In this time of general travel-journal scarcity, I’m stepping up to tell you about a far-too-short getaway to the Top West End, a local term for the very northern part of Western Australia, right on the border ( ;) ) with the Northern Territory.
As usual, I didn’t manage to keep it short, but this time I’ve got photos to go with it!
August 2020. Since the opportunities to explore the world are extremely limited right now, all we (R&X) can do is explore our own island! Well, just a part of it, because with the state borders still closed, we’re stuck in Western Australia (WA).
Luckily, we’re pretty fortunate because this state is huge: over 2.5 million km² (that’s more than four times the size of France or 1.5 times Quebec). What’s more, stretching over 20 degrees of latitude between the Antarctic Ocean and the Timor Sea, you’ll find climates ranging from Mediterranean to arid to tropical. That’s actually why we decided to head as far north as possible.
Sick of the endless rainy winter in Perth, bring on the heat of the Kimberley... way up Nooorth!
Friday. At the airport, the main terminal was closed (not enough flights), so we ended up in the annex (where flights to the various mines usually depart from). There was no crowd at the gate, and in this huge, single departure lounge, empty seats were plentiful. Only three flights were listed on the screens for the rest of the morning: the first to Coondewanna (?), the second to Darwin, and ours to Kununurra (code KNX).
A cool breeze swept through the half-open corridors along the runways. At the top of the walkway leading to the Fokker 100 (the Airbuses and Boeings are now parked!), a flight attendant greeted us with a basket full of sanitary masks. We were actually the only masked passengers (the staff weren’t wearing them either). With zero Covid-19 cases in WA at the time, the only rule was to maintain social distancing—something pretty hard to do on a full plane!
It was also my first time wearing a mask—it felt weird, pretty uncomfortable, and after a while, painful behind the ears. I really feel for those who have to wear one all day, every day.
The flight lasted three long hours, but luckily, I had a good book. From the window, I watched an endless expanse of salt lakes in all shapes and sizes—round, elongated, gray, white, sometimes blue and green—and an infinity of winding, capricious meanders, along with long straight lines that led nowhere. The last half-hour got more interesting as rocky, swollen formations and long, sloping plateaus appeared. Against the vast ochre landscape, green patches became more frequent.
Just before landing, rows of green fields briefly appeared, along with an surprisingly wide river—but we were already rolling down the tarmac. A few hangars, a myriad of small, stationary planes, and a tiny terminal topped with a sign: “Welcome to Kununurra.”
We wanted heat, and here it was—34°C the moment we stepped off the plane! We felt alive again and totally ridiculous in our jeans and sweaters.
We quickly grabbed our suitcase and picked up the 4x4 we’d rented—more out of necessity, since only that type of vehicle can access the national parks we planned to visit.
Just four kilometers separated us from Kununurra, a town of 5,000 people founded in 1961 during the construction of the Lake Argyle Dam and the development of the Ord River Irrigation Area Scheme (more on that later). On the horizon, mountain ranges (a bit of an exaggeration, since we know Mt. Meharry, WA’s highest ‘mountain,’ doesn’t even reach 1,250 meters!) and closer to the road, a few irrigation canals cutting through stretches of bush, then a huge park overlooking a small lake lined with reeds.
A row of baobabs (yes, there are baobabs in Australia too!), a series of motels with immaculate lawns, a gas station, and there’s the main street leading to the town center—that is, the parking lots of the two supermarkets, the bottleshop, the pub, the Town Hall, the municipal pool, and the Tourist Office (already closed!), and at the next roundabout, another park, the Presbyterian church, and a few other shops. In short, two or three green blocks that you can explore in no time.
One road leads to the small industrial area and one of the town’s three or four campgrounds, while another heads toward the residential neighborhoods, which look just like the typical suburbs you find in any Australian city—except with tropical vegetation. We stocked up at Coles, an identical copy of the one near our place, and—surprise—the prices were practically the same.
We checked into one of the motels. The receptionist listed the town’s three or four restaurants, insisting that it’s always better to book a table. She recommended the Pump House, a bit outside town on the lake’s edge.
“Best spot to watch the sunset, but hurry up.” she told us.
It was only 5:00 PM!
When we got there half an hour later, the place was packed, and the sun had already disappeared behind a row of trees! Sure enough, we’d see a few days later that the sunset can be a stunning spectacle—if you wait a bit for the sky (especially if it’s cloudy) to blaze and reflect in the lake’s calm waters.
A little disappointed, we headed back into town, where we easily found the other lively spot in town: the pub (nothing like an old English pub). Above the long L-shaped bar, several giant screens (thankfully muted) were broadcasting live footy, rugby league, etc. In one corner, players circled the pool table, while in another, customers were digging into plates of the day’s special. Instead of rooms, there were various patios where groups of friends and coworkers (easily recognizable by the fluoro vests they were still wearing) were gathered. We found a table under a mango tree—unfortunately, a little too close to the guitarist strumming his entire Country Music repertoire, complete with Keith Urban-style tremolos.
Guaranteed culture shock!
Since it’s the custom here, we called the Country Club to book a table before the kitchen closed! The CC is the town’s—and even the region’s—fancy spot. Dark decor, modern furniture, dim lighting, and the air conditioning blasting. The twenty or so customers had taken refuge on the vast terrace, lit by torches. The view of the tall eucalyptus trees, illuminated by spotlights shifting from red to blue, was breathtaking.
The menu was minimal, but the grilled salmon was excellent, and the Pavlova (the meringue dessert Kiwis and Aussies have been arguing over since 1906) with melon and watermelon was absolutely divine.
It wasn’t even 9:00 PM, and we were already in bed. Had we already adopted the Top West End’s chicken schedule?!
Saturday. 08:30! Okay, fine, we’re still city chickens—those of us who love sleeping in and forget that at these latitudes, if the sun sets early, it also rises early and fast.
We realize we’ve just ‘wasted’ a few precious hours because the sun is already high and hot when we hit the road to Wyndham, the northernmost town in WA, about a hundred kilometers away.
After passing the airport and then the Diversion Dam on the Ord River, we drive along an endless, absolutely deserted straight road between long red rock formations, pale yellow stretches of spinifex (tall grasses), new varieties of eucalyptus, and more and more gray baobabs of all sizes. Some only have their fruit dangling from the ends of their bare branches, while others still have their tiny leaves. How can such an imposing tree have such small leaves?
The euphoria of vast, empty spaces and the sense of freedom they bring washes over us.
We stop often—either to inspect those curious shrubs with yellow flowers up close, to touch the baobabs or strange rocks, or simply to breathe in the warm holiday air and feel the sun’s prickling heat on our skin.
A sign announces Molly Springs to the right. We follow the red track that winds into the sparse bush toward a rocky outcrop we can more sense than see. A few kilometers later, we discover a creek (stream) with a few remaining puddles, suddenly lusher vegetation, and at the end of a stone path, a small cracked cliff and a rockhole that serves as a natural pool during the wet season (January to March).
Since we’re currently in the middle of the dry season (April to September), we won’t see the many waterfalls that dot the region and make it so charming. But that also means the tracks won’t be flooded or muddy, there’ll be no tricky river crossings, and we won’t risk getting stuck waiting indefinitely for the waters to recede.
It turns out August is considered one of the best times to visit the Kimberley—not too hot (it’s only 36°C!) and, most importantly, not yet humid. The best time is actually May, well after the wet season, when the tropical vegetation is at its most abundant. We know we’ll have to come back!!!
While Ry checks out the huge spiderwebs in silence, briefly interrupted by two squabbling black cockatoos, I climb the rockslide to reach the top of the cliff (barely fifteen meters!) to take in a panorama of rolling hills and a thin stream weaving through the tall green grasses. The fresh kangaroo droppings tell me they’re not far off. Closer are the little lizards I see darting away at full speed, jumping over the rocks. The snakes are invisible—and I’m grateful for that.
What serenity, so far from everything. The walk isn’t long and is limited to the paths through the bush leading to the rockhole on one side and to the imposing baobab, the true lord of the place, on the other. Far from being botany experts, we can’t help but notice the incredible diversity of the flora, and we spend a long time examining an unknown plant here, a strange piece of bark there, the foliage of the trees further on, or the trunk of these palms—or even the fruits of shrubs, wondering if they’re edible. When in doubt, we abstain!
It’s time to leave this Garden of Eden where only the flowers are a bit scarce.
A few dozen kilometers later, we arrive at an intersection marked by a huge rest area and parking lot. This is where the famous Road Trains (trucks pulling up to four trailers) are formed, crisscrossing and supplying the most remote corners of the state. It’s also the junction between the Victoria Highway and the Great Northern Highway, the country’s longest road (connecting Perth to Wyndham, 3,200 km). This mainly two-lane road, whose construction began in the early 1940s, wasn’t fully paved until 1986.
Fun fact: the Great Northern Highway practically starts at the end of our street, and for decades, one of my dreams (among many!) was to reach its other end. Just over fifty kilometers left before discovering ‘the end of the road.’ However, I still dream of traveling its entire length.
Another stop to check out another natural site called The Grotto, located a few kilometers from the main road. While this long, narrow canyon is very popular during the wet season, today we have the place all to ourselves.
Indeed, who would be crazy enough to walk around in this scorching heat just to see that the normally magnificent waterfalls are on a break?
Us, of course!
After admiring this natural chasm from above and trying to spot the well-hidden water basin, all that’s left is to find the 144 steps that lead down to the bottom, some 120 meters below. The regular calls of a cuckoo echoing off the steep walls of the grotto set the rhythm for our short descent. At the bottom, we discover a jumble of fallen rocks covered in vegetation and trees, and just at the foot of a narrow red and black cliff, we see there’s still plenty of stagnant water—definitely not inviting for a swim.
On the other hand, we enjoy the coolness and the calm. A honey scent floats in the air—it must come from those shrubs growing along the invisible stream. Looking up, we’re surprised to see baobabs growing precariously on the rocky slopes. The climb back up is less treacherous, and we quickly return to the surface and the heat. We push our madness further by taking a short walk to the spot where the water (when there is any!) plunges into the abyss—it’s also the best spot for a full view of the canyon.
Thanks to the AC, cranked up as soon as we get back in the car, we quickly regain our normal color. The road follows a final valley before crossing vast floodplains (flood-prone plains) that announce Wyndham.
A few run-down shacks later, and we’re already in front of ‘The Big Crocodile,’ an enormous 18-meter concrete statue that lets this tiny outpost of 800 souls make it onto Australia’s Big Things list. A dozen deserted streets that reek of boredom and abandonment. On the dusty main street, only the grocery store, gas station, and a café are open.
We push on to the ‘port,’ five kilometers further, skirting The Bastion, a rocky outcrop overlooking the small town on one side and the shores of the Cambridge Gulf, a massive sea inlet cutting into the land, on the other. This is also the historic part of Wyndham, where all that remains is a row of old, dilapidated cottages, a closed hotel (Australian for pub), empty sheds, and a small museum—also closed—surrounded by a scraggly garden where old agricultural machines and other relics rust. Panels illustrated with old photographs recount the town’s history.
We learn that the entire region was once home to the Doolboong community and that several historic sites (mainly rock paintings) are accessible in the area. The first European visitor was apparently a certain Philip Parker King, who in 1819 explored the coast in search of a river penetrating the continent’s interior. Finding no drinkable water, he turned back.
A new expedition in 1886 led to the establishment of a camp, which quickly prospered thanks to the discovery of gold at Halls Creek (350 km to the south) and the ensuing gold rush. As Wyndham was the closest access point, over 5,000 miners arrived to try their luck. Old photos show a bustling wharf, rows of tents, a few wooden houses, shops, and even a couple of taverns.
But two years later, the rush ended, and Wyndham became a simple supply point for the few pastoralists (farmers, ranchers) who had settled in the area.
In 1913, the government decided to boost the local economy by building a slaughterhouse and cannery. This would be the only significant economic activity until 1985, the year the factories closed for good (now entirely dismantled, hence the many vacant lots today).
In 1942, Wyndham made headlines across Australia when Japanese planes bombed the town four times.
In the early 1960s, Wyndham briefly became an important logistics hub during the construction of the dam on the Ord River, but as soon as Kununurra was established, Wyndham declined again.
Today, Wyndham is just a tiny river port where iron ore from nearby mines is loaded, brought in by convoys of road trains.
A few steps on the jetty let us take in the enormity of this sea inlet. A few small motorboats are anchored further up, as fishing is the main leisure activity in the area—and there’s surely plenty to catch… as long as you never forget the crocodiles!
A group of young Aboriginal girls (all girls!) sits in the scorching sun, the eldest showing them how to untangle their fishing lines and cast them into the current. Further on, two men launch their motorboat into the water—they’ve got the full fisherman’s kit and are loading an incredible array of fishing rods. This is serious business!
We’ve reached the end of the road. Time to turn back toward the center of Wyndham, still as quiet as ever. We’re heading to a café that serves Crocodile Pies and Barramundi Pies (AU$10!). Since the croc pies are still in the oven, we settle for the barramundi ones, which we take to the town’s other tourist attraction: The Five Rivers Lookout. Against all odds, the fish pastry turns out to be delicious. And the panoramic view from the top of the Bastion isn’t bad either.
We’ll have to come back during the wet season, though, because the five rivers in question (for info: Durack, Pentecost, King, Forrest, and King) aren’t exactly thriving—you can barely make them out among the vast mudflats. The area is known for its massive tides. From the lookout, you can’t see the Timor Sea, which lies over 80 kilometers away and is hidden by several islands in the Cambridge Gulf.
But the view of the opposite bank is stunning—it marks the start of a barely explored and practically inaccessible region: The Last Frontier. Bush, rocks, rivers, and along the coast, two spots that couldn’t be more different: Beverley River Lodge, a luxury resort accessible only by seaplane, and Kalumburu, an Aboriginal community reachable by a 500-kilometer detour via the south. .
To the south, the arm of the sea disappears into more mudflats and expanses of bush, dominated in the distance by the towering red cliffs of the Cockburn Ranges. Just below, the small port facilities sit between swamps and empty lots. Yeah, this really is the middle of nowhere!
Time to test out our trusty 4x4. We’re heading to the Boab Tree Prison, near the small Moochalabra Dam that supplies drinking water to the town and surrounding Aboriginal communities.
The track starts with a crossing of a vast swamp that turns into a salt lake in summer, then cuts through wide stretches of spinifex dotted with baobabs before following the King River, which you can glimpse now and then through the thick vegetation.
The track quickly deteriorates into an endless corrugated mess, punctuated by frequent potholes and rocky patches. The bumps are intense because, not knowing the road, I can’t drive fast enough to ‘float’ over the terrible undulations. Somehow, some of the fine gray dust cloud trailing behind the car manages to sneak inside. Stops are frequent—either to get a closer look at the river or to photograph the flora.
Finally, we reach the small Moochalabra Dam, but access is blocked by a fence. The thought of taking a dip had crossed my mind for a second, but reason—or rather the image of that Big Crocodile at the entrance to Wyndham—quickly changed my mind.
Nearby, there’s also a rock art site—if we can find it. We turn it into a scavenger hunt: who’ll spot the first clues? Broken branches and footprints in the sand lead us to the base of a small cliff, where a natural gallery stretches about fifty meters up a dozen meters above us. The spot is similar to the sites we’d seen in Kakadu, and I’m sure the art is there. A few strategically placed rocks let us reach the gallery and small caves without much effort.
First, a series of handprints, then sketches of animals appear on the walls, which are also covered in insect nests. Watch out for spiderwebs and their architects! While the paintings aren’t exceptionally detailed, they’re still incredible—dating back thousands of years and telling stories meaningful to the Aboriginal people who created them. As is often the case, these carvings and paintings served as signs for other clans about the kind of food, game, or fish found in the area. Unfortunately, water seepage and fires have damaged part of the site.
On our way back to the car, we spot a billabong (a swampy area near a river) covered in water lilies, and two wallabies standing still, watching us before bounding off into the bushes.
A few more kilometers of bumpy driving, and there it is—the famous baobab turned into a prison in the 1890s! This venerable giant is imposing. Its massive trunk is covered in carved initials and inscriptions, and at about a meter off the ground, there’s a hole big enough for a person to crawl through.
Police patrolling to arrest young Aboriginal people who’d killed livestock (it’s easier to kill a sheep or a cow than a kangaroo!) had noticed that holes in the high branches indicated the tree was hollow. All they had to do was drill a hole… and voilà! They could ‘lock up’ their prisoner(s) and spend a peaceful night before continuing to Wyndham. This makeshift prison was called Hillgrove Lockup, proof it was used often.
We push on down the rough track for a few more kilometers, hoping to reach the legendary Gibb River Road (which connects Derby to Wyndham) by skirting the Cockburn Ranges, but we have to turn back due to time—just like yesterday, night falls fast. We head back to Wyndham, still as empty and depressing as ever.
Just outside town, another track (this time to the right) awaits. It leads to the Parry Lagoons, specifically the Marglu Billabong, known for its wide variety of birds.
