"In one place, in one day, a single deed accomplished,
May hold the theater filled until the end."
- Sunday morning, a chilly dawn
- The kitchen
- Smell of coffee and toast, a jar of honey on the table.
- Tits pecking at sunflower seeds in the transparent feeder stuck to the window.
- France Musique on the radio: Brahms, violin concerto by the lovely Hilary Hahn
- Characters:
- An old man in a plush dark blue dressing gown
- An old woman in a worn-out duck-blue dressing gown.
They dance cheek to cheek, the woman’s head resting on the old man’s broad chest.
The old man breathes in the tangled hair of the lady.
She smiles.
Happy.
Tomorrow, they’re off on a trip.
Strange to settle into this section.
Not much in the way of thoughts or reflections.
The moderators' ways are inscrutable!
__
Monday 7 AM
"Dawn ignites;
The thick shadows flee;
Dream and mist
Go where the night goes;
Eyelids and roses
Open half-closed;
From the awakening of things
We hear the sound."*
-4°C, the car is packed: two travel bags, a water bottle, and a box of paracetamol.
It still feels like yesterday we were young, yet here we are, still dreaming, still hitting the road—more cautiously now, but just as eager, with more naps and more breaks.
See you soon, kids, grandkids—the celebrations are over. It was great, it was tiring, it was joyful, and *phew*, everyone left full, happy, and that’s what matters.
Now we’re free!
The windshield is fogged up, the AC is roaring like hell, and we’re laughing in our indestructible old banger—340,000 kilometers on the clock, Euro 3 standard, banned from big cities we hate anyway.
We’re heading north.
First stop: Autun. Just outside the small town, we pull over to water the brown ferns, scorched by the frost.
We’re hurrying slowly, like a senator’s procession.
Alba will have to wait, but here we come...
*Victor Hugo
Hello moderation team,
Would you be so kind as to move me and give me a nudge in the -winter- section instead of the travel journals? I’d feel more at home there than in this category. Thanks!
Tuesday 11 AM
Oh no, I’m stalling—and arriving in Calais, what a terrible pun!
The clutch is shot, it smelled like burning, and my numb fingers don’t even want to touch the keyboard.
We’re stuck in the car waiting for the tow truck, and it’s freezing cold.
So, it’s no longer important to talk about the road lined with fencing, barbed wire, and patrols as we approached Calais.
I don’t feel like describing the stern-faced customs officer who made us empty the trunk to check if a migrant hadn’t curled up in place of the spare tire under the floor mat.
I don’t want to recount the rough ferry crossing where I definitely don’t have my sea legs—my splattered shoes remember it all too well.
I’ll skip the endless A1 motorway across England too.
And here we are, straight at the Writers’ Museum, housed in Lady Stair’s House on Lawnmarket along the Royal Mile in Edinburgh.
It’s a private morning in honor of Robert Burns.
The heavy wooden door is often left ajar. Since last year, it’s been scraping against the stone floor.
We meet up with friends and belt out “Auld Lang Syne,” the ballad the poet wrote after Scotland’s annexation by the United Kingdom. This song, known worldwide, moves me every time, and I get goosebumps.
If someone climbs the spiral staircase and says “Audentes Fortuna Juvat”—the password to enter the room and our clan’s motto—we’ll offer them a glass of Robert Burns Single Malt.
If that someone doesn’t like whisky, they can have tea instead.
If they don’t know our motto, they’ll have to come back in the afternoon when the house is open to the public.
We won’t linger in Edinburgh; we’ll return for the dinner on January 25th, where haggis and whisky are celebrated, where we have fun, and where we raise toasts in honor of Robert Burns, our clan, and life itself.
One
Sunday, Monday, Tuesday... All in a single day?
Cooking, driving, ferry... All in one place?
Waking up, embracing, watching, driving, driving some more, singing, toasting... A single accomplishment?
Two
In the Thoughts section, they’ve slipped away,
A bit of the soul of yesteryear has also flown off,
Yet nothing has changed.
Three
Settling somewhere, ending up elsewhere, making a discreet sign in vain...
Give up? Keep going anyway?
Decide it doesn’t matter. Displease Boileau. Keep going!
Maybe then we’ll get to read the rest of your adventure in the TRAVEL JOURNALS... Because yeah, it’s an adventure worthy of a travel journal!
(Or we’re back to a question asked elsewhere: what *is* a travel journal? I’m stubborn, so what?)
un chemin et la caresse du vent, alors je pars en voyage...
Hey, you know how to use the gouge like no one else—without hacking it to pieces. You sculpt, it’s delicate, precise, and so often spot-on. I’m in awe.
I’m ditching Boileau.
Since I feel compelled to stay in this part of the forum, I’m making sure to use the iconic line from Bacri’s film *The Sense of Festival*:
"So, what do we do? We adapt."
.../...
Here we are back in Edinburgh at Steve’s for Burns Night.
Steve’s place smells a bit like a dirty sock or an old mop—I can’t decide. I think it’s the lingering scent of whisky floating through his lovely house, almost at the foot of Arthur’s Seat, the city’s proud hill.
I have an aversion to whisky and its peculiar taste. Is it the peat, the smoke? I swear it smells like a dirty sock. The flavor reminds me of mop juice. Okay, fine, I’ve never actually drunk mop juice.
Do you like whisky? Do you drink local when you travel?
We were about twenty guests—Clan Ramsey, Clan MacKinnon, Clan MacDonald, and Clan Campbell—all gathered to cheerfully celebrate Robert Burns.
Steve read the famous Burns Night poem *Address to a Haggis*, we raised a toast, and dug into the haggis. It was warm and fun.
I’m making the best of a bad situation because Steve’s haggis doesn’t resemble Mary’s (his late wife) at all. His looks vaguely like shepherd’s pie from Picard.
Do you like haggis, and do you think it’s important for countries to have their own culinary treasures?
After the party, we tidied up, stacked the garden chairs, and put the leftover bottles in the cupboard.
The next morning, I was in the dew-damp garden.
The first joggers, elbows sharp in rhythm and headphones on, were already climbing the hill. What a shame about the headphones—they can’t hear the slightly squishy sound of their steps on the soggy path.
Back home, young women who run say it’s part of their *health routine*. Oh, how that new terminology annoys me. *Health routine*, *self-care routine*, *cleaning routine*.
It’s like the phrase "just use this app!" The word *application* is probably too long.
And also, while I’m at it, the "as of today, this afternoon" thing.
I’m really out of step with this world now.
What are your thoughts on this? Do you have a *travel routine*?
We left Steve—he hugged me, and my nose ended up between his two... well, let’s just say he’s so enormous he must measure a 110C in chest circumference.
We’re heading to Aberdeen, *not* *over* Aberdeen.
Those people who say, "I work *in* Paris," "I’m going *to* Lille"—they must have good parachutes.
Does that annoy you too?
We’re going *to* Aberdeen. As usual, we’ll stop in the charming little village of Invergarry.
That way, we can take the overnight ferry to the Shetland Islands and reach our cottage on the moor for three months.
I’ll probably talk about it here. You’ll have to be patient, though—we don’t have internet, and *of course* no Wi-Fi. When we go to Frankie’s for fish and chips, I’ll connect.
PS: No need for photos in this section, and that suits me just fine. Too clumsy to insert images, too lazy to relearn, and honestly, I don’t feel the need to reshape my world or reframe my life.
PS2: I hope you noticed I included some reflections to stay on topic in this section.
Slàinte! (don’t know how to put the acute accent on the *a*)
I read your post while sipping water, but to answer you, I’ve got a Scotch in hand. Since you don’t like peaty whiskies, after changing my socks, I poured a Bruichladdich with an iodine nose and salty flavors. The downside of this whisky is that by the second glass, its name becomes unpronounceable.
Would a floor washed with whisky be sticky... because what’s certain is that the house would suddenly smell intoxicating. By the way, would it be possible to put it in essential oil diffusers?
Whisky (preferably an old Talisker) on the palate, wrapped in jazz—moments of perfection in winter.
