Travel journals

Slovenia was the originally planned destination for summer 2022, as a complement to a road trip through Croatia and Montenegro. Plans changed on a whim in February of that year. Our Balkans road trip would ultimately be limited to Slovenia and take place over 10 days during the Easter school holidays. Flight tickets and car rental were booked right away; all that was left was to finalize our itinerary, already sketched out, and the accommodation reservations.

I decided to add Plitvice Lakes in Croatia to our program. I really wanted to discover them, and for my husband, it was a chance to revisit them several years after a trip to Yugoslavia when he was a teenager.

I’m happy to contribute to the reopening of our forum by posting this travel journal (originally posted in 2022 on another forum, the text has been partially revised and photos added). As usual, a few photos to start with—maybe they’ll inspire you to join in!

After the wide-open spaces of the American West, we're off to a new destination: Dubai. Not just for a layover, but for a real family vacation!! The question that kept coming up was "why Dubai?" (after why Colorado this summer, people are going to think we're really weird 😅). So, why Dubai? First, because skiing isn’t really our thing anymore—so in winter, we want sunshine 😎. But not just any sunshine—warm enough to swim, which narrows things down a bit 😅. The second constraint this year: Franck can’t take more than a week off (and it’s unpaid), so we’re ruling out destinations with 12-hour flights and jet lag that knocks you out when you get back 😅. The options are getting tighter… So, against all odds, it’s me who ends up suggesting Dubai (my husband’s been nagging me for years about Atlantis and its mega water park—ah, the kids! 😉).

Actually, Dubai only has 2 days of rain a year (you’d have to be *really* unlucky!!), temperatures around 30°C in winter, the sea (oh yeah, I forgot—the sea was something we missed this summer, so it was on our list 😅), a 6/7-hour flight, just 3 hours of jet lag, reasonable family prices, and tons of activities for all tastes. Starting my research with a pretty negative bias, I’m now looking forward to this trip with excitement and impatience… and without spoiling the ending, I won’t be disappointed—our whole family will come back enthusiastic and ready to go back!!

So, I’m taking you along for a week in Dubai at the beginning of March.

October 7, 2023, is a sunny day in Milan. Since morning, in this light, I’m WhatsApping with Afrooz in Tehran, and I decide to call her. A lively, joyful conversation—French with that Farsi accent becomes a wonderful language. Suddenly, everything feels possible. Isfahan, Shiraz, Damavand, Yazd, Yazd, Yazd—a delicious word savored endlessly—become within reach. Iran, so longed for, is finally here. Pure joy, absolute enthusiasm. Six months to plan and relish a trip before living it.

Then I open *Le Monde*.

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

Frozen. Empty. No. We decide to wait, not to give up right away, pretending to believe—just a little, just to keep from collapsing—that with this wretched human race, the worst isn’t necessarily certain. It is.

So... meh, Madeira? The Azores? Uzbekistan (a pale substitute)? New Zealand? Greece. Again, always. Nestling into the only European promise we’ve been given. Indulging in illusions, for the pleasure of it.

So, train from Milan to Ancona (9 AM–12 PM), a typically Marchigiano lunch (Italy is paradise for food lovers), a stroll through the city, then at 4 PM boarding the *Olympic Champion*. Arrival in Patras the next afternoon, car rental, and off to Lepanto—Nafpaktos today—to reminisce about glorious victories and pay tribute to Cervantes, who lost a hand there before writing.

That’s the plan, anyway. The train is unusually on time. The ferry, replaced in the meantime by the *Hellenic Spirit* (why not? Even if it’s less suited to the season), is 3 hours late, then 4, no 5, then finally 6—oh wait, 7. And on top of that, it’s pouring rain in Ancona, and the port waiting room closes at 6 PM. Great...

At 11 PM, the ferry’s lights emerge in the pitch-black night. We jostle through the downpour, board, and sleep well in a cozy cabin with the white noise of the engines. Then:

23 hours of rest. Of forgetting.

Hey there, VoyageForum!!!

I’ve combed through this site up, down, and sideways to plan our two-month road trip across the American Southwest during the summer of 2022, so it only feels right to give back and revive the USA travel journal section—helping others prep, travel, or relive their own memories! 😏

A quick intro to the stars of this trip is coming soon... in an upcoming post!

Table of Contents:

Road trip introduction Day 1 & 2: the days we double-checked all our papers... Day 3 & 3 bis: The day we discovered Denver... Day 4: The day of the race, the carriage, and the little one’s cough... Day 5: the day the road trip truly began... Day 6 & 6 bis: the day of Nature’s first wonders... Day 7: the day the sky fell on our heads... Day 8 & 8 bis: the day we saw ghosts... Day 9: the day we climbed the mountain... Day 10: the day the theme song from "The Last Picture Show" played on loop in my head... Day 11: the day we lived like Native Americans... Day 12: the day we left civilization behind... Day 13 & 13 bis: the day we explored another planet... Day 14 & 14 bis: the day Caro reunited with HER rocks... Day 15 & 15 bis: the day of the fantastic ride... Day 16: the day we cooled off in Lake Powell... Day 17: the day the Colorado River’s meanders were all ours... Day 18: the day we dipped our feet in the Colorado... Day 19: the day the guys discovered true vastness... Day 20 & 20 bis: the day we covered a few acres of Route 66 before sunset... Day 21: the day the credit card said stop... right before the STRIP... Day 22: the day we finally discovered Cirque du Soleil... Day 23: the day we returned to calm... well, almost... Day 24: the day we reached our home base for 6 nights: Saint George Day 25: the day we should’ve explored Yant Flat... Day 26: the day it was 13°C at Cedar Breaks... Day 27: the day we explored The Narrows in Zion NP... Day 28: the day we discovered Snow Canyon... Day 29: the day we hiked to the "SUBWAY"... Day 30: the day we encountered the abyss—from the north this time... Day 31: the day we arrived in a place where dreams begin... Kanab... Day 32: the day we discovered the first treasures along House Rock Valley... 2nd part: the second part of the journey... Day 33: the day we discovered a magical place... Edmaier's Secret... Day 34: the day Cottonwood Road didn’t open up to us... Day 35: the day of the classic Queen’s Garden + Navajo Loop—and another event that became a classic... Day 36: the second day in Bryce... pure bliss!!! Day 37: the day we swam at the foot of Calf Creek Falls... Day 38: the day we took the Burr Trail, even with storms lurking... Day 39: The day of the goblins... Day 40: the day we enjoyed the peaceful Capitol Reef NP... Day 41: the day of the Rim Overlook and another letdown... Day 42: the day we arrived in... Moab... Day 43: the first day in Arches National Park... Day 44: the day of the Fisher Towers... Day 45: the day of Bow Tie & Corona Arches... Day 46: The day of Shafer Trail + Potash Road... Day 47: The second day in Arches NP... Day 48: the day we discovered Colorado NM in a flash... Day 49: the day of Black Canyon... Day 50: the day we passed through Durango before falling for Silverton... Day 51: the day we went through Ouray and ended up in Gunnison... Day 52: the day of Kebler Pass and arriving at the hot springs... Day 53: the day of hot springs II, then the road back to Denver... Day 54: the last day... Day 55: back home and the RECAP...

A little recap of my 28-day solo trip from mid-November to mid-December 2024. CDG to Santiago with Air France, first night near the airport at City Express by Marriott Airport. No shuttle as planned, but I expected it, so on the advice of a kind Chilean, I took Trans Vip at the airport counter. It was great—I’ll download the app—easy, cheap, and on time. The hotel arranged the return trip to the airport the next morning for my flight to Easter Island. I booked my flight with Latam via Booking, as well as my accommodation: Hare o Koro (formerly Vai Kapua, French spoken). Warm welcome with a flower lei and a quick city tour with Marieta and her husband. The place was clean, well-located, and included breakfast. All the tours were done with the family for a very reasonable price (personalized service with fun anecdotes!!). They even gave me souvenirs for the trip back—a great place to recommend! 🙂.

Back to Santiago for a night at Quinta by Wyndham. Again, no shuttle, the room was very comfortable, but no hot water or breakfast due to an early departure. The airport shuttle was fine, but I won’t stay here again. Off to Ushuaia with Aerolíneas Argentinas—I booked the flight directly on their site with a longer layover due to a plane change (tip from a fellow traveler). Took a taxi to Isla Bella, which included lunch. The place was clean, heated, and a nice surprise—Monica speaks French! It’s 15 minutes from the center, but the way back is a steep climb. I booked 3 excursions with the agency Brasileiros em—great experience! Next door, there’s a clothing store where I rented waterproof shoes for the Laguna Esmeralda trek, and I’m glad I did!! After 4 nights, back to Santiago for 1 night at Happy Hostel (breakfast included).

For the experience, I took the Bus Ciktur to Calama—a 22h30 semi-cama ride with a toilet, movies, and TV in the evening, then a 1h30 bus to San Pedro de Atacama. Stayed at Hotel Sonchek, well-located, no breakfast but a shared kitchen with coffee and tea available. Moïssa speaks French and recommended the agency Gato Andino for my excursions—great choice! I ended with the Geysers del Tatio without taking altitude meds, just coca leaf tea! Spent 4 nights there, then back to Santiago with Sky Airlines. Returned to Happy Hostel since it’s well-located in the historic center.

Took the Turistik bus for 2 days (48 €), including the teleferico for Cerro San Cristóbal (the funicular wasn’t working). Valparaíso and Viña del Mar with the same agency—Valparaíso is stunning, but the guide wasn’t great. SKY COSTANERA had an impressive view (18 €). Near the hotel in the Brazil neighborhood, you can eat local and cheap at Foxtim Burger.

All in all, great encounters—the Chileans are friendly and helpful!!!!

ISTANBUL STAY in 2014 - (Full story)

dFrom Monday, March 10, 2014, to Sunday, March 16, 2014.

After my first trip to Istanbul in 1979 by motorcycle (Honda Gold Wing), where I stayed for about ten days at a campsite very close to Istanbul, I wanted to revisit this city that had already charmed me back in 1979.

Our flight from Lyon (6:45 AM) wasn’t direct. Basically, we left home at 3:00 AM, and it takes us about 1 to 1.25 hours to get to Lyon Saint-Exupéry Airport. I always leave a little extra time in case of bad weather (snow) or a flat tire. Our flight departed Lyon on time, heading to Frankfurt with an arrival at 8:15 AM, and a connecting flight to Istanbul at 9:05 AM. Needless to say, you can’t dawdle in the airport to get to your gate—Frankfurt Airport is huge compared to Lyon’s. After a 2-hour, 55-minute flight, we landed at Istanbul Atatürk Airport, followed by a good hour of waiting to clear customs and immigration.



To get to our hotel from the airport, we took the metro and then the tram. When we travel in big cities, I always bring my TomTom GPS, which is super helpful for knowing which station to get off at to be as close as possible to the hotel.