Here, no brutal corrugations or sharp turns—just a few sandy patches that occasionally throw the 4x4 off course. The road crosses a flat expanse surrounded by distant hills. We approach a spot where the vegetation is denser and greener—we’ve arrived.
Boardwalks and camouflaged huts let you get up close to observe the different bird species. While we’re not biologists, we’re even less ornithologists—we can’t put a name to the many birds we see, even when comparing them to the well-illustrated lists posted on the hut walls.
Silence and patience, kind of like fishing, I imagine.
We envy a young Italian couple equipped with super-zoom lenses and high-end cameras, who we end up chatting with for a while. They *are* biologists, but like us, they don’t know much about birds. They tell us they arrived in Australia last September on a Working Holiday visa and got stuck in WA because of Covid-19. Having saved up well, they didn’t hesitate to splurge on professional gear, which, they tell us, is much cheaper here than in Italy.
« In a month, we’ll be back home. » they say sadly.
Now we don’t envy them at all!
The light, shadows, and contrasts are perfect now, but that also means we shouldn’t dawdle if we want to get back before dark and avoid kangaroos on the road.
Just a quick detour to Telegraph Hill to see the ruins of an old telegraph station (!) and farm, built atop an isolated hill overlooking the swamps, plains, and hills turning red before our eyes. A beautiful panorama, likely the same one Aboriginal people gazed upon thousands of years ago.
More bumps before we hit the smooth asphalt of the main road and rediscover this morning’s landscapes—from the opposite direction.
We arrive in Kununurra just in time to catch the sunset… well, almost. A few hiccups finding the right road—the one leading to Kelly’s Knob (a small hill on the edge of town)—mean we’re a little late. Still, we see the sun dip behind a distant mountain range, but with a cloudless sky, it’s a bit of a non-event.
The evening wraps up at Pump House, the town’s ‘in’ restaurant. The setting is surprising—it’s the old pumping station building, and much of the machinery is still there. The tables are placed wherever there was space. No social distancing issues here!
A lovely way to end this first beautiful day of vacation.
Sunday. 7:30 AM. Dawn has been gone for a while, but there’s still a clear improvement over yesterday. Time to dip the croissants in coffee (found yesterday at the local Coles and just as good as in Paris!), prepare the thermoses, load the car without forgetting the water bottles, fill up the tank, and buy a road map (for my collection!), and we’re finally on the road—the same one as yesterday until the highways intersection and the parking lot for road trains.
From there, we head due south toward Bungle Bungles National Park (now called Purnululu National Park), over 200 kilometers away. The landscapes are the same as yesterday but even more vast. The bush in all its glory—immense, flat with a few undulations, and here and there, mini mountain ranges with flattened peaks.
Sparse vegetation with colors ranging from the green of eucalyptus to the yellow of spinifex, along with the ochre of the earth, the deep blue of the sky, the grays of termite mounds and baobabs, the reds of the rock, the white of dried riverbed sand, and the purple of wildflowers. It’s a feast for the eyes.
We rack up the kilometers without feeling the slightest monotony—a true case of ‘the more it stays the same, the more it changes,’ an expression that’s hard to grasp but perfectly fitting for the landscape around us.
The road is flawless and completely deserted—we’ll only cross paths with two road trains and nine vehicles, all towing caravans. The ‘grey nomads’ (retired wanderers) are out and about.
The feeling of solitude and emptiness is even more striking since, between Wyndham and Halls Creek (350 km), there’s only one tiny hamlet, two roadhouses (gas stations), and a few small Aboriginal communities that are inaccessible. We’ve just passed Doon Doon, the first roadhouse, which also serves as a cafeteria, campsite, and garage. A few prefab units can also be used for lodging—for desperate travelers or workers on the move.
On my brand-new map (well, before my co-driver unfolded it and tried to refold it, ugh), the towns, marked by black dots, look like European megacities, and the many rivers, represented by wide blue lines, take on the appearance of impressive waterways. This is especially true for the Wilson and Bow Rivers, which meet where we stop for ‘morning tea.’
Reality is quite different, though. While the brand-new bridge is indeed large, especially compared to the old one still standing, the river itself is nowhere to be seen. The wide riverbed is nothing but stones and sand—not even the start or end of a tiny puddle.
It’s hard to imagine that the huge parking lot where we’re standing, despite being far away and elevated, can be completely flooded by these rivers after a cyclone.
From here, the road conditions worsen. The funds for maintenance haven’t made it this far yet! Narrower and bumpier, the bridges are reduced to a single lane. More dangerous are the animals that get a little too close to the road, like stray cattle or wild horses.
Warmun (formerly Turkey Creek) isn’t very big. Before being a gas station/grocery store/motel, it’s primarily a settlement (a gathering/camp) of several Aboriginal communities, organized in a classic urban model with a few right-angled streets, individual houses, administrative and cultural buildings, and stretching along the Great Northern Highway, behind fences identical to those in any suburb.
At the beginning of the 20th century, as European ranchers gradually settled in the region, tensions between Aboriginal people and pastoralists grew increasingly violent, sometimes escalating into armed conflicts and massacres. The government created two vast cattle stations (stations) to regroup, employ, and assimilate the Indigenous population. In 1901, Turkey Creek was established as a ration depot. These rations were only distributed to Aboriginal people who agreed to settle in the new camps. Others were forced to do so by the police in the following years.
The community is now managed by an officially constituted organization that runs the gas station, motel, and, most importantly, the cultural center and art gallery (both sadly closed due to Covid-19). These valuable resources provide some independence to this community, established in the 1970s and known for its talented artists.
To access the interior of Warmun and its art gallery, you need permission (a phone call is enough), but since we know all Aboriginal communities are currently closed, there’s no point insisting—especially since what little we see from the road doesn’t really encourage a visit.
Another fifty kilometers or so, and finally, the turnoff to the national park and the campsite a little further on. 4x4 mode—let’s go!
Ugh, so many bumps!
It’s 1:00 PM when we arrive at the campsite reception—a vast, dusty area barely shaded by a few eucalyptus trees. A few permanent buildings, small wooden bungalows, tents set up on raised platforms, and about half a dozen caravans.
Bad news: we’re told that, due to the low number of tourists (still Covid-19!), the restaurant is closed! So, it’s sandwiches and cookies for the next two days (luckily, we had stocked up a bit!).
As for the tent—safari-style, almost luxurious—it’s perfect. There’s even a shower inside! We’re going to quickly become fans of glamping.
Another nasty surprise: the entrance to the national park is located 53 kilometers away at the end of a hellish track, as we quickly discover.
The little bit of track we did yesterday was certainly good practice, but here it’s absolute horror—even the worst roads in Burma or Armenia are more bearable and comfortable than this access route. The track, wide and fortunately deserted, is nothing but a dreadful succession of dusty sections littered with stones and potholes, plus that terrible corrugated iron effect, even more irregular and harsh than yesterday. The numerous rocks and frequent bends make it impossible to pick up speed to soften the jolts. At times, the vibrations are so intense that I expect the car to fall apart entirely, leaving me with just the steering wheel in my hands.
Impossible to enjoy the beautiful landscapes we’re driving through—I’m so focused and completely tense that I can already feel a pain in my right shoulder!
While the climbs give a bit of a break (*vibration-wise*), some descents give you cold sweats, especially those ending with stream crossings—fortunately all bone-dry but synonymous with ruts and big rocks.
Nearly two hours to cover the fifty-odd kilometers separating the campsite from the Visitor Centre, where we finally arrive. The small building is closed (*obviously due to Covid-19*), but access to the national park remains open. Forms to fill out and envelopes for the entrance fee in $ are available, ready to be dropped into a mailbox. Oh, we see another car for the first time!
We’re not out of the woods yet—the track splits, left toward Echidna Chasm (19 km) or right toward Piccaninny Creek (16 km). The choice is quickly made!
The tracks inside the national park are more bearable (*sort of*), with fewer climbs and descents, fewer rocks, but more sandy patches. Then, as we skirt the rocky massifs and get closer, photo stops become more and more frequent.
The reason, of course, is the very unique geology found in this national park, which has been a UNESCO World Heritage Site since 2003. The international organization even provides this somewhat technical description on its website:
Purnululu National Park covers an area of almost 2,400 km² and contains the highly dissected Bungle Bungle Range, composed of Devonian quartz sandstone eroded over 20 million years into a landscape of exceptional beauty and geological value. It features outstanding examples of sandstone cone karst rising up to 250 meters above a semi-arid savanna. The extraordinary orange and black bands of these formations were created through unique deposition and erosion processes, biologically influenced by cyanobacteria (single-celled photosynthetic organisms) that stabilize and protect these ancient sandstone structures.
The park’s main scenic attraction is the extraordinary range of beehive-shaped conical towers clustered in the Bungle Bungle massif. These strikingly sculpted structures, unmatched in scale, extent, and diversity of form anywhere in the world, undergo remarkable seasonal changes in appearance, including dramatic color shifts after rain and varying sunlight angles. The labyrinth of towers is accentuated by narrow, winding gorges with steep slopes, lined with majestic Livistona fan palms.
The sandstone karst of Purnululu National Park is of great scientific importance as it clearly demonstrates the process of cone karst formation in sandstone—a phenomenon only recently recognized by geomorphologists and still not fully understood.
At last, we’ve reached the end of the track, right at the foot of this extraordinary ‘beehive’ massif. We don’t know where to look first and can’t wait to explore the different paths winding into this truly incredible landscape.
The sun is beating down hard. Hatted, slathered in sunscreen, and with our water bottles in hand, we start with the shortest walk—the one looping around the nearest and most accessible domes. We follow the zigzags of the sandy, marked trail through dense vegetation, gradually discovering the different domes with their rough walls decorated in horizontal colored bands, all in an eerie silence.
A huge relief to see that a good part of the trail is now in the shade—we’re also surprised to realize how much the rock color changes depending on whether it’s exposed to the sun and how intense the rays are. The path ends in a dead end, inside a cave where the temperature is refreshingly cool. The walls are covered in what looks like relief frescoes, but are actually the result of water infiltration and rock erosion.
We’re finishing the loop that takes us through some mysterious nooks. A few birds make a brief appearance before disappearing into the vegetation. Defying the laws of gravity, we also notice the presence of surprising termite mounds clinging—almost miraculously—to the upper sides of several rock formations. We’re back in the open again, but this time the heat is far less oppressive. We’re tempted to keep exploring, but that would risk not making it back before nightfall—a definite no-no in the bush in general (risk of hitting animals) and on this terrible track in particular.
We almost envy the couple who just arrived and are starting to set up the tent on their vehicle’s roof. They’ll have the place all to themselves and, most importantly, get to watch the rock formations light up as the sun begins its descent.
Next time, we promise—we’ll camp here too!
For now, we’re back to our session of jolts or vigorous massage.
At the park entrance, a sign points to Kungkalanayi Lookout, a scenic viewpoint just a kilometer away. Okay then, might as well check it out. And sure enough, we’re not disappointed—the view is stunning, especially as the rock turns increasingly red and the light plays beautifully on the vegetation.
But this time, we *have* to go—it’s nearly 4:30 PM, and in less than an hour, it’ll be dark.
And we’re off again. The difference this time is I know what to expect and remember the trickiest sections. I even throw in a few (brief) bursts of speed. What I *didn’t* plan for, though, was the setting sun in my eyes or the two 4x4s ahead of us kicking up clouds of dust, forcing me to slow down—or even stop—so they’d put some distance between us.
After a few kilometers, I finally lose patience and take a deep breath (literally). Taking advantage of a slowdown as we approach a climb, I flash my headlights and overtake them, squeezing my eyes shut and saying a quick prayer—which, thankfully, is answered.
Night has fallen now, and I’m even more on edge. But I also discover one advantage of the dark: in the headlights, the bumps and potholes in the track are much harder to spot!
A few lights finally appear—it’s the campsite. We’ve made it—safe and sound, and the car survived. I’d better not forget that candle for St. Christopher!
For now, we head to reception to buy a couple of beers, which we’ll enjoy on our ‘terrace,’ gazing at the Milky Way in all its glory—while massaging my right shoulder!!!
After a great meal of delicious sandwiches, we burrow under the thick blankets—it’s only 6°C tonight!
Monday. 5:30 AM. It's as freezing inside as it is outside, where the first light of day is appearing on the horizon. The thermos filled with boiling water at reception last night isn’t very effective anymore, so we have to make do with lukewarm tea to dunk our biscuits.
Less than half an hour later, we’re back on the bumps and potholes of the hellish track. The campsite manager told us yesterday that the road has never been repaired or improved and that its condition gets worse every season—but it’s also a good way to limit the number of visitors?! In fact, this only access to the national park crosses the land of a pastoral station, and the owners have other priorities.
The low-angle light illuminates the dew-covered vegetation—it’s amazing how a landscape can look so different depending on the sun’s brightness and the shadows of the terrain. While yesterday we only spotted a few birds, this morning they’re everywhere and in large numbers (the park is home to nearly 150 different species). But this isn’t the time to lose focus. Even though I feel more at ease, driving is still tough, especially since my shoulder pain is flaring up again and, once more, I’m blinded by the sun rising over the hills.
Well, we’ve beaten yesterday’s record: 1 hour 20 minutes from the campsite to the Visitor Centre. This time, we turn left toward Echidna Chasm, the northernmost part of the Bungle Bungles range. This nineteen-kilometer stretch is much more manageable, running along a valley lined with a series of rocky massifs—very different from yesterday’s ‘beehives’—and covered in a carpet of golden spinifex dotted with spaced-out eucalyptus trees, a few baobabs, and, surprisingly, some palm trees.
The track ends at the foot of large red rocks, and once again, we’re alone.
The temperature is perfect for a walk. The first trail climbs gently to a small promontory offering a panoramic view of the Osmond Range, famous for its series of long, sloping plateaus.
The second trail follows the bed of a river that winds into an increasingly narrow gorge, eerily reminiscent of Petra’s Siq (minus the smells!). On the steep red walls, magnificent fan palms grow—what a striking contrast of colors, especially since the rock shifts from red to black.
The path narrows to the point where only one person can pass at a time. Beyond that, we discover a large, roughly circular chamber and another passage cluttered with massive fallen boulders that we have to climb over. Further on, we squeeze under other rocks wedged between the walls. Soon, we reach the end of the trail, which finishes in a smaller, darker chamber. In these rocky depths, the tiny patch of blue sky we see when looking up feels oddly reassuring.
On the way back, we spot several skittish lizards but only one pair of lovebirds… well, they seemed to be!
Happy to be back in the sunlight, less thrilled about the bite of its rays. It’s breakfast time: cereal, fruit, yogurt—all washed down with cold coffee. But what a stunning setting, and it’s Monday! On vacation, Monday has always been my favorite day!
Our next stop is a few kilometers down the road at a place called The Bloodwoods, where three trails start, allowing you to explore different parts of this massive range. We choose the longest one: The Homestead Valley, just because I like the name.
It starts with a gentle slope through the bush and around a huge rock with tilted strata and curious scars. The trail then heads toward a set of red cliffs. It’s only ten in the morning, but the sun is already beating down, and there’s no shade in sight—luckily, we’ve brought several bottles of water. The place is impressive and eerily quiet.
Signs indicate that we now need to follow the stony bed of a completely dry river leading into a small canyon where many acacias are in bloom. The blue of the sky, the reds of the rock, the greens of the vegetation, the yellows of the flowers, and the white of the stones—what a beautiful three-dimensional painting. Walking on these large rocks is tough, but our frequent stops let us watch the multitude of small birds busy feeding on the flowers. Oddly, despite being in Australia, no insects bother us here—not even a fly!
One branch of the trail is blocked—it leads to a sacred Aboriginal site that’s off-limits to visitors (there are over 80 such sites scattered throughout the national park). The local Aboriginal people (the Karjaganujaru peoples) have been the traditional custodians of these lands for over 20,000 years. Their stories, traditions, and some of their resources are tied to this place, and for many, this connection continues today. In fact, the park is managed jointly by government agencies and the local Aboriginal community.
We take the other branch, which climbs to a small natural platform offering a panoramic view of the little valley and the natural amphitheater just ahead.
As for the origin of the name ‘Homestead Valley’ (the valley of the homestead, farm, or family property…), a sign explains that it dates back to 1880, when the first colonial explorers were searching for agricultural land. One of them, Alexander Forrest, thought this spot was ideal for establishing a homestead. Fortunately, his idea wasn’t pursued, but the name stuck.
The return under the scorching sun is tougher than expected, and once we’re back at the car, we decide to save the other two hikes for… another visit! Once again, the car’s air conditioning quickly revives us, and we stop at… Stonehedge feeling almost back to normal.