Multiple routines on this side of the Alps, just a skincare routine on this side. Polyglot influencers* go all out with *tutto tuto* so no routine or path leaves a mark on their faces.
*influenza: the flu.
Catherine
By this, and this only, we have existed. Which is not to be found in our obituaries. (T.S. Eliot)
In Scotland, I drank local water (well, not always just local water), didn’t like haggis, preferred fish and chips, routines bore me to death, and expressions like "in Paris" or "I’ve done the Amazon" really get on my nerves.
There, I’ve done my part of reflections 🤪 since this travel journal is "left" in this space!
Loved your words—they made me smile and even laugh. Simply delighted to read you.
And can’t wait for you to visit Frankie’s so you can tell us all about your cottage on the Shetland moors...
un chemin et la caresse du vent, alors je pars en voyage...
Do you like whisky?
What are your thoughts on this topic?
Does it annoy you too?
I don’t like whisky, but I’m thinking about it, and yeah, some things do annoy me... can I play along?
When we go to Frankie’s to eat fish and chips
So we’re going for a Land and Sea flavor, the chef’s signature dish here, breaded with panko crumbs whose crispiness enhances the lightness.
The chef, who brought back exotic influences from his many travels to reinvent the classics, offers a bold deconstruction of this great classic: The Fich and Ships. Here, the Fish is half-raw fried, and the chips are half-breaded in an airy tempura.
A rough crossing, and the whole thing will splatter your shoes with infinite class.
Thanks for this excellent choice, and enjoy your meal—I’ll leave you with the sommelier for the rest. (See with the enthusiasts above.)
That way, we can take the overnight ferry to the Shetland Islands and reach our cottage on the moor for three months.
Scotland, whiskey (whisky?), mists, and moors, *Doric, Lallans, and Scotch*...
If you feel nostalgic on the way back...
The Angels' Share
...
in winter—failing travel journals, I’d feel more at home in this section.
And if nostalgia ever strikes,
You can always try to make sure
That ideas open wide the doors with your hands, with your hands...
What’s the difference between a reflection and a travel journal?
Here, it’s all about the image. Since it’s rare to have any in this section—other than mental ones—here’s one that, I hope, won’t distort your point (photo taken tonight with an ancient phone, no tripod or lighting, but we’re not in the aesthetic/cosmetic section ).
It’s a vintage peat, bought twelve years ago at the Comptoir Irlandais in Lorient. It traveled around Europe in a secret stash in the Defender to make up for any lack of firewood at the campsite. Paradoxically, the stock was only used once during a very boozy evening (and not for whisky) in Norway. And here, it’s competing with the oaks—so it’s yours.
@Dolma
Flûte, I wrote an odd sentence
No flute here—but why not a retort? Tumblers or, better yet, tulip glasses. 😉
I love this precious gift. It’s so cozy at your place.
When I saw the photo, I didn’t have my glasses on and it was blurry—I thought I saw the worn vamp of “Van Gogh’s shoes,” if that tells you how sharp my eyesight is!
After putting on my glasses (not the shoes), I saw cobblestones like those collectible ones from Vieux Lyon during the May 1968 protests that my older brother had smuggled home in his schoolbag without our parents knowing.
And finally, I saw the peat bricks perfectly. Beautiful, elegant bricks that don’t look anything like our rectangular briquettes we use for heating and cooking.
Your photo is a melancholic and romantic tableau filled with serenity.
Thanks
As a Talisker fan, a gentleman kindly filled me in. It's a lightly peated and fruity whisky from the Isle of Skye. And when I told him you pair it with jazz, he insisted you must be a... voluptuous woman.
Mmmmm!
As for essential oils with whisky—help, it exists!
Kola, this is absolutely perfect—you have a real talent for observation, a food critique right on trend. It’s funny and so spot-on!
Whiskey is the name used in Ireland, I think.
You mention Doric, which is the language around Aberdeen, and I know nothing about it. And for "scotch," are you talking about the Scotch (whisky) or the adhesive tape? As for Lalland, are you referring to Scottish wool? You’ve got me intrigued! Or is it simply a quote since it’s in italics?
We haven’t seen Ken Loach’s film, but we’ll fix that when we get back—thanks for the recommendation.
And thanks again for Léo Ferré.
"And if ever nostalgia takes hold
You can always believe it works
And that love makes ideas better
After tomorrow, after tomorrow"
Dolma, it makes me happy to make you smile, and don’t listen to Voyajou with his lab flasks—don’t serve whisky in a tumbler. You know, those big glasses with a beveled base, like Maille mustard jars. The tulip glass, though, he’s right—it’s the best. It’s called a dram, and the aromas don’t escape, so you can sniff them real elegantly.
You’re so polite—I can promise you that when I’m wrong, I don’t just say ‘darn’.
Before reaching our island—or Yell, Unst, or the main island of Mainland—we spend a few hours in Lerwick to do laundry and stock up on groceries for a few days. We take a quick detour to Brae to visit Frankie’s and fill our stomachs with fish and chips so hearty I have to undo the button on my pants.
We send updates, read about the latest arrivals, and head back to the ferry dock.
Lerwick has a bit of an Edinburgh vibe—grey stones, slate roofs, cobbled alleys—and under the leaden sky, I inexplicably feel like I’m in *Wuthering Heights*.
Thirty minutes on a small ferry later, we finally set down our bags. We’re in Whalsay.
And surprise—the fiber internet is installed in our cottage.
We’re happy and unhappy about it. A paradox.
The Shetlands had been cut off from the world two years ago after the undersea cables broke, but since Enea’s place had no internet anyway, it didn’t change much for us. For the locals, though, it was a whole different story.
Jules (one of my fourteen grandchildren) insists AI is the future. ChatGPT already helps him with homework, and his teacher didn’t even notice!!! He claims AI will save him from having to learn *anything* because all you have to do is ask.
Before leaving, he hands me his phone and says:
"Ask whatever you want."
I asked it to tell me about the Shetland Islands. In ten seconds, I had a travel guide.
"See? It’s cool, right! Plus, you can talk about anything—it’s like a virtual buddy."
"Isn’t it boring not to think for yourself? And doesn’t it isolate you? Don’t you think?"
Will AI replace forums and travel guides?
In the Shetlands—a vast archipelago of about a hundred islands, only sixteen of which are inhabited—you really feel like you’re at the edge of the world.
Enea, the owner, has been renting us this little cottage for four years. She’s thinking of selling; we’re thinking of buying. Fully aware of our age and the years slipping away like soap down a slope, we tell ourselves the grandkids could come here to live out their romances. Out on the moor, they could love each other in peace.
Will they come this far? That’s the big question. Having internet installed will surely be a draw for this younger generation.
Back to our sheep.
In the Shetlands, it’s obvious—sheep and little ponies everywhere.
Right in front of our place, a small black pony with a wild mane trots up to greet us, then slams on the brakes like Jolly Jumper when it realizes it doesn’t know us. It approaches my hand cautiously and delicately takes the carrot piece. Then it trots back to its friends. These stocky little ponies always have hair in their eyes, like hippies without the headband. They don’t scare me like horses do—those yellow teeth terrify me so much I’d never dare offer them even an apple.
So, our cottage.
It’s all white with teal window frames, giving it a cheerful look. It’s topped with a slate roof.
There are two rooms. A main room, six strides by ten, with a stove we use for heating and cooking.
We go through about fifteen peat bricks a day. My partner sometimes goes with Lyle to cut peat. They use a *tushktar*, a traditional tool, and apparently, it’s exhausting. When we arrive, there’s already a mountain of ready-cut bricks. Good.
At the back of the main room, there’s a sort of alcove with a big bed. Next to it, a wash area and a toilet.
That’s it. Nothing more.
Is heating with peat ecological?
No fences here—the sheep roam free and never let you get close.
I move slowly and gently, but *whoosh!* If one gets spooked, it bolts and takes all the others with it. Panurge is highly responsible.
On windy days—and it’s *very* windy *very* often—the salty sea spray dampens your face.
There are no trees, just a few bushes, and the wind races and leaps across the moor, whistling as it goes.
