returning even stronger... I don’t know if I’ll die from the cold or from an exploding cramp. My mind starts to wander; my nostrils and lungs burn from the cold, and my breath becomes shorter and shorter.
Below, we can still see the camp and a line of headlamp lights snaking slowly up the mountain like a river of fireflies defying the night.
Every now and then, I take my hand out of my pocket, defying the biting cold to check the altitude on my smartphone.
At 5,300 meters, I’m forced to ask for another break. I lie down behind a rock to try to recover a bit, but you have to pick your spot carefully—there’s toilet paper everywhere. In a moment of dark humor, I say, "Leave me here, I’m going to die. Go on without me!"
A little black humor that betrays my growing panic. We’re not even halfway up the elevation gain, and I have no idea how I’ll manage. It’s pitch black, and I have no strength left. Even descending back to camp seems impossible...
Alison continues with Faustin, while Elias stays by my side.
We had agreed that if one of us couldn’t go on, the other would continue alone.
Barely do I stand up and take one step before I’m exhausted again. I stop every 10 meters—it’s a disaster.
At 5,400 meters, we briefly catch up with Alison and Faustin. Their headlamps blind me for a moment, and I sense their worried looks as they glance at me—asking if I’m okay would almost be cruel. Then they pull ahead in silence.
At 5,500 meters, it’s over. I’m done. Nausea joins the pain. Every sip of water I force myself to drink threatens to come back up. I have no strength left. I take a long break and warn Elias that I’ll need many more. I try to push through. I move forward 10 meters at a time...
"Polé Polé!"
Elias encourages me tirelessly in the dark. I feel his presence behind me, but I don’t see him. Sometimes I catch the beam of his headlamp cutting through the darkness ahead, and I think I hear his steps. My half-closed eyes are locked on mine, as if hypnotized, blocking out everything else.
My memories of that night are hazy, but Elias’s voice still echoes in my mind.
Polé Polé...
Faustin eventually takes my backpack, which isn’t that heavy, giving me a little relief.
Every bathroom break is a Herculean task and another temptation to give up. Taking off all those layers of clothing and putting them back on requires overwhelming energy... The fatigue, the pain, the cold... What a macabre trio!
I’ll spare you the poetic details about the diarrhea breaks.
Between the euphoria of the goal and the inner struggle against my own body, every half-step becomes a victory over myself. The shadow of the summit draws closer, but the path is still long.
I remember the surprising statistics about the number of hikers who don’t make it to the summit... About 30%. A little less via the Machame route. 10 to 20 deaths per year.
Oh! Shoot! You’re really dragging out the suspense! 😄
It must be so frustrating not to make it happen after dreaming about it for so long 😫
Hang in there, we’re all rooting for you! 👍
"Voyager est un triple plaisir : l'attente, l'éblouissement et le souvenir." Ilka Chase
Way to go, Pierre! Climbing in those conditions is an amazing feat 😄 Even when you're in shape, it's tough. The night ascent helps a lot because you can't see the summit that never seems to arrive 😅
"Je suis africain, non pas parce que je suis né en Afrique, mais parce que l'Afrique est née en moi." Kwame Nkrumah.
"J'ai appris que le courage n'est pas l'absence de peur, mais la capacité de la vaincre." Nelson Mandela
"The rest relies on a few fragments of memory, spared by the hypoxia and fatigue of that night. I realized I hadn’t taken any notes for the entire upcoming week of travel—understandable, since the ascent was grueling, and events then unfolded at a dizzying pace."
We follow the twinkling stars through the night, or perhaps we’re already at the heart of the Milky Way, continuing our endless climb. Each step is a trial; our progress is painfully slow yet utterly exhausting. I dig deep for the last bit of energy I don’t have to thrust my trekking poles forward and place one foot in front of the other, carving my path centimeter by centimeter. Behind me, Elias seems to have stopped, tirelessly encouraging me and giving me a push forward now and then.
The wind picks up, biting and relentless.
We finally meet at Stella Point, 5,756 meters. I feel at the absolute limit of my strength. Alison is holding up, mostly suffering from the cold. Me? I’ve never been in such a state. There’s something thrilling, almost warrior-like, about pushing your limits like this... but also terrifying. What comes next? Will it pass? What if it gets worse? What happens if I can’t walk anymore?
It must be around 5 a.m. We take shelter behind a rocky outcrop, out of the wind—I’m completely slumped on the ground, facing the Stella Point sign. The break feels like an eternity. Am I sweating? Freezing? Hard to tell. Dawn is breaking on the horizon. Around us, a few groups emerge from the darkness and slowly pass us, focused on the final goal. No one speaks. Each of us will carry a unique and personal memory of this night’s ascent. Some have left a partner behind, too exhausted to continue; others won’t reach the summit for several more hours.
Our guides stay calm and don’t rush me. That reassures me. I recover a little and find my voice again. As if in a final effort, I stand up, wobble slightly, and grip my poles. One foot in front of the other. My stomach cramps ease. The slope seems gentler. We follow the ridge. Over there, in the distance, Uhuru Peak. The summit. The highest point on the entire African continent.
The sky lights up with sublime hues: blue, violet, orange, and bright pink. We’re in the middle of a rainbow.
Here we are.
Before our eyes, we dominate an endless panorama—the crater, the doomed glaciers, Mount Meru, and even the sun. The clouds float far below. It’s 6 a.m. The famous sign is right in front of us, like an accomplishment. I don’t know exactly what I’m feeling; I let myself be overwhelmed by all the emotions at once, especially an immense gratitude. I feel blessed, as if I’ve lived a rich life, filled with happiness, love, success, and adventures all around the world and now here, at the summit of Kilimanjaro. All that at the sight of a simple sign!
This trek and ascent haven’t changed me; I’m not a new man or even a new version of myself, but there’s a strong sense of accomplishment in this moment.
I’m 27 years old. Just a few months ago, I never would’ve imagined finding myself in Tanzania, climbing this legendary mountain. I finished my studies; in a few months, I’ll be a medical intern. I’ve traveled beyond my wildest dreams, explored places more incredible than I ever thought possible. I’ve felt happiness, been happier than I ever dared hope... The sun rises on this new day, and I’m here, on the roof of Africa, with the love of my life.
We’ll have to descend. But in this exact moment, I feel absolute peace, the sense of having lived a fulfilling life and embraced the meaning of my existence. The rest will just be a bonus.
And I’m sober!!
We’re among the first to arrive; there’s almost no one around. The very first trekkers are just starting to descend. A few victory cries, a few exchanged words. For safety, we shouldn’t stay more than fifteen minutes, but the guides don’t rush us, and with the excitement, I feel much better. We stay a little over half an hour, savoring every moment, capturing this memory in photos. We also take pictures for other French trekkers whose cameras didn’t survive the cold (Hi Alix and Aurélien! 🙂).
Then comes the time to leave. Too bad—I could’ve stayed longer, and I have no desire to walk again. Hard to say if it’s the mountain’s intoxicating effect or just exhaustion...
But I have one last mission. I take Alison’s hand and lead her a little farther along the ridge. I kneel on the volcanic rock—no, it’s not a dizzy spell. Hidden in my layers, a solitaire tanzanite ring, a question barely articulated, then a “Yes” carried away by the wind, forever whispered in the mountain’s silence.
One last kiss. The second of the rest of our lives. Bonus!
Then we descend, hand in hand, carried by the echo of this moment.
It’s magnificent! 🤩
I can see why you didn’t give up even when you were feeling so bad—you had a double reward waiting for you.
Congratulations, I bet you’ve gotten married by now 😊
You really deserved it 👏
"Voyager est un triple plaisir : l'attente, l'éblouissement et le souvenir." Ilka Chase
This trek and ascent didn’t change me—I didn’t become a new man or even an upgraded version of myself—but there’s still a strong sense of accomplishment from that moment.
That’s so well put, it’s exactly how I felt when I reached the summit.
And congrats on the "yes" that must’ve turned into a wedding by now!
"Je suis africain, non pas parce que je suis né en Afrique, mais parce que l'Afrique est née en moi." Kwame Nkrumah.
"J'ai appris que le courage n'est pas l'absence de peur, mais la capacité de la vaincre." Nelson Mandela
Day 6 Follow-up (09/06/19):
We have to descend now...
The guides are starting to rush us. We’ve been past Stella Point for nearly two hours now, at over 5,700 meters above sea level. Oxygen is scarce, blood oxygen saturation is very low, and the risk of complications is increasing. They don’t want to take any chances.
The first part of the descent down to Stella Point isn’t difficult after that long break at the summit. The sun has risen, gradually warming the icy air. The landscape reveals itself in a new light, and we’re still floating on cloud nine from the euphoria of our achievement.
But the hardest part is yet to come. The descent to Barafu Camp is a challenge in itself. Steep and endless, it involves sliding through volcanic ash while trying not to fall—a task that demands energy I no longer have. The heat becomes stifling under my multiple layers of clothing, but I don’t even have the strength to stop and take them off.
I switch to autopilot mode, moving mechanically and taking frequent stops. Faustin and Alison pass me again and continue without stopping—I won’t see them again. The descent to Barafu was supposed to take 2 to 3 hours; I’ll arrive at camp 2 hours after Alison...
I drag myself to our tent, painfully remove my sweat-soaked clothes, and collapse immediately, plunging into the most well-earned nap of my life.
A few hours later, we still have to leave and say goodbye to Barafu Camp (4,673m). The stage isn’t over yet: another 9.5 km awaits us to reach Mweka Camp.
I feel better. My muscles are still heavy, and my knees are sore from the descent, but at least I can walk without too much pain. I can finally appreciate the scenery and relive that strange, surreal night—unsure if it was a dream or a nightmare. Still a bit in shock from that sensation, that void of all vital energy, like being at death’s door. Was it the coffee? The two Diamox tablets? The altitude? The cumulative fatigue? Probably a bit of everything...
Vegetation reappears. Temperatures soften. The air becomes more breathable.
On this trail, the fastest way down, we cross paths with several porters carrying stretchers. The mountain doesn’t give any gifts.
We pass through High Camp and arrive at Mweka Camp (3,100m) before nightfall.
But the memories of this day will remain hazy. No photos, no notes—just exhaustion and an overwhelming urge to sleep.
The morning starts with the final descent, between Mweka Camp (3,100 m) and Mweka Gate (1,640 m). About ten kilometers covered quickly.
After a last breakfast with the team, the tricky moment of tipping arrives. Elias brings it up awkwardly, and as always, this topic makes us uncomfortable. This imposed tipping system is still hard for us French to understand. On one hand, we think it should simply be included in their salary and the service price. On the other, we get that this financial incentive pushes everyone to give their best for the hikers' comfort and success—a mentality that, let’s be honest, might be lacking elsewhere...
We warmly thank our adventure companions and hand over what’s due.
For reference, in 2019, the standard tipping recommendations were:
$20/day for the main guide
$12/day for the assistant guide
$12/day for the cook
$5/day per porter
Pretty unequal amounts when you consider that the porters do the most physical work...
We capture this last moment together with one final photo before parting ways.
At 7:15 AM, we set off again through the tropical forest, under a light drizzle.
The atmosphere is cheerful and light. The guides and porters sing and dance with us:
"Jambo, Jambo bwana
Habari gani? Mzuri sana
Wageni, wakaribishwa
Kilimanjaro hakuna matata!"
A suspended moment, a parenthesis of shared happiness.
Alison, true to herself, is still the fastest on the descent (and no, I’m not talking about vodka). We savor our last kilometers together, and at 9:30 AM, we finally reach Mweka Gate, the endpoint of our trek.
We’ve completed 64 km, 4,980 m of elevation gain, and 5,140 m of descent—Mweka Gate being lower than Machame Gate, our starting point.
According to the register, 167 hikers attempted the summit the day before, mostly French and Germans.
We’re almost alone but have to wait a while to get our souvenir certificates. Then, a van takes us back to Moshi.