It’s not some prehistoric formation but just a trail through the bush and along the banks of a small (obviously dry) river, explaining how Aboriginal people used different trees, shrubs, and grasses. From a distance, all eucalyptus and spinifex look alike, but up close, they’re incredibly diverse. Some have edible fruit, others have leaves that can anesthetize prey, or branches for making hunting tools or baskets, bark for producing glue, or medicines to cure all sorts of ailments… etc. The walk is very informative and gives you an appreciation for the vast knowledge of the bush that Aboriginal people have (or had). Despite this lesson, I hope I never get lost in the bush—I wouldn’t survive long!
And so ends our visit to the northern part of the park. It’s time to ‘race’ toward Piccaninny Creek, where we were twenty-four hours earlier.
We arrived at the worst possible time. The temperature shot from 6°C to 36°C in just a few hours!
Yesterday’s campers had been replaced by a young couple and their three little kids finishing up their picnic.
Luckily, the first hike we took was mostly in the shade, deep in a gorge. Still, we had to endure a stretch in the open sun, walking near and then on scorching hot rocks before reaching the sandy path leading to Cathedral Gorge. A light breeze brought some welcome coolness as we made our way deeper into the gorge. The upper parts of the cliffs, lit by the sun, took on strange orange and golden hues.
Apart from the sound of sand crunching under our feet, the silence was total—almost eerie. One last turn and a slight climb before discovering a vast semi-open cave with its massive half-dome ceiling. On the ground, white sand and, in the middle, a small pool of water reflecting the cave’s colorful walls.
But the most surprising (and most welcome) part was the coolness inside. We greeted another young couple and their little girl building a sandcastle—a somewhat surreal scene.
After exploring every corner of the cave, we lay down on the cool sand for a long while, trying to imagine this same spot during the rainy season, when the cave turns into a waterfall and the sand disappears underwater. There’s little chance we’ll ever see it, though, since the park becomes inaccessible and remains closed to the public.
Time to head back—more hiking awaits!
The next one took us a few kilometers farther to the Piccaninny Creek Lookout. Unfortunately, this stretch was in full sun, following the riverbed between the rock towers. The deep erosion marks on the rocks hinted at the sheer force of the water here during certain times of the year. Hard to imagine so much water flowing through this place!
Phew, the lookout was in the shade! The perfect spot for a long moment of contemplation.
Ry’s bright red face told me the rest of the hikes would have to wait for another time. Better to head back to the car. We’d seen the main sights anyway—we hadn’t even planned to do the full circuit, which takes two days!!!
The drive back to the campsite was more relaxed, even if that blasted track was still just as rough.
This time, we arrived before nightfall and could enjoy the sunset from our terrace, sipping beers and munching on handfuls of peanuts… which would have to do as dinner tonight.
Thanks Xavier for this walk that was as refreshing as it was enjoyable...
I think of Arthur Upfield
I think of Kim Mahood
I think of Tim Winton
I think of Catherine Rey
Over time and through my readings, I’ve become passionate about this country with its many extraordinary facets, and today I’m loving following your adventures!
And then I think of my friends Lyn & David, who have been patiently waiting for so long to show me their country—"your" country...
See you soon, then, to drive between hills and ravines, to walk trails until we’re sweltering, to marvel at the colors and scents, to navigate a map we can never fold right, and to discover and savor it all over and over again...
Dolma
un chemin et la caresse du vent, alors je pars en voyage...
... some passionate readings about this country with its many extraordinary facets
Hi Dolma, you can add to your reading list Albert Facey (*A Fortunate Life*), Sally Morgan (*My Place*), Xavier Herbert (*Capricornia*), and even D.H. Lawrence (*Kangaroo*), Mary Durack (*Kings in Grass Castles*)... etc. However, I’m not sure if all these books are available in French.
I was recently recommended *The White Savage* by François Garde... I’m looking for it!!!
And then I think of my friends Lyn & David, who have been patiently waiting for so long to show me their country...
They’ll need a little more patience, but I hope you’ll surprise them!
Tuesday. 6:30 AM. Parrots are holding a conference in the trees surrounding our tent, and their shrill cries make for an excellent alarm clock. Time to pack up and leave the still-sleepy campsite.
We’re thrilled to be back on the smooth asphalt of the Great Northern Highway, but also a little worried—yesterday on the way back, I noticed the fuel gauge had dipped into the critical zone. Is there enough gas to make it to Warnum, about sixty kilometers away?
My dilemma: should I speed up to get there faster or drive slower to save the precious fuel? Plus, this stretch is all ups and downs!
The landscape rarely felt so slow, even with bursts up to 110 km/h—the max speed allowed in WA. Another 20 km, another 10 km, another 5 km… just 1 km left!
Yes, we made it… just!
The roadhouse is buzzing this morning. It also doubles as a grocery store, and many Aboriginal locals are stocking up.
Problem: the pump won’t start. New anxiety—are the tanks full? When does the fuel truck come to fill them?
Inside, the guy explains that you can only pay with a credit card—just insert it into the machine outside, select the pump number, fuel type, and desired amount.
Not exactly easy to fill up under these conditions?!
Given the price—$1.82 per liter (it was $1.09 in Kununurra)—I decide to put in just $50, hoping it’ll be enough to reach Kununurra!
We take the opportunity to grab breakfast and a big hot coffee. Sensitive souls and delicate stomachs, beware—between the over-fried eggs, bacon slices dripping with grease, and toast covered in melted margarine… my heart skips a beat!
The coffee’s piping hot but not scalding—no complaints there!
Digestion is a struggle as we gaze at the vast landscapes and wave (just lift a finger without taking your hand off the wheel) at the few vehicles we pass.
Halfway there, near the Durham River, we find a rest area to make coffee (smart move—we’d asked the lovely waitress to fill our thermoses with hot water). We spot a massive caravan parked in the shade and a 4x4 with its hood up. The driver comes over to ask if we have any coolant for his overheated radiator. Unfortunately, the car rental didn’t provide any!
I offer to take him to the Doon-Doon gas station, but he’d rather wait for the tow truck he called a couple of hours ago. Then he launches into a long list of mishaps that have plagued his trip since leaving Perth… six months ago! We conclude that the life of a Grey Nomad isn’t all smooth sailing.
Before reaching Kununurra, we have two tourist spots to visit: Valentine Spring, three kilometers north of the main road, and Black Rock Pool, about ten kilometers further up.
Let’s go—especially since the track is perfect and dead straight.
Valentine Spring turns out to be just a small, partly shaded pond, the remnants of a once-turbulent river. We scare off a family of cattle soaking their hooves near barely adolescent baobabs.
I stretch my legs by hopping across the smooth, slippery rocks forming the riverbed—no doubt a lovely waterfall in the right season. Here and there, a few puddles remain, and even more surprisingly, some are home to fish. How do they survive in so little water, and warm at that?
To reach Black Rock Pool, you take a narrow track leading to a cliff hidden by vegetation along the Livistona Range. At the end of the track, a path scattered with pebbles and roots leads to a wooded area littered with rocks you have to climb before discovering a water basin at the base of a fifty-meter-high cliff. Its black color (hence the name!) contrasts with the red and ochre hues of the surrounding rock and the green vegetation hanging from the top. Water seeps from the rock even during the dry season, constantly feeding the pool.
But the most unexpected (and extraordinary) sight is the hundreds of butterflies (Euploea core), all identical, fluttering everywhere. Their sheer numbers are due to the host plants for their caterpillars never lacking water here—and more importantly, making them toxic, so they have no predators.
This beautiful spot, also called Ngamoowalem by the Miriwoong traditional custodians, is a local favorite—the waterfall that appears at the start of the rainy season is the first in the area, and the pool is one of the deepest.
Happy we made the detour, we head back toward Kununurra and cross the Ord River. We arrive just in time for a late lunch. We take the opportunity to visit the Tourist Office and the supermarket before heading to Lake Argyle Village—which, as the name suggests, is a village on the shores of the lake of the same name.
After a quick detour to see the border between Western Australia and the Northern Territory (I can’t resist!), we arrive at the Lake Argyle campsite in the late afternoon to check into our bungalow and, of course, take a dip in the famous infinity pool overlooking the lake. Wow—the water’s cold, but the view is stunning.
Ry even finds time to organize a boat tour for tomorrow morning—no easy feat, since most tour operators have temporarily shut down due to a lack of tourists.
All that’s left is to head to the viewpoint on the hill next to the dam to see the lake—or at least a tiny part of it. It’s so massive! Some years, its surface area is as big as Singapore! How can such a small dam hold back so much water?
We won’t be seeing the sunset tonight—the west is blocked by a series of hills—but the show unfolds right in front of our bungalow as the rocky slopes keep turning red… before fading into the night. Then the spectacle moves up into the sky.
But first, intermission—we’ve been warned the restaurant closes at 7 PM. !!!
Reading you is a double torment.
First, these borderless spaces—or so distant—while we’re not safe from seeing our horizon shrink back to a single kilometer.
And then, those bumps you complain about, which I miss so much (and here, everyone’s crying chaos).
Thanks anyway for the escape (I’m a masochist 😉).
P.S. Do you happen to have any photos of the Top West End towns, just for the vibe?
As my partner says: «We’re gonna miss the bistros!»...
... some passionate reading about this country with its many extraordinary facets
Hello Dolma, you can add to your reading list Albert Facey (*A Fortunate Life*), Sally Morgan (*My Place*), Xavier Herbert (*Capricornia*), and even D.H. Lawrence (*Kangaroo*), Mary Durack (*Kings in Grass Castles*)... etc. However, I’m not sure if all these books are available in French.
I was recently recommended *The White Savage* by François Garde... I’m looking for it!!!
And then I think of my friends Lyn & David, who have been patiently waiting for so long to show me their country...
They’ll need a little more patience, but I hope you’ll surprise them!
...on a map that just won’t fold back properly
Oh, absolutely not! !
Hi Xavier,
I’ll add Kenneth Cook to the list of authors with his book *The Killer Koala*, published in French as *Le Koala Tueur et autres histoires du bush* (Autrement editions). These short stories are funnier than the last, inspired by his adventures across Australia.
Thanks for this travel journal—I really enjoyed it. Guaranteed change of scenery! 😊
Wednesday. 6:00 AM. We’ve definitely settled into the Top West End rhythm!
Not really my choice, but we’ve got a meet-up with Tim at the dock in half an hour. Breakfast downed, face slathered in sunscreen, camera in my pocket, and hat on my head—I’m ready, same for Ry.
No trouble finding the meet-up spot—there’s only one access point to the lake: this tiny gravel beach at the bottom of a pretty steep descent. Tim, our young skipper, gets us on board a boat that can hold about thirty passengers, but since no one else showed up for this morning cruise, we’ve got our pick—port, starboard, bow, stern?! Right in the middle under the canopy works perfectly.
As we cruise along the exposed shores, Tim shares some stats about this vast body of water and then tells the story of the lake, which began in 1972—the year the dam was inaugurated—and why it was built.
First, the numbers: the dam (335 meters long and 98 meters high) holds back about 5,800 gigaliters but could hold up to 35,000! As for the lake’s surface, it’s usually around 1,000 km² but could be more than double that. Right now, the lake stretches about 70–75 km long and 30–35 km wide, though its size fluctuates quickly depending on the number and intensity of cyclones. The same goes for the number of islands in the lake—some appear or disappear depending on the water level. Normally, there are about 70 islands, varying in size and appearance: sandy or pebbly beaches, covered in vegetation or barren, swampy or rocky, etc.
Finally, the population of freshwater crocodiles (so they’re friendly) is estimated at 22,000, with 26 species of fish and 270 species of birds (full list here).
The story begins around 1880 with the arrival of the first pastoralists searching for new grazing lands. They came from Queensland, leading massive herds after a journey of over two years. They started by building small wooden and earthen dams mainly for livestock but also with the idea of developing tropical agriculture.
After the drought that hit between 1935 and 1942, the first irrigation experiments were attempted, and a tropical agricultural research center was created. The initial plan was to grow rice, cotton, and sugar for export to Asia! While the local government was quickly convinced of the project’s feasibility and viability, they still needed to secure additional funding from the federal government.
In 1959, the Ord River Irrigation Scheme was launched, and its first phase began with the construction of the Diversion Dam on the Ord River (inaugurated in 1963). The old natural waterhole (Carlton Reach) disappeared under the new artificial lake, named Kununurra Lake.
In 1960, the town of Kununurra was established to support the farmers settling in and the surrounding Aboriginal communities. By 1966, there were about thirty farms, most growing cotton. However, despite the excessive use of pesticides, pests drastically reduced expected yields, and with falling prices, cotton farming was quickly abandoned. The same happened with rice—this time, the problem was birds eating the seeds before they could grow! Fortunately, sugarcane farming didn’t face the same issues.
The second phase of the project began in 1969 with the construction of the Main Dam, the one holding back the lake we’re cruising on. The dam was inaugurated three years later, and thanks to a couple of particularly rainy seasons, the lake reached its maximum level in less than three years.
Today, over 117 km² are irrigated, and the area is expected to reach 400 km² in the near future. There are now more than 60 different crops, but the most profitable seems to be Indian sandalwood, used in perfumes and cosmetics.
Since 1995, a small hydroelectric plant has supplied electricity to the region and some nearby mines.
We approach the shore, where Tim spots a rock wallaby among the boulders—a small kangaroo species particularly adapted to rocky habitats. Unfortunately, it’s endangered (mainly because of feral cats!). Tim turns off the engine and lets the boat drift toward the bank. We scan the pile of rocks carefully but don’t see anything at first. Finally, after a long while, we spot a small animal hopping around before freezing to watch us for several minutes. Its long tail and slender profile set it apart from its cousins. Soon, it’s joined by its companion (or mate), which descends the small cliff with astonishing ease and agility.
We circle several islands surrounded by tree trunks emerging from the water—after such a long time submerged, their wood has become petrified. On the branches, birds spot fish they’re about to catch.
Further on, we see the first ‘freshies’ (freshwater crocodiles, endemic to Australia) basking in the sun. Much smaller (2–3 meters max!) than saltwater crocs, these are harmless because their long, narrow snouts can’t open as wide as their ‘salties’ cousins. Still, I’d rather not dangle my hand in the water.
We leave the peaceful little bays and pick up speed to reach the other side of the lake, where a string of islands covered in vegetation lies. According to Tim, this is also the best spot to catch the biggest fish. Fishing seems easy—he just waves a slice of bread over the water, and hundreds of fish swarm around the boat. Absolutely incredible. He also tells us that in a corner of the central part of the lake, there are experimental fish farming projects.
Speaking of farming, he also mentions a more or less recent attempt to farm… spiders! American researchers noticed that some local spiders wove webs with such strong silk that it could be used to make bulletproof vests. They started breeding spiders but eventually had to abandon the idea after realizing the females had a habit of eating the males after mating! Colleagues later found a ‘better’ solution: genetically modifying goat milk!?—see the video.
At our skipper’s insistence, we approach a cluster of submerged trees whose branches are covered in those famous spider webs. Hmm, I’d rather explore one of these little islands and play Robinson Crusoe for a bit.
On the way back, we spot some beautiful migratory birds, but the most interesting ones are apparently in the far south of the lake, near the mangroves and marshes. Another reason to come back another time—and for longer!
After this all-too-brief but fascinating excursion, we’re back on solid ground.
We spend the rest of the morning on the other side of the dam, in a shady spot by the river at the foot of the imposing wall. Though access to the river is closed (for safety reasons!), we discover that the shaded area is perfect for birdwatching. A real ‘miraculous catch’ for those with the right gear! Unfortunately, we’re not equipped… Maybe something to ask Santa for!
No luck—the historical museum at Argyle Homestead is closed. Moved and rebuilt stone by stone on the heights just before the dam was built, it tells the story of the Durack family, one of the first to settle here.
Strangely, no effort was made to preserve the many Aboriginal sites that disappeared underwater. In fact, Aboriginal people were never consulted about the Ord River Irrigation Scheme. Until 1966, their status was practically the same as flora and fauna.
After a quick stop at Deadhorse Creek, hoping to see more birds around a permanent rockhole, and a short walk through the tall grass (not a great idea) followed by a quick scramble over rocks for one last glimpse of the lake, we hit the road back to Kununurra.
Total lack of imagination since we’re spending our last night of this admittedly too-short getaway at the same motel. We’re going to picnic at Celebrity Tree Park on the shores of Lake Kununurra.
This pretty park gets its name from the fact that many trees were planted by celebrities passing through Kununurra. Among all the commemorative plaques, the most famous (to me anyway!) is Nicole Kidman’s, who came here in 2007 during the filming of the movie 'Australia' Australia.
Despite the heat, a group of young women starts an intense aerobics session under the gazebo, on the dock further away, a grandmother launches her kayak, in the parking lot, two electricians (it’s written on their van) wolf down their sandwiches, and near the kids’ playground, a young couple is sweetly canoodling. In the background, the sound of a lawnmower—watching this gardener circle the trees and flower beds, he must already feel like he’s in Monaco as Daniel Ricciardo, another celebrity (wait, I don’t think he has a plaque here, does he!?).