The ocean is right at our feet. My partner is beside me, and I can’t resist giving him a kiss—I love the salty taste on his chapped lips.
Steve always says: "What are you even going to do up there? It’s so far, and there’s nothing."
That’s exactly why we go.
Sheep, ponies, seals, orcas hunting the seals, gannets, and puffins that birdwatchers come to observe with binoculars, cliffs, beaches, trails, and locals as welcoming as those in our Morvan. Many speak Shetlandic—even more incomprehensible than Gaelic, and that’s saying something.
The days stretch long in spring at this latitude, offering cozy evenings under a rough but warm blanket.
This deep peace that fills me here sometimes leaves me dizzy, as if for a moment I’d lived in another dimension.
It's beautiful and poetic. And yet, you've just described my absolute nightmare.
« 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
Certainly, as long as it’s not extracted faster than it forms. (There’s hardly an "ecological problem" that wouldn’t naturally resolve itself if Earth had fewer people, after all.)
I just sent my varnished peat briquettes to Amazon (you’ll have noticed they’ve replaced horses with drones). They should be near Whalsay by tomorrow. However, even though the drone runs on Amazon’s AI, the fact that it’s solar-powered makes me worry it might drop them on a sheep instead of gently placing them in your hearth when it reaches your area. You’ll then have to make do with the meat (1), while Man fashions straps from the hide to turn those briquettes into rather stylish geta. No doubt he’ll find you voluptuous then, even as you suffer from the lack of uppers (2).
(1) I recommend Kola, a home chef who’s had an age-old recipe for leg of lamb tenderized under a pony saddle, her mint emulsion, and her cucumber reduction.
(2) If the wind blows just right, Dolma will come knit you some slippers—one stitch right, one stitch wrong.
Will AI do away with forums and travel guides?
Probably, but more seriously, Jules won’t get his humanities education.
Hey (I would’ve tried Shetlandic, but Google’s silent)
It’s beautiful and poetic. And yet, you’ve just described my absolute nightmare.
A thoughtful reflection: one person’s dream is another’s nightmare.
“It’s because there’s nothing that we go there.” Exactly.
Dom, the reading experience conjured up pleasant images, but it’s morning, the coffee—corrected with whisky—is sipped in the alcove, and the urge to wander the moors is ravenous. No trees, sure, a few shrubs, okay, but what about the heather? Is it there or not? And if it is, if the mood struck to confide in it, would it tickle the skin or scratch it? I have no idea.
Catherine
By this, and this only, we have existed. Which is not to be found in our obituaries. (T.S. Eliot)
Good morning Unamilanese,
The heather is soft—you can lie down on it when it hasn’t rained. And in summer, it’s so breathtakingly beautiful that you could cry with happiness at the sight of the hills where every shade of violet, pink, and white intertwines.
Originally, in the Highlands, it’s called *calluna*, and it’s the result of deforestation. Ten thousand years ago, these were forests.
Heather is said to be magical, and when a young woman marries, she carries a sprig of white heather in her bouquet.
Today, heather is a source of pride for the Scots, but their true emblem is the blue thistle—and yes, that *does* prick!
On the islands, especially in the Shetlands where the subarctic climate is harsh, the moorland has adapted to the salinity of the soil. You’ll find plantain, mosses, heather in the land, buttercups, gentians, and just plain grass. Right now, everything looks a bit russet, but it’ll all change with spring.
Hello Voyajou,
Are you sure you paid the right rate for your briquettes?
Nothing arrived. Do you have a package tracking number?
Drones sometimes malfunction. For commerce, it’s a bit annoying, but for war, it’s horrifying.
Imagine a drone pilot leaving home in the morning, kissing his kids and wife. He settles into his office, follows orders to strike a facility, misses, and hits a school instead.
That evening, he goes home, kisses his kids and wife again. Will he be able to sleep?
PS: Can you picture me walking across the moors in geta? One wrong step and I’d sprain my ankle, stuck in the moss.
Is it the last bastion against worry, madness, or the absurdity of the world... in journals, in reflections, in images, love scatters its petals everywhere on VF.
Scenes of animal love (Kenya). A marriage proposal high up on the mountain (Tanzania). A four-handed travel journal (India). A loving gaze in a wild journal (Australia)...
... and then here, like a vast fire that continues to shine in the midst of autumn, at the edge of winter, old-age love, tender love that plays with gray hair and turns faded bathrobes into rainbow-colored finery.
Man is near me, I can’t resist giving him a kiss,
ChatGPT, what is love?
Love is a complex mix of emotions, feelings, and commitment [...] Romantic love is a deep connection between two people, made of attraction, complicity, and respect. [...] But beyond emotions, love is also a decision: the choice to take care of the other, to understand them, and to build something together.
Thanks, ChatGPT, that’s a bit formal—it lacks poetry, lyricism... but can you define love when you have, like you, no soul, no beating heart, no blood in your veins?
Good question. Technically, I can describe love based on philosophical, psychological, and literary definitions. But experience it? No. I have no emotions, no body, no consciousness of my own.
That said, does understanding love necessarily mean feeling it? Poets and philosophers have talked about it for centuries, and each gives a different definition based on their experience or worldview. Maybe love is precisely something that escapes strict definitions and is lived more than it’s explained.
...
Will AI erase the forum and travel guides?
What world will we leave to our children? To which children will we leave this world?
Jules, 14 years old, and so many others who see us perplexed in the face of their new doctrines—will they let themselves be swallowed whole, raw, by the looming shadows of the (A)I to come... or will they forge their own weapons or shields? Will they have a conscience that our fears, uselessly, imagine them, a little hastily, to lack?
...
Is it ecological to heat with peat?
Amazon wasn’t a great idea for sending peat bricks. They seem to have disappeared somewhere over the North Sea... or maybe they’ve already burned in a Scottish furnace?
...
For long evenings under the scratchy but oh-so-warm blanket.
The Scottish Trilogy
Instead of writing 15 lines, here’s simply why I love reading you so much, again and again... It’s always where those who say there’s nothing that we find our little joys—those joys you know how to present so well.
un chemin et la caresse du vent, alors je pars en voyage...
Hi Kola,
Did you really ask ChatGPT?
You got a perfect machine response, and your words are a thousand times more eloquent.
I read the Scottish trilogy a long time ago, and while reading those books that speak so deeply to the hearts of men, I felt all that was missing was the smell of peat to reach the perfection of the Isle of Harris and Lewis. That scent of dampness, of the ocean, a hint of mushroom when it’s cut, and acrid when it’s burned.
I don’t know what the world will be like for my grandchildren and young people in general when I’m gone, but they’re full of resources, hope, and dreams, just as we all were—and that’s wonderful.
Ohhh, I’m so happy to see this here. Totally surprised too.
It’s crazy how you shake the dust off old memories.
Wasn’t there a black-and-white spotted cow in your profile picture?
Those were such lighthearted and joyful times on the forum, at least in my memory.
Make sure the pleasure is shared! And that lightness and joy (punctuated by fierce sparring) are also missed...
You’ve got a good memory—there was indeed a cow, but I think she succumbed to VF’s long Covid because I didn’t find her when I logged back in. An old neighbor, in a place akin to the moors and elements you describe so well: it’s sad.
This morning, the freshly washed sky sends me to the water’s edge on a tiny pebble-and-sand beach.
Man stayed at home, sitting at the yellow Formica table pushed up against the stove.
His book is so old it has to be placed carefully on the table.
Man is stubborn and insisted on bringing it in his luggage. It’s the first volume, *Waverley*, of Walter Scott’s work—a Scottish writer almost unknown in France, just like the bard Robert Burns, for that matter.
But if you say “Ivanhoe,” well, a few memories come to life.
Anyway, Man is reading the last edition from Edinburgh, translated into French in 1839. He turns the pages, blowing on them to keep them from falling apart. The manuscript is the color of toasted barley and smells like an old sailor’s trunk. I know there’s no point telling him I’ll be back in an hour—he’s deep in the Jacobite rebellion and the Battle of Culloden.