And here it is—our little hotel, "Hotel DARA," just a 5- to 10-minute walk from the Blue Mosque and right next to one of the many entrances to the Grand Bazaar.



Speaking of which, when we arrived in Istanbul in the rain, once we got our room, we headed straight to the Grand Bazaar to take shelter from the downpour. Located along 58 indoor streets accessible through 18 gates, it’s home to 4,000 shops. It’s right in the heart of the city.





Like all bazaars, it’s organized into sections, each grouping a certain type of craft: jewelry, carpets, textiles, mosaics, silverware...





And when we left the Grand Bazaar, surprise—the rain had stopped, and the sun and a bright blue sky had returned.





And here’s the restaurant we went to every evening during our stay—a cozy spot with varied dishes, friendly staff, and not too expensive, with a mostly local crowd.



Tuesday, March 11.



Disappointment this morning—the blue sky didn’t last. We woke up to gray skies and a light rain, so we couldn’t have breakfast on the rooftop terrace of our hotel, where the view is amazing.



The breakfast was hearty and great, with both sweet and savory options, and a server who immediately hit it off with my partner, even though she didn’t speak a word of French. My partner got a kiss every morning.

We wandered around the neighborhood below our hotel, an area with the few remaining wooden houses. In 1979, I remember there were many more, but now they’re either falling into ruin or being torn down for more modern buildings.







The Little Hagia Sophia Mosque. Küçük Ayasofya

Wednesday, November 15, 2023 Flight Cairns – Sydney Okay, let’s recap. We’ve traveled through Western Australia, the Northern Territory, Queensland, and tonight we’ll be in New South Wales. We’ll even lose an extra hour—and a bunch of degrees! We’re on a flawless journey so far. One of our suitcases is almost two kilos overweight. The guy checking us in gives us a nice smile and decides to overlook the excess baggage fee.

A flight, for once, without a hitch, no delay (just half an hour…). Taxi… We discover our… room… We’ve got a suite like never before on this trip. It’s a posh apartment on the 7th floor—on cloud nine, really! We can’t believe it. 113.26 € per night! The Meriton Suites Mascot Central if you ever find yourself in this city… We even have a washing machine (and it works!). Such a change from the cabins in the west!



We don’t linger, though. We take the metro. Why? Well, yeah, we’re still kids at heart—off to the Opera House, of course!









Restaurant prices have doubled. Even tripled. We reluctantly settle for a pizzeria because that T-bone for 155 AUD (100 €)…

We know how to handle ourselves. There’s a Woolworths right downstairs. And we’ve got a kitchen, remember! And a terrace! We even have huge bats to brighten up our skies!

Sunday, November 26, 2023 Melbourne - Hobart Flawless journey to Hobart. Our stay in the southernmost land we’ve ever visited. And indeed, everything’s different. The climate—14°C, rain that varies in intensity but never stops, the landscapes… It’s a shock! But, apart from the bad weather, Dom is thrilled.











We’ve also downgraded our accommodations. We’ve got a tiny room, and the bathroom—private, at least—is two hallways away… But the price is reasonable (under 100 €) and the location is central.

We cheered ourselves up by dining at *The Drunken Admiral* (reservations are a must—we barely snagged a table for 8 PM!). The decor is straight out of an old ship, complete with cheeky statues in the style of *Pirates of the Caribbean*… We had fun! The food was decent, but pricey. Dom loved it; I was less impressed.



We bailed on the British series *Emma*, based on Jane Austen. We couldn’t take it anymore. The boredom was so intense that the specter of a collective suicide loomed over us. This show, where the world’s most insufferable bourgeoisie—the English nobility—lives out love stories with such improbable naivety that I wanted to scream, is pure torture. Mercy, I surrender! I’ll tell you anything you want, just make it stop! We got rid of it. We’re safe now!

We’re excited to share our sixth travel journal with photos from Southeast Asia, this one entirely dedicated to Thailand. As a reminder, our previous travel journals can be accessed directly by clicking on the username "jojoone1" to the left of each post.

For a change, let’s start with the conclusion: our trip left us with an excellent memory. Very often, everything went like clockwork—short wait times, quick problem-solving, and the curious feeling of being pampered. Sometimes, life isn’t so cruel after all.

It’s only fair to admit that day after day, we encountered Thais who were smiling, helpful, kind, funny, and sometimes even touching. There were a few exceptions, but they were just the trees hiding the (tropical) forest. After this year’s experience, we won’t be the ones to tell you that Thailand isn’t the Land of Smiles or that laughter is just for business. We’ve witnessed so many kind behaviors and gestures that we no longer understand how anyone could complain about the people here—except for bad experiences in ultra-touristy spots packed with travelers lacking any finesse. It got to the point where it made us reflect. And we concluded that we probably have funny, friendly faces (?). We also know we’re the first to smile at them, and every day there, we show respect to everyone we meet. In any case, we have fond thoughts for many of the people we crossed paths with. Thanks to them, our trip took on a whole new human dimension.

A quick note about the photos: last year, the VoyageForum team made a change to how photos are uploaded. This gives us the choice between displaying high-definition photos (but losing ownership rights) or non-HD photos (less sharp, but the originals won’t be spread online without compensation or credit). We opted for the second solution, if only as a matter of principle. It does leave us with some regrets, especially since Françoise switched to the Canon EOS 7D Mark II, whose performance is notably better than the 7D.

Our first trip with Emirates was satisfying but left a mixed impression. Sure, it was the first time all four of our flights were on an Airbus A380. The crews were super friendly, and the meal trays were the best on the first two flights. On the return flights, the meals weren’t great and weren’t filling enough. Overall, the crews seemed disorganized and rushed—clearly some new recruits. The Doha-Paris flight, if memory serves, was on an A380-600, and in that configuration, we were packed in like it hadn’t been in years. In conclusion, it’s hard to say at this stage whether Qatar or Emirates comes out on top.

From our perspective, the journey from northern Thailand to Bangkok can be done via two different routes. This year, we took one of them, which allowed us to alternate between well-known destinations and original visits. Note that some of this year’s visits include cities we’ve already been to. So for a more complete view (Bangkok and Chiang Mai, for example), you’ll need to check out our previous travel journals.

We’ve improved our Thai vocabulary with a few more words and hope next year to move from kindergarten to first grade... For those reading us for the first time, we can only advise against visiting this country on an organized tour or looking for a French-speaking guide. The Thais have organized themselves well—they now have proven tourism practices. Maybe a guidebook for culture, a few basic English words, and a little organization are all you need for a great trip.

CHIANG MAI

Chiang Mai and its region are packed with treasures—so much so that one or two visits might not be enough.

At the airport, you go to a counter that provides a taxi ticket. The fare is 150 baht for a regular car and 200 baht for a larger vehicle. When our turn came, a large vehicle showed up, but we were only charged 150 baht. Okay, fine.

The hotels we’d selected three years ago had significantly increased their rates, so we had to find a new base. In the city center, hotels with large pools are overpriced, and despite the wide selection, it was hard to decide. We ended up at a hotel near the airport, the Baan U Sabai Boutique House. The superior room with a balcony can be negotiated for just under 40 €. It’s a beautiful, fairly new complex in traditional teak style, with very well-kept rooms and a long pool. Given the rather stormy weather in early July, it was the first time in Thailand we swam in cool water. It encouraged us to swim rather than just lounge...



At the end of the hotel street, you come out onto a busy main road where you can hail a songthaew (a kind of shared taxi). It’s easy to be offered a ride to the city center for 2 x 20 baht, but getting a return trip for less than 2 x 40 baht is tough, especially in the evening. Our red songthaew took us straight to Chiang Mai Gate, one of the city’s gates, located southeast of the historic square. We then took Phra Pok Khlao Road for a few dozen meters and chose the first little restaurant that looked nice. Within minutes, we had our dishes and smoothies for a total of 235 baht. Great quality, despite the place looking very touristy. The owner set the tone by handing out smiles left and right.

There’s an amazing spot in Chiang Mai to grab a coffee: Baan Phor Liang Meun. Once you reach Chiang Mai Gate, take Phra Pok Khlao Road for a few meters, then turn onto soi 2 (alley 2). It’s actually the first on the left. After a few dozen meters, you’ll find yourself walking alongside what looks like a Khmer temple.



When you enter, you’re in a vast space—like a temple-garden—where you can eat a small dish or sip a good café crème as if you were in Angkor. The tables are far apart, so you’re as close to birds and squirrels as you are to other customers.



In the small building where the staff works, they provide high-quality mosquito repellent for free—something we’ll now buy regularly at 7/11. They’re small plastic bottles, mostly pink or orange, with Thai writing and "floral fragrance" in English. The scent is actually pleasant. Remember to shake the bottle before opening and pressing, or you’ll end up with cream all over your shorts...

The creator of this space has been sculpting terracotta works since the early 1980s using clay from the Lamphun region—the most consistent clay found in all of Thailand. This café is like visiting an ancient temple, with its abundance of statues, high-reliefs, and bas-reliefs. It’s undeniably a romantic spot for couples—a haven of calm in a very lively city.

Hello everyone,

I’m trying to take the time to share one or two travel journals I wrote elsewhere (the forum wasn’t accessible when I was writing them...).

My partner and I went to Stockholm from February 27th to March 1st, 2024.

It was a pretty short trip, shaped by the usual factors: time, budget, and the kids.

We live not far from Luxembourg City (about an hour away), and when we can, we fly with Luxair. It’s a quality airline, but it’s a bit pricey.

This trip was originally planned for 2022, but it was canceled by the airline a few weeks before departure. Since the flight was on a De Havilland Q-400 with a max of 76 passengers, I think there just weren’t enough people booked.

So, we booked a flight with checked baggage and seat selection (2 + 2 seating) for around 400 € round trip.

For the hotel, I chose the **Radisson Blu Waterfront** through Booking.com for just under 600 €, including breakfast.

PS: I had to grab photos from the web and adjust their resolution, so they’re not amazing—sorry about that!

Cycling Through Provence's Big Climbs

In the autumn of 2011, Provence was hit by apocalyptic weather—torrential rain and a particularly violent east wind, reaching 130 kilometers per hour, whipping up waves as high as seven meters. It wasn’t the best time to venture outside. Yet, I told myself that after the storm, calm would return. I kept an eye on the weather forecast and noticed that starting November 10th, a favorable window should open for a little 600-kilometer cycling trip across Provence. The weather reports promised a high-pressure system that would keep the bad weather at bay over these highlands. That was all I needed to decide to set off. The planned route would take me through Provence’s biggest climbs: Mont Ventoux, Montagne de Lure, the Verdon Gorge, the Massif des Maures, and Sainte-Baume.