But all this activity doesn’t seem to bother the many birds present, both in the treetops and on the water. I even get a private show from a little eagle that doesn’t hesitate to strike a series of poses: shy, annoyed, fierce, indifferent, haughty, even cheeky.
It’s incredible to think that 60 years ago, this town didn’t even exist. In fact, they even had to come up with a name! Kununurra is said to come from the English adaptation of the word Goonoonoorrang, which in the Mirriwoong language refers to a spot on the Ord River. The word Cununurra was first used in the 1940s by geologists classifying the different clays near the river.
History doesn’t say why this name was proposed. However, it does explain why the C was replaced with a K: the post office representative felt that Cununurra was too similar to Cunnamulla (a town in Queensland) and, to avoid postal confusion, suggested changing the first letter. So, with a K, the ‘birth’ of the new town was published in the official gazette on February 10, 1961.
Over the years, Kununurra has become the most important town in the Kimberley. At the last census, the town had 5,308 residents, or just over 7,000 including nearby farms and communities. During tourist season and harvest time, the population can easily reach 10,000.
Now that the worst of the heat has passed (well, almost), we decide to visit Mirima National Park, located three kilometers from the town center. The entrance is right across from the cemetery!
Called the mini Bungle Bungles, it features some 350-million-year-old sandstone formations that you can explore by following three short marked trails through Hidden Valley before climbing up to Derbde-gerring Banan, the highest point of the small range, offering a panoramic view of the Ord Valley and the town. For once, we’re here at the best time, when the rock takes on red hues.
Even better, today we arrive at the Pump House well before sunset. We celebrate our last tropical evening on the terrace overlooking the calm waters of the lake, sipping a delicious mandarin mojito!
Dinner at the Kimberley Grande, another pub in town, is less glorious, but the fish & chips does the trick just fine.
Thursday. 7:00 AM. Last day already!
Heading to the airport, it’s the pilot himself who comes to pick us up at the motel to drive us there and then fly the Cessna we’re taking this morning to soar over Lake Argyle and the Bungle Bungles National Park for a couple of hours—places we explored a few days earlier. We’re flying with two other couples, just as excited as we are.
I’m in charge of locking the door—once my mission’s done, full speed ahead!
The plane accelerates and takes off (phew!) and flies over vast mango and sandalwood plantations before turning toward the lake. We discover landscapes stretching to the horizon that we hadn’t imagined from the road—so vast and varied. We also fly over numerous Aboriginal communities scattered across the bush.
We follow the Ord River and quickly reach Lake Argyle. The dam looks tiny compared to the lake’s grandeur. We immediately recognize the bays and islands we visited yesterday morning and discover many more.
In some places, the meeting of water and land forms remarkable patterns in strange, unexpected colors. Further on, it’s the combination of vegetation, topography, and geology that creates surprises.
Mountain ranges, plateaus, the bush stretching to the horizon—from the sky, these landscapes take on an unsuspected grandeur. Lucky birds... or helicopter and small plane pilots!
But the highlight is definitely flying over the Bungle Bungles and that extraordinary maze of mineral towers and gorges we hiked a few days earlier. It’s incredible to think this strange rock formation was ‘rediscovered’ by chance in 1982 by a film crew shooting a documentary about the Fitzroy River, about a hundred kilometers to the south!
One lap, two laps, and it’s already time to head back, flying over the Argyle mine, famous for its pink diamonds, and then over isolated pastoral stations as vast as French departments. Here, shepherds round up their herds not on horseback, or even by motorcycle or quad bike, but by helicopter.
After a final flyover of Kununurra’s plantations and the Diversion Dam, we land, still dazzled by the magnificent spectacle.
The rest of the day is spent visiting various Aboriginal art galleries and a couple of workshops. Oddly enough, all the paintings I like are also the most expensive!
Before returning the car at the airport (after covering over 1,500 kilometers), we have one last thing to do: taste the local specialty—a huge mango smoothie under the mango trees, of course!
A few hours later, the pilot announces:
« Welcome to Perth, the temperature outside is 12°C »
Why did we have to come back?
The End
What if The End of this travel journal was just the beginning of a few more about your adopted country? Now that’s an idea I’d love!
You must’ve "dunked your croissant in a bowl of coffee" (oh, those French 😉) in other parts of Australia, right? So...
It’s been an absolute pleasure reading you, and I’d love to keep discovering this vast part of the world through your words and pictures.
Dolma
un chemin et la caresse du vent, alors je pars en voyage...
It was such a real pleasure reading you, and I’d love to keep discovering this huge part of the world through your words and images.
Thank you!
If you look closely, you might have found this account of an old train journey and then another one a bit more recent.
As for the Australia photos, you’ll find them here
Just finished reading this travel journal that blends discovery and the history of the places. I especially remember the prison tree. Clever and unusual 😮. Thanks for this escape.
A huge thank you, Xavier, for this travel journal—I just discovered it and read it with great pleasure.
Well done on the writing and the photos!
It’s a fascinating and exotic journal for me, as despite my desire to explore Australia, I hesitate because of the distance. With age, I’m enjoying flying less and less 🙁.
That’s also why your journal is so welcome 😎 !
Hi Xavier,
A fantastic travel journal I just stumbled upon completely by chance after the photo contest on the theme of fish. https://voyageforum.com/forum/poisson-theme-concours-photos-mois-avril-2025-d10703608-3/
I felt like reading your posts and getting to know you.
I had immense pleasure reading everything in one go and traveling with you, completely changing my perspective. Thanks for the length of the text and the details in your story. The photos are stunning.
Thanks!
Ah, I see we have something in common... January 26th !
Yes, but in India, there are actually three national holidays of equal importance—none is more of a national holiday than the others.
- Republic Day: January 26th
- Independence Day: August 15th
- Gandhi Jayanti: October 2nd
Carnets de voyage › Australie / Nouvelle-Zélande · 12 replies
L’Australie est le second voyage que j’ai préparé en pouvant compter sur les conseils avisés et la gentille bienveillance de certains forumeurs et, juste…
Vous trouverez ci-dessous le récit de notre voyage de cinq semaines en Australie (30 mai au 5 juillet 2010)... de Darwin à Perth, en passant par les parcs…
Après plusieurs voyages aux States (voir mes comptes rendus précédents), cette année nous décidons d’aller voir les kangourous... CHEZ EUX!!! Comme à chaque…
Dimanche 1er octobre 2023 Mulhouse-Londres On a refilé nos poubelles chez nos voisins. On s’est étreints, gorgés d’émotion. Puis Léa des Taxis S a débarqué.…
Mardi 5 décembre 2023 Melbourne – Lorne On récupère la voiture à 500 mètres de là, dans un parking de Chinatown avec qui l’hôtel a un accord, puis c’est parti…
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...
With my girlfriend Christelle, we’ve chosen South Africa for our first trip to Southern Africa, focusing on safaris—after a long debate with a Cape Town/Kruger combo.
But that would’ve meant cutting out St Lucia, which would’ve been harder to fit into another trip.
And St Lucia—thanks to Michel and all those travel journals—we really wanted to go there.
So our 11-night itinerary ended up like this, mostly shaped by school holidays:
- 3 nights in St Lucia
- 1 night in Hluhluwe
- 1 night at Mkhaya Game Reserve (Eswatini)
- 1 night at Hlane Royal National Park (Eswatini)
- 3 nights in Kruger (Berg en Dal / Satara / Tamboti)
- 1 night at Shindzela Tented Camp in the Timbavati private reserve
- 1 final night in Kruger at Lower Sabie
All of this in the off-season and rainy season, just a month after catastrophic floods that killed over 150 people and seriously damaged Kruger’s infrastructure.
I’ll jump straight to St Lucia and skip the loooong journey to get there (with a layover in Frankfurt, landing in Johannesburg, a domestic flight to Durban, and the rest by rental SUV—First Car Rental, perfect, no complaints).
To motivate readers—especially some familiar faces here—I’ll drop in a first photo.
I 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)
Bonjour tout le monde, nous voici rentrés d'un RT USA organisé par nos soins du 31/07/2026 au 26/08/2026.
La destination : Le Sud-Ouest USA avec le Texas, l'Arizona et le Nouveau-Mexique. 7000 kilomètres effectués à la louche.
L'Auto : Une Chevrolet Equinoxe pour deux en passant par BSP Auto et Avis. Et dedans 2 valises, un sac de voyage, deux valises cabines, la glacière de chez Walmart, le matos photos et les bouteilles d'eau (pack de 40).
Le trajet : Dallas DFW, Fort Worth, Houston, Austin, San Antonio, Alpine, El Paso, Tucson, Sedona, Albuquerque, Amarillo et Dallas pour finir avec départ sur DFW.
Les voyageurs : Deux séniors bien avancés dans l'âge (73 et 75) mais toujours en activité (pas épuisante physiquement) (pour rester vivants et financer les voyages), autonomes physiquement à 100%, intellectuellement beaucoup moins, passionnés des USA, pays où tout est possible, plus marcheurs que randonneurs, plutôt hôtels à partir de 3 étoiles que motels de bord de route, plutôt restos Italiens que nourriture US, adeptes des arrêts fréquents pour les photos, plutôt musées que rien, Plutôt sieste que marches forcées. Pas trop râleurs, juste ce qu'il faut pour rester français au pays du grand Satan qu'ils disent.
Pas trés doués pour les langues, Anglais des rues (mais bien pratique), Espagnol nul pour moi hormis : " Hola ! Una Cerveza por Favor ! " Cela fait court. Madame comprend tout mais refuse de parler.
Le coût du RT : Environ 12 000 euros avec les vols AF, Auto, Essence, cadeaux, visites et tutti quanti. Bien maitrisé puisque 13500 euros prévus au départ.
Le bilan positif : Un régal avec les longues routes à perte de vue. Des Musées à découvrir. Le constat de la présence Hispanique et de son Histoire importante dans ce secteur de l'Amérique. Des locaux adorables. Des touristes plus ou moins sympas. Un accent Texan abominable et difficile à comprendre. Des stations Gas qui sont de véritables magasins avec nourriture préparée et autre alcools vendus en Arizona et Nouveau-Mexique et des employés au top ! Toujours prêts à rigoler !
Le bilan négatif : La chaleur tout au long du séjour...43° sur Dallas en fin de séjour. Impossible de sortir dans les rues. Beaucoup de "Homeless" dans les rues de l'Hyper Centre de Dallas. Les breakfasts Hôtel toujours les mêmes. On s'y fait.
Donc, positif certes mais le concept commence à fatiguer. Il se pourrait que le modèle RT autonome soit repensé pour le prochain. SI celui qui est en haut nous prête vie.
Pour la suite, attendons les premières photos triées et passées à la moulinette.
Hi everyone, I’m Patrick, 67 years old, a seasoned traveler (already 22 trips outside Europe).
In autumn 2025, I took my first 3-week trip to Japan, with stops in Tokyo, Kamakura, Matsumoto, Kamikochi, Takayama, Kanazawa, Kyoto, Nara, Osaka, Koyasan, Tokyo again, and Nikko.
I wanted to go back in May 2026 and explore some lesser-known places to complement my first trip.
Last year, there were four of us traveling together to discover Japan (a fairly classic itinerary). This time, I’ll be traveling solo for part of the trip and with a couple of French friends for the rest.
The weather was gorgeous in May, averaging around 25°C, with two very hot days in Kyoto and only two rainy days.
As usual, I organized everything myself, gathering plenty of information from various sites, including this one.
Transportation:
An ICOCA card is essential.
I got a 5-day Kansai-Hiroshima pass because I took the shinkansen between Hiroshima and Osaka three times, and it paid for itself quickly.
Accommodations:
Mostly through Booking. No issues at all. Average cost was 46 € per night.
Meals:
For breakfast, I alternated between buying food at a konbini to eat in my room or on the train and grabbing something at local cafés.
For lunch and dinner, I tried to vary my meals as much as possible—lots of sashimi, sushi, and ramen.
Okonomiyaki in Osaka and Hiroshima.
Oysters in every form (raw, grilled, fried) in Onomichi and Hiroshima.
A variety of seafood (shrimp, shellfish) in Hiroshima and Matsumoto.
Fish whose names often escaped me, but notably mackerel and eel (unagi).
Tempura and gyoza.
Chicken skewers (yakitori) and one teppanyaki meal.
One omakase meal (9 different dishes).
In the end, not much meat aside from a few yakitori skewers. No splurges on super expensive wagyu or Kobe beef.
Average dinner cost: 4,800 yen, drinks included.
The Itinerary:
Day 1: Departure from Brussels
Day 2: Arrival in Osaka
Day 3: To Himeji, then Kurashiki
Day 4: To Fukuyama, then Tomo no Ura, then Onomichi
Day 5: Cycling the Shimanami Kaido
Day 6: To Takahara, then Hiroshima
Day 7: To Kyoto to attend the Aoi Matsuri parade
Day 8: To Miyajima
Day 9: Hiroshima, then Kyoto
Day 10: Southern Kyoto
Day 11: Northern Kyoto
Day 12: Final day in Kyoto, then to Nagatsugawa
Day 13: Start of the Nakasendo Trail (Magome to Tsumago)
Day 14: Second day of the trail (Kiso Fukushima)
Day 15: Third day of the trail (Narai), then Matsumoto
Day 16: To Mt. Fuji (Kawaguchiko)
Day 17: To Tokyo
Day 18: Excursion to Enoshima and Kamakura
Day 19: Flight home, with a 10-hour layover in Hong Kong
Day 20: Arrival in Brussels
Si je ferme les yeux et pense au sultanat d’Oman, je sens d’abord un léger parfum d’encens, la chaleur d'un rayon de soleil sur ma peau, avant de sentir le sable couler dans ma main… J’ai sur la langue le goût et le moelleux d’une datte, véritable bonbon, puis celui du café avec une pointe de cardamome et d’eau de rose.... J’entends le vent du désert siffler à mes oreilles, au loin l’appel d’un muezzin, puis le murmure de l’eau. J’ouvre les yeux, je vois des sourires, des signes de bienvenue, je vois une mer turquoise, des roches allant de l’ocre au pourpre, des wadis profonds d’où jaillissent des torrents, des dunes oranges, des plages de sable blanc où de petits crabes filent à toute allure. Je vois des oasis incroyables qui surgissent entre les montagnes arides. Je vois des villages abandonnés que l’on rêverait pleins de vie, des forteresses imposantes dominant des vallées, et des souks animés où la proposition est délicate et la négociation une politesse mutuelle…
Tout cela, et bien plus encore.
C’est ce que j’ai essayé de traduire dans mon carnet de voyage dessiné, que je complèterai çà et là de photos.
Ce carnet, je l’ai dessiné « à froid », après mon retour (en fait je l’ai réalisé cet été alors que notre voyage date de cet hiver). Il est d’un format assez spécial je l’avais acheté au japon, sans trop savoir ce que j’allais en faire. Et bien il a trouvé son usage ! Voici ci-dessous une photo de ce carnet, en mode accordéon : là, il n’est que partiellement ouvert, car tout déplié cela fait 5 mètres de long !
Pour les amateurs de dessin : Le format en accordéon est à la fois une contrainte (chaque feuillet fait un format 9 cm X 27 cm), et une liberté (on peut faire une fresque). Le papier est aussi un peu spécial : il n’offre pas une grande finesse de trait, mais il prend bien l’encre (feutre liner). En revanche, tout doit être fait presque d’un jet (avec une esquisse très légère au crayon) car il se gomme très mal. Il boit trop l’eau pour colorer au feutre ou à l’aquarelle (ou alors sans utiliser la détrempe), en revanche il porte bien le pastel à l’huile et son utilisation au pinceau avec de l’essence. Tirant sur le jaune, il m’a permis de créer des contrastes y compris avec le pastel blanc.
A droite, le "marqueur" de l'accueil, ces dattes qu'on vous offre partout en signe d'hospitalité. A gauche, un hommage à ces sublimes portes usées par les temps, qu'on admire un peu partout dans les quartiers anciens, y compris ceux qui sont abandonnés.
Oman est un des grands producteurs de résine d'encens. Les brûleurs d'encens sont partout, du plus simple en terre au plus précieux en argent ciselé...
L'hospitalité vous conduira à accepter aussi souvent un petit café, un "omani café", très léger, parfumé subtilement avec de la cardamome, pourquoi pas un peu de safran, et éventuellement un peu d'eau de rose.
J'ai ici représenté un homme dans l'habit commun usuel de tous les omanais : la dishdasha, majoritairement blanche (en semaine, en journée, la couleur est davantage pour le soir ou le vendredi et le samedi). Même si l'on voit des hommes habillés à l'occidentale, ils sont très peu nombreux. La dishdasha blanche est vraiment l'habit commun partagé par tous les hommes. La dishdasha, qui n'a pas de capuche, se distingue par un petit pompon accroché au col, la furakha, qu'on imbibe de parfum. Et croyez moi, les omanais en abusent! "ça sent le pompon" est une expression qui est maintenant passée dans notre langage commun, à mon mari et moi.