Back in town, we meet up with Faustin and Elias for one last drink in front of the Kessy Brothers office.
We take the opportunity to review the safari program and meet Franck, who will be our guide starting tomorrow.
At noon, we’re dropped off at the Sal Salnero Hotel, a charming place where we’d hoped to find a washing machine. Bad surprise: there isn’t one. They offer an external laundry service but can’t tell us the price—it’ll depend on the amount of laundry. Makes sense.
So we leave a small bag of clothes at reception. Once again, we ask for the price, and they tell us they don’t know. Okay, okay, Hakuna Matata!
Then we go rest.
A well-deserved nap, then an exciting reunion with Mélissa and Doriane, freshly arrived from France! We spend the evening dining together, swapping stories and laughing.
We return to our room. The laundry was supposed to be delivered at 8:30 PM, but by 9 PM, still nothing, and we’re exhausted.
At 10 PM, the receptionist wakes us up and quickly drops our clothes on the bed. She’s in a hurry and asks for $85 in cash for the laundry.
"- Excuse me???"
I make her repeat it, thinking I misheard. No, she confirms: $85 for a few clothes, mostly underwear.
An outrageous price, almost the cost of a night at the hotel... and even more expensive than our flight between Arusha and Zanzibar!
Anger rises. This isn’t just a misunderstanding—it’s outright extortion. The immense gratitude and infinite peace are gone... I feel frustration taking over. I hate injustice, and even more, this shameless audacity.
We have no choice but to pay, but I go to bed drained, annoyed, and determined to sort this out first thing in the morning.
A contrasting return to reality, then. Between reunions and scams.
Congrats to both of you for this achievement.
Pierre, I really don’t know how you managed to do this while being sick—hats off to your perseverance!
Tipping is often tricky for us (well, for me anyway ), and the usual amounts in Tanzania or Kenya are still very high compared to the average salaries in those countries, even considering it’s seasonal work (to the point where I wonder if they’re paid a real salary or if employers rely on tips for that ).
As for the $85, that’s outright robbery .
I’m waiting for the next post to see how it all ended .
... and the start of the safari part 🙂.
Si tu diffères de moi, mon frère, loin de me léser, tu m'enrichis (Saint Exupéry)
The day dawns over Moshi, wrapped in a soft morning light.
After a hearty breakfast at the hotel with the girls, I head back to reception to sort out the laundry issue from the day before. I ask to see the manager or the director. They show me the list of prices for washing and drying each item individually. Outrageous! If we’d known... 2000 TZS for a pair of socks, 2000 TZS for underwear, 3000 TZS for shorts... of course it adds up fast at that rate! For that price, I think when an establishment has the most expensive washing machine in the world, they should warn customers BEFORE! But they tell me the manager isn’t in yet and suggest I settle the dispute directly with our agency. I won’t hesitate to share my thoughts on this place’s business practices with Kessy Brothers.
End of this little laundry interlude.
After a good night’s rest, we’re excited to start a new adventure with the girls!
We meet Franck, our young guide with a... "memorable" smile, and January, our experienced cook, a true trail chef who’ll spoil us throughout the trip. It’s time to board our Land Cruiser Troopy, a rugged 4x4 built for adventure. Officially designed for five passengers, the back space is cramped, and with four of us, we’re already packed in tight.
We drive through the hustle and bustle of Arusha, this lively city at the foot of Mount Meru (4,566 m), Tanzania’s second-highest peak and the only African volcano where you can spot buffaloes, giraffes, and even leopards up to 3,500 m. Unlike cities in Southern Africa, Arusha is bursting with life: colorful markets spill onto the sidewalks, dala-dalas (local minibuses) zip through what’s more or less organized chaos, and the streets are packed with pedestrians, cyclists, and street vendors. On the outskirts, small farms gradually give way to wilder landscapes.
After an hour’s drive, we reach the entrance of Arusha National Park, a lush haven spanning 137 km². Though it’s one of the country’s smallest parks, it’s no less spectacular or unique. Bordered by the majestic Mount Meru, whose perfect volcanic cone dominates the horizon, the park boasts exceptional biodiversity thanks to its varied topography—alternating tropical forests, open savannas, alkaline lakes, and ancient volcanic craters. It’s also home to the small Ngurdoto caldera, a sanctuary for buffaloes, warthogs, and numerous primates.
We let Franck handle the program and park entry details. I’m really getting into this way of traveling with a guide.
As soon as we enter, we plunge into a dense forest where giant ferns and lichen-covered acacias hint at the humid, mountainous climate. The atmosphere is misty and mysterious, a far cry from our previous safaris in vast, arid plains. As we wind along the trails, wildlife slowly reveals itself:
A trumpeter hornbill welcomes us
Colobus monkeys, with their silky black-and-white fur, leap from tree to tree, their long tails swaying in the air.
Our first giraffes, majestic and silent, stand out against the green backdrop.
Herds of buffalo graze peacefully in the damp clearings.
Waterbucks squabble with a family of mongooses chattering in the background.
There are no lions in this park, but in 2018, rangers discovered a pride of stray lions that had likely migrated from the Serengeti or the nearby Kilimanjaro National Park. Several herds of cattle had been attacked, echoing the legend of the man-eating lions of Tsavo. Authorities had to relocate them to avoid conflicts with local communities.
We stop near the Momella Lakes, a series of small alkaline lakes shimmering under the gray sky. Here, hundreds of pink flamingos balance on one leg, filtering the water for tiny crustaceans.
Despite its proximity to civilization, the park is rarely crowded, which makes us feel like we’ve got the place to ourselves. A really nice introduction for Mélissa and Doriane, who are experiencing their first safari in style.
Day 8 (08/09/19) continued:
We stop at a picnic area, where we enjoy our meal under the curious gaze of a few mischievous monkeys. Then, accompanied by an armed ranger, we start a short walk to a hidden waterfall in the forest. The air is cool and humid, moss covers the tree trunks, and the scent of damp earth surrounds us.
Suddenly, around a bend in the trail, a giraffe appears before us. Motionless, it watches us with mutual curiosity.
A moment frozen in time. We fall silent, captivated by the grace of this giant animal, before it disappears in a few fluid steps into the dense vegetation.
The altitude and overcast sky remind us that we’re far from the stifling heat of the plains. As the day draws to a close, a cool breeze blows through the park, and we put on our sweaters for the ride back.
After this successful first wild immersion, we hit the road toward Tarangire National Park, where we’ll spend the night at Kanga Camp.
We arrive at the camp just after sunset.
We’ll explore the park tomorrow. A new landscape awaits us—one of giant baobabs and hundreds of elephants. But for now, it’s time for dinner and rest.
It started as a friendly travel journal from a young traveler, then I got hooked by the suspense.
Your storytelling is gripping and spontaneous—it’s really refreshing.
« Tout le monde s'interroge sur comment laisser une meilleure planète à nos enfants, mais on devrait plutôt penser à laisser de meilleurs enfants pour notre planète. » Clint Eastwood
It started as a nice travel journal from a young guy, then I got hooked by the suspense.
Your storytelling is gripping and spontaneous—it’s really refreshing.
Pierre’s travel journals are always so lively and spontaneous.
The only downside is that you’ve gotta be reeeeally patient to get to the end.
No hard feelings, Pierre 😉
"Le véritable voyage de découverte ne consiste pas à chercher de nouveaux paysages, mais à avoir de nouveaux yeux."
Marcel Proust
Yeah, well, the time it takes to examine, analyze, diagnose, treat...
And then he makes us feel just how looong the ascent and descent were! 😎
« Tout le monde s'interroge sur comment laisser une meilleure planète à nos enfants, mais on devrait plutôt penser à laisser de meilleurs enfants pour notre planète. » Clint Eastwood
Even then, apparently he didn’t start working until he was 27! 😛
« Tout le monde s'interroge sur comment laisser une meilleure planète à nos enfants, mais on devrait plutôt penser à laisser de meilleurs enfants pour notre planète. » Clint Eastwood
Even supposedly, he only starts working at the age of 27! 😛
I don’t have any info on that. But when I see that I started at 19 and they recently added two more years to my training, I’m tempted to say he’s right to enjoy it while he can.
But that’s not the point...
Especially since I wouldn’t want to trust my health to someone who only studied for six months!
"Le véritable voyage de découverte ne consiste pas à chercher de nouveaux paysages, mais à avoir de nouveaux yeux."
Marcel Proust
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If I close my eyes and think of the Sultanate of Oman, I first smell a light scent of incense, feel the warmth of a sunbeam on my skin, before sand slips through my fingers. I taste the sweetness of a date, a real candy, then the flavor of coffee with a hint of cardamom and rosewater... I hear the desert wind whistling in my ears, the distant call of a muezzin, then the murmur of water. I open my eyes to see smiles, welcoming gestures, a turquoise sea, rocks ranging from ochre to purple, deep wadis where torrents burst forth, orange dunes, white sandy beaches where tiny crabs scurry at full speed. I see incredible oases emerging between arid mountains. I see abandoned villages that I’d dream were full of life, imposing fortresses overlooking valleys, and lively souks where offers are delicate and negotiation is a mutual courtesy.
All that, and so much more.
This is what I tried to capture in my illustrated travel journal, which I’ll fill in here and there with photos.
I drew this journal “cold,” after my return (actually, I made it this summer, while our trip was last winter). It’s a pretty special format—I bought it in Japan without really knowing what I’d do with it. Well, it found its purpose! Below is a photo of this accordion-style journal: here, it’s only partially open, because when fully unfolded, it’s 5 meters long!
For drawing enthusiasts: The accordion format is both a constraint (each sheet is 9 cm x 27 cm) and a freedom (you can create a fresco). The paper is also a bit special: it doesn’t allow for fine lines, but it takes ink well (liner pen). However, everything has to be done almost in one go (with a very light pencil sketch) because it erases poorly. It absorbs too much water for coloring with markers or watercolors (unless you avoid soaking it), but it works well with oil pastels and their use with a brush and solvent. Since it’s yellowish, it allowed me to create contrasts even with white pastel.
On the right, the "welcome marker"—those dates offered everywhere as a sign of hospitality. On the left, a tribute to those stunning doors worn by time, admired all over the old quarters, including the abandoned ones.
Oman is one of the world’s largest producers of frankincense resin. Incense burners are everywhere, from the simplest clay ones to the most precious handcrafted silver ones...
Hospitality will often lead you to accept a small coffee, an "Omani coffee," very light, subtly flavored with cardamom, maybe a touch of saffron, and occasionally rosewater.
Here, I’ve depicted a man in the common everyday attire of Omanis: the dishdasha, mostly white (during the week and daytime; colors are more common in the evening or on Fridays and Saturdays). While you’ll see some men dressed in Western clothes, they’re very few. The white dishdasha is truly the shared attire of all men. The dishdasha, which has no hood, is distinguished by a small pom-pom attached to the collar, the furakha, which is soaked in perfume. And believe me, Omanis go overboard with it! "It smells like the pom-pom" is an expression that’s now part of our shared language, my husband and I.
Another must of men’s attire is the kuma, a small round head covering, usually white with brightly colored patterns. The keffiyeh is also worn (but without the cord called an agal in Arab countries), and it’s mostly worn by those with roots in the desert, from what I understood.
And what about the women, you might ask? Some are veiled, some in full black (but not a burka—more like a chador + abaya), due to the influence of Saudi Arabia and the United Arab Emirates, whereas the traditional outfit used to be a layering of very colorful dresses. Most of the women we saw wore neutral clothing, a plain veil over their hair, but with their faces uncovered. We also saw many saris and colorful veils—don’t forget that 40% of the population consists of Indian, Nepalese, and Bangladeshi immigrants, who work a lot in tourism, hospitality, restaurants, services, and construction.