I walk across the spongy moorland, a little green, a little russet, all soft, patiently waiting to turn green again and be covered in gentians. Enea tells me they’re gentians, even though they look like crocuses. I’ll take her word for it.
The ocean’s swell is strangely comforting. My parka is zipped up tight, and the beaver down around my hood tickles my cheek. I sit on a rock as rough as emery cloth and just stay there, thinking about nothing in a kind of absolute born from the earth, water, and wind.
Later, we’ll go get fish at the port of Symbister, the little town on the island. Then a quick stroll down the main street, and if it’s school dismissal time, we’ll see a swarm of middle-schoolers pouring out of the beautiful Georgian house where I imagine it must be nice to learn.
On Sunday, we got a video call from Young Son. And there you have it—we’ve got internet! Of course we’re happy; we’re not going to act like grumpy old folks, and of course we answer with joy. We chat for a while—the connection is perfect. Then Son says:
“Here, Arthur wants to talk to you.”
Arthur’s grown now; he’s in first grade and at the age for Toto jokes!!
“Mamido, do you know what you call a mean grandma?”
“Uh, no—I hope it’s not me!”
“No, it’s not you. So what do you call her?”
“I have no idea.”
He laughs, and I see the big gap where his teeth are missing.
“A *granny-trailer*!”
He’s so proud of his joke that I laugh with him.
That’s all for today. Tomorrow, we’re planning a trip to Unst, Viking territory and the northernmost island in the UK.
See you later!
Little aside
If today jewelers, florists, and chocolatiers are rubbing their hands—fair game for such a commercial holiday—on this date, an important symbolic founding event also took place.
Do you know which one?
I feel like I’ll be migrating to “miscellaneous” soon
on that date, however, a symbolic foundational event took place
Does the name of its inventor—Scottish—appear among the possible tones? And even if it has long since broken free from its tie, hasn’t it left us with quite a leash?
Even on a windswept Scottish island?
But sometimes, that’s a good thing. By playing with seas and mountains, time and distance, it connects the great and the small... who can then laugh together even when they’re not in the same place.
Other tragic, lighthearted, or unusual events happened on a February 14th. But without this one and its endless innovations... could you have asked the question here?
"Does the name of its inventor—Scottish—appear among the possible tones?"
You’re probably thinking of Bell, since you playfully wrote “tones.” While he helped keep long-distance connections alive, I wasn’t actually referring to him.
Actually, I was thinking of February 14, 842, when the Oaths of Strasbourg were signed—an event now considered the founding act of the French language.
On a French-speaking forum, I thought that was a nice touch.
Today, a light, freezing drizzle didn’t exactly encourage us to go out. We were supposed to take the ferry to Unst to see the kids rehearsing a play about Vikings.
We already miss the Viking festival, Up Helly Aa, every year because it’s in January and we always arrive too late. Now, the desire to watch the kids practice has vanished with the rain.
Vikings—a grand history.
When I was young, a Viking was a giant blond with a shaggy beard covered in breadcrumbs and bits of grass. A bloodthirsty pirate with a sword clenched between his teeth, sailing on his longship with his buddies to attack other ships.
The reality is quite different, and on Unst, you can see a reconstruction of their history and homes. It looks a bit like the blackhouses of the Highlands, with a grassy roof that’s really striking.
The Shetlanders don’t claim any affiliation—neither Scandinavian nor Scottish. They’re first and foremost Shetlanders, though their Viking heritage has left traces, like the place names and the ruins of the old Viking capital in Scalloway.
One last fun anecdote: Vikings were fond of mead.
Two years ago, our honey harvest was abundant (unlike last year, when the rain disrupted the bees so much that the harvest was tiny). My partner made mead for the first time, and honestly, it was absolutely delicious. Giving a bottle with a nice homemade label makes for a very appreciated gift.
Have you, during your travels, tasted homemade alcohols?
In Russia, we drank samogon. As much as I hate vodka, this fruit-based alcohol—37% for the ladies and 45% for the men—was really good. The one we tried was distilled with fruit, not grains, because apparently, grain-based spirits are rough and responsible for many deaths.
See you later...
Actually, I was thinking of February 14, 842, the signing of the Oaths of Strasbourg, which is considered today as the founding act of the French language.
On a French-speaking forum, I thought that was a nice touch.
"Nithard specifies that on the day the kings, Louis the German and Charles the Bald, and the leaders (the dukes) of the Frankish tribes pronounced their pact (pactum), snow fell abundantly on the frozen earth (subsequente gelu nix multa cecidit).
Here are the first French words spoken in the cold and snow, on their frozen lips, on February 14, and immediately noted as they hung in the air:
- Pro Deo amour et pro christian pi lo et nostro commun salvament
si Lodhuwigs sagrament que son fradre Karlo jurat ni je ni nul qui en puissent returnar
en nulle aide, contre Lodhuwigs, ne serai.
This is how the first French text ends with a sublime double negative, which is a terrible imprecation of ostracism in case of perjury.
En nulle aide ne serai.
Neither I nor anyone else.
But there was no perjury.
The empire was divided into three vast equal parts.
Middle Francia remained in the hands of Lothair.
West Francia went to Charles the Bald.
East Francia remained under the domination of Louis the German.
Today’s Europe can already be seen in this.
And—in this strange contingency of origin, in this white breath rising from their lips, in this abundant snow (multa) falling from the sky—all the wars it has known and the competitions it still faces are written there."
Tears, Pascal Quignard.
This isn’t the most beautiful passage in the book.
By this, and this only, we have existed. Which is not to be found in our obituaries. (T.S. Eliot)
You know, Catherine, I’m glad you brought up the Strasbourg Oaths.
Years ago—maybe a decade or so—I read *Les Larmes* and from the very start, I felt put off. I found it so unclear that I got bored.
But once poetry sweeps you away, everything flows. Still, I’m sure if I read it again today, I wouldn’t feel the same way.
That’s how it goes with a lot of my reading. I let things settle and come back much later, and then I savor it all.
50 sheep, 1 whitecoat
No need to linger here any longer, so I’ll wrap up this Shetland chapter.
Still, I can’t help but share the magical afternoon we spent.
The light was intense, and the sun was almost directly overhead.
We walked along the cliff, taking it easy since neither of us is exactly a hiking fanatic.
Below, the waves were fiercely slapping the rocks, and in the shelter of a small gravel cove, seals were basking in the sun. Nothing out of the ordinary—except for that little white, fluffy whitecoat.
Maybe it’s called a pup? I’m no seal expert. A pup because the baby seal’s cry sounds like a bark.
What I find incredible is that the female can delay embryonic development for a few months so her pup is born at the same time each year. Nature’s wild like that. I picture a young woman pregnant in October who wants her baby to arrive after the summer heat. “You, my little one, just wait before you grow!”
In a few days, it’ll head into the water on its own. Amazing nature.
We stood there, shoulder to shoulder, the richness and light of our bond held in our joined hands.
Navigating between the prohibitions. Bumping into arbitrariness.
Assuming... but no.
Smiling to avoid despair. Not giving in.
And taking your leave with elegance.
La France (j'allais dire notre pays, c'était oublier que le site VF est canadien, enfin c'est pas loin concernant les francophones, il s'agit de nos cousins),…
Les russes ont le sentiment d'etre russe, d'appartenir a la "Mere Russie " depuis au moins le 9 ieme siecle, le francais depuis quand a -t-il le sentiment…
J'ai reçu ce texte sous forme de présentation (pps ou power point), je ne sais pas s'il a été déjà publié dans le forum: Nous sommes 2070. Je viens d’avoir 50…
Ceci est en quelque sorte "la suite" de ce topic - voyageforum.com/... Comme le dernier message du topic antérieur, signé "l'équipe VoyageForum", nous propose…
Réflexions de voyageurs › Grande-Bretagne · 721 replies
Depuis 2002, l'Euro est devenue la monnaie européenne. C'est un atout pour les pays qui l'ont adopté, car cela favorise le tourisme chez eux et facilite la…
Hi everyone,
I’m Loulou, a French expat who’s been living in Southeast Asia for about fifteen years, currently in Phnom Penh, Cambodia. A passionate walker at heart, I’ve trekked in Nepal (Thorung La, Mardi Himal), India, Vietnam, and I’m still planning new hikes (Char Dham, Langtang, Annapurna).