Autre incontournable de la tenue masculine, la kuma, ce petit couvre-chef rond, la plupart du temps blanc rehaussé de motifs aux couleurs vives. Le keffieh est aussi porté (mais sans le cordon appelé agal dans les pays arabes), et il est plutôt arboré par ceux dont les racines sont dans le désert, de ce que j'en ai compris.
Et les femmes, me direz vous? Voilées, pour certaines en noir intégral (mais pas la burka, plutôt le chador + Abaya), du fait de l'influence de l'Arabie et des émirats arabes unis, alors que le vêtement traditionnel était auparavant plutôt une superposition de robes très colorées. La plupart des femmes que nous avons vues portaient plutôt une tenue neutre, un voile uni sur les cheveux, mais le visage découvert. Nous avons vu aussi beaucoup de saris et de voiles colorés, il ne faut pas oublier que 40% de la population est constituée d'immigrants indiens, népalais, bengalais, qui travaillent beaucoup dans le tourisme, l'hôtellerie et la restauration, les services, mais aussi tous les travaux ouvriers.
Je précise qu'en tant que touriste il n'y a aucune pression pour porter un voile, jamais de regards désapprobateurs d'aucune sorte. Bien sûr, on gardera pour la terrasse de l'hôtel les mini shorts, les décolletés plongeants, les épaules et ventres dénudés, mais j'ai envie de dire que c'est pareil pour les hommes et les femmes et que le soleil étant vif c'est aussi meilleur pour la peau.
Voici pour cette introduction ! Au prochain post, je vous parlerai de mon itinéraire et on pourra se lancer!
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.
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
C’est une ville ancienne qui respire, c’est une source qui vit.
Ici, pas de pancartes kitsch du genre « Tu me manques à Fengyu », ni de faux objets anciens fabriqués à la chaîne.
Les maisons centenaires portent encore les traces du vent et de la pluie；le matin, on entend les coqs chanter，et au crépuscule, la fumée s’élève doucement des cuisines.
Cette ville n’essaie de plaire à personne：comme l’eau de source qui la traverse, elle continue simplement de vivre, à son propre rythme.
Située dans le comté d’Eryuan, dans la préfecture de Dali au Yunnan, la ville ancienne de Fengyu est classée ville historique et culturelle nationale. On la surnomme la « terre des lettrés et de l’encre »：sous la dynastie Qing, l’académie Fengxiang a formé quatre jinshi et onze juren aux examens impériaux. Les familles bai y ont fait de l’étude et du travail de la terre un véritable héritage. Même les jours de marché, on y trouve des étals de calligraphies et de peintures, tandis que les linteaux et les murs-écrans sont couverts de maximes familiales.
Fengyu était aussi une étape importante de l’ancienne route du thé et des chevaux. Elle conserve le deuxième plus grand ensemble architectural bai de Chine, juste après Xizhou. Le célèbre voyageur Xu Xiake y a passé sept jours et l’a comparée au « paradis des fleurs de pêcher ».
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!!!
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:
Le dernier carnet sur le Turkménistan date de 2019. Voici donc un court retour sur ce vaste pays désertique qui se visite un peu plus facilement qu'auparavant.
C'est mon premier carnet. Si vous avez des questions, n'hésitez pas. Le pays s'ouvre lentement mais il est possible de visiter des sites où vous serez tout seul. En 5 jours, j'ai vu 2 hongkongais, quelques allemands et un chilien au cratère, 10 chinois dans un bazar de la capitale, et c'est tout !
Il est possible de visiter le Turkménistan depuis l'Ouzbékistan. Le plus simple et le plus économique est de se rendre en taxi jusqu'à la frontière depuis Boukhara. Le trajet prend un peu plus d'une heure.
Le passage de la frontière est assez long puisque de nombreux Turkmènes ramènent des objets achetés en Ouzbékistan afin de pouvoir les revendre au Turkménistan. Par exemple des couches, des produits pour bébés ou des produits de beauté.
Il m'a fallu plus de 2h30 pour franchir la frontière. Il est obligatoire pour visiter le Turkménistan d'avoir un guide et de passer par une agence de voyage. Les agences britanniques proposent souvent des séjours de trois, cinq ou sept jours à plus de 1 500 ou 2 000 euros.
Mais si votre budget est plus limité, il vous suffit de contacter quelques agences turkmènes directement par mail qui vous feront une proposition entre 700 et 1 300 euros pour trois à sept jours. J'ai pris un séjour de 5 jours de Turkmenabat dans le Nord-Est du pays jusqu'à Dashoguz dans le Nord. L'objectif est de visiter les principaux sites classés à l'Unesco, dont Merv, et les sites archéologiques comme Nisa ou Gonur Tepe.
Votre guide sera également le chauffeur. Il viendra vous chercher à la frontière. Les formalités sont très longues car les douaniers doivent multiplier les tampons et l'obtention du visa que vous avez préalablement demandé à votre agence de voyage nécessite plusieurs contrôles. Mais le passage se fait relativement aisément même si chaque étape est assez longue.
Une fois de l'autre côté, première surprise, l'autoroute est très récente jusqu'à Turkmenabat. Une très longue file de camions s'étend sur plusieurs kilomètres du côté turkmène afin de pouvoir passer la frontière et aller en Ouzbékistan. En effet, selon mon guide, les camions turkmènes transportent du gaz, du coton (pas à cette saison puisque la récolte a lieu en septembre), mais ont surtout un réservoir plein car le prix du carburant est beaucoup moins cher au Turkménistan. Un plein pour une voiture vaut à peu près 3 euros, ce qui est défiant toute concurrence.
Depuis le poste frontière de Farap, l'objectif est d'atteindre la ville de Mary qui abrite dans sa banlieue, à une trentaine de kilomètres, le site classé à l'UNESCO de Merv. Cette cité est connue comme étant une fondation d'Alexandre le Grand au IVe siècle avant Jésus-Christ sous le nom d'Alexandrie de Margiane. Plusieurs forteresses sont visibles.
Après plus de trois heures de route, nous déjeunons dans un restaurant turc qui s'appelle Aladdin. Plusieurs citations du président sont visibles sur l'autoroute, mais la route est de qualité et on avance aisément. Ce sera de loin la meilleure route du pays. ça se gâtera largement par la suite.
Les ronds-points sont particulièrement intéressants puisqu'on y retrouve des emblèmes de la culture turkmène, soit le chien, soit un tapis, soit le cheval Ahal Teke soit des symboles musulmans, même si la présence d'artefacts islamiques est assez réduite.
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
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.
When we started looking for a summer destination a few months ago, our first criterion was to avoid extreme heat and heatwaves. We had already been to Norway two years ago and are considering going back in the future for other occasions. So, we had some fun asking ChatGPT which destinations enjoyed a mild climate during the summer without going too far. Among the list provided by the AI were the Canary Islands... The idea of a place we wouldn’t have thought of first, both not too far away and exotic enough, appealed to us: “Hmm, why not?”
This destination had never really attracted me, though Magali was a bit more interested. Five years earlier, COVID had caused a short break in my professional activity, and I had planned a trip because the flight price was attractive, and I was looking for a destination different from what usually appeals to me, more than out of deep interest. From a distance and with a social judgment I acknowledge (it’s not great, but it’s not completely wrong), I had the image of a destination for party-goers enjoying the sun without the slightest interest in local culture, with concrete coastlines and denatured landscapes—everything I detest the most. Still, I had done some quick research on the different islands and spotted Lanzarote for its beautiful volcanic landscapes, hiking trails, beaches, and the impression of a good balance between activity and fewer crowds than Tenerife or Gran Canaria. Then I dropped the idea of going, without ever reconsidering traveling to the Canaries...
Until now! Because we started researching the different islands of the archipelago to see which ones might appeal to us the most. It was La Gomera, the third smallest island of the archipelago, more praised for its hiking trails and preserved nature than for its beaches, away from mass tourism (fifty times fewer tourists than Tenerife) but still a bit more developed than its wild neighbor El Hierro, that caught our attention. Contrary to what might be suggested later, I’m not at all addicted to AI, but I use it from time to time to synthesize quick research or simply for experimentation. Since ChatGPT had started anticipating my tastes lately as if it had become my buddy (often successfully, sometimes off the mark), I asked which Canary Island would suit me best for a trip with my family. The tool answered first with... La Gomera. So, I tested it and teased it a bit to see if this suggestion was well-founded, as the method sometimes makes it contradict itself. But no luck: “You’d appreciate the wild nature of El Hierro, but with family, you’ll find little activity for the kids. You won’t like the touristy vibe of the big islands like Tenerife, Gran Canaria, Lanzarote, and Fuerteventura. You could consider La Palma, but it’s really La Gomera that will suit you best, based on your interests and the criteria given.” So, we dug deeper into our research and were convinced without a shadow of a doubt that this island was the one waiting for us.
Without knowing it, we had Canarians in our circle who revealed their origins when they heard about our travel plans. One from Tenerife insisted we’d be better off choosing Tenerife (obviously...) because it also has preserved spots and that La Gomera, “you can explore it in two or three days, you’ll get bored quickly...” The other, a colleague from Gran Canaria who had never visited La Gomera, still recommended it without hesitation because it turned out her parents had just gone there on vacation: they loved it and had encountered few tourists. She also tended to think this destination was usually the subject of short stays, but according to what her parents told her, taking your time there was also a great idea. However, in our research, the idea that La Gomera is an island you can explore in three or four days max kept coming up. So, we considered combining its visit with La Palma or El Hierro, the other two that caught our eye. But hopping between islands by ferry represents a significant budget for non-Canarians, even more so for a family of four. Then, scrutinizing Google Maps, it seemed obvious that two weeks were too short to discover two islands as they deserve, and that there seemed to be plenty to see in La Gomera, given its very unique culture. After all, we read that some people spend several months a year there, others never even leave... Finally, these landscapes and this atmosphere, which seemed to us a mix of Europe, North Africa, and Latin America, tempted us. So, it would be two weeks in La Gomera, deal!
La Gomera is therefore the second... well, the third smallest island of the Canaries since La Graciosa was recently recognized as a fully inhabited island. It has the shape of a rough circle about 20 to 25 kilometers in diameter and has just over 20,000 inhabitants, half of them in its capital, San Sebastián de la Gomera, the only real town. Like its Canarian sisters, La Gomera is a volcanic formation that rose about 10 million years ago. The island is very mountainous and rugged, covered with red and black rocky landscapes. Geological activity has shaped, between the sprawling massifs that end in steep cliffs in the ocean, six coastal valleys with tropical vegetation that have favored human settlement. They divide the island like slices of a cake; from the north clockwise: the agricultural Vallehermoso, the rustic Agulo, the green, humid, and fertile Hermigua, the sunny capital San Sebastián de la Gomera, the southern and isolated Alajeró-Santiago, and the seaside Valle Gran Rey. They constitute the six municipalities (more like cantons to our French understanding) of the territory.
The large solidified magma massifs that shape the heart of the island have created a large depression more protected from the sun at its center, allowing the growth of a vast laurel forest, today grouped within the Garajonay National Park, La Gomera’s green lung, which has earned it the status of a World Biosphere Reserve. Its completely European appearance contrasts sharply with the rocky and tropical landscapes of the rest of the island. Thus, the climate varies greatly from one point to another on the island: in summer, you can quickly go from a dry and sunny valley at 35°C to a humid forest area at altitude at 18°C.
La Gomera was populated late. As with the rest of the Canaries, human presence is thought to have begun about 2,000 years ago. Groups of animist Berbers, probably fleeing persecution, gradually populated the archipelago, especially the western islands and La Gomera, becoming its small aboriginal population: the Guanches (or later Gomeros). The animist and pastoral civilization of the Guanches thrived until the Spanish takeover in the 15th century, which, after a short period of harmony and mixing with the indigenous people, suddenly ended in bloodshed... La Gomera later became the “Columbus Island” after Christopher Columbus’s stopover, increasing the blending of populations. In the 20th century, many Gomeros emigrated to Cuba and other Latin American countries in search of a better life, bringing back a mix of cultures and traits quite palpable in today’s Gomeran culture. It is, however, in La Gomera that the vestiges of Guanche culture seem to have left the most traces, in the language, gastronomy, social practices... Moreover, most Gomeros, especially in remote villages, have a particular identifiable type and proudly claim their ancestral roots, even making La Gomera a bit exotic in the eyes of other Canarians.
Perhaps that’s why it has never really wanted to develop its tourist infrastructure too much. If we set aside the tourists who visit for the day by bus or boat from Tenerife on a marked itinerary (and whom we ultimately rarely encounter), La Gomera has remained a hidden gem, a destination focused on nature discovery that attracts hikers, nature-loving divers, and scientists for its fauna and flora, and to a lesser extent, beachgoers who don’t seek overly developed coastlines. Tourist activity is therefore limited. Roughly speaking, you’ll find a majority of Spaniards, including a substantial number of residents from other Canary Islands, many Germans who have a particular fondness for La Gomera and spend long stays there or own second homes, to the point that the German cultural footprint is clearly noticeable in some places (it’s said to be Angela Merkel’s favorite holiday spot), and still quite a few French. The presence of other nationalities seemed negligible to us. Most travelers come mainly for hiking, but it’s also a prime spot for whale watching. Additionally, the seaside resorts of La Gomera—San Sebastián, Santiago, and especially Valle Gran Rey—are well-known destinations for hippies, especially German ones, ranging from chic boho hippies to old-school hippies who’ve been there for decades, quite similar to those you’d meet in India in Goa, Rishikesh, or Paharganj. Thus, practices like naturism, vegetarianism, and local organic production are quite well established in some areas.
Some practical info:
- The round-trip flight from Paris to Tenerife cost us 365 € per person (outbound with Transavia, return with EasyJet), including checked luggage and three seats reserved side by side.
- We chose two bases to explore the island: one week in Valle Gran Rey, reputed to be the most pleasant of the three seaside resorts, and one week in Hermigua, more mountainous and close to the natural park. We booked two houses with balconies and views: the first at 120 € per night, the second at 99 €.
- The round-trip ferry between Tenerife and La Gomera cost us 270 € with the company Baleària Canarias, including discounts for children aged 4 and 12, but I don’t have the exact details. It was a bit cheaper than with the other company, Fred Olsen.
- Finally, we rented a car through the agency Cicar for 360 € for 16 days, which comes to 22.50 € per day.
- Apart from that, we didn’t plan anything and decided the day before or even the morning of what we wanted to do. We didn’t invest in any paper guide on the Canaries, as information on La Gomera was scarce, but we used the very comprehensive site La Gomera Travel, a travel guide published by the Canary Islands Tourism Council, a real goldmine of almost exhaustive information on the island.
Alright, off we go for 16 days of adventure discovering La Gomera!
If you're looking for great tips and offbeat spots, if you love exploring uncharted parts of a country, if the exotic is your adrenaline, then move along!
Our 15 days in early May in this part of Turkey (a country I first discovered during a city trip to Istanbul in 2017) will only tread well-worn paths and revisit popular routes. Simply because I kept hoping until the very end that our flight to Jordan wouldn’t be canceled. Events in the Gulf proved me wrong, so we left with:
Zero preparation.
Not a single hotel booked (well, except the first one), no visits planned, just a flight ticket bought three weeks earlier. No guidebook, no app—just the desire to explore southern Turkey and Cappadocia, whose images and the chance to stretch our legs had caught my eye.
Oh, wait—I did bring along a new guide: Gemini! Yes, my friends, generative AI was my chief advisor throughout the trip for sites to visit, accommodations, routes, and even restaurants! An experiment I wanted to try to form my own opinion on using this new technology. And what better way to test it than a Turkish getaway?
The verdict? You’ll have to wait for the trip recap to find out!
The main idea of the trip is also relaxation.
So, the plan is Antalya for a few days, the Turkish Riviera for a few more, Cappadocia as the highlight, and a return via Antalya to wrap up the trip. And it was all planned by AI!
So, if you're ready, fasten your seatbelts—cabin crew, doors to automatic and cross check—boarding for Turkey now!
Il arrive souvent qu'on nous demande quoi visiter en Belgique .
Et les réponses ramènent le plus souvent à Bruges , Gand, Anvers et Bruxelles , avec raison , ces villes valant la peine d'être visitées 😉 .
Toutefois, la Belgique, bien que petite , ne se limite pas à ces 4 villes .
J'habite l'une d'entre elles ( Bruxelles) , passe avec plaisir du temps dans les trois autres , mais j'ai envie d'aborder d'autres coins moins connus , qui pourront compléter le séjour de ceux qui ont envie d'en voir un peu plus , ou de voir autre chose .
C'est qu'entre deux voyages , j'aime bien visiter l'un ou l'autre coin du pays où j'habite .
D'où l'idée d'un carnet de balades .
La plupart des endroits dont je vais parler peuvent être visités en faisant l'aller-retour le même jour , au départ de Bruxelles , que ce soit en transports en commun ou en voiture .