Just to clarify, as a tourist, there’s no pressure to wear a veil, and never any disapproving looks. Of course, you’ll save the mini shorts, plunging necklines, bare shoulders, and midriffs for the hotel terrace—but I’d say that’s the same for men and women, and with the sun being strong, it’s better for your skin too.
Here’s the introduction! In the next post, I’ll tell you about my itinerary, and we can dive in!
After as many weeks as I have fingers on my right hand, we're hitting the road again, fully recovered from our pharaonic adventure. Back in France to drop off our daughters (sorry, girls!), this time it's just the two of us, ready to be welcomed by a new destination. They say it offers one of the richest cultural heritages in the world for those willing to put in the effort. It's the land of the ancient Silk Road, where we'll follow a journey steeped in history and discoveries straight out of *One Thousand and One Nights*. A former Soviet bloc region independent only since 1991, we'll be walking in the footsteps of Genghis Khan, Tamerlane, Alexander the Great, Marco Polo...
Another fun fact about this country: it's strictly forbidden to import porn on your phone. True story. The same goes for painkillers! Unless it's about sodomy—though the two don’t seem connected, that’s just how it is. Don’t ask me why! Anyway, I’m getting off track. Here’s the big question: Where do you think we’ve just landed?... To give you a hint, the locals are known for being incredibly welcoming. No sooner said than done—our first taxi driver, proud to transport French travelers, refused to let us pay for the ride. Great vibes for these two weeks ahead. So, any guesses?
Uzbekistan!!!
"So, my little wanderers, back at the decks? What’s this mystery destination you’ve got in store for us at the start of the year?"
Yes, the schoolyard bell’s ringing again! We’re hitting the road... or rather, the skies! At first glance, our destination might surprise more than a few. First off, simply because I was here exactly twenty years ago, and I don’t usually like retracing my own footsteps. Secondly, because the name of this place screams mass tourism—basically the opposite of what Flo and I look for.
Despite that, in this land of backsheesh, I’d promised myself I’d come back one day to experience it my way. And since Flo told me, during our wanderer chats, that this destination straddling Africa and the Middle East was in her top 2 travel dreams, the stars aligned for this roots-style trip to quickly make it onto our pharaonic festivities program! Unless you’re totally clueless in general knowledge, you’ve probably guessed by now—we’re off to Egypt! Of course, a few classics will be on our itinerary, but above all, we want to soak up a culture that can’t be appreciated in four-star resorts or on a Nile cruise boat. And let’s be clear, these next two weeks won’t be a walk in the park—neither for our two daughters who are joining us, nor for our bodies!
And that’s clear from the get-go: after our first flight, eight hours of trying (and failing) to sleep on Milan airport’s metal seats, our second flight, landing, passport stamps, our Uber ride, and our first Cairo kilometers, we finally drop our exhaustion at the little guesthouse we booked in Giza. Doesn’t all that energy deserve a little reward?
Oh, absolutely! And here it is: a full-on slap in the face for everyone! But just look at this view from our hotel terrace? For 20 € a night for four, even with this incredible view, I figured the room must be pretty shabby, right? Nope... Is the staff rude, then? Nope... Okay, so what’s the catch? You’re gonna tell me breakfast is included too? Well, yes! Honestly, this Egypt trip is off to a great start.
And the rest of the afternoon, spent rubbing shoulders with locals, only confirmed this vibe. After digesting our pyramid view, we dove into the hustle and bustle of our neighborhood with the goal of exchanging money, eating at street stalls, and testing the hospitality of the locals. Ten out of ten!
Eight little sun breads with baba ganoush and falafel? 80 pounds, or 1.5 €. A dozen Middle Eastern pastries? Same! 80 pounds! Two hawawshis, those little pita breads stuffed with meat and spices? 10 pounds each, or about twenty cents! Not to mention all those smiles and free "welcomes" left and right!!!
What a welcome! We end this first day with a sunset over the three sisters of Giza—where we’ll obviously be gawking tomorrow...
"How about a Christmas market this year, huh? A little romantic weekend getaway...
- Yes! That’d be cool! Strasbourg? Colmar?
- Feels a bit déjà vu, doesn’t it? Plus, slim chance of snow there... And I’d love something a bit more exotic with a touch of originality..."
"Okay, Google, give me the list of the five most beautiful Christmas markets in Europe.
- In fifth place, the Christmas market in Vilnius, the capital of Lithuania.
- Save your breath! Lithuania, here we come!"
We wanted cold, and cold is exactly what we got the moment we set foot in this new, unknown land. As for landscapes, forests and lakes stretch as far as the eye can see across this vast plain, its vegetation scorched by the frost of a winter that’s clearly already well underway here.
Lakes, in fact, set the scene for our first visit to Trakai Castle, whose brick-red towers and walls rise proudly against the azure sky of our first day. Lakes, because this castle was built on an island and is only accessible on foot via a series of walkways spanning half-frozen lake offshoots. I couldn’t have picked a better spot to build my castle! Translation: We’re totally sold! Proof is we spend two hours hiking around the area, alternating between forests, reeds, and cozy houses tastefully decorated for Christmas.
I’m sharing a little recap of this new 4-week trip to China—nothing fancy, just my experience.
We’re taking advantage of the extended visa exemption to return to China for the 4th time. I loved last summer’s trip so much that I’m a bit worried about being disappointed this year. Plus, I’ve had a few hiccups before this departure: my WeChat account got blocked, and I couldn’t recover it (luckily, Alipay still works fine); I couldn’t verify my 12306 account for weeks; Trip.com failed to book our second train; and I’ve got an injury that’ll slow me down during the trip... Ugh, I hate starting a trip with these kinds of issues. Then, oh surprise! Just before leaving, my 12306 account got verified! Super easy to use from that point on—I could book a few train tickets without fees.
We’re sticking with Free’s e-SIMs, which work great in China.
August 2–3
Anyway, on the morning of August 2nd, we took the RER to CDG. As usual, we couldn’t check in online. It’s always a bit frustrating, especially since we didn’t have any checked luggage. We flew with Air China. We arrived at the check-in counter at 9:50 AM, 2 hours and 40 minutes before the flight. The line for our check-in stretched 300 meters across the airport in both directions. What a joke!! We spent 1 hour and 45 minutes in that line just to reach the counter and get our boarding passes. By then, it was 11:35 AM, and boarding had already started at 11:20 AM. The screens showed a 25-minute walk to our gate—on the other side of the airport, of course—plus we had to go through passport control and security... Long story short, the plane didn’t leave without us 🙂 We boarded among the last passengers, and we took off at 12:30 PM. We’d flown Air China four times before, but this time, it felt *really* low-cost. The check-in chaos, the cramped seats (12 seats per row), no music by artists known outside China, mediocre food, and a boarding area at Beijing Airport with only 10 seats—worthy of Ryanair or EasyJet. And yet, the price was sky-high. Again, D.’s vacation requests were denied outside of July and August, so we’re traveling from August 2nd to 30th. We couldn’t have picked a worse time for inflated prices, and with the situation in Iran, we got hit with a 390 € fuel surcharge. I’ve never paid so much for flights—I felt like I’d bought business class, but nope, far from it!!
We landed in Beijing around 4:15 AM. It was 28°C with thick fog. We drove and drove and drove for 20 minutes, as usual in Beijing. Then we went through a first check, a second check, a third check, and waited for our connecting flight at 6:40 AM. A small Airbus A320, but way more space than in the Boeing 777 from the first flight. We landed in Kunming, Yunnan, around 10:15 AM in the rain.
We headed to the subway. You can’t pay at the machines with Alipay here either, so we set up the transport QR code directly in Alipay to scan at the subway gates. The process is a bit long the first time if you haven’t entered your info before, but once it’s done, it’s *so* much easier! We took Line 6 to the terminus for 6 yuan each.
We’d booked a hotel nearby, on the 16th floor. It’s actually studios on different floors of a huge residential building. The view’s pretty nice from here. We settled in quickly—back to those wooden beds, or rather, mattresses as hard as wood, which we *hadn’t* missed...
Then we went out for our first bowl of noodles of the trip and wandered through the shopping streets of the old town.
It was crowded, and the weather was cool—around 19–20°C. We tried a local specialty: milk skin, thick, dried, then grilled with rose jam. Yeah... we won’t be having that again. The taste and texture of the milk skin... no thanks.
We saw a lot of wild mushroom hotpot too. It’s on our list for later. We also passed through the Jinma and Biji gates, where I played with reflections in puddles. I *love* doing that 🙂
At the end of the day, we headed to a temple advertised as open 24/7 on Amap. Of course, when we got there, it was closed. We’ll go back tomorrow. That was the first of many disappointments with Amap this trip—I hadn’t had that issue on previous visits.
We were exhausted after that sleepless flight. Night was falling, and we decided to grab a quick bite without much appetite. We shared a delicious vegetable fried rice for 12 yuan—we even left half of it. The portions are *huge*.
After a couple of small purchases, we headed back at 9 PM, wiped out, after walking 17 km between the airports and these first steps in Kunming. I expected to see quite a few Western travelers here, but we didn’t spot a single one. Instead, we met lots of curious Chinese people, many of them super friendly and helpful—almost *too* eager, like when they’d run to serve us as fast as possible. It’s a bit much, but it’s great to be back!
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
This time, I landed in Monastir on a direct flight from Nice, again with Tunisair. We left about ten minutes late, and the flight lasted around 1 hour 30 minutes. A meal was served on board (cucumber salad with Edam-like cheese, carrots, and two small portions of dishes I couldn’t identify—semolina with peppers, olives, and parsley, two small rolls, a square of processed cheese, and a chocolate cake). It’s worth noting because it’s not common on flights this short.
In February, France and Tunisia were in the same time zone, but now Tunisia is one hour behind. This time difference and the flight duration work perfectly for a short 15-day trip since it takes me a few days to adjust to jet lag.
Luckily, I’d asked my hotel about the taxi fare from the airport because the drivers (there were several around me) didn’t hesitate to quote outrageous prices. The actual fare is 20 dinars, but one asked for 120 dinars. I refused, and another offered 60 dinars. I replied, "That’s too expensive—I’ll take the metro!" (Having tried the Tunis metro, I had no desire to repeat the experience in Monastir with a suitcase!). I started walking toward the metro, and one of the drivers caught up with me, saying, "20 dinars is fine!" I’ll skip the details, but the negotiation took a little while.
When I arrived at the hotel, I told the receptionist someone had asked for 120 dinars. He put his hands to his head and said, "They’re awful!" He remembered our phone call two days earlier when I’d booked (he’s the one who told me I could take the metro).
The Mezri Hotel isn’t expensive. I got a sea-view room for 75 dinars (22 €). (I’d booked a balcony room for 90 dinars but wouldn’t have had time to enjoy it.) It’s well-located but noisy because there’s no double glazing.
The receptionist is a very kind older gentleman. He called a friend whose wife is from Tozeur to find out if I should take a bus or a *louage* tomorrow and what time.
I arrived at the hotel around 7:00 PM and had time to stroll along the corniche to the ribat. Despite some run-down buildings, the seaside seemed livelier and cheerier than Sousse’s.
Monastir is the hometown of former president Bourguiba. I passed his mausoleum by taxi. There are Tunisian flags along the avenue by the sea because every year on April 6—the anniversary of Habib Bourguiba’s death—the president of the Republic visits the Bourguiba Mausoleum in Monastir to pay respects.
The taxi driver mentioned other Tunisian presidents. He complained about rising prices and insecurity, blaming President Kaïs Saïed (I’d already heard that security was better under Ben Ali).
At the end of my stay, I’ll take time to explore Monastir, but tomorrow morning, I’m off to Tozeur—a long bus ride awaits me.
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.
Hi everyone, we're back from a DIY USA road trip we organized from July 31, 2026, to August 26, 2026.
The destination: The Southwest USA, including Texas, Arizona, and New Mexico. Roughly 7,000 kilometers covered.