I’ve just published my first travel journal, recounting three months of walking and encounters across India. A portion of the sales goes to an educational center I support in Kep, for children whose parents work in the salt marshes.
I’m also working on a second book about Nepal with a musician friend, focusing on the Mardi Himal trek—two independent perspectives on the same journey.
Happy to swap stories with you about the Himalayas, India, Southeast Asia, or just the urge to hit the road and walk far from home.
Safe travels,
Loulou
Who’d like to share their best and worst travel memories in a few lines?
For me, it’s watching the TAJ MAHAL at sunrise and getting chased by dogs at the top of a mountain pass in GREECE on the way back from ISTANBUL.
THANKS GUYS
"It seems to me that poverty would be less painful in the sun" wrote Aznavour...
Not sure...😕 Who can prove that people in hot countries are happier than others?
What do you think?
Is it better to live in Montpellier than in Lille?
Are the Pygmies happier than the Inuit?
Are Canadians less happy than the people of Louisiana?
Are there more French expats in hot countries?
And your travels? Do you choose your destinations based on the climate?
Do you rejoice when a bit of sunshine appears?
Hi everyone, just this once I’m not posting for a travel story, but to share a thought for Venezuela.
If you didn’t know—since it’s not making headlines—the country was hit by two 7.5-magnitude earthquakes last week. Over 2,200 people have died, more than 50,000 are missing, and some coastal towns have been completely destroyed.
Maybe when the scale of the humanitarian crisis becomes clear, our media will cover it a bit more... especially since earthquakes with this many casualties usually make the front page, but there’s been nothing in France.
So here’s a thought for this country, which, whatever you think of its politics, is a true jewel of South America, both for its landscapes and its people.
hi there
I’d like to invite you to discover my coastal province in central Vietnam: Quang Ngai.
This year, my province has really improved its infrastructure—mountains, countryside, and sea are all authentic here.
No harassers or thieves, and no Russians either.
A local lunch costs around 1 €.
A *** hotel room is about 25 €, and you can find hotels right on My Khe Beach.
We have a specialty: *banh xeo*—10 crepes for just 1.5 €.
You can rent motorbikes to explore the province and maybe visit the many ethnic minorities.
I live here—I’m not selling anything, but I can help if needed (my father-in-law is a traditional Vietnamese doctor and he’s very skilled).
Hi everyone! 😉
I’m Typhaine, 35 years old. Five years ago, I left France for a solo round-the-world trip—no planes, just a van, hitchhiking, cycling, and even a canoe in the Amazon! Today, I work as a naturalist guide in Argentine Patagonia.
Wherever I go, my compass stays the same: observing and photographing wildlife, which I deeply admire and respect.
My project: I’d love to share this experience through a sustainable, authentic, and immersive nature tourism initiative. But to build something meaningful, I need to understand how other nature enthusiasts experience their own adventures.
If you:
Are over 20 years old
Have a true passion for Nature
Have already taken at least one trip lasting more than 3 nights (in your country or abroad) in your life
Promise: I’m not selling anything, this isn’t marketing. Your answers are 100% anonymous and will only help me shape this wild project.
A huge thank you to everyone for your help and kindness! Looking forward to chatting in this thread 😛
(Dear admins, this is purely a collaborative effort for my project study, with no commercial purpose. Thank you so much for your support!)
Photo: Grizzly Bear (Ursus arctos horribilis), female on the left and her cub on the right. Photo taken by me in Alaska, Denali National Park.
It’s something we often notice in this forum—and many others—this behavioral shift.
A long-time member, or even a new one, asks a question.
They get one or more answers, some brief, some detailed, and then... nothing???
Not even a simple thank you!!!
From what I’ve gathered, if the answers don’t align with what they wanted to hear, it seems natural for the asker to just disappear!! 😕
Unless—(and I fear this is the case)—basic politeness is no longer part of our society????
I spent 3 weeks in Bali last summer (+ 3 nights on Gili Meno and a day trip to Kawah Ijen in Java). So I wanted to see what ChatGPT could suggest for comparison...
Here’s the prompt I gave:
"You’re a local expert guide for Bali.
- Plan a 20-day itinerary for Bali with a side trip to Gili Meno and a day trip to Kawah Ijen in Java without staying overnight.
- I’m traveling with my wife, and I love visiting historical sites, hiking, relaxing at the beach, snorkeling, and exploring rice terraces...
- For the duration of the stay, I don’t want more than 8 places to sleep, and I’d like to stay at least 2 days at each stop to avoid unpacking too often. Except for the last night, where I’m okay with just one night near the airport.
- I prefer neighborhoods that are walkable and try to avoid typical tourist traps, though I don’t want to miss the must-see spots. So suggest a mix of iconic sites and hidden gems.
- Recommend hotels or guesthouses with a budget of 50 to 100 € per night, including breakfast. Make suggestions in areas popular with travelers, specifying the vibe (I prefer quiet), and consider safety and proximity to attractions.
- For lunch and dinner, suggest two to three restaurants that are well-rated by customers.
- Give me a day-by-day program with details on travel times, visiting times for each point of interest, and recommendations for transportation (taxi, train, bike, etc.).
Estimate the total cost of the trip, including accommodations, food, transportation, and activities, and suggest two tips for saving money in each category.
- Don’t make anything up—be realistic about travel times, take into account the opening dates and hours of sites, and give me the entry fees for places to visit.
- Ask me all the questions until you’re 95% sure you understand what’s being asked. Don’t generate your response until you’ve understood."
The AI asked for a few clarifications:
"Great request—I can build you a really optimized and enjoyable itinerary, but to be 95% sure I hit the mark, I need a few key clarifications (this will really influence the pace, areas, and accommodations)."
In the end, it proposed a program very close to what we actually did.
I’ll skip its accommodation and restaurant suggestions...
Its proposal:
"Ubud (4 nights) => we did 5 nights
Sidemen (2 nights)
Amed (3 nights) => we’d planned 2 nights
Gili Meno (3 nights) => we did Gili between Sidemen and Amed
Munduk (3 nights) => we did 2 nights before Pemuteran
Pemuteran (3 nights) with Ijen => we did 4 nights
Sanur (2 nights + 1 last night) => we chose Jatiluwih instead of Sanur
It suggested "activities" (and accommodations too):
IN UBUD:
- Walk around central Ubud (1–2h)
- Campuhan Ridge Walk
- Tegalalang Rice Terrace
- Tirta Empul
- Gunung Kawi
- Massage / market / slow café
IN SIDEMEN:
- Rice terrace hike (2–3h)
- Cooking class
IN AMED:
- Snorkeling
- Japanese Shipwreck
- Beach + relaxation
- Volcano sunset
ON GILI:
- Snorkeling at Gili Meno Turtle Point, Nest Underwater Statues
IN MUNDUK:
- Jungle & waterfall hike - Munduk Waterfall + Melanting Waterfall
- Loop: 3–4h (perfect for your level)
- Ulun Danu Bratan Temple
- Twin Lakes
IN PEMUTERAN
- Snorkeling: Menjangan Island
For Kawah Ijen, it detailed the day well:
👍 from Pemuteran = best possible option
12 PM: leave hotel (we left at 10 PM)
1 PM: ferry
3 PM: arrival in Java + transfer
11 PM: start ascent
2 AM–6 AM: volcano
Return to Bali around 11 AM–12 PM (we got back at 4 PM)
👍 still very intense, but doable with an agency
💰 ~80–120 €/person all-inclusive
IN SANUR:
- Relaxation
- Quiet beach
- Proximity to airport (30 min)"
I’ve kept the habit of blowing my nose in the sink and then washing my hands—a custom I picked up in India. Sometimes, non-travelers are shocked when they catch me in the act... 🤪
Also, when I run out of toilet paper, it doesn’t bother me—unless I’ve got company over... 🤪
Just got back from walking a friend’s dog (while they’re on vacation), wearing a djellaba and Tibetan boots... 😏😏😏 Oh, for sure, if I’d run into locals, I probably would’ve shocked them? 😏
Anyway, as long as I’m not spitting on the floor at a restaurant or squatting on the side of a highway with a water bottle in hand...