Dans l'ordre chronologique des sujets abordés :
- Le barrage de la Gileppe ( province de Liège) -message 2 , page 1
- Le domaine de La Hulpe ( Brabant wallon ) - message 3 , page 1
- Malines ( province d'Anvers ) message 4 , page 1
- La côte - message 5 , page 1
- Le Westhoek , au départ de La Panne - message 6 , page 1
- Le Zwin, au départ de Knokke - message 7 , page 1
- Lier ( entre Malines et Anvers ) - message 8 , page 1
- Mons (Hainaut) - message 9 , page 1
- La région de Florenville . - message 12 , page 1
- Les Cantons de l'Est - message 13 , page 1
- Dinant - message 18 , page 1
- Le jardin japonais d'Hasselt - message 24 , page 2
- Louvain message 29 , page 2
- Louvain-la-neuve - message 32 , page 2
- Ostende - message 42 (page 3) et message 166 (page 9)
- Les floralies de Grand-Bigard . - message 43 , page 3
- Le bois de Halle -message 44 , page 3
- Les pralines - message 54 , page 3
- Charleroi - message 68 , page 4
- Namur - message 92 , page 5
- Le Bois du Cazier ( Marcinelle) - message 95 , page 5
- Les couques et les gozettes - message 96 , page 5
- Liège - message 99 , page 5
- Tournai - message 115 , page 6 .
- Audenarde ( Oudenaarde ) - message 121, page 7
- Jardin botanique de Meise - message 124, page 7 .
- Tongres ( Tongeren ) - message 125 , page 7 .
- Château de Beersel ( Brabant flamand) - message 126, page 7 .
- Bruxelles confinée ( messages 150 et 154 , page 8 )
- L'hôpital Notre Dame à la Rose , à Lessines ( messages 161 et 162 , page 9 ) .
- Westende ( message 167, page 9)
je complète cette liste au fur et à mesure de l'avancement du carnet ...
This travel journal is therefore intended solely for my photos, to present a consistent style.
All the shots were taken with a simple Samsung Galaxy smartphone and with whatever was at hand.
All stays combined, I’ve spent the equivalent of a year at most in Thailand, and I’m no great expert.
However, after many trips, lots of reading on VoyageForum and other sites, and conversations with many locals as well as expats, my view of the country is becoming clearer, though it’s constantly evolving. You never stop discovering and learning.
I guess I wanted to deliver a puzzle, mainly for those who want to get an idea of the country here and for those who feel nostalgic about it.
I don’t know if this minimalist sharing will interest anyone, but it’ll do me good to put it together. After so many months without traveling and then these other long months with VF closed, there’s plenty of material available.
There’ll be a mix of places, periods, and subjects, but it might well be intentional.
I suspect many Thais have dogs because they make excellent guardians for the home. Nothing better to deter burglars or to signal the presence of a snake. You’ll often see Thais tapping the top of their dog’s head, but don’t be fooled: it’s a sign of affection from them. Judging by the dogs’ reactions, they’re used to it.
Thailand is one of the countries on the planet where rabies is still present, so keep that in mind. It’s not just bites that can be dangerous, so don’t let just any dog lick you. Especially on a wound, of course.
Even though dogs often fear humans—this dangerous and unpredictable predator—we still need to stay cautious.
Be careful when walking into alleys because the dog will defend its master’s big yard. Be careful at night, and be careful when they’re in packs.
It sometimes crosses our minds that Thailand isn’t all that made for walking around, and dogs are one of the reasons.
That said, it’s not uncommon to see them chasing bikes or scooters. Cars, though? Much rarer—they’re too big.
It seems Thais prefer to give their dogs freedom by not locking them behind gates. Though sometimes the gate is closed, the little side door is wide open. Oh, and sometimes there’s no gate in front of the property, or it’s been full of holes for years.
You’ll often see dogs sleeping on the roadside, sometimes right on the road. When you approach, they move aside nonchalantly—or not at all. It’s less funny when they suddenly appear from thick vegetation, reminding visitors not to drive too fast. As a result, you’ll notice that dogs with injuries or missing legs aren’t that rare.
Since they believe in reincarnation and respect for all forms of life, they don’t chase dog packs away too much, and they don’t sterilize them enough. When you see a small pack roaming freely in the countryside, you think twice about running into them at the edge of a field.
A darker side of this is that euthanasia isn’t often practiced. Twice, we saw dogs at death’s door in temples, enduring terrible suffering with no one to help. The image (and the smell) of one of them, agonizing and exuding the stench of death, still comes back to me sometimes.
Some of you may have seen the YouTube vlog of a French woman living in Phuket who was given a little pig by her Thai friends. The animal, well-fed, quickly became a happy and enormous beast with its own garden. Yet it didn’t take long for it to fall seriously ill and become incurable. In her video, the French woman described how difficult it was to find a vet willing to perform euthanasia.
You’ll often see bowls by the side of the road. Thais leave food and water there for stray cats and dogs. Overall, they have a big heart for animals.
If you ever pop into a shopping mall, you might see people pushing their small dogs in strollers. It’s not just for fun—these strollers are provided for customers to put their pets in, otherwise you can’t bring them inside. It looks a bit odd when you expect to see a baby.
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...
January 2026
Here we go again for new adventures and the pleasure of sharing them with you here! First of all, I’d like to thank everyone who helped me with the preparations, even with some last-minute improvisations just days before departure. Thanks to Montagnard74, Jojoone1, Songsam, Attila, Dennis2, NadegerFERM, and the authors whose travel journals about Laos inspired me (Montagnard74, Muriel18, Mavietongs...).
In this story, written by Richard and illustrated by me, we’ll tell you about the journey of four friends: Catherine, Richard, Nathalie, and Bruno. A reinvented but overall successful trip, filled with discoveries and surprises, the scents of spices and frangipani flowers, (too) spicy food, sunsets, and... one big mess.
I’d been wanting to discover Sulawesi for years. But then life happened—COVID, the cost of flight tickets, you name it. Long story short, years went by, but we finally set off as a family for a three-week trip in southern Sulawesi: Rammang Rammang, Rantepao, Sengkang, Bira, and Selayar.
I like to spend a good amount of time in the places I visit, giving myself the chance to really get to know the area and meet locals. So no island-hopping this time—just the south. But when I say "just," it’s not restrictive at all, given how rich this island is in landscapes, little encounters, and magical moments.
Wednesday 07/08 - Thursday 07/09:
We left Montpellier for what was supposed to be five flights, though we only took four to start, landing in Jakarta.
We picked up our luggage there to catch a flight to Makassar the next day. That’s the only way we could get an affordable ticket (702 €).
I won’t bore you with the flight details—there’s not much to say. We arrived at 7 PM and considered heading straight to Makassar that evening. But we opted for a recovery night before taking off again. Good thing we did, because my son’s suitcase was missing...
First contact with the locals was a bit stressful—a trip without your luggage isn’t exactly fun. But right away, a woman reassured us: the suitcase was just enjoying some extra time in Singapore. Maybe it was doing some last-minute shopping. Anyway, nothing serious—it was supposed to arrive at 9 AM the next day. That gave us some breathing room since our flight wasn’t until noon.
So off we went to our hotel (Days Hotel & Suites) near the airport. It was cheap (40 € for three rooms—my kids are older and need their space), but it wasn’t worth much more. The place had definitely seen better days. But no big deal—we were only there for the night, and... we got to watch France beat Morocco in the World Cup live at 3 AM. That’s what really mattered!
Friday 07/10: In search of the lost suitcase
First challenge of the morning: finding our missing suitcase. They sent us to the airport basement, to the staff entrance. We were greeted with smiles, and an airport employee led me through the underground corridors back to the baggage claim. Right on time at 9 AM, the suitcase arrived, just like they’d promised. We were finally complete!
Off we went to change terminals, grab a well-deserved meal, and board our fifth flight to Makassar.
Little side note: I struggled for a while trying to book domestic flights directly on the airlines’ websites with no luck. Without meaning to advertise (though I guess I am a little), I realized it’d be easier to use sites like tiket.com or Traveloka. That turned out to be a great choice—I even ended up booking hotels through them later in the trip.
12:40 PM: We were on our way to Makassar. First good news: we were the only tourists. Well, the only European tourists on the flight, anyway.
No, you’re not dreaming—the bag is full of... potato chip packets.
To each their own souvenirs, I guess...
When we arrived in Makassar, a driver was waiting to take us straight to Rammang Rammang: 250,000 IDR (12 €) to our guesthouse (Rammang Rammang House). Forget about meeting people on the bus—we were headed straight to the first stop of our trip, and it was already stunning.
My kids’ guesthouse:
Ours:
View of the little lake:
But not everything is straightforward around here.
I wanted to get a local SIM card for internet and calls. I found them expensive at Jakarta’s airport (20 € for 20 GB), so I decided to wait. Well, no luck in Rammang Rammang either. You can’t just buy one from the local shop—you need a Telkomsat store (they have the best coverage). So we’d have to wait for Rantepao to get Wi-Fi... When I say "local shop," I mean the little shack around the corner. No big deal—we’d find one easily in Rantepao for 5 € and 25 GB. So there we were, offline, just the four of us enjoying the amazing view.
Saturday 07/11: Rammang Rammang
We woke up early to the sound of wedding music blasting through the village (everyone’s invited!). Off we went to explore the area.
A little walking, a little boat ride (shared with a French tourist and a Polish one—yes, there *are* tourists here, just not many; 750,000 IDR for up to 8 people) through a lovely canal, and we discovered the karst site. It was peaceful and beautiful.
The river:
The karst site:
Okay, Palermo—we know it. We go there to marvel at the architectural wonders born from the Arab-Norman-Byzantine-Gothic mix. And rightly so. We also go to treat our taste buds to all kinds of delights, both savory and sweet. Again, rightly so. We go to succumb to the charms of Palermo’s women, their sun-kissed skin glowing with golden highlights. Still, rightly so. And all while fantasizing about a mafia we’ll never actually see. Anyway.
But you’ll also find street art everywhere, even in the historic center. Sometimes, you just need to step a few meters away from the main tourist highways like Cassaro, Via Maqueda, or the main arteries of the Ballarò, Capo, or Vucciria markets to stumble upon some amazing murals. Duck into one or two slightly grimy alleys, weaving past trash and crumbling walls, and you’ll find real gems.
For example, just 50 meters south of the main artery of the Mercato del Capo, there’s a great spot with dozens of murals in a tiny neighborhood of run-down mini-houses. You’ll find plenty more south of the Mercato di Ballarò, in the Albergheria (the grittier side, not the one near Cassaro). There’s some in Ballarò itself too, but it’s hard to spot when the market’s in full swing with stalls everywhere. La Kalsa isn’t left out either, nor is Vucciria—just step away from the restaurant-packed streets.
Here are a few examples that really caught my eye.
(In the heart of Albergheria, on a street every visitor walks down—lovely message from an unidentified artist)
We landed in Victoria Falls, Zimbabwe, and headed straight to Kasane in Botswana to pick up our car.
Our vehicle is a 4x4 because in Zambia, it's practically impossible to use anything else, especially in the national parks. I’ve already had the pleasure of visiting South Luangwa National Park—it’s one of the reasons for this trip, the main one being to travel in Africa with one of my sons.
First stop: Livingstone on the banks of the Zambezi River. Along the way, we discovered a lovely restaurant at Socrates with a super-friendly owner (we’ll actually stop there again on our way back). We spent our first night in the rooftop tent after a stunning sunset, accompanied by the grunting of hippos in the river.
The next day, we set off early, heading to Kafue NP. In fact, we’ll always leave early—waking up between 5:00 and 5:30 AM and hitting the road an hour later. Kafue is a lesser-known park, mostly forested, and the animals are skittish because they’re not used to human presence. We crossed the park from south to north and came across various antelopes. Near Lake Itezhi-Tezhi, there are plains where wildlife is easier to spot.
After Kafue, we headed to South Luangwa. This journey requires stops in Mumbwa and Petauke. Two pleasant stops where we found lodges (a nice change from the rooftop tent) at affordable prices and met welcoming people.
For me, South Luangwa is Zambia’s most beautiful park—the river is stunning, the landscapes are gorgeous, and there’s a wide variety of wildlife, including, of course, big cats. A tip for those, like us, who aren’t with a guide: if you’re staying near the park for several days, don’t hesitate to do a "game drive" to scout out where the animals are so you can return the next day with your own vehicle. Of course, in the dry season, you’ll want to focus on waterholes to see the animals—and you’ll need a bit of luck too. The elephant population is growing, and we were lucky enough to see around sixty elephants crossing the Luangwa at dawn, spread across several groups. South Luangwa is the westernmost point of our trip, and we’re now heading east to Lower Zambezi.
Lower Zambezi is Zambia’s side of Mana Pools on the Zimbabwe side. We took a boat ride on the Zambezi to see elephants, hippos, crocodiles, and a multitude of birds living along the water and on the river’s islands. The sunset there is also magnificent.
To explore the park, we followed the waterways parallel to the Zambezi, mostly on the western side (see our route). Lower Zambezi is the last park we visit, and the final leg of our trip will be Victoria Falls.
Victoria Falls—or Mosi-Oa-Tunya ("The Smoke That Thunders")—are truly impressive, even during the dry season. We saw the falls from both countries: in Zambia for the overall view and the bridge that serves as the border, and in Zimbabwe to get as close as possible to the most spectacular parts of the falls.
This marks the end of our trip, which, despite a blown tire on the road, went off without any major issues. Zambia is a beautiful country that immerses you in wild, still-preserved nature.
From Southern Shikoku, between land and sea, to the blue waters of Miyakojima and finally Tokyo’s megacity
Hi everyone,
I have to admit, I really hesitated before deciding to write this travel journal... Writing one takes a lot of time and energy, and since this is my 4th trip, I wondered if it would actually interest anyone other than myself (both for the discovery and the writing). But after a few "Are you going to write a journal?" requests and especially the renewed pleasure from reading other travelers’ travel journals about Japan or elsewhere on this forum or elsewhere, I’ve decided to share this 4th installment in the Land of the Rising Sun here.
The itinerary:
27 full days, from late May to late June 2025, right in the middle of the rainy season, including:
-->13 days in Shikoku, from Kochi (Kochi Prefecture) to Matsuyama (Ehime Prefecture)
-->7 days in Miyakojima (Okinawa Prefecture)
-->7 days in Tokyo
The trip was decided on fairly last-minute this year, as usual.
I regularly check flight prices to track fluctuations for this destination, even without concrete plans. Finding a slightly cheaper direct flight (900 €) than what I’d seen in previous months (around 1,200–1,400 € on average) for a Paris-Tokyo route with Japanese airline ANA was too tempting to resist the urge to return to this enchanting country. After long hesitations between exploring the San’in region (Matsue, Tottori, Yamaguchi) and southern Shikoku, the decision was made—I took the plunge! The tickets are booked: Paris to Kochi with a layover in Tokyo, all with ANA, the airline I’d been dreaming of... for 1,120 € per person. Okay, it’s not cheap, but it’s still better than in 2023.
We leave in 2 weeks!! Now it’s just a matter of getting everything ready!
Intense work ahead in these 2 weeks to:
finalize a more precise itinerary and reach an agreement—yep, because even though we both love Japan, our preferences differ slightly, and we have to choose between exploring new places or taking time to revisit beloved spots...
decide how much time to spend in each selected area without rushing while still exploring
research places that might interest us and watch videos about Japan
book accommodations: yes, it’s possible to do this on the spot as we go, but last year, we noticed that last-minute options were pretty expensive, so we’re booking ahead—even if it means keeping a few options open while we decide or see if better deals pop up later
reserve rental cars
order yen
check the weather regularly and wonder if choosing the *tsuyu* (rainy season) was really a good idea—and whether we’ll be stuck in non-stop rain???
What a tough job, right? Traveling to Japan for a month—such a hard life!
Despite this being my 4th trip, the excitement is just as intense as the first time.
The only small downside is that when we booked the flight tickets, there were only a few seats left, so we’re only sitting together on the international return flight. Plus, on the outbound flight, we’ve got the middle seats.
Another lingering question: what French-language films will be available? According to the internet, the selection seems limited.
Oh well, these are just minor details—it’s almost time to fly!
PS: I’ll be posting slowly and irregularly... so for those interested, be patient or maybe set an alert...
Before Our Departure
Preparing for this trip started 9 months before our departure in June. For those planning a similar itinerary, it’s important to book accommodations well in advance, especially in the Okavango and Savuti campsites—otherwise, you might not find any availability.
Introduction
After visiting Zambia three years ago and Namibia and western Botswana a year and a half ago, this year we chose Zimbabwe (Hwange NP) and the northern half of Botswana.
Our flight from Paris was to Victoria Falls with Ethiopian Airlines, with a layover in Addis Ababa. We rented a 4x4 from Bushlore in Kasane, complete with two rooftop tents since there are four of us on this adventure. Bushlore picked us up from our guesthouse to collect our 4x4 and, most importantly, gave us a rundown of the vehicle and its equipment. Pay close attention to what they tell you—it could be crucial if something goes wrong, as it did for us during the trip.