And so, despite my doubts, the call of adventure was stronger. The train pulled away, and once again, a journey began at Part-Dieu station. This time, I headed toward Haute-Provence for a cycling adventure. It would be my first solo bike trip. I was a little nervous—cycling with panniers makes you feel vulnerable to theft. I’d already been robbed while traveling in a group in Peru, and that experience left me deeply shaken. Alone, I hesitated. But no need to panic—I’d read accounts from long-distance cyclists who hadn’t been robbed, even if it does happen sometimes. I was particularly thinking of a young schoolteacher who had taken a sabbatical to cycle around the world. Her students had remarked, "Teacher, you’re not sporty—how will you manage to cycle around the world?" This young woman was full of resourcefulness. In South America, before flying to China, she locked her bike to a post to take care of a natural need. When she returned, the post had been torn out, and her bike—along with all her gear—was gone. It was a shock for many, but not for her. She boarded her flight to the Middle Kingdom, bought the essentials (including a new bike) once there, and continued her journey! Remembering this story, I almost felt ashamed of my cowardice. These were the thoughts running through my mind as the Rhône Valley rolled by toward Orange, the starting point of my Provençal adventure through the big climbs.

Day One: Orange to Sault via Mont Ventoux – 90 km

9:30 AM, I stepped off the train. With all my gear, I had to navigate the underground passage—no easy feat, given that my bike and luggage weighed 35 kilos. At this time of year, I expected some areas to be deserted, so I’d packed enough to bivouac comfortably. Once outside the station, the southern light flooded over me. I understood why people dream of retiring in these sun-drenched regions. As always, after disembarking from public transport, I had to get my bearings and decide which way to go. The sun, still low on the horizon, pointed east. The roar of fighter jet engines helped me locate the Air Base 115. That was all I needed to "reset the gyros."

As soon as I started pedaling, all my apprehensions vanished. The joy of discovery and physical effort took over, and euphoria washed over me. It’s amazing how emotions can shift from one moment to the next based on seemingly minor circumstances.

The weather was splendid—the forecast had predicted continuous showers, but it was completely wrong. I quickly left the city behind. Mont Ventoux loomed mysteriously, its dimensions hard to gauge. It was even more enigmatic with its summit hidden beneath swirling, mottled clouds clinging to the ridges. It reminded me of a great South American volcano. I struggled to imagine that in a few hours, I’d be up there under that blanket of mist.

The countryside was shaking off its autumnal nighttime dampness. The vineyards, interspersed with tall cypress hedges, confirmed I was in the magnificent Côtes du Rhône wine region. The distinctive Dentelles de Montmirail were very much in evidence. The air force base wasn’t far. I passed the runway’s end markers. A Mirage 2000 flew overhead in a tight turn, followed by another roaring into takeoff. It came straight at me before climbing sharply with a thunderous roar. Thirty years spent in that captivating world came rushing back. I recalled countless extraordinary human and technical experiences from my time in the service. But the purpose of this post isn’t to promote the air force—though I might post some articles one day about travels among men at war.

I continued on my way, leaving my past loves behind. As I pedaled, delightful names rolled by: Violès, Vacqueyras, Gigondas, Beaumes-de-Venise—the crème de la crème of the Côtes du Rhône Villages appellation. I let myself be enchanted by the vineyards and the little paths crisscrossing them. I started to doubt my route, though the imposing mass of Mont Ventoux in the distance acted like a giant beacon. At a crossroads, a car appeared. I approached to ask the driver for directions, but she didn’t even look at me and sped off, clearly frightened. I’d almost forgotten what a fearful world we live in, no doubt traumatized by all the horrors we see in the news and on TV.

The kilometers started adding up, but was my day’s goal too ambitious? It had been two months since I’d last ridden my bike. True, my last trip had been good training—the Route des Grandes Alpes—but that was two months ago. I can’t just take my bike out for a day trip; I need that sense of adventure to find the courage to exercise.

Two cyclists overtook me. Intrigued by my load, they struck up a conversation. They were skeptical when I told them I planned to cross Mont Ventoux that day. One of them pointed out a small chapel near the summit where I could bivouac sheltered. That motivated me even more to reach the top on this first stage. The chapel also had a mythical name for me—Sainte-Anne, the name of my parents’ villa. It was already noon, and I’d covered 50 kilometers. Malaucène appeared—the sacred village of Ventoux’s mad cyclists. Surprisingly, I didn’t see any other cyclists today. I remembered this place in June, teeming with aspirants for the king of summits. Before tackling the climb ahead, I needed to refuel. I enjoyed a pleasant gastronomic break at Max’s. At 1 PM, I started the most famous climb in cycling—21 kilometers, which would actually be 23. I knew it would be tough, especially with two handicaps: 50 kilometers already in my legs and 20 kilos of luggage. But I was counting on my tiny chainring, which let me climb trees to tackle the steep ramps.

I set off at a brisk pace along a deserted road. My speed held up for the first few kilometers. I quickly rose above the valley, the horizon widening. I was surprised to see no one on this world-renowned route among cycling enthusiasts. During the climb and descent, I’d only see five cyclists—but I’ll come back to that. I passed a sign explaining that the effort would be roughly equivalent to climbing the Col de la Bonnette. Having done the latter in September, I figured I’d be fine. I crossed paths with my first cyclist—a woman speeding downhill. After 12 kilometers, I hit slopes averaging 12%. I don’t know if the number 12 is cursed, but I got such a "bamboo" hit that I’d never experienced before. I thought I wouldn’t make it to the summit today. I stopped. My thighs burned so much I could barely walk—lactic acid overload. I looked for a relatively flat spot to pitch my tent. It was 3:30 PM, with two hours of daylight left. But I found nothing.

I got back on my bike, intending to stop as soon as I found a good bivouac spot. But nothing came up. However, my strength slowly returned, perhaps because the slope eased, though it remained around 10%. I entered the summit mists. A cyclist overtook me. I was in the zone where I had to pass the summit. Dusk caught me in the final difficulties. The atmosphere was downright austere. In the twilight, a kilometer from the summit, a cyclist was fixing his bike. I asked if he needed help. He made it clear he didn’t understand. So I asked, "Do you need some help?" His answer was clear: "No, thank you." He showed me his new inner tube. Inside, I thought, "Phew!" If I’d had to stop, sweating in the falling night with the cold intensifying, I’d have struggled to get going again. But he managed, and I continued into the twilight fog. I could barely make out the summit’s large antennas in the clouds, like immense ghosts trying to evade sight. The bike delivered sensations worthy of mountain racing. My goal was to quickly find the famous chapel in the descent to take shelter. As I glided down the southern slope, two cyclists without lights crossed my path in the night—probably heading to the station above, its lights visible in the fog.

I scanned the roadside in the dark for the chapel but saw nothing. After a kilometer or two, I lost all hope. I stopped to put on more clothes as the cold became intense. I had no idea where I could stop on these steep slopes to set up camp. Between the swirls of mist, I could intermittently see the Rhône Valley below, dotted with illuminated towns and villages. The sight was striking. What was I doing on this mountain at night? Then the miracle happened—the clouds parted, and from the ridge above me to the east, a beautiful full moon emerged, casting enough light to consider a nighttime descent to Sault, 26 kilometers away.

In this eerie atmosphere between the moon’s pale rays and patches of fog, I began my descent through a hazy, almost unreal world. The Ventoux’s characteristic white scree reflected the moonlight faintly, dimmed by the mist. In places, entire mountainsides were plunged into complete darkness, and I lost all sense of the road’s path. Then, around a tight bend caused by a land shift, the light returned. It seemed extreme compared to the darkness I’d left behind. I could once again clearly see the road’s contours, though not its potholes or gravel patches. Still, I let the slope carry me, and the speed felt significant, though the low light prevented me from reading my speedometer. In these moments, concentration was at its peak—all senses alert, reflexes ready to react to the slightest incident that could lead to a fall.

I was relieved to see Sault’s lights growing closer. In less than an hour, I reached it, considering the final little climb that required one last push. This village, bustling in summer, was deserted at this time of year—almost dead. The first hotel I came across was closed. A quick shadow passed in a small sloping street. Before it disappeared into the darkness at a house corner, I chased after it and asked about accommodation options. Very kindly, I was directed to what was probably the only hotel open in November. I quickly found it, and the reception was open. I entered wearing my black balaclava, bought in the Ayacucho region—the birthplace of Peru’s Shining Path. At this late hour, I saw questioning glances directed at me. I prefaced, "This isn’t a hold-up." Clearly, the owners had a sense of humor—they started smiling. I took off my balaclava and asked for a room. No problem, and from that moment, the pressure eased. I really didn’t feel like going back out to find a spot to pitch my tent in the biting cold.

The stage had been nearly 100 kilometers, and it was the first. It had been two months since I’d touched my bike, and I probably lacked even minimal training, even though my last bike trip had been crossing the French Alps. I really had to dig deep to overcome my weakness on Ventoux’s steep section. I don’t remember ever having to search so deeply for the energy to keep going. I knew the stage I’d set for tomorrow was significant, with the climb up Montagne de Lure’s northern slope—Ventoux’s little sister, whose ascent is reputed to be endless, over 25 kilometers. I hoped this first day wouldn’t leave me too sore to avoid suffering excessively tomorrow.

For now, relaxation—a hot shower did me a world of good, followed by a good meal. I ate a delicious andouillette from Troyes, very fine, with a particularly successful herb seasoning. I loved it, and yet I’m from Lyon and pride myself on knowing a thing or two about andouillette—not just a sausage but a whole category! A bit chauvinistic, I had to admit, though reluctantly, that I found it better than the ones I usually eat in the Lyon region!

Day Two: Sault to Forcalquier via Montagne de Lure – 116 km

This morning, the weather was magnificent—the air clear, still, very fresh, and invigorating, as only the late season can offer on these Provençal highlands. In summer, they’re known for their scorching heat and drought, but often overlooked is how harsh they can be with cold and storms. Authors like Giono or Bosco described them and their inhabitants wonderfully in books like "Les Âmes Fortes."

The miracle of the night had worked. I wasn’t sore anywhere and felt in great shape. I set off well-equipped, but the effort and sun soon made me sweat. It was time to shed some layers—hat and gloves. A gentle warmth replaced the cold, making for excellent cycling conditions. On the road to Trinit, there was no traffic—only the occasional hunters’ cars parked in the distance. These vehicles were recognizable by their large cages, used to transport hunting dogs. Sometimes, the silence was broken by a distant gunshot. The deciduous forests were losing their foliage, taking on that dull brown hue of late autumn, though here and there, a tree or shrub still resisted, displaying vivid yellow or red. The meadows, their grass already scorched by the cold, were damp from the night’s heavy humidity. The low sun highlighted thousands of spider webs that had trapped insects during the warm season.

Behind me, Mont Ventoux dominated these vast spaces. As often, its imposing, stony summit was crowned with a blanket of clouds. What an impressive mountain—it’s always so hard to gauge its dimensions. I struggled to realize that last night I’d been at the summit and descended its immense southern ridge in the dark. I hoped to return one day in favorable conditions—daylight and no clouds—to enjoy the vast panorama from this unique summit.