The car: A Chevrolet Equinox for two, rented through BSP Auto and Avis. Inside, we had 2 suitcases, a travel bag, two carry-on bags, a Walmart cooler, photo gear, and water bottles (a 40-pack).
The route: Dallas DFW, Fort Worth, Houston, Austin, San Antonio, Alpine, El Paso, Tucson, Sedona, Albuquerque, Amarillo, and back to Dallas to finish with a departure from DFW.
The travelers: Two seniors well advanced in years (73 and 75) but still active (nothing too physically demanding—to stay alive and fund our trips), fully independent physically, though a bit less so mentally. Big USA fans, a country where anything is possible. More walkers than hikers, preferring 3-star hotels over roadside motels, Italian restaurants over US food, frequent stops for photos, museums over nothing, naps over forced marches. Not too whiny, just enough to stay French in the land of the "great Satan," as they say.
Not great with languages—street English (but handy), and my Spanish is non-existent except for: "Hola! Una cerveza por favor!" That’s about it. My wife understands everything but refuses to speak.
The cost of the road trip: Around 12,000 €, including AF flights, the car, gas, gifts, visits, and everything else. Well managed, since we’d budgeted 13,500 € initially.
The positive side: A delight, with those endless open roads. Museums to discover. The realization of the Hispanic presence and its important history in this part of America. Lovely locals. Tourists who were more or less friendly. A terrible Texan accent that was hard to understand. Gas stations that were like real stores, with prepared food, alcohol sold in Arizona and New Mexico, and employees who were always up for a laugh!
The negative side: The heat throughout the trip... 43°C in Dallas at the end. Impossible to walk the streets. Lots of homeless people in downtown Dallas. Hotel breakfasts that were always the same. You get used to it.
So, it was positive overall, but the concept is starting to wear us out. We might rethink the DIY road trip model for next time. If the man upstairs grants us more time.
Next up, we’ll wait for the first batch of sorted photos to go through the wringer.
Here we go!!!
I left home at 4 AM on October 31st and headed to Barcelona. Driving through Barcelona on the ring road stresses me out a bit, but at 6 AM the traffic is smooth, and I arrive at the airport without any issues. I call the valet, who quickly comes to pick up my car. He takes photos of it from all angles before letting me go.
Baggage check-in hasn’t started yet, and there are already several of us waiting.
Once free, everything happens very quickly. The flight to Abu Dhabi is on time and goes smoothly. I’ve never had any problems with this airline, which I’ve been using for several years.
The flight to Bangkok arrives at 7 AM as scheduled. This is my first time in Thailand and Bangkok. I’m used to traveling in India, and I notice that everything here is well organized—the customs process is quick, and the luggage is already on the carousel.
I booked a taxi on Booking. All I have to do is find the right exit and door based on the agency’s instructions. A large sign with the names of people who booked is posted on a wall. A hostess greets me and calls the taxi, which arrives 5 minutes later. I booked one night at the Lost Inn BKK hotel in the Phra Nakhon district, and we arrive at 9 AM. The welcome isn’t warm, and I have to wait until noon, sitting on a chair, before I can check into my room. I’m exhausted, and sleeping sitting up isn’t ideal. Noon finally arrives—the room is small but clean, which is fine for one night. I quickly take a shower to wake up because I plan to spend the afternoon visiting the Grand Palace. First, I need to exchange some money, and the banks are all close together on the same street, which is very convenient. When I enter one, a hostess gives me a ticket and invites me to sit down. There are about twenty counters, and I wait quietly until my number is called. The exchange is quick, so I can head out to find the Royal Palace. It’s actually very easy, and the walk is pleasant.
Entry to the Royal Palace (500 baht).
It’s magnificent and grand, and there are quite a few of us visiting. The sky is gray, it’s very humid, and a shower interrupts the visit. It’s a vast complex of temples and palaces. The buildings are colorful and sparkling, with a great sense of serenity (without the tourists, of course). I quietly enjoy the place and try to take photos without tourists, which isn’t easy.
Very close to the Grand Palace is Wat Pho, one of the oldest Buddhist temples in the capital.
It’s very famous for its 46-meter-long reclining Buddha statue.
Walking around the temple, you can see different representations of Buddha, all covered in gold leaf.
Inside the temple, on one side, monks recite their prayers, while the other side is reserved for tourists who come to meditate in silence.
Before returning to the hotel, I have dinner at an Indian restaurant. I go to bed early because tomorrow’s wake-up call will be very early again.
Saturday, November 2nd
Wake-up at 4 AM, departure from the hotel at 4:30 AM. The taxi I booked via Booking is waiting for me and takes me to the airport. The trip is fairly quick—he takes small roads, and at this hour, there’s no traffic.
The flight to Phnom Penh is on time. Before boarding, I realize I left my fleece jacket on the carousel, but it’s too late to go back for it.
The flight goes well, and customs is quick.
At the exit, I take a tuk-tuk to Julieka’s GH near the museum. The welcome is friendly. I won’t be able to check into my room until noon, so I take the opportunity to exchange some euros on the market street. The street is lined with restaurants, and I’ll have my first meal there.
The museum is right across the street, so I don’t waste any time visiting it.
The representations of Hindu deities are very different from those in India, and I don’t recognize them. Many beautiful Buddhas are on display.
The museum is very pleasant, and there aren’t too many people, which is a plus.
At the exit, I return to the GH, settle into my room—which is decent and clean.
The Royal Palace is 1 km away. I walk along a garden, and at the end of the street is the Tonlé Sap, but I turn right. I arrive at a large esplanade and see the buildings with tiered roofs and glazed tiles. The entrance to the palace is a little further away.
At the entrance, I notice there isn’t the same crowd as at the one in BKK.
Khmer architecture is magnificent. The complex consists of gardens, palaces, pagodas with golden roofs, and slender spires.
The Silver Pagoda houses the small Emerald Buddha, which is actually made of jade. The silver flooring is covered with carpets. Photos are not allowed.
The walls surrounding the pagoda are covered with frescoes depicting scenes from the Ramayana.
My partner and I traveled from Sunday, July 5, 2026, to Wednesday, July 22, 2026.
We spent a long time debating whether to rent a car or use public transportation. In the end, after reading so many posts about travelers getting scammed by police or rental companies—even those recommended by blogs and reviews—we decided to stick with public transport. It worked out really well. Sure, we had a little less freedom to go where we wanted, but it was way less stressful for us.
Sunday, July 5:
Arrived at Cancun Airport. Withdrew cash from the ATM in the terminal just before exiting. The ADO bus counter (they pronounce it "A-Jee-O") is right behind you when you're facing the ATM. Bus to downtown Cancun cost 145 pesos per person.
Stayed at "Rose 5," booked on Booking. The studio was super clean and perfect for one night. The owner’s instructions for accessing the place were very precise, with photos included. Check-in was self-service with a code. The ADO bus terminal isn’t far, and there are shops and restaurants nearby. We really appreciated that the AC was already on when we arrived. By the way, I’d recommend always booking places with AC—it’s *really* hot in Mexico.
Monday, July 6:
Bought a SIM card with data from a TELCEL store. My partner, who’s on Free Mobile, was able to use her regular plan. Just so you know, I found the network pretty unstable. As soon as we left the cities, neither of us—me with TELCEL or her with Free—had any signal.
Another thing to watch out for: roaming charges. I had to turn my SIM back on for less than 30 seconds to get a bank SMS code, and my phone apparently connected to the internet—resulting in an 8-euro roaming fee.
Left on an ADO bus to Chiquila for 278 pesos per person. During our trip, ADO buses were always on time, comfortable, and clean. The AC is *cranked* though, so bring something to cover up with—it gets cold. Some routes were fully booked even in the low season, so try to reserve 1 or 2 days in advance either via the app (when it works) or at the counter.
When we arrived at the ADO terminal in Chiquila, the ferry company counters were right next to it. Ferries leave every 30 minutes, alternating between companies, so no need to book ahead. Just take whichever one is leaving next (330 pesos per person).
When we got to Holbox (pronounced "Hol-bosh"), we’d booked a place via Booking called "Casa de Nana." It was a huge studio with a fridge, cooking plate, and utensils. The best part? The *location*. It was 100 meters from the beach and 200 meters from a Chedraui supermarket. They provided bath towels and beach towels, and the AC worked perfectly. There’s a key box so you can leave your keys inside when you go out. The only downside was that no one was there to let us in when we arrived, so we had to wait a while. The Wi-Fi was good, which was lucky because during our 4-day stay in Holbox, the phone network *never* worked. According to locals, that’s pretty common in Holbox, along with water outages.
Luckily, I’d had the good idea to download an offline map, which helped us find our way back to the place more easily. You can walk there from the dock.
The restaurant next to our place (La Barracuda) was great if you like seafood—I’d recommend their octopus dishes.
Tuesday, July 7:
We did a kayak tour in Holbox’s mangroves at 6 AM. We were looking for a sunrise kayak tour with a French-speaking guide. That’s exactly what we got with "Kayaking Holbox," where Diego, the owner, speaks English and French. He was joined by Gustavo, another guide.
We’d booked for a group tour, but we were the only ones. Diego still went ahead with it instead of canceling due to lack of participants, so we got a private tour at the group rate—really professional of him. They showed us this amazing ecosystem for over 3 hours. We saw all kinds of birds: pink flamingos, pelicans, egrets, frigatebirds... rays, a horseshoe crab, and a little crocodile that was *so* well hidden. Diego and Gustavo have a real eye for spotting animals—I could’ve passed by the crocodile 100 times and never seen it, it blended in so well. Their explanations about the flora and fauna were super interesting. We also got a little break where we tasted mangoes and bananas that taste *nothing* like the ones in France. A real treat—those little Mexican yellow mangoes! I’d definitely recommend Diego and his agency for a French-language kayak tour (1000 pesos per person).
In the evening, we walked to Punta Coco to see the bioluminescence. No need for a guided tour—if you really don’t want to walk, you can take a taxi. At Punta Coco, you have to pass the beach bar/restaurant and then go left into a kind of inlet that forms a lagoon. You have to wiggle your feet or move your hands in the water to create movement, which makes the light appear. Just don’t expect the kind of photos you’ve seen online—they’re all edited! It’s fun to see, but you won’t be dazzled by the light...
Wednesday, July 8:
Whale shark tour with "My Holbox Tours." Why recommend this agency over others for swimming with whale sharks? Simply because Valérie surrounds herself with top professionals to make your experience unforgettable. We were with Captain Fernando, who does everything to position the boat perfectly and make your swim easier. In the water, we were with Humberto, who also goes above and beyond to make sure you have an incredible time. He doesn’t just "supervise" like some guides from other companies who leave you on your own. No, Humberto reads the whale shark’s trajectory and guides you—all you have to do is follow him. He really puts in the effort, even holding your hand to guide you through this quick but intense encounter. Humberto also films the moment and will offer to show you the videos and sell them to you. His footage is really high quality.
Fernando and Humberto also prepared food for us. Special mention for their guacamole! Valérie is there to make sure everything goes smoothly on the boat and to answer your questions in French, English, or Spanish about these animals. If you choose My Holbox Tours, you can be sure you’ll get a top-notch experience.
About the tour itself: before you go, you should know that the sharks can be *really* far away. The day we went, it took 3.5 hours by boat to reach them. The boats are small, and let me tell you—on the way there, when we weren’t going with the waves, it was *rough*. Out of 9 passengers, 4 got seasick. But once you’re face-to-face with the shark, you forget all about that. Even if swimming with a whale shark isn’t exactly a walk in the park—they swim pretty fast, so you need some endurance to keep up. You’ll usually get 2 turns. Our first swim lasted a little over 4 minutes, and the second about 2 minutes because the shark was moving fast and we were still tired from the first swim. It might seem short, but when you’re swimming, it feels *long*. Either way, it’s an experience you *have* to do—but choose your company wisely. On the way back, there’s a stop at Cabo Catoche. Honestly, the snorkeling is pretty disappointing if you’ve done it elsewhere in the world. But the lunch stop at Cabo Catoche is really nice for relaxing (white sand and hammocks).