Our Itinerary
We arrived on June 12th at noon. At Victoria Falls Airport, we got our double-entry visa right away—I’d already pre-booked it online on the site https://www.evisa.gov.zw/.
Since our vehicle was in Botswana, we had to cross the border from Victoria Falls into Botswana for the first time.
The next morning, Bushlore picked us up from our guesthouse to collect our 4x4. After completing the formalities, we headed toward Zimbabwe and the town of Victoria Falls.
We woke up early the next morning to be at Victoria Falls at sunrise. The scenery was stunning, but since it was the start of the dry season, the Zambezi was still high, so the falls had a strong flow. This made it hard to fully appreciate their beauty.
In the early afternoon, we left for Hwange NP, where we stayed for 4 days. Two days at Gwango campsite near Dete, followed by two days at Robins Camp. We expected to see more animals at Robins, but that wasn’t the case. In Hwange, we didn’t spot any predators, but we did see plenty of mammals (buffalo, elephants, giraffes, zebras, and antelopes).
After a few days in Zimbabwe, we crossed back into Botswana at Pandamatenga. We stopped at Nata Lodge for a good night’s rest—driving on the dirt roads is exhausting.
We left Nata and headed toward Nxai Pan. The road was sandy but manageable. We made a small detour to admire some beautiful baobabs at "Baines Baobabs." Then we continued to our campsite, Nxai Pan South Camp. Keep in mind that many campsites in Botswana aren’t fenced (except for the shower/toilet areas), so animals can roam freely within the camp. Take precautions, especially after dark.
After our stop in Nxai Pan, we headed to Maun. We decided to break our journey in Maun before heading to Moremi and the Okavango Delta for three reasons: first, we needed to stock up on supplies and fuel for the next 5 days; second, our fridge had broken (luckily, Bushlore has a branch in Maun); and third, the drive from Nxai to our camp in Xakanaxa in the delta would’ve taken too long. I always avoid driving after dark.
We arrived at our Xakanaxa camp on June 21st in the early afternoon. Not wanting to waste time, we booked a boat ride on the Okavango Delta, leaving at 4:00 PM for a 2-hour sunset cruise. For those interested, to the right of the Xakanaxa X1 site, there’s a sign for boat rides. The organizer is very professional and offers prices that are nothing like those of the lodges.
It was a beautiful ride through the delta with a stunning sunset. Being on a boat is much more relaxing than driving on the dirt roads. That didn’t stop us from doing self-drive safaris the next morning and late afternoon, though.
Then came the time to leave the delta and head toward Savuti, a much drier region. And that’s when the toughest part of our trip began. First, we decided to go up via Khwai. The rainy season was over, but the area was still marshy. We had to cross a few small water patches, testing the depth to make sure we could get through. Luckily, a sign on the road pointed us toward a drier route. We reached Khwai without any issues, but then we made a major mistake. Instead of taking the main track toward Mababe Gate to reach Savuti Camp, we took a straight path north and then a right turn to get to our camp. Bad call—we got stuck in the sand, with one rear wheel buried halfway and a front wheel off the ground. We were genuinely scared we wouldn’t get out, especially since we were on a deserted track, 20 kilometers from our destination, with night falling in two hours. This is where paying attention to the vehicle instructions really paid off—we had to use the jack to get out of the mess. The result: we arrived at Savuti campsite just before dark (Distance: 146.3 km, Duration: 9 hours, 56 minutes, and 3 seconds, Average speed: 14.7 km/h, tracked with Osmand). At reception, the staff couldn’t understand how we’d gotten there—we hadn’t passed through any of Savuti’s reserve entry gates.
The next morning, no one felt like driving, so we did a game drive with a guide. I don’t know if it was some kind of reward, but the outing was amazing. We saw three lions and, best of all, a pack of African wild dogs that we had time to admire and photograph. The next day, we did a short self-drive and found one of the lions from the day before drinking at a waterhole. That was the end of our Savuti adventure.
Now we’re heading to Kasane. We returned our vehicle and settled in for our last two nights there. The next morning, since we no longer had a car, we decided to do one last early-morning game drive in Chobe NP. It turned out great—we followed two brother lions and saw plenty of other mammals. The only downside of Chobe is the number of tourists, which was a change from the other parks we’d visited. That said, we’re tourists too, so...
In the evening, we took one last boat ride on the Chobe River to end on a high note with a beautiful sunset.
After a good night’s sleep and plenty of wonderful memories, landscapes, animals, and emotions, it was time to leave. We left early in the morning with the same taxi company as before to cross the border into Zimbabwe one last time and head to the airport, where we took off to return to France.
We all have two lives. And the second one kicks off the day you realize you only have one, with the determination to spend the time you have left on what truly adds sparkle to your life, Kevin! I like to elegantly introduce a trip with a philosophical quote. First, it gives you the illusion that I’m some kind of deep thinker, and second, it lets me fill up the first few lines of my blank page when I don’t know how to tell you I’m diving back into what really lights up my life: another adventure beyond the horizon! And nearly every other year, like a toxic relationship, my horizon tends to take shape in Uncle Sam’s backyard. And this, despite his cousin Donald calling the shots. Speaking of which, it was partly that impulsive guy who pushed us to be just as impulsive and snag our four flight tickets at a ridiculously low price—a direct result of foreign tourism taking a hit from BetaMax’s repeated antics... Four tickets? Who are the other lucky ones? In this case, our lucky ones are actually lucky ladies: My Flo, always up for exploring the world with me on foot, camelback, or scooter, is obviously in on the fun. The other two seats went to our daughters, Sasha and Luna, both thrilled to be part of this new American adventure...
But what’s the American West like in February?... A gamble. Let’s call it Russian roulette since we’re not landing during peak weather season. That’s why we encouraged our transportation and accommodation to get cozy and produce a little camper van, so we can stay ultra-flexible in the face of any weather tantrums. We’ll be roaming in Kara the van with the motto "Follow the sun!" Bad weather? We bolt. Snow? We speed up. Sunny? We act like it was the plan all along and soak it up.
"Okay, but why keep coming back to the same corner of the globe? After ten American adventures, you must be tired of seeing the same things, right?" But I’m not crazy, you know!... The American West is like making love to your gorgeous wife over and over, always enjoying it just as much. And contrary to what you might think, the American West isn’t just the Grand Canyon, Monument Valley, Las Vegas, and Bryce Canyon. Proof is, after ten trips to the U.S., my retinas are still untouched by three-quarters of the places I scribbled on a napkin for this adventure... Oh, and add to that my wife, who I’ve easily converted to my religion, and boom... relapse is even easier! Because yes, we’ve landed in Los Angeles after a sunny flight over Greenland, still under Danish flag for now. And we’re already heading east through the XXL traffic of L.A.’s eight-lane highways, eager to dive into our first discoveries. But first, night is taking over the sky, and second, we’ve been officially awake for 24 hours, so I suggest wrapping up this intro. I’ll tell you more tomorrow morning. Sound good?
This travel journal aims to help future travelers (well, I hope so!), since there’s so little information available about this remote archipelago. Big thanks to Lolodesiles and Ayis for answering my questions while I planned this trip!
Context
This is our fourth trip to Indonesia as a couple—after Java-Bali in 2011, Flores-Komodo in 2013, and Sulawesi in 2016—each time for three weeks. It’s also our tenth trip to Southeast Asia overall.
We’re traveling like we have in previous years: with a rough itinerary that often changes based on who we meet, tips from other travelers, how tired we are, or what we’re feeling in the moment. In the Moluccas, it’ll change constantly, mostly depending on transportation.
Our only accommodation booking: the first few nights in Ambon when we arrive.
Planned route (to be refined on the spot): Ambon - Banda Islands - Lease Islands - Ternate - Tidore - Halmahera (between Sofifi and Tobelo) - Morotai and the neighboring unnamed archipelago.
Flights: Lyon-Paris-Singapore on Air France (428 € round-trip), with good meals, champagne, and wine (we like our little comforts when going on vacation 😏). Then Singapore-Jakarta-Ambon on Air Asia and Garuda.
Return flight: Ternate-Jakarta-Singapore on Lion Air, with a 3-day stopover in Singapore before heading home.
Episode 1: Ambon to Banda
Our guesthouse, booked two days before departure, is 45 minutes from Ambon Airport, near Natsepa Beach (northeast of Leihitu). It’s a pretty average beach—quiet on weekdays but packed on Sundays (we saw the difference). It’s lined with warungs.
This rainy day helps us readjust to the atmosphere of this country we love so much.
Our “Solim Guesthouse” is a lovely house with a living/dining room and garden, costing 15 € per night for two, including a hearty breakfast.
Dinner is at Gaba Gaba, a great restaurant just a short walk away, right by the water, recommended by our host. Fun fact: it’s in the Lonely Planet, and it might be the only LP-listed spot in the Moluccas that actually matches the description (the others either don’t exist or have nothing to do with what’s advertised 😠).
For the next two days, the super-friendly owner lends us his scooter. We set off to explore the coastal villages in northern Leihitu (the western part of Ambon Island, which has a weird shape).
Laundry and trucks washed in the same stream.
Liang Beach, described as the island’s most beautiful, is almost gone (climate change or something else?), but the colors are magical.
We continue 25 km toward a snorkeling spot our host recommended, taking a gorgeous, deserted little road through tiny villages in clove plantations (oh, those unforgettable scents!), stunning coves, and dense forest.
We’re greeted dozens of times with “Hello Mister”—a daily routine in the Moluccas. Every time we stop, we pose for photos to be saved on locals’ smartphones. They don’t see tourists often.
We ask for directions to the snorkeling spot (not easy—we only know basic Indonesian like *Selamat pagi*, *siang*, *sore*, and other polite phrases). Not many people know where it is (especially since we never know which village we’re in), but we eventually reach a small village that seems to be the right place. 🙂
We ask a local to take us there by boat (it’s not reachable by land).
The spot is at most 100 meters long, but the coral is in good condition (apparently not dynamited by fishermen, unlike in other parts of this beautiful country where fishing methods are destructive and nature pays the price 😠). The fish are plentiful and diverse. It’s a great start before heading to Banda. We’re happy to have the place to ourselves… though we don’t yet realize we won’t see a single tourist for the rest of the trip!
After two days of rest, we head to Tulehu Port in the morning, aiming for the Banda Islands. We know the journey is often tricky: the Pelni ferry runs twice a month but doesn’t match our dates, the 10-seat Suzi Air plane is always full (you can’t book—you have to show up on Mondays and Fridays), and it’s often canceled due to weather. So we opt for the Tuesday speedboat (which also gets canceled if there are waves or wind), with the next one on Saturday.
We’re used to Indonesian ports—crowded, rusty boats, no English speakers—but we still feel lost. When I ask about the speedboat to Bandaneira, people gesture wildly, someone takes me to the “harbor office,” then tells me there’s no boat, others try to sell me tickets, and some just say, “No boat.”
Luckily, an English-speaking local approaches us and confirms the speedboat is broken. The next one will be Saturday *if* it’s fixed—otherwise, even later. 🤪 😠
We’re crushed. We came here for the Banda Islands… 🙁
We decide waiting five days for a maybe-boat isn’t an option, so we decide to head straight to North Moluccas, which was planned for later. We’re so disappointed we don’t even want to stay in the area. The Lease Islands don’t appeal to us despite what we’ve read, and Seram would deserve its own trip with its remote mountain tribes.
Huge disappointment—we’d been dreaming of Banda for months, with its incredible drop-offs like Bunaken, its islands covered in nutmeg trees, etc. I’d read that Banda is in the world’s top 5, alongside Bunaken (amazing—we went in 2016), Komodo (incredible—we went in 2013), Sipadan, and another spot I’ve forgotten.
We take a taxi back to Ambon (45 minutes) to a travel agency to buy plane tickets to Ternate. There’s a daily ATR72 flight at noon—perfect timing.
Ambon is the capital of South Moluccas (or Central, depending on who you ask!) with 300,000 people. The city doesn’t seem unpleasant, but we don’t stop.
On the plane, there are only about ten passengers for 72 seats. The flight attendants are stunning, as always with Wings Air—clearly, they’re hired for their looks. 😊
Stopover in Bacan—a runway in the middle of coconut trees serving a tiny town—then we fly over countless volcanoes, the last one towering over Ternate.
Bonjour,
De retour sur le forum - et première rédaction d'un espèce de carnet de retour de notre 4ème voyage en Indo.
Contexte : une trentaine de jours, en scooter et en duo, sur Florès (et une petite incursion dans l'archipel de Solor, plus précisément à Lembata (chut, faut pas trop en parler !!!), qui donne envie d'en faire beaucoup plus là bas malgré les infrastructures sporadiques), en partie dans des destinations déjà bien connues du forum (la classique Ruteng / Bajawa / Riung / Moni voir baie de Maumere) ... et qui ne parlera pas du PN de Komodo ou de Wae Rebo, puisque nous n'y sommes pas allés 🏴☠️.
Texte en anglais (issu d'une autre plateforme). Sans nul doute, des traducteurs intelligents ou pas marcheront à merveille en cas d'anglophobie 🤪.
Disponible à toute fin utile pour des détails ou infos.
Equippement : Yam' Nmax 155 ; 2x saccoches cavalières (25L) + sac de selle (30L) + saccoche tunnel (15L pour le matos photo) ; casques et vêtements d'enduro amenés depuis la France.
Itinéraire : boucle depuis Labuan bajo jusqu'à Pulau Lembata ; juillet-août 2026
Road conditions graded from A (excellent) to D (very bad, at least for a Scooter… a CRF/KLX or even honda ADV would do better on that)
D1 : Labuan Bajo – Reok via Ranggoe, Rego & Tagol (130km ; 5hrs). Section LBajo – Rego (90 km ; B) is quite good tarmac, despite a lot of elevation with many small valleys and passes. Rego – Tagol (10km ; D) is a stone road (not gravel), some ascents & very poor condition ; necessary to lower tyre pressure. Tagol – Reok port (22km, quality depends considerably from D to B). Reok port – Towncenter : B. Night @Iffah Homestay (100k for fan room, mandi attached, no breakfast), simple but clean. Notes : path to danau Sano Limbung was closed ; access to Tiwu Pai & Wae Kuli (waterfalls) not permitted in july 2026.
D2 : Reok – Riung via Pota (105km ; 3h-3h30). The road is very narrow in some part, thanks to the uncut bushes (lowering visibility hence extra caution as animals/people can suddenly appear in a turn…) but generally good condition except many eroded sections and some unpaved ones. Grade C/B. 2 nights @Mentos (285k for AC room)
D3 : Boat tour in Riung (booked directly with a captain, 800k for two for private boat incl. lunch and NP fees) + sunset from Watu Mitong Riung (should not be missed).
D4 : Riung – Muku Saki via Mbay (around 100km ; 3h30). Quality varies from A in the vicinity of Mbay to eroded sections (C) in secluded places. Night @Sao Paolo Homestay (250k for fan room with mandi, maybe overpriced but nice house and great food). Note : if you happen to pass by Mbay on Saturday, the market is well worth a stop (cheapest Ikat on the trip : you’ll be asked normal prices providing you’re OK in Bahasa…)
D5 : Muku Saki – Tanjung Kajuwulu (near Ndete) (90km, 3h). Many patholes, eroded (C). Night at Déjà Vu Homestay (220k for a matress on the floor & outside mandi/toilets ; I woud define this as a tourist trap – the quote we had for food was double priced too…)
D6 : Tanjung Kajuwulu – Waiterang (east of Maumere, 55km , 1h30). Pathholes till maumere, then All good (TransFlores), C/A. Night at Sunset Cottage (new concrete room, very serene place ; 270k for AC with bathroom ; much prefered Sunset over Lena House (more customers, more built up).
D7 : Waiterang – Larantuka via Boru and Eputobi (TransFlores ; grade A ; 115km / 2h40). Particularly liked the drink stalls (marked as Rest Area Eputobi) and the out of order aquatic park just before Larantuka (obyej wisata waiplatin). Night @ Dewy Onong Homestay, which is not advertising itself as Larantuka Beach Homestay as some contributor signals here and on goole maps review. Best breakfast of the trip (Cumi Cumi !!!) ; 275k for AC room with bathroom.
D8 : Local Boat (Kapal Kayu) from the main port to Lembata (Lewoleba). Departure 8am ; price 60k/head + 50k for the bike. Stop enroute on Adonara (where we did not stop due to fights between communities). Night @Elmany Homestay (275k for AC room with bathroom, fan room with shared bathroom also available). Whole afternoon at Pantai Hadakewa, fantastic place (good snorkeling, great views of Ile Api aka Gn Lewotolo). Road condition : A (did not expect the TransLembata to be that good…).