Leaving the very Provençal village of Trinit, I tackled my first climb of the day—the Col de l’Homme Mort. The road rose moderately for five kilometers in gentle warmth. The view over the region widened, and I felt the sheer joy of pedaling. At a good pace, I overcame this first little challenge. Once at the pass, I couldn’t resist the ritual of photographing my bike in front of the sign, giving the name and altitude—1,213 meters.

The northern slope was austere and still in shadow. The cold bit again. The road was wet and covered with leaves in places. It wasn’t impossible that some treacherous patches of black ice lurked around a bend. I descended toward the Jabron Valley with caution. Suddenly, around a bend in a forest clearing, the freshly snow-covered Alps, gleaming in the sun, leapt into view, blocking the horizon. I thought I recognized the distinctive silhouette of the Écrins’ south face above a multitude of jagged peaks.

This snow and these mountains awakened a flood of memories of great joys, but I also thought of the guide and his client who had just lost their lives on the Grandes Jorasses’ north face, at the top of a route called the Linceul. The name comes from the face’s appearance—a great ice slope bordering the Grandes Jorasses’ north wall. It was first climbed by René Desmaison in 1968. He passed away a few years ago and, in his final wishes, asked that his ashes be scattered in the Dévoluy Massif at the foot of Pic de Bure, not far from here in these immense pre-Alpine folds.

At my feet, the Jabron Valley stretched almost endlessly east toward Sisteron. In the distance, the dark mass of Montagne de Lure’s north face loomed. This mountain shares similarities with Mont Ventoux. It has the same summit scree of bright limestone, the same forests climbing up to the final rocky stretch, and that blanket of clouds adding a secretive, austere touch to the scene.

I turned left past the town of Séderon and headed toward the little Col de la Pigière, which in a few kilometers allowed me to truly plunge into the beautiful Jabron Valley. I passed through several villages with charming local names—Saint-Vincent, Noyer-sur-Jabron. The river offered lovely views of its narrow gorges with clear, cold water. Autumn seemed less advanced here than on the plateau I’d just left. Many trees still wore brilliant colors, some revealing extraordinary hues—mixes of crimson, pink, and bright red.

Arriving in Noyer-sur-Jabron, I took a tiny road on the river’s right bank, leading in a few kilometers to the foot of Montagne de Lure. In the village of Valbelle, I picnicked on leftovers I’d brought from home—an old cheese and a somewhat stale loaf of bread. It was 1:30 PM. I began the long climb of about 25 kilometers. According to a friend who’s a cycling expert in the region, this section is tough. No wonder it’s called Ventoux’s little sister—the Mont Blanc of cyclists. The elevation gain on this side is still 1,200 meters, while Ventoux via Malaucène is nearly 1,600 meters.

I hoped to reach the summit before nightfall and avoid reliving a nighttime descent. The route wound through a vast forest, following the terrain’s folds. There was activity—mushroom hunters were busy searching for the coveted chanterelle. The climb, though never very steep (only one kilometer at 9%), was interminable. Though traffic was practically nonexistent, I was overtaken by a group of Harley bikers—I counted about forty. Perched high on their machines, hands in the air on wildly shaped handlebars, some with their feet nearly in the sky due to the high footpegs, they didn’t even glance my way. What’s this idiot doing, unable to ride a motorcycle and forced to climb these mountains on a bike with big bags! I wasn’t offended—real Harley purists often see other motorcyclists as renegades, so bikes are even lower on the totem pole! But I didn’t want to start a debate about motorcycles. In my youth, when I was a wild motorcyclist (22 accidents on two wheels), clans were divided into Japanese, German, Italian, and British bike owners. The latter, on their vibrating, oil-leaking machines, considered themselves the purest. But let’s not fight—there’s a statute of limitations, and it’s been nearly forty years.

As yesterday, a few kilometers below the summit, I entered the fog, and the light dropped suddenly. What a hostile mountain in these conditions! It heightened the sense of living an incredible experience. The conditions we encounter play a major role in how the adventure imprints on our memory. I realized once again that in France, you can feel like you’re very far away. Finally, after this very long climb, the Pas de Graille sign suddenly appeared out of the grayness. Strange! Below the sign, a kilometer marker indicated this same pass was over three kilometers away. Clearly, the climb continued. In these final kilometers through the scree, I gained another 130 meters of elevation. Finally, the road’s high point was reached—1,720 meters. It was cold and damp. I quickly covered up, added my balaclava under my helmet, and put on warm gloves. As I was about to start the descent, a car stopped at the summit, and one of the passengers was surprised to find a bike there in these chilly, twilight conditions.

A 20-kilometer descent led me to the village of Saint-Étienne-les-Orgues. I hoped to find a place to stay for the night. No such luck! Everything was clearly closed—no chance of finding shelter. Tonight was getting complicated. I already had exactly 100 kilometers in my legs and didn’t feel like pedaling anymore, especially at night. But I had even less desire to sleep outside. What to do to avoid it? The town of Forcalquier was 16 kilometers away—I hoped the road would descend. I set off in that direction. The first third was along a beautiful, lightly trafficked departmental road with a slight downhill—I pedaled hard. But it got tougher. I joined a busier road, and night had fallen. A several-kilometer climb finished the journey. I knew my magnetic lights weren’t very powerful—hence the danger. They were even less so on the climb because the slower I went, the less they illuminated. Cars coming the opposite way often saw me late and blinded me with their high beams. After passing, I was plunged into total darkness for a few seconds while my pupils readjusted to the night. I imagined those coming up behind me saw me with little warning, despite my slightly fluorescent jacket. When the roadside was clear, I always positioned myself to quickly jump off the road. But unfortunately, in this long final climb, a guardrail prevented any escape to the right in case of sudden braking behind me. That was even more anxiety-inducing since I was stuck at a snail’s pace. Time seemed long. I pedaled as hard as I could, on the verge of asphyxiation, trying to escape this dangerous situation as quickly as possible. My only reference point was the vehicles in front of me, letting me know the climb wasn’t over. Then suddenly, the ordeal ended—the road’s high point was reached. The town and its lights emerged from the void, and clarity returned. Phew! I glided down toward this little town bathed in light. On November 11th, I hoped to find an open hotel since I’d clearly exceeded 100 kilometers, and the idea of having to leave town to find a bivouac spot somewhat frightened me.

I arrived in the town center. Activity was low. The first hotel was closed, but I spotted a lit sign for another establishment further on. I headed there, got off my bike, and entered. The welcome was immediately friendly—a big cat came to rub against me. For me, that was a very good sign, and the first impression was confirmed. I still had to go out to eat. I covered the minimum distance. A restaurant advertised "Mom’s Cooking." I expected Provençal specialties, but they were Moroccan. I chose a delicious tagine with lime and olives, followed by almond and honey ice cream. Exhausted after this 116-kilometer stage, I returned to my room. As often after intense efforts, it was hard to fall asleep.

Day Three: Forcalquier to Moustiers-Sainte-Marie – 58 km

On this third day, due to the progress made yesterday, the stage would be short. I’d call it a transition between two mountain ranges. Indeed, the next big climb is the Verdon Gorge. I planned to position myself at its foot this evening in preparation for a tough stage tomorrow. I made a few purchases—bread, bananas, and medicine for stomach burns (the midday sausage wasn’t always kind to me). The weather was still perfect. The route began with a long descent toward the Durance. It’s always nice to start a cycling day with a downhill—it boosts morale and allows for a gentle warm-up.

I quickly reached the town of Oraison. Just at its entrance, I crossed the Durance, which still bore traces of last week’s heavy rains along its sandbanks. Indeed, numerous stumps and trunks were scattered along its vast gravel bed, along with less ecological debris like old tires.

A little south of Oraison, I took the D907, a small road heading due east between scrubland and meadows. There it was—the Provence we imagine. This stable autumn weather, with still air, neither hot nor cold, just a fresh feeling when emerging from a shaded valley or a slight warmth under the sun, was ideal for a cyclist. After about ten kilometers at the bottom of a small valley I quickly passed through, the village of Le Brunet appeared on the right. It clung to the slopes leading to the Valensole Plateau. A few steep kilometers along a tiny winding road, and suddenly a vast panorama unfolded as the climb ended.

What a magnificent plateau! Though known for its wind, luckily today was completely calm. Far to the east, the Verdon’s great cliffs blocked the horizon. This allowed me to contemplate part of tomorrow’s stage. This place is full of mysteries—many UFO and extraterrestrial encounter stories are associated with it. Moreover, for about thirty years, France hid its ground-to-ground nuclear ballistic missiles here, grouped in the 1st GMS (Ballistic Missile Group), under the air force. Naturally, these rockets fueled fantasies, and pacifist groups settled in the region to protest this type of armament. This gives many reasons to shroud this austere, deserted land in mystery.

I took a dirt path leading to the heart of this zone and stopped at the forest’s edge for lunch. The silence was total, the view stretched very far. But nothing strange or bizarre manifested. No Martian came to share my frankly moldy cheese, very peppery sausage, or bruised banana—sniff! I resumed my route, and as often when crossing places with strong character, I tended to slow down to enjoy them longer. The immense lavender fields stretched endlessly, not very fragrant at this season. I arrived at a group of truffle oaks protected by a fence, with large red signs warning "Firearm." Clearly, the war for the black diamond was raging in this region. I remembered a novel where an old farmer made buyers believe nothing grew on his land. Every year, he secretly stole the mushrooms from the unsuspecting owners. Then one day, they discovered the truth, catching this "polite" neighbor trying to hide a basket full of beautiful, large truffles!

In these vast spaces, I felt good—a sense of plenitude. It’s strange that I only conceive of cycling through wandering. I struggle to plan a day trip. And if I do, it’s highly likely I won’t get up. I need that sense of adventure to fully appreciate my physical effort. Maybe one day I should get psychoanalyzed, but at my age, it’s probably too late! Today, I had all the time in the world—the stage was half as long as yesterday’s, with very little elevation gain. Not a sound, an impressive calm, a beautiful landscape—I pedaled in a wonderful place. That’s probably happiness!

I reached the village of Puimoisson on the plateau’s eastern edge—only 12 kilometers left to Moustiers. I took my time, sat at a café terrace in the sun, and leisurely enjoyed a coffee while listening to the village come to life. I was delighted by these melodious southern voices, bursting into great laughter. There are places where, despite the anxieties caused by our debt-ridden, dysfunctional societies, some have decided to take life on the bright side and show a saving insouciance.