After taking a little trip around the world, I came back a few months ago with an idea in mind.
I mostly do diving, and I love observing animals in their natural habitat without disturbing them.
During the trip, I realized it was quite complicated to know where and when to see certain species.
For example:
where to dive with sharks or manta rays
where you might get a chance to swim with whales
I even discovered thresher sharks during my trip… I didn’t even know this species existed before, even though they’re incredible to see.
We spent a ton of time searching for info all over the place, especially on social media, without ever getting a clear picture.
So I started putting all this together on my own, in the form of a map, to make it easier to visualize where to go depending on the seasons.
I recently put a first version online (it’s called Fauneya).
There are probably mistakes, inconsistencies, or things to improve, and that’s partly why I’m posting here.
I’d really love to know how you all go about planning this kind of trip.
As part of my Master’s thesis, I’m currently conducting a public survey on a topic that concerns all of us when planning a trip: artificial intelligence and the role of human contact in travel planning.
These days, we’re using more and more digital tools to find ideas, compare options, and book trips... but is the role of human advisors still essential? At what moments? And for what types of trips?
The survey is anonymous and takes about 7 minutes.
It’s aimed at anyone who travels (or has traveled) for leisure, whether you plan everything yourself or go through an agency.
While browsing the forum to gather info for my upcoming trip to Thailand, I often see the terms "traveler," "great traveler," and also "tourist"—so what’s the nuance for you?
I've traveled quite a bit in Vietnam over the past few years—from the southern delta to bustling cities and even some small islands—but what really sticks with me is the north, the high mountains.
Up there, there's something different—maybe slower, more raw. The morning markets with ethnic groups, women in traditional clothes, the colors...
The stilt houses, kids following you and laughing for no reason, the terraced rice fields—it almost feels unreal at times, so vast and quiet, yet so human and simple.
You often hear that Sapa has become too touristy, and that's partly true, especially in the center. But as soon as you move a little farther away, everything changes quickly. The landscapes open up, encounters feel more natural, and you rediscover something truly authentic.
I think it's that contrast that struck me—the difference between what you imagine before going and what you actually discover when you take the time.
And you—what memory do you hold onto from Vietnam? A particular place that touched you more than others?
Hello,
We’re finalizing the plans for our upcoming trip to China in May 2025. The second-to-last stop will be in Zhangjiajie, where we’ve planned to stay for 2 full days before heading to Shanghai.
We’re traveling solo using local transport and have arranged to stay in the city of Zhangjiajie.
We’ve seen that there’s a lot to see:
Tianmen Mountain, the Grand Canyon and the glass bridge, Zhangjiajie National Park, and that the sites are quite far apart with fairly expensive entry fees.
We’re thinking of dedicating one day to the national park and the Grand Canyon (glass bridge) and one day to Tianmen Mountain.
But we’re not sure if this plan is realistic—any thoughts would be much appreciated!
I should be serving a warming drink to the participants in the discussion about gardens and parks that provide us with beautiful photos, I could mention the delicious buttery scent wafting from bakeries in the thread about returning to France, but my heart, its powerful pulse that nourishes my entire being, is elsewhere.
Dasht-e Lut, Yazd, Esfahan, Bam, Kerman, Qeshm, Hormuz—a melody, a prayer at the heart of desire.
A dream, an unattainable fantasy? No. Not anymore.
A very serious Italian travel agency is organizing this trip for 6 people this winter. I’m signed up, I’m going, I’m living. Maybe.
"But you’re completely crazy!!!!"
I know... I know that every civilization, every society has a vital need to create scapegoats to define and justify itself, pathetically. And Iran is one of them, top of the list. I laugh or sigh, and it doesn’t bother me.
But that unchanging red, deep red and garnet, so beautiful in itself, in all the Western chancelleries repeats, whispers, shouts: don’t go, don’t go, don’t go, you’re putting yourself in danger and we can’t do anything for you. You’ll be turned into mere bargaining chips, into arguments for endless negotiations. Fear must be instilled, its power absolutely preserved, no concessions made to the enemy. The information (how many French hostages, real or fake, compared to the number of travelers?) is always lacking.
Traveling becomes a merciless confrontation between desire, the vital pulse, and anxiety, its ghosts.
Hi everyone, here’s our itinerary. Arriving on the evening of December 13th. Departing on January 7th.
Thanks in advance for your tips and valuable feedback.
Manila – 1 night
Coron – 4 nights
Coron to El Nido cruise – 2 nights
El Nido – 4 nights
Port Barton – 5 nights
Flight from Puerto Princesa to Vigan
Vigan – 2 nights
Sagada – 2 nights
Banaue – 2 nights
Bagabag – 1 night
Manila – 1 night
I’ve only booked the flight to Manila and the Manila/Coron flight so far. Is it possible to book boat trips, accommodations, and the Puerto Princesa flight last-minute?
Really disappointed with Costa Rica! Pura vida? The scam of the century!
(Costa Rica pure emptiness).
The country where animals are free and people are in cages.
3 weeks in December in this country and never again. Imagine the trailer of a movie that seems interesting, and when you go see it, you realize it’s a flop and the best moments were in the trailer.
Well, that’s exactly how we felt with Costa Rica pure emptiness.
My wife and I have traveled quite a bit and didn’t expect to be so wrong about a place.
On the main routes, we visited:
San José
Alajuela
Limón, Cahuita, Puerto Viejo, Manzanillo (Caribbean side)
Jaco, Quepos, Manuel Antonio (Pacific side)
And a few short stops in intermediate towns.
Our dissatisfaction grew gradually like this:
When we arrived at the hotel, the taxi dropped us off on a small street in front of a white metal gate with ground-floor windows barred. We looked at it skeptically, but the sign matched.
He approached the gate, rang the bell, the buzzer sounded, and the door opened slightly. The hotel wasn’t bad for the price, a 10-minute walk from downtown, but with a "Fleury-Mérogis" vibe guaranteed.
So far, so good.
After showering and regaining our bearings, we headed downtown.
What started to unsettle us on the way was seeing houses with bars on the ground-floor windows and even on the second floor.
At first, we thought the hotel’s neighborhood wasn’t great.
Downtown San José:
It’s a generic city, not very exotic, with a pedestrian street and a small mercado where you can eat local food without frills. Very few tourists—if any—which let you blend in with the locals. We had lunch and struggled to make ourselves understood because, aside from one or two shops, English wasn’t spoken.
On the way back to the hotel, we took a different route, and while chatting and strolling, my wife pointed out a beautiful two-story white house completely barricaded like Fort Knox.
From that moment, we started noticing the facades of houses and buildings, and wow, it was creepy—most looked like prisons, some even with barbed wire.
Though put off, we told ourselves it was probably a big-city thing and the rest of the country couldn’t be like this.
So far, so good.
We relaxed at the hotel and had a drink at the bar. Night falls early, around 5:30 PM. By 7:30 PM, we headed back downtown for dinner. A bit unsettling for a capital—downtown was almost deserted, and aside from fast-food chains, very few restaurants were open, with hardly anyone on the streets.
Bars with security guards out front.
I won’t say we felt unsafe that night, but once it got dark, we realized the bars on the windows weren’t for nothing. First day in, and our impression was already mixed.
The next day, we explored the city and surroundings, and our feelings didn’t change.
So far, so good.
Off to Cahuita by bus—4 hours of travel.
The landscapes are very green but quickly become monotonous. The road runs alongside the forest and passes through a few towns and villages, and even in the countryside, there were just as many prison-like houses.
The bus dropped us off at Cahuita’s terminal station—only four of us got off. It’s a village, or rather, a small town. Cahuita is basically one straight road and a perpendicular one, and honestly, doubt started to creep in.