Thursday, July 9:
Short morning walk to Punta Mosquito at 6 AM. Really nice.
Ferry to Chiquila (330 pesos per person) + ADO bus to Valladolid (300 pesos per person).
In Valladolid, we booked "Casa Lucia" via Booking. The hotel is gorgeous, with a colonial style, and very close to the ADO bus terminal and downtown. It’s super quiet and clean. There’s a shared kitchen you can use with a fridge, microwave, and water dispenser, plus a big table by the pool and a nice indoor terrace. Breakfast was simple but included. The only small downsides were the tiny room and bathroom, no mirror in the room, and a noisy fan.
Friday, July 10:
Not far from the ADO bus terminal is the colectivo station for Chichen Itza. They offer a round-trip to Chichen Itza with an option to stop at Ik Kil cenote on the way back and then drop you off in Valladolid for 370 pesos per person (Ik Kil entrance included).
For the Chichen Itza visit, we’d booked a tour with a guide often mentioned in groups—his name is Juan Pat. He’s a Maya who lives near the site and speaks excellent French. He reserves spots in advance for you and queues up to be the first on-site. It cost 500 pesos per person + entrance fees. His tour lasts 2 hours and focuses mainly on the main pyramid and the ball court. He’s passionate and fascinating, even if some of his claims, as a Maya, might be a little biased. I think it’s *really* important to have a guide—otherwise, you’ll miss so much. You can contact Juan Pat on WhatsApp at +52 985 121 2381.
Afterward, we went to Ik Kil cenote (showers and life jackets mandatory, lockers available). It’s *very* crowded, but still really beautiful with its lush vegetation.
Saturday, July 11:
Since we didn’t have a car but still wanted to visit other cenotes that seemed hard to reach by public transport, we decided to book a taxi for the day. We agreed on 1200 pesos to take us to 3 different cenotes and wait for us at each one. (To find taxis, just look where they park near the ADO bus station.)
He picked us up at Zaci cenote, which we’d walked to. We got there at opening time and were the first ones there—had the place to ourselves for a while! 150 pesos per person. A pretty cenote in the city center with lush vegetation. It’s a bit like Ik Kil but without the deep cylindrical effect.
Cenote Xcanahaltun: the most beautiful cenote we visited. Entry 250 pesos per person. It’s a closed cenote with a hole that lets light in—a cave-like setting. You can kayak inside. There are little fish at the edge that nibble dead skin off your feet. Since it’s closed, the water is *freezing*!
Cenote Palomitas: entry 250 pesos per person. Another stunning closed cenote, even more enclosed than Xcanahaltun. The hole in the ceiling is smaller, so it was pretty dark when we arrived—kind of an eerie vibe. But when the staff turned on the lights, it looked like a "Gothic cathedral" full of bright stalactites.
Cenote Sac Aua: entry 290 pesos per person. The ticket includes a guided cave tour (tip-based). This cenote is really unique with its central island and way less crowded than Suytun. Just so you know, the water is *really* cold in cenotes. In these three, in July, we had the place to ourselves for a while and never saw more than 2 families at once—so peaceful!
Sunday, July 12:
ADO bus to Bacalar (536 pesos per person).
In Bacalar, we stayed via Airbnb with a host named Luli, who offers several rooms with shared bathroom and kitchen.
The room is nicely decorated in a pleasant setting. It’s ideally located near the lagoon and downtown. The shared kitchen is handy. The mosquito net over the bed is useful because there are *a lot* of mosquitoes in Bacalar. Luli provides a water jug, which is really nice. The only big downside is the lack of water pressure in the shower—we had to rinse off by filling a bucket. Also, there’s no real door separating the room from the bathroom. We never met Luli in person, but she was very responsive via messages. The terrace in the middle of the vegetation is lovely.
From the ADO terminal to the place, we took a taxi for 40 pesos. Since this driver was honest about the price (we’d checked beforehand), we decided to use him every time we needed a taxi in Bacalar. Here’s his WhatsApp: +52 983 184 3585.
Monday, July 13:
We did a boat tour on the lagoon with "Bacalar Francophone Activities." Since we were just the two of us, it cost 3500 pesos. If we’d managed to be 4 people, it would’ve been 1000 pesos per person.
We had a private 4-hour tour on the lagoon with Steeve and his very comfortable boat. He’s from Quebec, so his French is perfect. During those 4 hours, Steeve showed us the lagoon’s iconic spots *and* places other boats don’t go. He told us about the lagoon’s history and gave great tips on where to go and where to eat. As a little bonus, he gave us a video taken with his drone during our swimming break.
Tuesday, July 14:
We went to Los Rapidos by taxi (400 pesos round trip) and entry was 225 pesos per person. It’s *very* touristy but really beautiful. You can eat there (expensive), relax, and go down the "rapids" as many times as you want. It’s worth it if you spend a few hours there. You can’t bring in food or drinks—you leave them at the entrance and pick them up on the way out.
Wednesday, July 15:
On Wednesdays, navigation is banned on Bacalar Lagoon, so we’d planned another excursion.
Visit to Calakmul from Bacalar with ABCtours (WhatsApp +52 983 319 8359).
This agency organized a trip from Bacalar to Calakmul with a French-speaking guide. Communication beforehand via WhatsApp was smooth. Mr. Checo, the driver, and Fernando, the guide (who spoke great French), picked us up on the day. Mr. Checo drove very carefully on the long road and always made sure we were comfortable. Fernando is passionate about flora and fauna—he’s a biologist with a degree in ornithology, so he knows *everything* about animals. The slightest sound or song, and he knows what it is. He’s got an eye for spotting them, from the biggest to the smallest.
During the trip, we stopped at km 27 for a short forest walk, then went to see the two main pyramids on the site. On the way back, we stopped at the bat cave for the magical spectacle of millions of bats flying out at dusk. In the end, we saw or glimpsed (some briefly) spider monkeys, howler monkeys, a toucan, 2 tapirs, turkeys, 2 deer, and lots of birds. If, like us, you’re more into flora and fauna than archaeology, I’d *highly* recommend this agency and tour with Fernando.
It’s not cheap, but the road between Bacalar and the site is *long* (3.5 hours). Price: 3900 pesos per person for 2 (3500 for 3, 3200 for 4).
Thursday, July 16:
ADO bus to Playa del Carmen (614 pesos per person).
In Playa del Carmen, we stayed in an Airbnb. The building is on the town hall square, next to the casino.
The best thing about this place is the *location*—super close to Fifth Avenue (La Quinta). The kitchen is pretty basic, but the fridge works well. There are supermarkets nearby. The rooftop pool is really nice. The two big downsides, though, are the soundproofing (you can *hear* the neighbor’s alarm and all the events on the square) and the *total* lack of water pressure in the shower. We had to fill a trash can with water to pour over ourselves. When we told the owner, he said it wasn’t normal and someone would come fix it, but we never heard back. Based on previous reviews, this seems to be a known issue that never gets resolved.
Playa del Carmen is *very* touristy on Fifth Avenue, but in a fun, musical vibe—we never felt unsafe. There are *tons* of little souvenir shops for tourists on this street. There’s a beautiful monumental sculpture on the beach (the two figures meeting in the air), next to which you can see the Voladores show (men climbing a pole, tying themselves with ropes, and descending headfirst while "flying" around the pole). The show is tip-based and happens several times a day. In our opinion, Calle 38 is prettier than Fifth Avenue—it’s lush, green, and quieter, with the sea at the end. Great for an early evening stroll. We had really good meals at great prices at "El Tio Noy" tacos, just a few meters from Fifth Avenue in a side street.
For souvenirs, we’d recommend going to Walmart instead of Fifth Avenue—you’ll find skulls, tequila, mezcal, keychains, mugs, glasses... at good, fixed prices.
Friday, July 17:
We did the excursion to Isla Contoy. Isla Contoy is an uninhabited, highly protected island. Only 200 people are allowed to land per day on a rotating basis, so only a few companies have permission to dock there. Most agencies subcontract the day to a third-party company.
We booked through VRM (Viviendo Riviera Maya), but it was Ocean Tours Mexico that handled the tour. Contoy is a little paradise. We were accompanied by multilingual guides, including French speakers, throughout the day. Steffy gave us info about the island during a short walk on the marked trails, and Leño Tlatemoa kept the mood up on the boat rides with music and dancing. Isla Contoy is *truly* stunning, and the lunch was delicious: grilled fish and chicken, guacamole and tortilla chips, rice, fruit, drinks (everything is brought and taken back by the guides). The snorkeling part was pretty disappointing if you’ve done it in Cozumel, though. The stop at Isla Mujeres isn’t very interesting either—it’s too short to explore, and the island is *extremely* touristy. Still, the excursion was very well organized, and we had a great day (2970 pesos per person).
Saturday, July 18:
We wanted to go snorkeling in Cozumel but thought the prices from French-speaking agencies were too high. Plus, for snorkeling, we figured we didn’t *need* a French-speaking guide.
So we found a much cheaper solution by taking the ferry from Playa del Carmen ourselves and choosing an agency in Playa. The round-trip ferry cost 663.50 pesos per person. Then we took a taxi to the snorkeling boat (100 pesos). The agency we chose is called Mystic Snorkel—they don’t have a physical office. The tour cost 1400 pesos per person. It was a small boat, but that day we were the only ones, so we got a private tour at the group rate. We stopped at 4 different sites, all very different and beautiful. We saw all kinds of fish, corals, a nurse shark, and turtles. El Cielo, with its huge starfish, is *exceptional*. If you’re going snorkeling in the Yucatan Peninsula, this is *the* tour to do—the other sites are pretty "poor" in comparison.
Sunday, July 19:
Morning dive with Triton Diving. I chose the Cozumel dive option. Great experience.
Booking via WhatsApp was easy. On the day of the dive, Selene, who speaks French, was our guide. She’s *very* attentive to the group’s safety. The briefings are clear and precise. In Cozumel, we did 2 very different sites: the first was a drift dive with lots of life—beautiful corals and fish. The second was a wreck, the C53, a 56-meter boat you can enter. Not much marine life, but a beautiful wreck intentionally sunk for divers—still in great condition. An unforgettable moment. Selene even took videos during the dive, which the club sends you for free afterward. I’d *highly* recommend this club.
Just so you know, in Playa del Carmen, the beaches were full of sargassum during our stay, despite barriers and daily cleanup. Locals told us the problem is getting worse and the sargassum is arriving earlier in the season. Tourism has taken a *big* hit this summer, and they’re wondering if tourism can even survive the sargassum season anymore. A lot of tourists are heading to the islands—Isla Mujeres and Cozumel—to enjoy the beaches, as the west side of those islands is sargassum-free.
Monday, July 20:
Colectivo to Puerto Morelos. First, a colectivo toward Cancun that drops you off between Puerto Morelos town and Puerto Morelos beach (40 pesos per person), then another from that junction to the beach (10 pesos per person).
In Puerto Morelos, we’d booked a room via Airbnb at "Piedra del Caribe." *Best* place we stayed in Mexico. It’s an aparthotel. Our room was ready before check-in, so they let us in early. The place matched the description—spacious, with a comfortable king-size bed. The shower had *great* pressure, which isn’t a given in Mexico. The staff was super friendly and welcoming. They let us use the pool, restrooms, and rooftop shower after check-out while we waited for our ride to Cancun Airport. They even kept our luggage. I *highly* recommend this place.
In Puerto Morelos, there was *way* less sargassum than in Playa del Carmen—it was actually swimmable.
We did the snorkeling tour with the fishermen’s cooperative for 450 pesos per person for 2 hours. The reef is close to the beach (you’re not allowed to swim there), so the boat ride is short. It’s not as pretty as Cozumel, but it’s nice and affordable. On Puerto Morelos’s page, you can also access a small, not-very-well-preserved reef. There’s also a cenote in the sea where fresh water mixes with saltwater—the water is murky there. We had a great dinner and excellent cocktails at "La Choza del Puerto."