The rest of the journey was a simple formality—I let the slope carry me toward the pretty little town of Moustiers-Sainte-Marie, clinging to the cliff and famous for its faïence. Arriving early for once, I went to the tourist office to choose a comfortable hotel. Indeed, the Hôtel des Restanques was very comfortable and admirably well-located. But at this time of year, I’d have to return to the village center for dinner. The very kind receptionist reserved a table for me at La Treille Muscate, a restaurant with a magnificently arranged room on the church square. It was only 3:30 PM—I continued to take my time, showering and relaxing in front of the TV. Then I set off to explore—or rather, re-explore—this village I’d visited several times before. But I’d never climbed to its chapel perched in the middle of the great cliff towering over the houses. A stony, aerial path led there. The first mentions of the Notre-Dame de Beauvoir chapel, known in ancient times as Notre-Dame d’Entre-Roches, date back to the 9th century. It’s one of the rare "respite" chapels found in Provence. These are chapels where stillborn children were brought to be revived for a few moments, just long enough to baptize them. They could then be buried religiously, ensuring the salvation of their souls. I was also very moved by reading some ex-votos, like the one from "A mother for her three children returned from the war."

The place was impressive, especially as night fell. I was alone and watched the shadows fill the great cliffs above me. With an old climber’s reflex, I looked for possible climbing routes among these slabs and cracks. But climbing is probably forbidden here, too close to the houses. Then I descended to stroll through the village, admiring the magnificent, finely crafted faïence patterns found in many shops. Finally, dinnertime arrived, and I joined my restaurant, which had been highly recommended. I was delighted by the foie gras ravioli and the pieds et paquets—the chef’s specialty. I’ll come back with family.

Day Four: Moustiers to Fréjus via the Verdon – 122 km

A hearty breakfast prepared me for the day’s tough efforts. Next to me, four Chinese people chatted animatedly. Of course, I didn’t understand a word—it was a language with strange intonations and sounds. I left the dining room and prepared my bike on the terrace. Seeing the volume of my luggage, my Chinese friends rushed over and asked to take turns having their photo taken in front of this funny setup. All laughing, they took photos in front of what they probably considered a French coolie off on some trading business! When they show these photos to their relatives, they’ll likely be perplexed about what motivates some to travel by bike rather than car. For them, the car is a symbol of success—according to an article I read last year, 14,000 cars are registered in China every day!

This morning, the air was fresh. As yesterday, I started with a long descent, this time leading to the edge of Lac de Sainte-Croix. A strong, biting headwind slowed me down. It wouldn’t last, as it was generated by the gorge’s outlet, which I’d reach in a few kilometers. On this cold morning, the lake’s shores exuded great tranquility. The sun was still hidden behind the Verdon’s mountainous mass. Trees with yellow leaves stood out against the water’s pale blue. The bridge marking the gorge’s beginning at the lake’s edge was an ideal spot to admire this natural splendor. At this early hour, the play of light and shadow on the water and the immense cliffs delivered a grandiose spectacle in beautiful harmony. This first contact with the gorges, which I knew well, amazed me.

Once past the bridge, the wind calmed. A little further on, I began the long climb that would take me to the top of this immense natural gash, which water had taken millions of years to carve. I was in good shape and highly motivated by the splendors to come. First, I reached the village of Aiguines, which offered a magnificent viewpoint over the lake. Then I continued toward the Corniche Sublime, where countless breathtaking panoramas unfolded as I progressed. But the climb was sustained and long, requiring effort—though my small chainring worked miracles. I first passed the Col d’Illoire, already 500 meters above the lake. Seeing all these great cliffs, countless climbing memories came flooding back. The classic routes of the Escalès cliff, over 300 meters high, flashed by. Routes with legendary names—La Demande, Les Écureuils, Luna-Bong, and many others. The one that left me with the best memory was ULA—a crack, vertical or even overhanging, of sheer beauty rising above a 40-meter slab in one go for 280 meters of sustained, beautiful climbing on extraordinary rock. It made me want to return to climb there, to immerse myself in the atmosphere of those past times. But climbing habits have changed—now routes are accessed from above by rappel, and people don’t always bother to do these great climbs in their entirety, focusing instead on shorter but technically much more difficult enterprises.

At almost every bend, I stopped and scanned these great cliffs, searching for memories of past experiences and emotions in these secret rock folds. The road climbed well above the pass, exceeding 1,200 meters. It was cool, especially since I was sweating. Finally reaching the high point of the Corniche Sublime, I couldn’t gain speed on the descent—my gaze was always drawn to this astonishing canyon. Around a bend, two cyclists with funny small-wheeled bikes. Wow! It was a couple of Australians doing a year-long tour of France. We chatted passionately about our two-wheeled experiences for a moment. But time was passing, and if I wanted to reach Fréjus before nightfall, I’d have to pedal seriously.

I stopped at the Pont de l’Artuby, where bungee jumping was in full swing. But I quickly set off again toward Comps. The wind was against me, and it was climbing. I started to doubt whether I’d make it to the coast that evening. At 2 PM, I was in Comps-sur-Artuby. I didn’t stop, knowing that before reaching the coast, I’d have no alternative to bivouacking, and I had 70 kilometers left to cover. Sure, it should be downhill, but a few climbs were on the program. After a descent out of the village, I crossed the Artuby River again on the Canjuers military camp. A several-kilometer climb followed, fortunately not too steep. I took the D19 toward Barjols. From there, despite the late hour, I opted for a tiny road passing through Claviers, a small perched village. Time passed quickly, but the kilometers added up. I regained hope. Fifteen kilometers after this last village, I reached Saint-Paul-en-Forêt via a magnificent forested route. I had plenty of time to observe mushroom hunters. I asked one who clearly had some in a plastic bag. He gave me this hilarious answer with a magnificent southern accent: "I only picked the bad ones." No reply was possible. I moved on with a smile. A little further on, another hunter carried a basket. As soon as he saw me, he quickly hid it—just in case I saw what it contained. Arriving at the village involved a steep climb, and I was close to 100 kilometers. I still had a little over 20 kilometers to go before reaching Fréjus. The race against nightfall had begun. Over there to my right, I saw the sun setting behind Roquebrune-sur-Argens’ distinctive rock. The sea appeared. There it was—I was in Fréjus’ industrial zone. On this Sunday evening, traffic was heavy. Indeed, many had taken advantage of the return of good weather after very heavy storms to go for a walk. After quite a few detours, I arrived at the seaside just as night fell. My odometer showed 122 km for the day. I quickly found a simple hotel, ate just as quickly, and went to bed.

Day Five: Fréjus to Solliès-Pont – 92 km

Once again, the night had done its restorative work, and I prepared to cross the Massif des Maures feeling quite fresh. The weather forecast was still favorable for today, but a deterioration was expected tomorrow. I tended to trust it because the east wind was blowing, and in the region, that’s a sign of rain. For now, in the short term, this wind would be very useful—it would push me generously throughout the day.

I started calmly along the harbor quays, looking at the boats. Then I joined the road to Saint-Aygulf and followed the coast for forty kilometers to Port-Grimaud. All these seaside resorts—Saint-Aygulf, Les Issambres, Sainte-Maxime—reminded me of my youth when we spent all our vacations fishing, whether from shore, underwater, or by boat. Looking at the sea roll by, I knew what the seabeds looked like under that surface hiding them. The marine areas we knew best were now under the parking lots and commercial zones of Saint-Raphaël’s new port. In our youth, these infrastructures didn’t exist, and their construction came at the expense of coastal marine areas. Our wonderful fishing spots were permanently buried. I remember seeing the first big trucks that came to dump their loads of earth and rubble, destroying all those wonderful places—sandbanks, seaweed beds, groups of rocky holes teeming with fish that enchanted our youth. Over forty years later, I can still visualize them in my imagination under those parking lots and stores, with the names we gave them—my brothers and I: le casse-croûte, le casse-pipe, les montagnes, la digue, la grille, la mare à mulets, la petite-plage, le trou, etc.

Let’s not be overwhelmed by nostalgia. I left the coast and took the little road through the Maures to Collobrières. The route led from ridge to ridge following the terrain’s movements. At this time of year, the region was admirable. Due to the heavy storms of recent weeks, water was streaming everywhere. Waterfalls and streams murmured all along the way. I didn’t recognize the Maures, which I knew for their dryness causing apocalyptic fires. Indeed, around a bend, I came across a small rest area where a memorial had been erected for three firefighters who lost their lives here while fighting one of those gigantic fires fanned by the mistral.

This forest holds treasures—first, the cork oak, then the arbutus, chestnut trees, and of course, mushrooms that love this granitic soil:

The cork oak can be found all along the road. It’s the forest’s essential element. You can recognize it by its light bark (before exploitation), which forms large bulges along the trunk. But after exploitation, the trunks are much smoother, less voluminous, and dark in color. The arbutus is a large berry with red skin covered in small protuberances, growing on the arbutus tree. This fruit, common in Mediterranean areas, ripens in November. That means today, there were plenty around me. Its flesh is orange, with the consistency of firm purée, and it crushes softly in the mouth. The taste of this berry is sweet and excellent. I didn’t hold back—I gorged myself on them, which served as my midday meal. Sometimes I had to climb embankments to get them.

The chestnut tree, a true industry of the region, brings wealth to the surrounding villages. They make candied chestnuts, ice cream, and other products derived from chestnut flour. Be careful not to stop just anywhere to pick this fruit, as the tree owners might not agree. They even make this clear with signs and surround their chestnut trees with fences. Mushrooms—saffron milk caps and porcini—are highly prized in the area. I saw a few hunters, but it clearly wasn’t miraculous. Supposedly, there had been too much rain?

There’s no time to get bored along this little road, from which you can sometimes see the sea. I passed the Col de Taillude at over 400 meters. I began the descent to Collobrières, the chestnut capital, whose festival attracts many people. Before entering, about a hundred meters from the first houses, a cyclist—probably an agricultural worker—came toward me. As he passed, he cheerfully called out, "Go on, little guy! It’s almost there!" We both smiled. At the end of November, the village was cold and almost deserted. Dead leaves swept the wet streets of the town. You could feel winter on the way. I continued my route to Pierrefeu-du-Var, on the western edge of the Massif des Maures. So I gave my last pedal strokes in this pretty little massif so characteristic of Provence.

I looked for a hotel in Cuers but without success. I descended toward Toulon and finally found one on the outskirts of Solliès-Pont. It catered to people coming to work in the region, so nothing very bucolic. But if the weather were to deteriorate tomorrow and turn to rain, I could quickly reach Hyères or Toulon station, which was a significant advantage. Indeed, November rains aren’t usually very pleasant on a bike.

Day Six: Solliès-Pont to Cassis via Sainte-Baume – 85 km

This morning, contrary to the weather forecast, the weather was beautiful, and the latest bulletin seemed to contradict yesterday’s. So no escape to Toulon—I resumed my route toward Sainte-Baume. I left the hotel via a tiny road that, through ups and downs, led me via shortcuts to the road to Belgentier. My body had gotten used to intense daily efforts, and I felt in Olympic form. At a good pace, I launched into a long climb with a moderate slope. The road was busy, but fortunately, the side lane for cyclists often made the exercise more pleasant. The villages rolled by—Méounes, La Roquebrussanne. Near the latter, I observed a Tiger combat helicopter in training. It hovered motionless for long periods—perhaps the pilots were training to master their increasingly sophisticated weapon systems, requiring even more learning?