A few restaurants that add 13% tax and 10% service charge—so 23% extra. We dropped our stuff at the hotel and went to explore. In 20 minutes, we’d seen it all. We had lunch and planned to check out the famous park.
Entry is by donation—well, the "entry" is a joke. There’s a path along the forest by the sea, and that’s it.
Nothing’s going right anymore.
We thought it was a total scam, but since we hadn’t gone far, we decided to come back the next day to explore further.
We returned to the hotel, relaxed, and around 8:00 PM, we went out for dinner. Only two restaurants were open, and the streets were deserted.
Creepy!
The next day, we explored the so-called park more thoroughly and really got it.
A path along the forest by the sea—2 hours there and 2 hours back, where you see animals that feel like showing their faces.
A total joke—"all that for this?"
The beach was full of wood debris and coconut husks. We wondered if the photos online were edited because the sea, very rough, wasn’t the azure blue we’d seen in pictures.
But calling this a park is a joke—it’s like a new concept.
When we thought about the reviews online, we started to suspect that professionals with interests in the country were monitoring and countering any negative feedback that could harm their business.
Too bad we didn’t check the negative reviews beforehand—we did while we were there, and it helped. We wondered if we’d become too demanding after all our travels, but no—when something’s bad, it’s bad.
Manuel Antonio’s park is even more ridiculous—there’s a short path along the sea for about 500 meters, and then nothing. You have to climb through mud and hack your way through the forest. We ended up barefoot because the mud was up to our calves. All that to see a raccoon and a few parrots flying overhead.
We didn’t expect Noah’s Ark, but we’ve seen more animals in Bali, Mexico, and Thailand while visiting temples or just walking around than in these so-called parks!
Puerto Viejo, not far from Cahuita and supposedly livelier—well, it couldn’t be worse!
According to Lonely Planet, it had a Caribbean vibe and wild nights, but maybe that was a long time ago. The good reggae music playing everywhere isn’t enough.
In the evening, Puerto Viejo was a bit livelier than Cahuita, but that’s not saying much. Very few tourists—if any—no night market, just two or three shops open selling $20 T-shirts. Same vibe as San José.
No big deal—we enjoyed the beach and the sun, which was reliable.
Our itinerary was supposed to include Tortuguero Park, but after talking to other travelers who’d just been, we changed our minds, knowing we’d be visiting Manuel Antonio Park on the Pacific side.
To get back to the Pacific side, you have to take the bus and go through San José again—5 hours this time—then switch bus terminals and another 4.5 hours to Quepos.
A stopover town to get to Manuel Antonio’s beach and park!
A town just like the others we’d seen—deserted as soon as the sun sets, and not exactly bustling during the day either. (Where are all the tourists?)
Still as many bars on the windows and that feeling of being in the wrong place.
7 km later: Manuel Antonio beach and park.
The beach is very beautiful and quite large, but don’t expect turquoise blue water—the waves stir up the sand, giving the water a brownish color.
Along the beach, shops and restaurants for about 300 meters, and then nothing. At night, after sunset, the town shuts down too.
Manuel Antonio Park is highly praised for its wildlife, so we were eager to see it. When you express dissatisfaction with Cahuita or Manzanillo parks, the response is always, "But you should’ve gone to Monteverde or Manuel Antonio!" No matter what you do or say, they’ll tell you, "You should’ve gone there or here."
Back to our famous park—entry was about $16, and contrary to what we’d heard, it wasn’t crowded!
Guides at the entrance with spotting scopes offered their services for about $30.
The park: a mix of boardwalk and dirt paths through the forest, sometimes running alongside beautiful coves and beaches.
As soon as we entered, a crowd was taking photos of a deer eating leaves.
A little further on, a guide with a group of five stopped. The guide raised his arm and set up his spotting scope! He showed them, about 100 meters away, a hummingbird perched on a branch. Some, looking through the scope, exclaimed, "Oh my God! Amazing! Incredible!"
For a moment, we thought they’d discovered a unicorn or were in Jurassic Park and had just crossed paths with a T-Rex!
The concept is comical—looking at a bird or another animal through a spotting scope because it’s too far away. Isn’t that what TV is for?
For our part, we saw monkeys, ants, an armadillo, an iguana, and the backside of a sloth climbing a tree. Amazing, incredible!
We stayed a few days in Manuel Antonio to enjoy the beach, changing hotels often because prices varied wildly from one day to the next for shameful services. On top of that, they’d quote a price in dollars and convert it at their discretion—thieves!
Alajuela, a city near the airport, has a two-story mall and a local market downtown! No interest except its proximity to the airport.
What we liked:
The climate and, in hindsight, San José—the most authentic city we visited.
What we didn’t like, in addition to what we’ve already mentioned:
Costa Ricans aren’t very friendly or communicative. English is barely spoken, not even by doctors at Quepos Hospital, where my wife ended up with food poisoning (thanks, Google Translate). The widespread obesity among Costa Ricans, who eat like Americans. The insecurity. The eco-hipsters who leave their $150 lodges in minivans with guides to visit parks and other sites, then return to barricade themselves in their fortresses at nightfall (oh my God, amazing, incredible). The blue signs at the entrance of towns that accept this payment method: "We accept American Express." Parking lots that become paid just because a guy is watching your car. Prices displayed in dollars. The cost of living (hotels, restaurants, taxes). Landscapes that are too green and not flowery enough. Beaches—nothing exceptional. Pollution in cities where big American trucks rule. Sewage dumped directly into the sea. Aside from the jungle, there’s nothing to visit—no ruins, monuments, or anything worth seeing.
In short, my wife and I think the hype about this supposedly eco-friendly country is overrated. It’s just the trendy destination of the moment. There are much better, cheaper, and more authentic places.
In hindsight, we keep the good memories and our beautiful photos, but if we had to do it over...
Before signing off, a little message to those who don’t like hearing opinions different from theirs:
Well, some things aren’t up for debate. And to those who’d have us believe that in 3 weeks, we don’t have the right to criticize a country or express our feelings—how can you praise it in so little time? What a scam. Costa Rica is a money pit. Pura vida? Pure cosmic emptiness.
If you like spending your evenings barricaded in your cozy hotel after dark, this country is for you.
For everyone else: run!
Hello,
Since the war between Russia and Ukraine, nothing is simple anymore for traveling to Belarus due to sanctions.
No more direct flights from the EU to Minsk.
Driving is a huge hassle, especially crossing through Poland at the only open border in Brest—you can wait 2, 3, or even 4 days just to get through by car.
The least painful driving option is to come via Lithuania and cross at the only open border, with a minimum wait time of 8 hours, sometimes up to 20 hours or more!!
Controls are very strict and annoying on both the Lithuanian and Belarusian sides. Avoid bringing alcohol, food, or cigarettes—everything will end up in the trash, especially when leaving Belarus for Vilnius, where the Lithuanians are tough, even with EU citizens.
The joy I once knew when visiting my wife in Minsk is sadly over—it’s now a real ordeal.
The fastest solution is to fly. My wife travels to France by taking a bus to Kaunas in Lithuania, where you can catch a flight (though not daily) to Paris Beauvais or Charleroi in Belgium with Ryanair, for example.
For the return trip, it’s the same: a flight to Kaunas and then a direct bus from the airport to Minsk.
The bus crossing is quicker than driving—the 250 km journey, including border checks, takes about 6 to 8 hours for buses leaving Lithuania around midnight, but controls are still strict at the border.
The biggest challenge is finding flight schedules that align with the bus routes between the two countries, given the unpredictable border crossing times.
Now, my wife travels via Charleroi in Belgium (near Brussels), and you can take a train to Paris. Alternatively, you can fly into Beauvais and take a bus to Paris (Porte Maillot).
For those driving, note that EU insurance and assistance policies no longer work in Belarus or Russia. You’ll need to get local insurance, usually limited to third-party liability (I don’t think full coverage exists?), as well as mandatory medical insurance. This is available at the border.