Tuesday, July 21:
Wandered around Puerto Morelos (check out the church and read everything—it’s entertaining!), relaxed by the hotel pool, and left for Cancun Airport by taxi (400 pesos) booked via InDrive to head back to France.
Our highlights:
- Holbox
- The whale shark tour
- The cenotes
- The local flora and fauna (so present!)
- Isla Contoy
- Cabo Catoche (except for the snorkeling)
What we liked least:
- The bioluminescence (barely visible despite good conditions)
- The food—we found it not very diverse in taquerias
- The constant tipping
- The lack of water pressure in showers (fixed, wall-mounted, no hose or showerhead)
Don’t hesitate to ask if you have any questions while it’s still fresh in our minds.
Traveling with just one spare pair of underwear, considering a hot shower a miracle, never staying in the same place too long by sleeping wherever night catches us, taking whatever local, improbable, and rickety transport we can find—this is the DNA of us wanderers. Except this time, the script for our movie is going to be a whole different genre. On paper, the destination doesn’t exactly scream epic adventure: Réunion! And what’s more... we won’t be two, or four, or even ten. We’ll be a solid thirty. All from the same family. Yes, thirty. At this point, it’s not just a trip—it’s a summer camp on the move! Why inflict this on such a peaceful island? Because my brother decided to get married there with his lovely bride. A great idea, you might say... especially when it involves relocating the equivalent of a small Ardennes village 10,000 kilometers from home for three weeks! So who’s stepping up to be the guide and wave the little flag?
So, for an exceptional trip, exceptional stories! Don’t worry, the debates at the supermarket over whether to choose plain chips or roast chicken chips, the beach picnics washed down with ti’ punch, and other rougail sausages to digest by the pool will only make it into the family archives. Here, I’ll stick to the tales of our beautiful escapes, the ones where we explore the wild corners of this little volcanic rock planted in the middle of the Indian Ocean. So where exactly are we headed?
For the first week—the subject of this first installment—we’re taking it easy. We’ll start by rediscovering the coastline, from the Souffleur in Saint-Leu to the Hermitage lagoon, before a little trip to the Cirque de Cilaos and its legendary road with 400 turns, just to get our legs warmed up.
This travel journal is therefore intended solely for my photos, to present a consistent style.
All the shots were taken with a simple Samsung Galaxy smartphone and with whatever was at hand.
All stays combined, I’ve spent the equivalent of three years at most in Thailand, and I’m not a big expert on the country.
However, after many trips, lots of reading on VoyageForum and other sites, and conversations with many locals as well as expats, my view of the country is becoming clearer, though it’s constantly evolving. You never stop discovering and learning.
I guess I wanted to piece together a puzzle, mainly for those who want to get an idea of the country here and for those who miss it.
I don’t know if this minimalist sharing will interest anyone, but it’ll do me good to put it together. After so many months without traveling and then these other long months with VF closed, there’s plenty of material available.
There’ll be a mix of places, periods, and subjects, but it might well be intentional.
I suspect many Thais have dogs because they make excellent guards for the home. Nothing better to deter burglars or to signal the presence of a snake. You’ll often see Thais tapping the top of their dog’s head, but don’t be fooled: it’s a sign of affection from them. Judging by the dogs’ reactions, they’re used to it.
Thailand is one of the countries on the planet where rabies is still present, so keep that in mind. It’s not just bites that can be dangerous, so don’t let just any dog lick you. Especially on a wound, of course.
Even though dogs often fear humans—this dangerous and unpredictable predator—we still need to stay cautious.
Be careful when walking into alleys because the dog will defend its master’s big property, be careful at night, and be careful when they’re in packs.
It sometimes crosses our minds that Thailand isn’t really made for walking around, and dogs are one of the reasons.
That said, it’s not uncommon to see them chasing bikes or scooters. Cars, though, are much rarer—they’re too big.
It seems Thais prefer to give their dogs freedom by not locking them behind gates. Though sometimes the gate is closed, the little side door is wide open. Oh, and sometimes there’s no gate in front of the property, or it’s been broken for years.
You’ll often see dogs sleeping on the side of the road, sometimes right on the road. When you arrive, they move aside nonchalantly—or not at all. It’s less funny when they suddenly appear from thick vegetation, which reminds visitors not to drive too fast. As a result, you’ll notice that dogs with injuries or missing legs aren’t that rare.
Since they believe in reincarnation and respect for all forms of life, they don’t chase dog packs away too much, and they don’t sterilize them enough. Seeing a small pack roaming freely in the countryside, you might think it’s best not to cross paths with them at the edge of a field.
A darker side of this is that euthanasia isn’t often practiced. Twice, we saw dogs at temples on the brink of death, enduring terrible suffering. No one did anything about it. The image (and the smell) of one of them, dying and emitting the stench of death, still comes back to me sometimes.
Some of you may have seen the YouTube vlog of a French woman living in Phuket who was given a little pig by her Thai friends. The well-fed animal quickly became a happy, enormous beast with its own garden. Yet, it didn’t take long for it to fall seriously ill and become incurable. In her video, the French woman described how difficult it was to find a vet willing to perform euthanasia.
You’ll often see bowls by the side of the road. Thais leave food and water in them for stray cats and dogs. Overall, they have a big heart for animals.
If you ever pop into a shopping mall, you might see people pushing their small dogs in strollers. It’s not a gimmick—it’s just that these strollers are provided for customers to put their pets in, otherwise you can’t bring them inside. It looks a bit odd when you expect to see a baby.
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...
Here we go—finally, the big day has arrived! A trip the whole family (my two kids, my husband, and me) had been looking forward to for so long.
To keep it short, we left from Nice, arrived in Namibia on June 25, 2025, and left again on the 21st—four weeks later.
We used an agency for all the camping reservations, activities, and the car rental. At least that side of things was taken care of. Michaël was our contact throughout the planning and the trip itself.
We spent our first night at Londiningi BB. A bit out of the city center but very quiet. The rooms were spacious and clean, and we could eat on-site that evening. Perfect for recovering from the flight.
This travel journal is our second on VoyageForum, following last year’s where we recounted our four weeks in Vietnam.
The goal remains the same: since some members on this site share tips, experiences, and great deals that help us prepare for our trips, we do the same after returning—both to give back a little and in the hope that our experiences might be useful to others in some way.
Our route was as follows: Bangkok, Siem Reap, Krabi, Suratthani, Koh Phangan, Koh Tao, Chumphon, Bang Saphan, Prachuab Khiri Khan, Sam Roi Yod, Hua Hin, Phetchaburi, Bangkok.
Beyond rediscovering Bangkok, our objectives were the long-held dream of seeing Angkor and exploring southern Thailand, much of which isn’t overly touristy.
A quick big thank-you to Barbot, who took the time to answer several of our questions.
12/07/2013
The cheapest flight we found earlier this year was a Paris-Bangkok route with a layover in Moscow for 1440 €, total for two people.
So, this time we tried Aeroflot. Airbus A318 for the first leg, A330 for the second. Nothing particularly annoying to report—the passengers were very calm, the cabin temperature was comfortable, and we had enough legroom.
That said, the quality of the meal trays was pretty mediocre, and the flight attendants weren’t exactly comedians.
We’d like to remind everyone that it’s best to exchange as little money as possible at the airport upon arrival, since the rate is about 5% worse than at city banks.
Of course, we made sure to take the airport exit where you can catch official taxis to avoid getting scammed. So, we queued up, a little lady gave us the ticket, and off we went with the driver.
Generally, this system works well because these drivers are registered, know their duties, and the risks they face if they break the rules. Except that day, right off the bat, we got the scammer of the day. His first move was to snatch the ticket from my wife’s hands—the one you’re supposed to keep in case of a complaint. My husband saw it, but after a full day of travel, we were a bit out of it, and honestly, there was no reason to be suspicious. But once we started driving, the guy refused to turn on the meter. We insisted more and more firmly, but nothing. So, I used the famous method of opening the door and starting to step out of the car. At 40 km/h, that scares the driver more than the passenger. He finally turned on the meter, but that didn’t calm him down—quite the opposite. For the next half-hour, he ruined the ride by demanding extra fees here and there. Having dealt with several scam attempts last year in Vietnam, this wasn’t exactly new, and we were proud of ourselves for staying pretty zen. Still, this guy was a little scary—he was completely wired and aggressive. Honestly, it was hard not to think he was on something. He’d be perfect for a *Scarface* remake. When we finally arrived at the hotel, he followed us to the entrance. We paid the two tolls (25 and 45 baht), gave him the usual 100 baht extra for the ride, and stayed polite but firm. So, meter: 245 baht + 100 baht + 25 and 45 baht for tolls—we paid the exact amount, no way we were tipping this guy. He left furious, but he was already like that before picking us up... Anyway, avoid Mr. Chartree Chidchen, number 089 826 7308, car E2663!
We were so relieved to finally settle in at Feung Nakorn Balcony hotel in the temple district. 42 € per night, great reception, all the staff is friendly. The AC works fine, the bed seemed hard at first but turned out to be comfortable. The hotel is quiet, away from the nightlife, but at this time of year, many places are less crowded than in high season. Even with a nice fish pond and outdoor breakfast area, it’s a decent hotel, though we felt we could’ve found something better.
After a night on the plane, the first afternoon is always a bit of a slog. We napped for a few hours, and when we woke up—guess what—we were starving. We visited a temple across from the hotel (nothing special) and then decided to take the Chao Phraya Express, the river shuttle that serves many piers along the river. It was a really enjoyable experience. The steel gangway wobbles when you board and disembark, the boat sits low in the water, and sometimes you get splashed. During peak times, you’re packed in like sardines, but most of all, there’s that exotic urban landscape passing by, especially the temple rooftops.
At that exact moment, the boat was packed. We didn’t see a ticket booth at the pier, and we tried in vain to pay the few baht for the ride. The cashier on the boat was too busy, and another employee we called didn’t have time to help us. Oh well, we weren’t going to force the issue. Still, this mode of transport is super practical for avoiding traffic, and at the piers, the lines with station names are clearly marked, with colors matching the flags on the boats. Combined with a map like the *Routard* guide, it’s easy to navigate.
We easily made it to the restaurant *Harmonique*, located near one of these piers. It’s a unanimous favorite on this forum, and let us tell you—it’s well-deserved. What a wonderful experience that evening! We only saw the outdoor gazebo because there was no way we were dining inside. It’s not flashy, so those looking for a luxurious setting should look elsewhere.
That night, the staff was a bit slow, and we had to track them down several times to move things along. But oh, my friends—what a feast on the plate! Start with the appetizer platter for two at 250 baht, featuring four specialties, each more tempting than the last, followed by their famous crab curry for 200 baht. There’s *so much* crab in there! The dish is so delicious and rich that when you finish, you feel—how to put it—like it was almost *too* good, to the point where you’re almost put off eating for days. And also, oh yes, we *will* be back. Their satay chicken is just as amazing, and it would be a crime not to mention their generous dessert with ice cream, warm banana, and chocolate, plus their *excellent* almond milkshake.
Later, we took a taxi to Kao San Road, mainly to book a Ko Tao-Chumphon trip for 600 baht per person at the Lomprayah counter. In hindsight, we should’ve booked all three of our trips there right away.
Kao San Road is *ultra*-touristy—better for younger crowds, but it’s still worth seeing. There’s rock ‘n’ roll, hippies, and crowds everywhere.
We walked back to the hotel, and when we got a little lost near a canal, a really nice older Thai man spontaneously appeared out of the night to kindly point us in the right direction.
Finally, a real long night of sleep ahead—we cranked up the AC. Sweet, the vacation has begun!
Hi there,
I just got back from a trip to Sri Lanka from December 18th to January 1st with 2 adults and 2 kids (12 years old).