D9 : Loop around Ile Api (50km, 2hrs), anticlockwise. Stops enroute at Situs Tulang Paus (whale squeletton), pantai Jotona, pantai Wena (we expected to snorkel from there, but wind was very strong that day), situs Watu Nale, Selat Sonia. The western coast is far less interesting. Road conditions : bad (C) on the eastern side (up to Riangbeda), good (B/A) afterwards. Night @Elmany Homestay.
D10 : Lewoleba – Lamalera via the western and south coast (70km, 2h30). Good road (B) for roughly the first 55km (up to Tapobali), then eroded track for the last 15km (in some parts steep and dangerous) up to Lamalera (D/C). Notes : 1/ Kuma resort denied us the entry for some drink ; 2/Pantai Waijarang « complex » is abandonned but closed with fences ; you can still sneak in ; 3/ some reports advise to skip Bukit Cinta (foreigner entry fee) for Bukit Doa Watomiten (stations of the cross) ; well Bukit Cinta has also been abandonned (well spent money…sic) but remains opened with structures falling (quickly) appart. Night @Lamalera Inn (200k per head including meals ; very basic fan room + attached mandi). Planned 2 nights, spent only one, as it’s the only tenant I had difficulties with (only interested in money, initially stated crazy prices, starts loud music at 6am … and drinking moke at 8am…)
D11 : Trip to Wulandoni for the Barter Market (Saturday only). Bad road (C) along the coast. Had to report at the Kantor upon arrival, which quite surprisingly asked 100k per person (foreigner) to go inside the (outside) market. Other « local » tourists (a group from Jakarta) were not asked to pay. Well, since a market is a public space and not a zoo, we refused payment and enjoyed the activity from the kopi stall next to it. Returned then to Lamalera for the catches of the day, then to Lewoleba via the mountain road (45km, 2 hours). First 10km to Puor is in very bad condition and uphill (D/C). The remaining is on a newly constructed road (A). Note : Air Panas Sabutobo is abandonned and falling apart (again…) but there are still some water pipes along the river that you can enjoy (depending how lucky you are, just with the forest sounds as companion). Night @Elmany Homestay
D12 : Chill day alond the northern coast (Batu Payung, Pantai Hadakewa with lot of snorkeling, drove till Wailolong and backtracked to Pantai Lewolein for more snorkeling (nice canyons there !) and another fantastic sunset over Ile Api (see GMaps pictures)). Night @Elmany Homestay
D13 : Monday weekly market at Pada, southwest of Lewoleba. Renowned but honnestly dont plan any itinerary specifically for it, just an ordinary Kampung weekly market. Returned to Larantuka and Flores with the 12pm local boat (the same boat that leaves from Larantuka at 8am). Same prices as the first leg. Night @ Dewy Onong Homestay
D14 : Larantuka – Waiterang along the northern coast (100km, 3h) via Pantai Kawaliwu, Tewuk Lewokluok (trail is easy to find, very nice snorkelling in a lagoon), Pantai Lato (to my opinion the most beautiful beach on Flores and you’ll be the only visitor, as opposed to Pantai Koka) and Pantai Hia, until rejoining the TransFlores near Nebe. Grade C on the costal eroded road / track. 3 nights @Lena Guesthouse (booked ahead as it fills up quickly, but we prefered its neighbour Sunset Beach Guesthouse)
D15 : Snorkeling trip organised by Lena Guesthouse (200k per head excluding NP fees and lunch)). The drop-off near Pulau Babi is a very nice spot.
D16 : scooter day trip around the Egon Range (too lazy to hike it…), through nice Sikka villages (route : Watublapi, Umauta, Bola, pantai Doreng, Nakatoli, foot of Gn Egon, Air panas Blidit). The track from Natakoli to the foot of Gn Egon is very steep, damaged and wet (with moss) ; I would recommend not to attempt that in case of bad weather.
D17 : Waiterang – Moni (130km, 3h30, transflores grade A/B) via Pantai Koka (refused to pay the mafia entry fee…) and Jopu (some rumah Adat Lio). Stopped at Museum Bikon Blewut, south of Maumere. Very nice artefacts (especially wooden statues from Papuan, great ikat collection) although very disorganized and sadly non-visited (hence masterpieces fall into oblivion). 2 Nights @Liahz Lodge (150k for fan room, basic bathroom… but right next to Air Panas Liasembe (free, no closing time) !!!).
D18 : Sunrise from Kelimutu with a nice weather (stayed until 8.30am). I don’t know if the sunrise is really worth it (lot of people ascending and watching the sunrise – a lot but nothing compared to e.g. Gn Bromo), nearly everyone going down around 7am, then there is virtually nobody. Trip (20km one way, good road B) to Kampung Adat Nggela (Lio). Although the village is habited and mostly out of the beaten path, I have mixed fillings due to the fact that most ladies (some are pushy) try to sell you (bad) pieces of ikat.
D19 : Moni – Ende via Detusoko paddy fields, Kampung Adat Saga (Lio) and Puncak Ndona ; 75km 2h30. We really liked Saga (nice setting on the mountain, friendly villagers, no selling, mix between traditional and more modern houses in that lively village). Sunset from Bukit Raja, on the peninsula with a 360 view on Gn Iya, Gn Meja Kota Ende and the mountains behind. Note : at the end of the road (search for Gunung Meja Tourist Info Center), there is a (sand) track leading to the path. 1/ only intend the track if you have off road driving experience ; 2/ dont trust the walking time stated by Maps.me. Took us 45mins on a steady pace to reach the summit. Night @Hoja Homestay, 300k for a comfortable AC room with bathroom.
D20 : Ende – Bajawa, via Air Panas Mengeruda ; grade A, 120km, 3 hours. Note : don’t plan to short in Mengeruda (Soa), very easy to spend a half day there, especially if playing with local kids. Stay @Cinnamon GH, 250k for double with fan and hot shower (cheaper options with shared hot shower availlable).
D21 : First day in Bajawa : Watu Nari Wowo (Avatar Hill, sic…), Kampung Adat Ngada Tololela & Gurusina (very very friendly people, complementary views of Gn Inerie & Wolo Deru). Sunset from Puncak Manulalu (well… Heaven’s door Bar & Restaurant)
D22 : Second day in Bajawa : Kampung Adat Ngio (hardly visited, best view on Gn Inerie), Air Panas Malanage, Kampung Adat Bena (the most visited Ngada village (after Bela ?) in the area, we went there at the end of the afternoon to avoid tours, early morning would be fine too), and Gunung Wolobobo for a terrific sunset
D23 : returned to Gunung Wolobobo for sunrise with Gn Ebulobo in the distance (search for a track on the eastern slope, near the communication antenna). You can circuit the rim to the usual viewpoint (westside, sunset spot), the path is easy to find. Then took again the road to Aimere, visiting Kampung Adat Belaraghi enroute (the setting is maybe less rewarding than all the previous villages). 56km ; 1h30. The road to Belaraghi is fine, except the final part.
D24 : Aimere – Ruteng (105km, 3h30). Nice detour by the paddy fields of Wodo (southwest of Golo Loni) of Sunset from Golo Curu (nice encounters with locals). Night @Tange GH, 130k for room with outside (private) bathroom, no breakfast.
D25 : Surroundings of Ruteng (paddy fields north and east of ruteng ; Maps.me has funny tracks starting from Kenda), and the rather pleasant city itself (pasar, churches, lapangan). We finally skipped Liang Bua.
D26 : Ruteng - Labuan Bajo (130km, 3h30). No visits of the waterfalls close to the TransFlores (entry fee (with bule prices) + mandatory guide etc…). Sunset from Bukit Hercadi with very few locals (Bukit Sylvia & Bukit Amelia, just south, were packed). 2 nights @Wellamas Homestay, away from the harbour and its advantages/disadvantages. 230k for comfortable AC room with hot shower.
D27 : New road to Golo Mori Convention Center (another big money well spent…), with nice views on the strait separating Flores from Pulau Rinca. Some empty beaches (e.g. Pantai Pasir Pajang ; we were there on a weekday perhaps frequented by people from LBajo only). 30km (40 mins) one way, perhaps the fastest road of Flores…
D28 : Morning on the peninsula north of Labuan Bajo before taking a flight to Jakarta in the afternoon. On Google maps, the asphalt road only goes to Teras Langit ; it now (august 2026) continues to Puncak Basok and is still in progress towards the eastern part of the peninsula. On the way back, two other nice Bukit where you can enjoy nice views on the bay (and the resorts…) : Bukit Lontar & Bukit Beta. Note : we only found one public (and nice and quiet) beach in the area ; tagged as Sunset Point Beach on Gmaps. All the rest was closed by fences ; they are privately owned (although the Indonesian consitution grants the coastline as public space).
We're a family of five: one dad, one mom, and three kids aged 10, 15, and 18.
Before diving into each stop in more detail, here are a few general thoughts:
We wanted to sample a bit of everything Japan has to offer in terms of landscapes, accommodation, and transport. We were after walks, temples, restaurants, shopping, and some downtime—but no "all-inclusive experiences" or museums for this first visit.
Three medium-sized (60x42x25) canvas suitcases, plus a duffel bag and a few small backpacks. 23 kg in the hold on the way out, 60 kg on the way back. 36 kg of shopping, without even trying. I think this is the maximum suitcase size if you don’t want to stress on the Shinkansen: they fit easily in the overhead racks.
Round-trip with Cathay Pacific, layover in Hong Kong: no need to collect luggage in Hong Kong—we checked it in at departure and picked it up in Tokyo, and the same on the way back (checked in Osaka, picked up at our final destination). This let us explore Hong Kong without worrying about our bags. Food and entertainment were pretty good—meals included a little Häagen-Dazs on each flight, and the entertainment had way more Asian cinema than you’d find on a Western airline, which was a nice way to see how much weight Western culture carries in Asia.
The original plan was to fly directly from Ishigaki to Hong Kong, but due to Typhoon Dolphin, we had to cancel the Ishigaki leg. Cathay didn’t bat an eye about swapping the Ishigaki-HK flight for an Osaka-HK one, even though it was twice as long.
We were a bit too attached to the idea of ending the trip with some beach time and replaced Ishigaki with Shirahama. It was a mistake—we should’ve visited Hiroshima or spent a little more time in Tokyo instead.
Last February, I made a trip using "public transport" from France to southern Senegal via Spain, Morocco, Western Sahara, and Mauritania.
It’s a journey of about 5,000 km, where I took trains (as far as Marrakech), ferries (to cross Gibraltar and then to reach Casamance from Dakar), and mostly buses on the long desert straightaways. I hadn’t planned any stops in advance or booked any hotels, except for the very first train to Spain, which left plenty of room for the unexpected.
Why travel by land and sea? In recent years, flight-free travel has been gaining popularity. On social media, posts explaining how to cross Europe by train as quickly as possible go viral. Traveling without flying—and making sure people know about it—has become a great way to earn a badge of eco-responsibility: an essential totem for anyone wanting to prove both their dedication to the ecological cause and the wisdom of slow travel.
I haven’t flown in years, and this journey to West Africa could easily be filed under "responsible travel." But it wouldn’t be honest to say that: in reality, it wasn’t really my aversion to flying that motivated this long trek. I see overland travel primarily as a way to experience the world’s geography at a grounded, earthly pace—the pace of the locals. Besides, I’ll be flying back, which disqualifies any claim to being a model of sustainability.
So no eco-badge, and no adventurer’s badge either: you won’t find any heroic tales of camel rides in lost lands or mineral train wagons in this account (popular with influencers, the Mauritania iron ore train now attracts tourists from all over the world, turning "the experience" into something you "have to do at least once in your life"). This five-part story, written on the road, has no other ambition than to recount a journey through places and people, and to share the thoughts they inspire in me. As simply and, I hope, as humbly as possible.
I’m posting the episodes here, which you can also find on my blog (with more photos) at the following links:
Episode 1: Spain, from Avignon to Algeciras
Episode 2: Morocco, from Tangier to Tarfaya
Episode 3: Western Sahara, from Tarfaya to Guerguerat
Episode 4: Mauritania, from Guerguerat to Nouakchott
Episode 5: Senegal, from Rosso to Saloulou
To help those who might want to make the same trip, I’ve also put together a summary of the route with recommendations—you can read it at the end of the story and on the blog:
From France to Senegal Without Flying: Route and Itinerary Recommendations
The second trail follows the bed of a river that winds into an increasingly narrow gorge, eerily reminiscent of Petra’s Siq (minus the smells!). On the steep red walls, magnificent fan palms grow—what a striking contrast of colors, especially since the rock shifts from red to black.
On the way back, we spot some beautiful migratory birds, but the most interesting ones are apparently in the far south of the lake, near the mangroves and marshes. Another reason to come back another time—and for longer!
After this all-too-brief but fascinating excursion, we’re back on solid ground.
A droite, le "marqueur" de l'accueil, ces dattes qu'on vous offre partout en signe d'hospitalité. A gauche, un hommage à ces sublimes portes usées par les temps, qu'on admire un peu partout dans les quartiers anciens, y compris ceux qui sont abandonnés.
L'hospitalité vous conduira à accepter aussi souvent un petit café, un "omani café", très léger, parfumé subtilement avec de la cardamome, pourquoi pas un peu de safran, et éventuellement un peu d'eau de rose.
J'ai ici représenté un homme dans l'habit commun usuel de tous les omanais : la dishdasha, majoritairement blanche (en semaine, en journée, la couleur est davantage pour le soir ou le vendredi et le samedi). Même si l'on voit des hommes habillés à l'occidentale, ils sont très peu nombreux. La dishdasha blanche est vraiment l'habit commun partagé par tous les hommes. La dishdasha, qui n'a pas de capuche, se distingue par un petit pompon accroché au col, la furakha, qu'on imbibe de parfum. Et croyez moi, les omanais en abusent! "ça sent le pompon" est une expression qui est maintenant passée dans notre langage commun, à mon mari et moi.
Autre incontournable de la tenue masculine, la kuma, ce petit couvre-chef rond, la plupart du temps blanc rehaussé de motifs aux couleurs vives. Le keffieh est aussi porté (mais sans le cordon appelé agal dans les pays arabes), et il est plutôt arboré par ceux dont les racines sont dans le désert, de ce que j'en ai compris.
Et les femmes, me direz vous? Voilées, pour certaines en noir intégral (mais pas la burka, plutôt le chador + Abaya), du fait de l'influence de l'Arabie et des émirats arabes unis, alors que le vêtement traditionnel était auparavant plutôt une superposition de robes très colorées. La plupart des femmes que nous avons vues portaient plutôt une tenue neutre, un voile uni sur les cheveux, mais le visage découvert. Nous avons vu aussi beaucoup de saris et de voiles colorés, il ne faut pas oublier que 40% de la population est constituée d'immigrants indiens, népalais, bengalais, qui travaillent beaucoup dans le tourisme, l'hôtellerie et la restauration, les services, mais aussi tous les travaux ouvriers.
Je précise qu'en tant que touriste il n'y a aucune pression pour porter un voile, jamais de regards désapprobateurs d'aucune sorte. Bien sûr, on gardera pour la terrasse de l'hôtel les mini shorts, les décolletés plongeants, les épaules et ventres dénudés, mais j'ai envie de dire que c'est pareil pour les hommes et les femmes et que le soleil étant vif c'est aussi meilleur pour la peau.
Voici pour cette introduction ! Au prochain post, je vous parlerai de mon itinéraire et on pourra se lancer!
Come along, I'm taking you to this country where it's so nice to wander and slow down...
I’m inviting you on a stroll through my drawings—a completely subjective, far from exhaustive, and totally personal take, since it’s based on my own sketches. I put this travel journal together after returning in late 2024, mostly using felt-tip pens and pencils, with a few collages thrown in. I worked from our personal photos.
And in Kyoto, Nishiki Market:
Les ronds-points sont particulièrement intéressants puisqu'on y retrouve des emblèmes de la culture turkmène, soit le chien, soit un tapis, soit le cheval Ahal Teke soit des symboles musulmans, même si la présence d'artefacts islamiques est assez réduite.
Last October, we landed in Marrakech to spend a few days with family exploring Morocco’s roads.
Transport: a rented Dacia.
Accommodations: small guesthouses.
The large solidified magma massifs that shape the heart of the island have created a large depression more protected from the sun at its center, allowing the growth of a vast laurel forest, today grouped within the Garajonay National Park, La Gomera’s green lung, which has earned it the status of a World Biosphere Reserve. Its completely European appearance contrasts sharply with the rocky and tropical landscapes of the rest of the island. Thus, the climate varies greatly from one point to another on the island: in summer, you can quickly go from a dry and sunny valley at 35°C to a humid forest area at altitude at 18°C.
A little sneak peek?
The karst site:
(In the heart of Albergheria, on a street every visitor walks down—lovely message from an unidentified artist)
Laundry and trucks washed in the same stream.
We’re greeted dozens of times with “Hello Mister”—a daily routine in the Moluccas. Every time we stop, we pose for photos to be saved on locals’ smartphones. They don’t see tourists often.