You now have to pay highway tolls—no more BELTOLL boxes. Instead, you pay a flat fee for the duration of your stay. Stop at the first gas station after crossing from Lithuania to fill up on fuel and cigarettes.
From what I know, Lithuania bans carrying more than 60 € in cash, but there’s no limit for USD (though it’s capped at $10,000??).
With a Visa card, you can now withdraw 1,000 rubles per week (about 270 €)—two months ago, it was only 500 rubles!!
For now, you can still pay by card in shops and gas stations.
However, major retailers like KORONA (which may be Russian-owned??) no longer accept foreign Visa cards.
Unfortunately, the additional sanctions announced by the U.S. on August 5, 2025, against Russia—and possibly Belarus—aren’t promising for the future.
After 20 years of visiting Belarus, I’m truly saddened to see the joy of living in this country with my wonderful wife turn into such a bleak situation, all because of human folly.
Hi everyone!
I’m putting together our travel itinerary for Veneto at the end of April. And the more I look and research potential sites to visit, the more I find!
We’ll only be there for a week—my family and I—including 3 days in Venice. So we have to make some choices...
I plan to rent a car when we arrive in Venice and head straight to Bergamo, which would be our first stop. We’d leave the car at the airport when we return to Venice so we can explore the city at our leisure.
What do you think:
1 night in Bergamo (a 2h15 drive from Venice airport),
1 night in Garda,
1 night in Verona,
1 in Padua, and
3 in Venice—would that be doable?
Thanks in advance for your tips and experiences! :)
Now that the curtain has fallen on the past year, it’s time to see what’s happening around here.
It seems pretty quiet, but I’ll read more in detail later.
First, I need to tell you all an anecdote.
My eldest little girl, in her third year of law school, was really scared she wouldn’t pass the year.
I told her:
“Trust yourself, you’ve worked so hard, and worst case, if you fail, you’ll just redo the year.”
“But I don’t think I’ll make it—they changed the rules, and if I mess up even one unit, I have to start all over.”
I knew her grades weren’t exactly stellar, and with what I was about to say, I wasn’t taking much of a risk.
“Here’s the deal, sweetheart: if you pass, I promise I’ll take you to India, just the two of us.”
I have to admit, India is a country I’ve talked about so much to all my grandchildren that in their minds, it’s become a magical, mythical place (hmm).
July had barely begun when my phone rang, her name flashing on the screen.
“Mamido, I did it!”
My promise came rushing back—oh no, oh no, oh no!
“Congratulations, sweetheart!”
A little shyly, she said:
“Is the India trip still on?”
And me, replying:
“Of course it is!”
And that’s that—a promise is a promise, or you risk losing that precious trust that keeps hearts warm and at peace.
We’re leaving in February. Only 8 days—yikes, the carbon footprint!
But we can’t miss her tutorials, or she’ll be kicked out.
Personally, that works just fine for me.
Going to India has become a challenge for me. It’s far, it’s exhausting, I sweat, I hate mosquitoes, the spices bother my mouth when I used to love them. There’s noise all the time—at night, the dogs bark nonstop, and we almost get run over. I’ll get lost in the streets because my sense of direction has vanished. I don’t like rice anymore. All that chaos and those cultural differences that once enchanted me now just overwhelm me.
But I promised.
The upside—and it’s a big one—Raman, the same driver I’ve had forever, will be at the airport with a sign with our names. We’ll stop at the same little shop for chai (or tea, plain and simple) with that aroma that intoxicates me, halfway through the trip.
It’ll be a tiny trip—staying with friends, I’ll show her a few places I love: Chidambaram, Mamallapuram, and the clinic where I worked. Then we’ll head back.
My little girl will go home to her parents.
As for me, I’ll leave right away for our Scottish island with Homme for our chilly winter.
How can you love a country so much you want to live there, then suddenly reject it, no longer able to appreciate what once made it special?
That’s the mystery of love, I guess.
I’ve visited the U.S. four times myself, including two long road trips. The last one was just this past August...
I won’t be going back. I already felt guilty last August, but recent policies have finally convinced me: the humiliation of Zelensky, authoritarian excesses, Gestapo-like methods for detaining people of foreign origin, the murder of innocent people (a mother shot dead), corruption, insane "tariffs," skyrocketing healthcare costs for Americans, the abduction of foreign figures to secure oil, the requirement to disclose social media accounts, and now... threats and blackmail to forcibly take Greenland—a region that belongs to Denmark and thus the European Union!
The reality is that simply posting this could get me denied entry to the U.S.!
In this context, I just can’t keep spending money there. I loved my trips, but there are so many other countries with stunning landscapes to explore.
So I get why you’d want to travel there. I did, and I loved it. But once a country no longer respects any of the values that made us love it, why go?
How can we even consider traveling to a country that threatens to take one of our territories by force?
Hello everyone,
Controversial topic? Not necessarily—maybe just a reflection on a world to come.
I spent the last 15 days of August on a cruise in Greenland, from Kangerlussuaq to Tasiilaq.
I was utterly amazed by this unique world of rock and ice, the little houses in every color, a simple life that’s also complicated by isolation and climate, among other things...
I carry in my heart the kindness of the people I met, the raw and gentle majesty of the icebergs, the colors of the sky...
So, I can’t even imagine a massive presence of raw material prospectors, heavy machinery requiring roads to be built—if that’s even possible—changing their way of life... putting sled dogs out to pasture!
Do fast food and Greenland’s northern lights really mix?
I wouldn’t trade my memories for an ESTA!
All opinions are respectable, which is why this isn’t a controversy—but I’m sorry, I have a soft spot for *my* Greenland.
We’re a couple aged 58 and 63. We’ve just returned from a wonderful trip to South India in Tamil Nadu and a few days in Kerala. We traveled with a local French-speaking guide and his friend, the driver. They both live in Pondicherry. We spent 3 weeks with them in the most authentic way!
We covered just over 2,500 km and visited not only temples but also archaeological sites, museums, and small artisanal businesses making tiles, tea, sculptures, bronze, and silk spinning. We were lucky enough to visit a public school, attend a wedding, and even a death announcement in a small countryside village. We were fully immersed in the culture, food, noise, and colors—it was incredible!
The hotels and guesthouses we chose were very clean and mostly quiet. We’re returning from India with amazing discoveries!
We’re happy to share more info if you’d like!
M-Claire and Jean
This catchy and somewhat mysterious title comes from several questions I’ve been asking myself.
VF has been back open for a reasonable number of weeks and months now.
The number of visitors overall matches past averages, but the number of members online in the last 24 hours seems relatively lower than what we used to see.
Yet, to my surprise, I’m seeing fewer travel journals, way fewer messages, and way fewer questions.
I don’t see many new registered users online, and I notice a number of members who are logged in but either aren’t participating or have stopped participating.
Something’s not adding up for me because, in my opinion, VF is still appealing, and I don’t see which other sites could really compete.
Was there a real break between pre- and post-Covid?
Does it just take more time for some people to discover the site or learn that it’s active again?
Do people now prefer quick consumption on sites like FB or others I’m not familiar with?
Where have the site’s old-timers gone, and what are they doing with their time now?
What’s really going on here?
This isn’t exactly a traveler’s question... I’d like to know who handles the technical side of this forum?
I run a similar forum on a different topic (unrecognized children), and we’re dealing with a few technical issues that are slowly killing our forum... so I’d have one or two questions to ask 😊.
Also, I was wondering who created this forum... who the administrators or moderators are, etc.
I think this forum is great. Much better than Facebook, which I’ve been using since it shut down (so I’m happy to see it’s working again...)
Hi there, I’ve been traveling for 18 years now, at least 6 months a year, and as the years go by, I actually enjoy coming back to France more and more—a feeling I struggled with at first. I mean, we always think the grass is greener elsewhere.
But in the end, I find meaning in that saying about how there’s no place like home. I still love traveling just as much, but now my trips are shorter, and I enjoy spending more time in our beautiful country, even though I don’t hesitate to criticize it.
How about you? How do you handle coming back from your travels?
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