If it helps, here’s my itinerary.
We left on December 18th from Madrid with Qatar Airways. No complaints. I booked my tickets back in March for 800 € per person. (I flew from Madrid because I live near the Spanish border and was too worried about strikes in France.)
We arrived on December 19th at 4 PM (local time). Before leaving France, I’d booked a taxi through MyTransfer for 59 € to Sigiriya. A van was waiting for us at the airport exit.
A never-ending 3-hour drive to Sigiriya. We stayed at Samana Guesthouse—very simple, clean, with a pool and an excellent Sri Lankan breakfast. Shower and straight to bed.
Friday, December 20th: Beautiful weather, but very humid and hot. We visited Lion Rock (36 € for adults) and then Pidurangala.
I loved both sites—they’re a must-do in my opinion.
Spent the late afternoon by the pool.
Saturday, December 21st: Another gorgeous day. The guesthouse manager offered us a free 2-hour tuk-tuk tour. We first visited a lake, rice fields, the temple, and the Sigiriya market, plus the usual tourist trap—the botanical garden (no pressure to buy anything at the end).
Then we took a tuk-tuk to Dambulla Temple, the Golden Buddha, and the wholesale market.
Sunday, December 22nd: Still beautiful weather. I’d booked a taxi for 8 AM. We did all the long trips by taxi to save time. I’d ask for prices from 2 or 3 WhatsApp taxi agencies 2 days or the day before—super responsive, always got replies within 5 minutes. We headed to Ella (4-hour drive) for 22,000 LKR.
Arrived in the afternoon at Rest Full Homestay—a small, family-run guesthouse. Clean, cozy, and an amazing Sri Lankan breakfast.
In the afternoon, we went to Nine Arches Bridge. It was a Sunday, a Sri Lankan holiday, so it was *packed*—mostly locals and very few white tourists! Even though it was crowded, it was cool because it was all Sri Lankans. We waited an hour for the train. It’s worth seeing, but honestly, I didn’t think it was that amazing.
Then we headed to the station to check if we needed to book tickets for the train to Haputale—turns out, no.
Monday, December 23rd: Beautiful weather. We hiked Ella Rock—a gorgeous trek. The final stretch is steep but shaded, so it wasn’t as tough as I’d read. The whole hike is stunning from start to finish. We saw the train pass twice (one blue, one red) and lots of women picking tea.
After that, we did Little Adam’s Peak. It’s not hard, but it was *packed* with tourists—meh. Luckily, at the top, you can walk a bit farther (down one side and back up) to get some space to yourself.
What I *didn’t* like was the commercial vibe at the big café/restaurant with a pool at the entrance of Little Adam’s Peak. Loud music, all that money being made right next to little souvenir stands run by Sri Lankans or tea-picking women. Felt off.
Ended the day buying souvenirs at one of the few shops we found during the trip.
Tuesday, December 24th: Beautiful weather. Took the train to Haputale. We got to the station 30 minutes before the 9:30 AM train. We could’ve taken 2nd or 3rd class—I went with 2nd (160 LKR per person).
It was crowded, but we managed to get seats—first 2, then 3. Only a 1-hour ride, but I *loved* it—windows and doors open the whole time.
Arrived in Haputale around 11 AM, and the mist was already rolling in.
We walked to our guesthouse, The Mist Holiday Bungalow. Simple but clean, with a great view of the tea plantations. The owner’s wife is Vietnamese and used to work for French tour operators, so her French is still pretty good—helpful for us since our English is terrible. They booked us a tuk-tuk for 4:45 AM the next day (2,000 LKR) to Lipton’s Seat.
Spent the afternoon wandering around Haputale. Not much charm, but there’s a nice fruit and veggie market and a short walk through the tea plantations.
Wednesday, December 25th: Beautiful weather. The tuk-tuk was on time to take us to Lipton’s Seat. We were the first ones there—the sky was just starting to turn pink. In the end, only about ten of us watched the sunrise. The guesthouse had packed us breakfast, and we walked back down (half on the road, half through the plantations). Didn’t see any tea picking since it was Christmas, but the walk was still incredible. We took detours through villages full of kids.
After that, we visited the tea factory. The tour was really interesting, and we took the bus back down to Haputale. Such a great moment—whole families were heading to mass, dressed up and made up. All so beautiful.
At noon, we left for Udawalawe National Park. Taxi for 14,000 LKR. Stayed at River Inn Safari Cottage. *Warning*: It’s the same place as Eagle Safari Cottage. I don’t recommend it. We’d always stayed with families before, but here it was just staff—totally different vibe. The pool was nice but not very clean (water was murky). The bungalow was big and fine, but it was brand new—so new the asphalt floor wasn’t fully dry. It’s in the middle of nowhere, so we had to eat on-site. Couldn’t leave a review on Booking because they never confirmed we’d stayed, and they canceled our reservation the next day.
Thursday, December 26th: Beautiful weather. I’d booked a safari through the hotel for 5:30–10 AM for 54 USD. Honestly, yes, there are a lot of jeeps, but it was great. The kids loved it—we saw everything there was to see.
Left by taxi at 11:30 AM for Welligama (12,000 LKR).
We didn’t stay in Welligama city but at Coconut Beach, between Welligama and Midigama. *Total crush* on the guesthouse: Sky Mountain Café with View. Such a lovely family. The mom makes amazing meals at reasonable prices. The view from the hill over the sea is unreal.
Spent the afternoon walking along the beach.
Friday, December 27th: Beautiful weather. My kids are surfers. Unfortunately, there weren’t any boards their size to rent at Coconut, so we took a tuk-tuk to Welligama Bay (1,000 LKR). They surfed from 8 AM to 5 PM—rental was 5,000 LKR for the day. Meanwhile, we walked the beach and swam. Water was 29°C.
Saturday, December 28th: Beautiful weather, rain from 4 PM until midnight. Same surf day. They were so well-behaved the whole trip, so this was their reward.
Sunday, December 29th: Beautiful weather. Beach day at Coconut. *Warning*: It’s a reef break. For surfers, there are three spots (Coconut Left, Middle, and Right). The boys bodysurfed (with fins) all morning, and at 1 PM, we took the bus to Hikkaduwa.
Stayed at Hotel Universal Beach. Nothing special—right on the water, but the rooms were dark even though they were clean. The manager was super nice, but the rest was meh, and breakfast was mediocre compared to what we’d had before (2 eggs and 3 slices of toast). Plus, it was late—8 AM.
First impression of Hikkaduwa wasn’t great—way too many Russians for our taste.
Monday, December 30th: Beautiful weather. Spent the whole day exploring. Turtle Beach, then the other side of the beach (toward Galle) near the fishing port. The beach there is much wider, with scattered hotels and super quiet. It’s beautiful—I should’ve booked somewhere in that area. Ended up having a great day away from the crowds.
Tuesday, December 31st: Overcast, then beautiful, rain at 4 PM. Had to end the year (and the trip) with some surf. Rented boards for the kids (3,000 LKR per board for the day). Bad luck—the waves were on a reef break but small. Not great for them, but no big deal. They still got out of the water by 2 PM. Walked the beach (which is gorgeous), had a juice, and went for a swim. Then back to surfing in the rain at 4 PM.
Wednesday, January 1st: Left by taxi at 5 AM (18,000 LKR). Flight at 10 AM. Arrived in Madrid at 8 PM.
I could have titled my travel journal like Carmen: "Some trips are born twice." Indeed, we had considered this destination back in February 2020. However, an honest tour operator advised us against traveling at that time due to the climate. So, we gave up and opted for Guatemala instead (see "On the Mayan Lands" on this site).
So, why this title? When I was in primary school, over 65 years ago, the illustrations in my history books (Machu Picchu) and geography books (Lake Titicaca) made me dream, and those images stayed in my mind. It took until 2026 to finally make this dream come true!
We prepared our trip with Tout Pérou, a French-speaking "agency." Everything was handled via email and WhatsApp exchanges with our contact: Laurent, who was both competent, friendly, and full of good advice.
For 200 €, Tout Pérou provided us with drivers and guides whenever we wanted, helped us buy our domestic flights (cheaper when purchased in Peru), booked shuttles between airports and hotels, and got us a discount on the train ride to Aguas Calientes, as well as on the buses between Chivay and Puno and between Puno and Cusco. In short, Laurent took care of all the logistics and the Machu Picchu tickets. It was up to us to book our hotels. Tout Pérou provided a list, but we weren’t obliged to follow it. Another advantage of the package: we didn’t have to pay in advance; we paid the service providers directly day by day.
We didn’t meet Laurent in person because he was on vacation in Europe. Before his departure, he gave us a briefing, provided a summary table with the entire program, the service providers, their phone numbers, their fees, the schedules, and gave us plenty of advice (money, exchange, safety, etc.). After returning at the end of our stay, he kept checking in on us.
Lastly, we had also gathered information from Arnaud Lagadec, who runs a hotel in Cusco and offers tours of the region. He gave us a lot of useful information. Another contact: Thomas Montaigne, very friendly, who runs an agency in Arequipa (Agence Pérou Exclusif).
Day 1 – Paris to Lima
Foreword
I’ll share our trip without any pretension—I don’t have the talent of some contributors on this forum—and I’ll illustrate it with a few photos (taken with an ordinary smartphone). My comments are personal and only reflect my own views. So, please be kind! Feel free to comment on my story as you like, but let’s avoid pointless debates.
Even though we live in the south of the Paris region, true to our habits when the flight is in the morning, we chose to spend the night before our departure in a hotel near CDG and parked our car in a parking lot in Garches. This way, we avoid the stress that often comes with traveling around Paris (accidents, roadworks, traffic jams, etc.).
Check-in and border control went smoothly on that Sunday morning. Our Air France flight was uneventful. In Lima, border control took a particularly long time, and for the first time, we didn’t get an entry visa stamped in our passports.
As planned, a driver took us to the Miraflores district, where our hotel was located. We were surprised by the numerous signs about possible tsunamis, having forgotten that Peru is prone to such events and regularly experiences earthquakes. We’d see the consequences of these during our journey.
Exhausted from the early wake-up, the 13-hour flight, and the 7-hour time difference, we had dinner at the hotel before a restful night.
Note that this day was Peru’s presidential election day. As a result, we weren’t served beer—the sale of alcohol was banned that Sunday.
We did the Langtang trek (hike) from September 10th to 17th, with the first and last days being the trip from Kathmandu and back—so 6 days of actual walking. It’s a fairly well-known trek but certainly not as famous or crowded as those in the Annapurna or Everest regions, which is why we chose it.
In theory, it’s mandatory to have a guide for this trek. In reality, it seems there are ways to bypass the regulations: we met at least two people hiking without a guide—a South Korean, a New Zealander, and possibly also a couple of English women and an American couple, though we’re not sure if they had a guide.
The agency we booked with had told us it was an affordable trek for relatively older people in good shape—which is our case (I’m 72 myself). I have to say upfront that we found it quite challenging, maybe because we didn’t have good weather—it was the end of the monsoon season. To be clear, no matter your fitness level, I’d say doing this trek in the middle of the monsoon season would be suicidal.
Day 1 – Journey from Kathmandu to Syapru Besi
On Monday, September 8th, there had been violent protests in Kathmandu against the government, which had, among other things, blocked access to social media and been accused of nepotism and corruption. There were 19 deaths. The situation was very tense on the day of our departure, Wednesday the 10th. The agency warned us that public transport was very unreliable. So, we decided to take a jeep, at an additional cost of $100 ($160 minus what was already budgeted for the bus).
We left a little before 7 a.m. and it took us a good hour just to reach the outskirts of Kathmandu. Along the way, we saw several houses and vehicles set on fire by protesters.