I left the busy road and headed via an almost deserted route toward the village of Mazaugues. The climbs became steeper. A long descent, and there I was in this pretty village. A grocery store, which besides selling a few ingredients also served as a café. I sat near the electric heater—it was cold, and I was sweaty. I watched customers come and go and listened to the shopkeeper tell me about village life. The name Mazaugues comes from "water mass," which is why drought doesn’t usually affect this area. Apparently, you can even find mushrooms here in summer! I had a good time, and as I was leaving, a local cyclist started a conversation and told me about her dreams of long bike trips, currently limited by her situation as a mother of terrible children. She settled for day trips with her club, which was already good in this very hilly region. I told her the story of a man who, at 73, cycled solo around Morocco. So no panic—she still had thirty or forty years to realize her wildest dreams!

I was warned that it would be a tough climb to reach Sainte-Baume’s northern slope. Indeed, over eight kilometers, the average slope was sustained, but the landscape was wonderful. Here too, water was streaming everywhere. I passed one of those famous icehouses that used to supply Marseille with ice throughout the year. This northern slope of Sainte-Baume is very cold, and this characteristic was exploited in previous centuries to produce ice. Large cylindrical structures, well-protected to the north and semi-buried, received large quantities of water in late autumn, which froze during winter and was kept cool for months until the following winter. Ice blocks were cut and delivered by cart to the city. That’s how, in ancient times, ice was available in summer to keep fish fresh in Marseille. Did pastis exist at that time? If not, the ice cubes must have been bored!

Once the climb was over, the long ridge of Sainte-Baume appeared, and I could see its characteristic antennas. Nestled at the foot of the cliffs, the magnificent millennial forest revealed itself with its autumn colors. I stopped at the monastery. I’d been there several times before and had even slept there during a long walking trip. The welcome had been first-rate by the Dominicans, especially the sisters in their long immaculate robes. They radiated a serenity that was very contagious. Don’t hesitate to stop there for the night. I struggled to get back on my way—some places have a special spirit.

I was soon at the end of my journey. I continued along this magnificent mountain to the Col de l’Espigoulier. To the north, another immense wave of white limestone rose—Montagne Sainte-Victoire, a high place in Provence that painter Cézanne made world-famous. Once at the pass, the entire city of Marseille spread out at my feet, the Mediterranean coast revealed itself from the Calanques to La Ciotat, passing by the famous Cap Canaille, Europe’s highest sea cliff. Above me, bathed in sunlight, Bartagne’s northwest face, very popular among climbers, showed all its reliefs. With an old climber’s reflex, I spotted the many climbs I’d done there. I let myself be carried into a steep, winding descent toward the village of Gémenos in a beautiful setting full of cliffs.

A few more kilometers of climbing toward the Col de l’Ange, then toward Roquefort-la-Bédoule. In this last climb, I raced with two cyclists, admittedly not very young. Then, in a six-kilometer descent, I reached Cassis station, the endpoint of my six-day journey through this wild Provençal land between sea and mountain. I experienced great pleasure during these 570 kilometers through these renowned yet wild French massifs. As always, when a beautiful project comes to an end, you feel a bit orphaned by a beautiful dream come true. You have to quickly envision the next one to avoid a vague sense of emptiness taking over. My next adventure is already taking shape in my mind, but that’s another story.

Time flies: here we are already presenting our tenth travel journal to VoyageForum’s readers!

We discovered Thailand about a dozen years ago, and it quickly became addictive for us. It’s only fair to say that this country stands out from many—if not most—thanks to an extraordinary combination of qualities: a generally smiling, laid-back, and friendly people; a territory dotted with natural beauties of exotic exuberance; a substantial selection of dishes, each more delicious than the last; and an obvious ease in making yourself understood and finding help to organize your activities.

Over the years, it’s been tough to keep things fresh, to continue sparking readers’ interest—and who knows, maybe even enthusiasm. We’re going to try to rise to that challenge.

After revisiting or introducing you to over 120 temples in Thailand, this year Joel and Françoise want to reveal a "Thailand Naturally."

Both in well-known areas and others that are more off the beaten path.

By "natural," we first mean nature itself, with its stunning sites and landscapes. But it’s also about places where Thais love to stroll with family and friends. Sometimes it’s just faces, glances, moments of life, or ceremonies captured on the spot. For the ladies, there’ll certainly be flowers to admire along the way. Uh... for the gentlemen too, who appreciate them (the flowers)... oh, and also for the gentlemen who appreciate gentlemen who appreciate flowers. And even for the ladies who don’t appreciate gentlemen. Alright, let’s go wild—on top of all that, we’ll still include a few places of worship. No matter how hard we try to resist, there’s always someone or something pulling us toward temples. The ever-vibrant popular devotion encourages us, and we never regret it.

To do this, we’ll lead you through six provinces or regions that will reveal themselves as the story unfolds, letting you enjoy the thrill of discovery. Even if we’ve mentioned some of them in previous years, this time it’ll all be new. For a more complete picture of any province we’ve already covered, readers can check out our past travel journals—just click on our username Jojoone1 to see what we’ve published.

One last note before we begin: we’re sticking to our tastes, our preferences, and what brings us joy. We just really wanted to show you multiple facets of the country’s interior—we’ll see if we pull it off...

7 days in OMAN Day 1: Muscat for a few hours to gather info on diving near the Dimaniyat Islands. Then a tour of the souks and the corniche. The next day, we dropped our diving plans to focus on a "landscapes" vacation.

Day 2: Headed to the mountains with a picnic stop at Nakhal Fort (so renovated it feels like Disney, but really beautiful). In the afternoon, Maps led us astray on rocky paths—we got a flat, and by the time we fixed it, it was dark. We slept near WADI DAMM. Luckily, we stumbled upon a farm stay in the middle of nowhere, right by the wadi for the next day. We found a café selling amazing dhal with bread—but no utensils!—and a small shop for tea and pastries for the next morning. Day 3: WADI DAMM, a long hike up a canyon—gorgeous but very dry. On the way to Oman’s highest mountains, JEBEL SHAMS! But what Maps said would take 1.5 hours turned into hours on off-road trails. We arrived at the top at 4 PM—stunning, but the sun was already low. We hiked for 30 minutes along the corniche and turned back (Balcony Walk). We drove down to Al Hamra as night fell and found a cute hotel where the guy cooked us an incredible chicken. Day 4: Visited MISFAH, an old mountain village. We descended into the wadi and climbed up the other side for the view—absolutely breathtaking! *** Headed to NIZWA for its fort and souk—nice! Apparently, you should visit Friday morning for the camel market (to be confirmed).

Day 5: Headed to the desert, but first, a stop at WADI BANI KHALIL (great hike, even with crowds). The sandwich on the rocks and the swim before leaving were awesome. We reached the sand desert, left the car, and were taken to camp—just us and two young guys serving tea and meals. So beautiful! The walk around the camp in the dunes was fun, the photos were amazing—overall, a fantastic experience!

Day 6: Walked around the desert near camp after breakfast—gorgeous! They drove us back to the car, then we stopped at a shop for a picnic at WADI SHAB. Crossed by boat, but the hike afterward was great—had to swim in some spots, so bring a dry bag. Found a nice guesthouse by the sea nearby and a restaurant in Tiwi since it was already late.

Day 7: After a failed swimming attempt (the waves were too strong), we went to WADI TIWI—nothing special. Then WADI ARBEIEEN as we headed up the coast to the airport, where we crashed for 6 hours at a hotel before flying home!

So, on these rainy days, I’m finally getting around to writing a little travel journal about the Drakensberg.

The Dragon Mountains, known as uKhahlamba in Zulu and Maluti in Sotho or Tswana.

Roughly speaking, we can break it down into: * The far north in the Free State at Golden Gate NP (managed by Sanparks, while the rest is run by KZN Wildlife). * Royal Natal National Park with the Amphitheatre, Sentinel Peak, and its famous "hike" (which I won’t talk about since I’ve never been there—it’s still on my to-do list!). * Cathedral Peak and Didima * Monk's Cowl * Giant's Castle * Hihghmoor and Kamberg * Sani Pass (which I haven’t visited in ages and won’t cover here).

Highlands Mountain Retreat is the place to stay in Golden Gate if you can snag it. When the weather’s nice, the view is absolutely incredible—probably the most beautiful I’ve ever seen in South Africa!

Just a heads-up: it’s stunning but high up and cold, even *very* cold. The bungalows are cozy, and the little road leading there is charming. The park offers hikes ranging from easy to tough, but be warned—the maps are... not very clear or reliable, and we ended up on an endless, exhausting trek. There are plenty of animals (mostly antelopes, so not super diverse in terms of wildlife), hikes as mentioned... game drives on a paved road, and various walks. You feel remote but aren’t *that* far from civilization.

Hi everyone, I’m stopping just giving advice on new topics to others and leading by example. Here’s a quick recap of my Manakara–Fort Dauphin route via the ferry + 10 track (RN12). The road is changing: bridges are being built, some sections are being paved. By bike, it’s doable, though some sandy stretches are still pretty tough if you’re as overloaded as I was... Left Manakara’s Hôtel Les Délices on the 11th with my pretty beat-up blue bike...

Evening of the 11th: Ivohipeno Hôtel La Source.

12th–15th: Farafangana’s must-visit Hôtel Concombre Masqué, bike prep. 16th: Vangaindrano—Hôtel Chez Huguette was full, so I went to Tropic Hôtel, which is nice even with plumbing issues. Did my shopping since it’s the last real town. 17th: Chez Flavienne—her real job is singer/dancer, and she has cute little bungalows before the village of... I never found it on GPS or maps. A bit basic but welcoming, with Flavienne taking great care of me. 18th: Manombondro—the "friends’ spot," yikes, avoid! The restaurant’s okay, but the room is really rough: sketchy shower, the room opens right onto the main road where all the 4x4s gather. Good for tips, but better to sleep elsewhere...

20th: Taking one of the many alternative tracks, I got lost and camped under my tent less than 5 km from Sandravinany. 21st: Sandravinany—first day at Mamie Louise’s, average hotel. Vesslasse, the manager, is great. 22nd: The next day, I went back to the fisherman’s cabin I’d thought was closed the day before—awesome! Perfect location with a lagoon view.





Vesslasse stops by regularly to offer his services—he knows everyone, is efficient, and super friendly. I treated myself to a few days of contemplative relaxation before taking a pirogue toward the coastal track on the morning of the 25th—big mistake! Hardly anyone around to ask for directions, so I got lost multiple times, did a bunch of backtracking, and dealt with a lot of sand... Check out this YouTube video: From Sandravinany to the Sand Track 25th: Maroroy—chez Louisette, can’t miss it: right after the ferry, by the water, super relaxing. By the water, super relaxing. 26th: Manantenina—the very nice (and for me, too expensive) bungalows of Jean-Philippe were full, so I stayed at Hôtel Le Bleu, small bungalows with a restaurant on the main road. 27th: Sainte Luce—I got a ride from a UNICEF 4x4, so I *had* to stay at Hôtel Vah’inn—expensive but right on the water, with a pool table and good food. 28th: Fort Dauphin—Hôtel Nepenthes: central (steep climb to get there!) but nice bungalows.