The road to Syapru Besi is only 120 km, but it’s frankly awful. It’s always narrow, winds through endless mountains, and the shoulders range from bad to confusing to nonexistent. Several sections are just dirt tracks. We didn’t regret opting for the jeep, as we could stop several times at our convenience—if only to let Y (my Thai partner) throw up everything she had. She’d taken her usual motion sickness medication, but the constant turns, accelerations, and braking eventually made her terribly carsick.
In Nuwakot, we stopped for breakfast at a nice little restaurant, Jimbu. It was around 8:30 a.m., and we’d barely covered 60 km. The restaurant has a lovely garden overlooking the Trishuli Ganga, the river flowing down from Syapru Besi. First photo: the river in the bottom right corner, mist and clouds over the mountain on the other side.
An hour later, my second photo: the hills along the Trishuli Ganga. You can see the different crops—lush green rice paddies in the lower right and corn, already yellowed and likely harvested, in the foreground on the left. And of course, the mist and clouds through which you can glimpse the mountain on the other side of the river.
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!
Last October, we landed in Marrakech to spend a few days with family exploring Morocco’s roads.
Transport: a rented Dacia.
Accommodations: small guesthouses.
Our first stop was just a few kilometers from Marrakech, at a lovely house perfect for relaxing and recharging before continuing. It’s called Bleu House, a little paradise on the outskirts of Marrakech. The welcome was very warm, with a beautiful pool and a lovely garden.
Next, we headed toward the Tichka Pass. The road has really improved in recent years—it’s much easier to drive now. No more getting stuck behind trucks, and today, the construction is practically finished.
Morocco has turned green after the recent rains. It’s a joy for the herds and shepherds.
I hesitated about writing this travel journal...
This summer, we only did the classics (the 3 northern parks and Zanzibar) and let a local agency take care of everything from start to finish.
No craziness, no risks, no sleeping under the stars, no self-drive, no venturing off the beaten path, no incidents, and not even any delays in the pre-planned itinerary...
But don’t think we were disappointed!
The whole family (there were 6 of us) came back with smiles and memories of great moments spent together.
So, if you're looking for a "classic" way to discover Tanzania, this is the place to be.
Our 2-week itinerary:
- Arusha (1 night upon arrival)
- Tarangire (1 night)
- Ngorongoro (2 nights in Karatu then Irmisigiyo)
- Serengeti (3 nights in Robanda, Togoro Plains, and Seronera)
- Zanzibar Stone Town (1 night)
- Zanzibar Matemwe (3 nights)
- Zanzibar Jambiani (3 nights)
Come along, I'm taking you to this country where it's so nice to wander and slow down...
This trip was in 2023, but when I wanted to write my travel journal, VF was still closed to contributions...
So, now that I've just finished my Japan travel journal here, I figured it was high time to honor this destination we came back from so enchanted.
Disclaimer 1: This is a written travel journal. There’ll be text! Too much, for some!
Disclaimer 2: This is an illustrated travel journal. There’ll be photos! Too many, for some!
I have to say, every time I try to discipline myself, to keep it shorter, to include fewer photos... I end up adding more. It feels like my dear Aunt Nicole, who exhausted us with her slide-show evenings in the 70s/80s, decided to take her revenge. The upside for you, readers, is that you can slip away anytime without offending Aunt Nicole. I won’t even notice!
Anyway, since I love maps, here’s one to give you an idea of where I’m taking you. As you can see, we only saw a tiny part of Laos (the areas circled in red); we only had 3 weeks for ourselves (my husband’s newly retired, I still work), and we prefer taking our time over rushing around like crazy.
In broad strokes, it was very classic:
First, we “settled in” at Luang Prabang (8 days), because we wanted and needed to.
From there, we took three days to venture a little further north—not far in kilometers, but as we know, distances aren’t just about km!
Then we flew south to Paksé, letting ourselves drift down to the 4,000 Islands while stopping by the pre-Angkorian archaeological sites.
We wrapped up with the Bolaven Plateau.
A few practical notes: We arrived via Bangkok, then took a Bangkok-Luang Prabang flight, having picked up our luggage in Bangkok to check it in for Luang Prabang. No issues—the Bangkok airport, which many of you know, is very well organized.
We got our visas on arrival in Luang Prabang. Quick, but to be fair, we were on a “small” plane, and the big flights had arrived earlier, so we weren’t too crowded in line!
At the end of our trip, we didn’t fly out of Paksé but from the nearby airport in Thailand, Ubon Ratchathani (a 2.5-hour drive from Paksé), then Bangkok and Paris.
You’ll notice we skipped Vientiane to stay longer in Luang Prabang. That said, there’s now a high-speed train between Vientiane and Luang Prabang—good to know—and soon the (Chinese) train will go all the way to Bangkok and even Kuala Lumpur!
With that intro out of the way, let’s dive into the heart of the matter.
To be continued: Slowing down the pace... in Luang Prabang
It’s an ancient city that breathes, a living spring.
Here, no kitschy signs like “I miss you in Fengyu,” nor mass-produced fake antiques.
The century-old houses still bear the marks of wind and rain; in the morning, you hear roosters crowing, and at dusk, smoke gently rises from the kitchens.
This city doesn’t try to please anyone—like the spring water flowing through it, it simply keeps living at its own pace.
Located in Eryuan County, in the Dali Prefecture of Yunnan, the ancient town of Fengyu is a nationally designated historical and cultural city. It’s nicknamed the “land of scholars and ink”—during the Qing Dynasty, the Fengxiang Academy produced four *jinshi* and eleven *juren* in the imperial examinations. The Bai families made studying and farming a true legacy. Even on market days, you’ll find stalls of calligraphy and paintings, while lintels and screen walls are covered with family mottos.
Fengyu was also an important stop on the ancient Tea Horse Road. It preserves the second-largest Bai architectural complex in China, just after Xizhou. The famous traveler Xu Xiake spent seven days here and compared it to the “peach blossom paradise.”
I’m inviting you on a stroll through my drawings—a completely subjective, far from exhaustive, and totally personal take, since it’s based on my own sketches. I put this travel journal together after returning in late 2024, mostly using felt-tip pens and pencils, with a few collages thrown in. I worked from our personal photos.
Let’s start with the shotengai...
Our first "wow" moment came as we stepped out of the subway in Asakusa, the Tokyo neighborhood where we’d booked our hotel for our first five nights. Exhausted after our long flight, we finally arrived and took an exit that led straight into a shotengai—one of those covered shopping streets that pop up in city centers and flourished between the 1950s and 1980s.
It was an instant aesthetic shock, like a close encounter of the third kind between the modern city, a typical Asian market with its street stalls, the vintage vibe of the arcade, the sheer abundance of goods, and the bustling crowd—a mix of tourists, pilgrims (thanks to nearby Senso-ji Temple), and locals (it’s a very working-class area).
In the end, it set the tone for a feeling we’d experience throughout the trip. Wherever we went, shotengai turned out to be fantastic spots for finding little restaurants, shops, or even fresh produce. Some are like real mazes, like in Kyoto, where we spent ages trying to relocate a restaurant we’d loved ;-)
In Kanazawa, the Omicho Market:
And in Kyoto, Nishiki Market:
The latest travel journal about Turkmenistan dates back to 2019. Here’s a quick update on this vast desert country, which is now a bit easier to visit than before.
This is my first travel journal. If you have any questions, don’t hesitate to ask. The country is slowly opening up, but it’s still possible to visit sites where you’ll be completely alone. In five days, I saw two Hongkongers, a few Germans, and a Chilean at the crater, ten Chinese people in a capital bazaar, and that’s it!
It’s possible to visit Turkmenistan from Uzbekistan. The easiest and most economical way is to take a taxi to the border from Bukhara. The trip takes a little over an hour.
Crossing the border takes quite a while because many Turkmen bring back items bought in Uzbekistan to resell in Turkmenistan. For example, diapers, baby products, or beauty products.
It took me over 2.5 hours to cross the border. To visit Turkmenistan, it’s mandatory to have a guide and go through a travel agency. British agencies often offer three-, five-, or seven-day trips for over 1,500 or 2,000 €.
But if your budget is more limited, you can contact a few Turkmen agencies directly by email, and they’ll make you an offer between 700 and 1,300 € for three to seven days. I took a five-day trip from Turkmenabat in the northeast of the country to Dashoguz in the north. The goal was to visit the main UNESCO-listed sites, including Merv, and archaeological sites like Nisa or Gonur Tepe.
Your guide will also be your driver. They’ll pick you up at the border. The formalities are very long because customs officers have to stamp multiple documents, and obtaining the visa you previously requested from your travel agency requires several checks. But the process goes relatively smoothly, even if each step takes a while.
Once on the other side, the first surprise is the brand-new highway all the way to Turkmenabat. A very long line of trucks stretches for several kilometers on the Turkmen side to cross the border into Uzbekistan. According to my guide, Turkmen trucks transport gas and cotton (though not this season, since the harvest is in September), but they mainly fill up their tanks because fuel is much cheaper in Turkmenistan. A full tank for a car costs about 3 €, which is unbeatable.
From the Farap border post, the goal is to reach the city of Mary, which is home to the UNESCO-listed site of Merv in its suburbs, about thirty kilometers away. This city is known as a foundation by Alexander the Great in the 4th century BC under the name Alexandria of Margiana. Several fortresses are visible.
After more than three hours on the road, we have lunch at a Turkish restaurant called Aladdin. Several quotes from the president are visible along the highway, but the road is in good condition, and we move along easily. This will be by far the best road in the country—things will get much worse later.
Roundabouts are particularly interesting because they feature emblems of Turkmen culture, like the dog, a carpet, the Ahal Teke horse, or Muslim symbols, even though the presence of Islamic artifacts is quite limited.
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
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!
It often happens that we're asked what to visit in Belgium.
And the answers usually point to Bruges, Ghent, Antwerp, and Brussels—and rightly so, as these cities are well worth visiting ;).
However, Belgium, though small, isn’t just limited to these four cities.
I live in one of them (Brussels), enjoy spending time in the other three, but I’d like to highlight some lesser-known spots that could add to the trip for those who want to see a bit more or something different.
Between trips, I like exploring one or two corners of the country where I live.
Hence the idea for a travel journal of walks.
Most of the places I’ll talk about can be visited as a day trip from Brussels, whether by public transport or car.
In chronological order of the topics covered:
- The Gileppe Dam (Liège province) - message 2, page 1
- The Domaine de La Hulpe (Walloon Brabant) - message 3, page 1
- Mechelen (Antwerp province) - message 4, page 1
- The coast - message 5, page 1
- The Westhoek, from De Panne - message 6, page 1
- The Zwin, from Knokke - message 7, page 1
- Lier (between Mechelen and Antwerp) - message 8, page 1
- Mons (Hainaut) - message 9, page 1
- The Florenville region - message 12, page 1
- The East Cantons - message 13, page 1
- Dinant - message 18, page 1
- The Japanese garden in Hasselt - message 24, page 2
- Leuven - message 29, page 2
- Louvain-la-Neuve - message 32, page 2
- Ostend - message 42 (page 3) and message 166 (page 9)
- The floralies of Groot-Bijgaarden - message 43, page 3
- Halle Forest - message 44, page 3
- Pralines - message 54, page 3
- Charleroi - message 68, page 4
- Namur - message 92, page 5
- Le Bois du Cazier (Marcinelle) - message 95, page 5
- Couques and gosettes - message 96, page 5
- Liège - message 99, page 5
- Tournai - message 115, page 6
- Oudenaarde - message 121, page 7
- Meise Botanical Garden - message 124, page 7
- Tongeren - message 125, page 7
- Beersel Castle (Flemish Brabant) - message 126, page 7
- Brussels in lockdown (messages 150 and 154, page 8)
- Notre-Dame à la Rose Hospital in Lessines (messages 161 and 162, page 9)
- Westende (message 167, page 9)
I’ll keep updating this list as the journal progresses...
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).
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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.
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As a supplement, the route track.
Not necessarily ultra-accurate since Google has serious gaps for this destination...