Fort Dauphin has plenty of very affordable hotels. After that, I headed back to Tulear in a shared 4x4 (Godzilla)—two pretty grueling days, but the driver was really nice.



You can find all the details of this adventure and many others in my book, but I’m not allowed to talk about it on the forum... Too bad. A video of this route That’s it—I’ll post about other tracks I did that same year in other threads. Have a great day!

Hey fellow travelers,

We’re a couple in our fifties who’ve been traveling independently for ages—mostly in Asia, a bit in Africa, very little in the Americas, and never ever in West Asia until November 2023, when we discovered the Sultanate of Oman.



If we waited so long to explore this part of the world, it’s because a few questions were nagging at us, like: Can two Landais party lovers like us survive 15 days without apéro 😄? Or, more seriously: Can a feminist like me enjoy traveling in such a conservative country?

That is the question (and I feel your pain with this unbearable suspense 😅).

Ready to dive in?

PS: Apologies in advance for the casual tone of this travel journal—it’s the one I shared with our loved ones in real time, which explains everything.

After about 12 hours of flying from Toulouse (via Paris), we landed in Bogotá six years after our first trip to Colombia. This time, our journey will be very different, with only this stop in the Colombian capital in common. Our travel itinerary Bogotá / La Macarena (Caño Cristales) / Villa de Leyva / Barichara / San Gil / Girón / Mompox / Ciénaga and the Santa Marta lagoon / Minca / Los Naranjos (Tayrona Park) / Bogotá. Step 1: Bogotá (and Nemecon) Bogotá (1/3) This morning, we had a meet-up with Flora from Aventure Colombia, who helped me organize one of our stops, a few transfers, and tomorrow’s day trip, the program of which I changed at the last minute after deciding to skip the visit to the Salt Cathedral of Zipaquirá. Flora is a kind and lovely person, always available, and she did everything to answer my questions and give me advice. She’s a local contact I highly recommend. Flora can help you plan your trip, whether you want a fully organized tour or, like us, just need assistance with a specific stop or one or more transfers between cities. We left Flora after setting a meet-up for our return to Bogotá in a month. As we walked out of her agency, we headed to the wonderful Gold Museum, located just a hundred meters away. I was excited to revisit this amazing museum. Note: Free entry for those over 60, regardless of nationality. Just show your passport. Like six years ago, I was amazed by its museography, the beauty of the pieces on display, and that breathtaking shamanic room.





About two hours later, we decided to walk (careful, it’s a climb!) to the Monserrate cable car (3152m). Long wait to buy tickets and board the cable car! Once we arrived, a few raindrops, an impressive panoramic view of Bogotá’s vastness, a quick visit to the basilica (a pilgrimage site for Colombians), a walk through the tourist market, and at the top, plenty of small restaurants where we had our first Colombian meal. After our hearty lunch, we were lucky to see the sun return! No line for the descent. We then headed back to the hotel because Justine wanted to rest and recover from the trip. As for me, I continued my walk. I discovered a really nice craft market recommended by Flora, Pasaje Rivas, returned to Bolívar Square, and wandered through different streets, including the main pedestrian avenue (Calle 7), where there’s always something to see.



Tomorrow, a change of scenery as we head out for a hike in a small desert (Desierto de Chueca), located about 2 hours from Bogotá in the village of Nemecon. For this outing from Bogotá, with Flora’s help, we booked a car with a driver for the day. Flora also took care of booking the guide (since the site can only be visited with one). Nemecon (2/3) Today, we went to Nemecon to hike about 7.5 km in the ‘Desert of Checua.’ It’s nothing like sandy deserts! Instead, it’s geological formations sculpted by time, wind, and water. After two hours on the road—almost one of them spent navigating traffic jams with cars, trucks, buses, and a continuous flow of motorcycles on either side of our taxi—we reached Nemecon! The village center is really (too?) quiet. We met up with Deisy and headed toward the ‘desert,’ about twenty minutes away on a bumpy dirt road. Once there, a quick briefing, and off we went! Deisy didn’t stop talking (in Spanish) for over 3 hours!!! She told us so much about her region (flower farming, water management, traditions, songs, etc.), the origin of the site, and even mentioned Antonio Banderas, who filmed *The 33* in the village’s salt mine (the story of the survival of 33 Chilean miners after a collapse in their copper and gold mine). One hour of walking to reach the site, one hour to explore it, and one hour to return.





The advantage of this non-stop chatter was that it forced us to brush up on our Spanish at lightning speed. I even wondered if the effort to concentrate wasn’t more exhausting than the physical effort! Especially since on the way back, I got an oral quiz. Deisy wanted to make sure I remembered some of the information she’d given me during the visit: why is this rock white, that one red, and that one black? Back in the village, we had lunch at a restaurant recommended by Deisy before visiting the Nemecon salt mine. Before entering, a guide spent a good half-hour explaining the origin of the salt and the presence of many fossils in the area. Again, concentrating was tough because all the comments were exclusively in Spanish! An hour and a half wandering through the tunnels with a ‘lovely miner’s helmet’ on our heads!







We met our driver at the mine entrance. The return to Bogotá was a bit faster, but traffic in the city center was still heavy! We arrived in front of our hotel between 8:00 and 8:30 PM. It’s been a pretty intense start to the trip! Tonight, our legs are tired. Hopefully, tomorrow will be a bit more relaxed! Bogotá (3/3) We started the day by visiting the Santa Clara Church Museum, located next to the presidential palace. Alejandra (from the local agency ‘Gaia Tours Colombia,’ which organized our stay in Caño Cristales (La Macarena)) had recommended this visit for its rich mural paintings.



A few hundred meters further, after crossing the Plaza Mayor again, we visited the cultural complex housing the Botero Museum, the Mint Museum, and the Bank of the Republic Art Museum. Note that entry is free for all three museums. Botero Museum: There are fewer works by Botero here than in the Medellín museum, but more paintings and sculptures by other artists, all from Botero’s private collection (donated to Colombia). Mint Museum: We limited ourselves to visiting one room (on Flora’s advice) where three gold and gemstone monstrances and a Christ with a crown of emerald thorns are displayed. Photos are not allowed. Art Museum: We visited two temporary exhibitions. Lunchtime came quickly. We had a good meal at a reasonably priced small restaurant in the La Candelaria micro-district, near the Chorro de Quevedo square. We decided to spend the afternoon wandering the streets and alleys of the historic center to discover local street art.



We also passed through very lively pedestrian streets. I also decided to revisit Pasaje Rivas to show Justine all the shops selling more or less artisanal products. Tomorrow morning, we fly to La Macarena at 10:30 AM. Not to dance (you’d be surprised if I told you we were going to take a South American dance class, right?!), but to visit the fabulous Caño Cristales, a river naturally colored by aquatic plants. The planned program includes hiking, horseback riding, canoeing, and swimming among these plants. This site was long inaccessible because the area was controlled by the FARC. Access and tourism development became possible after agreements and amnesty measures between the Colombian government and paramilitary groups. As in other regions, former FARC members have been able to transition into various tourism-related activities.

TRAVEL JOURNAL MADAGASCAR OCTOBER 2019

First of all, a big thank you to all the VoyageForum contributors who helped us plan our itinerary.

Introduction: There are three of us—a couple and a friend—all retired, aged 70. We spent four weeks in Madagascar, our first trip there, accompanied by a guide and a 4x4 driver-mechanic. We decided on the trip in June, and the process of requesting quotes, planning the itinerary, buying flight tickets, and applying for visas was quick. We finalized everything by the end of June.

Vehicle: The car was a Nissan Patrol, not new but well-maintained, and it served us perfectly. We had a few minor repairs—wheel bearings to change, a broken bull bar, and two flat tires throughout the trip. There was no air conditioning, so we drove with the windows open, which meant a bit of dust. In full sun, temperatures could reach 37/38°C.

Itinerary: The route started in Antananarivo upon arrival from the Air France flight from Roissy to Ivato and ended four weeks later at the same airport, passing through Antsirabe, Miandrivazo, the Tsiribihina River descent, Belo sur Tsiribihina, the Tsingy de Bemahara, the Avenue of the Baobabs, Morondava, Belo sur Mer, Morombe, Salary, Ifaty–Tulear, Ranohira, Fianarantsoa, the FCE train, Manakara, the Pangalanes Canal, Ranomafana, the Anja Reserve, and Ambositra.

Our local agency: The trip was organized with the help and logistical support of a local agency based in Antsirabe—a small, efficient, and enthusiastic team run by Élodie and her guide Manantsoa. If you'd like their contact details, feel free to message me directly. We have nothing but praise for them!

The roads: Travel was by 4x4 on rough, uneven tracks. We didn’t plan long stages to spare our backs, averaging a maximum of 5 to 6 hours per day. As for the RN7, the island’s most touristy road, there were no major issues. The Fianarantsoa Côte Est (FCE) train: This is the only train connecting Fianarantsoa to Manakara on the east coast. Taking it is an epic adventure—it takes an average of 17/18 hours to cover the 165 km between the two cities, passing through 17 stations, countless tunnels, and bridges. We left at 7 AM and arrived around 1:30 AM, but it was a direct way to connect with the local population at every stop. Even though we were comfortably seated in first class, we got a small glimpse of the harsh living conditions of the locals. One striking detail: on the last 80 km before Manakara, there wasn’t a single light—it was pitch black!

The Tsiribihina River descent: You can choose between a motorized barge or a rowed pirogue, depending on your comfort level. We opted for the motorized barge with a crew that included our guide, the captain, two sailors, and a cook. There was an upper deck for sunbathing and relaxing, and we slept in tents set up by the crew. The toilets were dry, and we showered with cold water from a waterfall—no complaints! The pirogue is more basic. It’s a slow, timeless journey along the river, with stunning landscapes, friendly locals, and diverse wildlife—lemurs, herons, birds of prey, kingfishers, and more.

Safety: The main safety concern on the roads is classic prevention—no flashy jewelry or visible valuables. In high-risk areas, vehicles travel in convoys escorted by the army, police, or gendarmerie. Elsewhere, our guide and driver handled "difficulties" like local "tolls," river crossings, and ferries with resourcefulness and calm. We never felt in danger during the four weeks, though we avoided driving or walking at night.

Accommodation: We chose mid-range hotels, always with private bathrooms and showers in the room. Sometimes there was no hot water, and water pressure was inconsistent, but that was city-wide, so we understood. In more touristy areas, the hotels were slightly better, though there’s still a long way to go to meet our standards! For the Tsiribihina descent, the crew set up a protected area for toilets and cold showers. We could even shower under the waterfall in the morning—cold and invigorating, but amazing!

Food: We ate well, whether it was European or Malagasy cuisine. The food was tasty and plentiful. The staple is rice—when imported from China or Myanmar, the quality isn’t always consistent. It’s served with everything. Zebu (beef) is good, and pork is less common but decent. Poultry isn’t raised in battery farms like at home; it’s free-range, tasty, but a bit tough. There’s a variety of vegetables, though we missed fresh fruit—it wasn’t the right season. Bananas and pineapples were abundant, with a few mangoes and oranges. On the coast, seafood was a treat—fish, shellfish, crabs, lobsters, sea cicadas, oysters, and more. Near Antananarivo, there’s a town called Behenjy specializing in foie gras, though in the heat, it’s not ideal for tasting. For local "hotely" restaurants (serving Malagasy food), it’s best to ask your guide to pick the best ones. As for tap water and raw vegetables, forget about them during your stay! We preferred to dine at the hotel to avoid nighttime outings, except in rare cases where a quality restaurant was nearby.

The people: It’s an understatement to say that Madagascar suffers from endemic poverty. In the cities, homeless people—men, women, children, even newborns—sleep on the streets or in makeshift shelters. The villages we passed through weren’t much better, and the remote ones we didn’t see are likely even worse. People lack everything—running water, electricity, schools, infrastructure—especially in the southern villages. Yet the land and rice fields seem to yield abundant harvests, and in desert areas, zebu farming is a way of life. The sea provides its riches—fish, lobsters, octopus, crabs, and more. Given the lack of education and income, begging is everywhere, a bit persistent but never aggressive. Bring as many things to give away as you can, and leave with empty hands—or rather, suitcases full of souvenirs! Let’s pay tribute to NGOs and religious institutions doing incredible work. On a personal level, we can only reflect, feel a bit of outrage, and act against this injustice. The Malagasy people don’t deserve this level of poverty. They’re also very religious—Catholic, Protestant, Adventist, Seventh-day Adventist, Jehovah’s Witness churches, and more, flourish across the island. In short, the people are welcoming, resigned, but so endearing and friendly!

Landscapes: The Tsingy, baobabs of all shapes and sizes—big, small, round, slender—the pristine beaches and Polynesian-like lagoons with deep blue waters between Tulear and Morombe, the rocks of the Isalo Massif reminiscent of the Wild West, the primary forests of Ranomafana, the red laterite landscapes of the Highlands dotted with villages, terraced rice fields, sunrises and sunsets on the east and west coasts, the views from the FCE train, the tranquility of the Pangalanes Canal (a bit like Kerala), the Vezo villages (nomads of the sea), the lagoon dotted with colorful square sails of Vezo fishermen—it’s all fantastic and varied!

Local transport: Overloaded bush taxis or trucks, zebu carts, rickshaws, tuk-tuks, and even carts pulled by people—it’s even more shocking!

Wildlife: The stars: - Lemurs—diurnal and nocturnal—there are so many to see, and you can spend hours watching them! - Chameleons—all shapes, sizes, and colors!

Climate: During our four weeks in September and October 2019 (we’d only been back for three days), we had just one day of rain. It was warm and pleasant everywhere during the trip. A light sweater for the evenings and waterproof clothing for rainy days are a good idea. Don’t forget sunglasses, swimsuits, sunscreen, mosquito repellent, malaria prophylaxis, flip-flops, hiking shoes for the parks, and all the usual essentials—nothing out of the ordinary!

Expenses: For half-board (breakfast and dinner), including transport (fuel), guide and driver, park entry fees, and local park guides, the cost was 2300 € per person for the four weeks. On top of that, you’ll need to add flight tickets, drinks, and lunch (around 5–10 € depending on your choices), as well as tips and personal expenses.

In short, we came back CHARMED.

Our thanks to ÉLODIE and MANANTSOA, as well as the drivers PAPOOSE and ROBERT.

I recently took a six-week trip to Mexico with Y, my Thai partner. To be precise, we spent 43 days there plus a final half-day before heading to Mexico City Airport for our return flight to Europe.

I’d already been to Mexico about 40 years ago! But that was only for a week or so, between Mérida and the Belize border.

First off, I should mention that I’ve never seen a beach in Mexico. I say this because discussions about Mexico always seem to revolve around the Costa / Riviera Maya.

Let’s start with an overview of the trip. Our itinerary can be split into two halves:

- First half: Querétaro, San Miguel de Allende, Morelia, Guanajuato, Mexico City “CDMX” (the capital). - Second half: Palenque, San Cristóbal de Las Casas, Chiapa de Corzo, Oaxaca, Puebla, Cholula, and finally Mexico City CDMX.

To move from one part of the trip to the other, we took a flight from Mexico City CDMX to Villahermosa, then a bus to Palenque.

In six weeks, we visited maybe a quarter or a fifth of the country (see the attached maps). Mexico is about three times the size of France! And when I say “visited,” it was really just a quick stop—enough to get a first impression. I understand that some people can only spend one or two weeks on vacation in a given country, but that’s not my idea of travel. Personally, I’d say a country as rich in every way as Mexico deserves several months of travel before you can say you’ve “seen” it.

In my next post, I’ll break down the expenses. That might help future travelers plan their trips. You don’t go to a country for several weeks (or more) without thinking about the budget! Besides, one of those future travelers to Mexico is us—we were so thrilled by Mexico that we’re definitely going back.

Travel journal in Eastern Crete from September 8th to 29th, 2024

Our 21-day itinerary

Sunday, 08/09: Once again—and this is the eighth time—we’re setting off, the four of us: Patrick, Michelle, Jacques, and Monique, for the Greek islands. This time, we’ve chosen Crete. No need to wake up at 3 or 4 a.m. to reach Basel-Mulhouse Airport at dawn to catch the first flight to Greece at 6 a.m.! Given the prohibitive prices charged by EasyJet, we found flights that were half the price from Zurich Airport, which is accessible in 3 hours by train from Colmar. Pierre-Paul drives all four of us to Colmar train station, where we take the train to Basel and then, 20 minutes later, the direct train to Zurich Airport. After wandering around the airport, we go for a coffee at 6 € each! We’re in Switzerland, after all. The other dining areas all have vending machines for selecting and paying for meals—soon, there won’t be anyone left to serve you! After a short wait, we take off at 7:45 p.m. (20 minutes late) in an Aegean Airbus A321. Free in-flight meal service isn’t bad either! We land in Heraklion around 11:15 p.m. We pick up our rental car (a red Seat Ibiza) at the airport and head straight to our apartment, located 2 km from the city center. Thanks to the GPS, we find it quickly. It’s a beautiful, fully renovated apartment with all the comforts and well-equipped. On the table, there’s wine, bottles of water, jam, coffee, etc. Given the late hour, we won’t stay up long.

Monday, 09/09: To enhance our breakfast, Michelle and Monique set off to find a bakery nearby. They return with croissants and donuts—yum... Then we head to the west coast. The highway follows the coastline, but we prefer taking the old road to Malia, our first stop. We visit the major archaeological site of this Minoan city under the hot sun. The site covers a vast area, but the ruins aren’t very evocative except for a few beautiful amphorae scattered around. The explanations in a small house at the entrance are interesting and help us better understand the organization of the ancient city with its different districts. From there, we head toward the nearby mountains to see the thousand-year-old plane tree in the village of Krasi. We take the opportunity to enjoy an excellent lunch of moussaka and delicious gemista at the Krassopsychia taverna in the village center. Pleasant surprise: the prices are still reasonable, with a bill of 70 € for four, including wine and water. The friendly tradition of complimentary dessert and glasses of raki continues—great! We’ve set the bar high right away! Let’s hope the rest lives up to it! On the way back toward the Lassithi Plateau, we stop at the Kardiotisa Monastery perched high on the mountain to enjoy a magnificent view of the entire region. Just a little further, we arrive at the Lassithi Plateau: the presence of small windmills used to pump water from the ground is the typical feature of this plateau. We complete a full loop around the plateau, passing by numerous orchards and vegetable gardens that occupy the entire space. At the end of the plateau, we once again cross mountain passes via winding roads that bring us near Agios Nikolaos. Our apartment is located about ten kilometers further south in Amoudhara. The owner, who was notified, waits for us and shows us her superb apartment, whose large terrace overlooks the entire Mirabello Bay. She then gives us valuable information about the different beaches in the area. Dinner will be frugal, given our hearty lunch in Krasi!

Sunset over Mirabello Bay

Tuesday, 10/09: A bit of a gray sky when we wake up around 8 a.m., but the sun will soon triumph over the scattered clouds. For our first swim, we opt for Voulisma Beach, even though our host warned us it was a bit “crowdy.” That’s understandable given the beautiful emerald color of the sea and the lovely curve of the beach. To avoid the big crowds, we move toward the eastern part of the beach, accessible via a steep staircase. The water is very warm, and this first dip is very pleasant. Before returning to the apartment, we stop at the bakery to buy spinach pies, essential ingredients to accompany our Greek salad for lunch. Of course, everything will be washed down with ouzo, which will remain our favorite drink for the next three weeks—but in moderation!!! A nap is in order after all that effort. In the late afternoon, we drive to Agios Nikolaos, the main seaside resort in Crete. We’re not too enthusiastic about visiting this mass-tourism resort, but the center of Agios, concentrated around the small inner harbor, is pleasant to see despite the plethora of shops and restaurants. We dine a little outside the harbor in the shaded courtyard of the Avli taverna: the oven-baked lamb, squid with spinach, and cuttlefish ink orzo pasta are all highly appreciated. We still stay under a 75 € bill for four.

Mirabello Bay seen from our terrace

Wednesday, 11/09: At 8 a.m., the terrace is already bathed in sunlight, and it’s already quite hot. The small parasol barely gives us enough shade, but we’re not complaining! For our second swim, we head to a tiny beach recommended by our host, just 3 minutes by car from our place. The path leading to it is very discreet, and we don’t find it right away! It’s a small sandy cove with a few welcome tamarisk trees for shade. When we arrive, there are two swimmers, and there won’t be more than five or six in the morning. After lunch and a nap, we head to the beautiful village of Kritsa, just a few kilometers away. It’s too late to visit the beautiful church of Kera Panagia, which is already closed. We settle for the exterior, which is worth a look. The weather is clouding over, and big clouds are gathering. Upon arriving in Kritsa, a heavy shower forces us to take shelter in the Platanos taverna in the village center, and since it’s nearly 7 p.m., we decide to stay and dine there. Good choice—excellent meze: croquettes and stuffed zucchini flowers, gigantes beans, grilled tomatoes and feta, and pancetta as the main dish. The rain stops just as we decide to head back.

Village of Kritsa

Thursday, 12/09: Our terrace faces east, so we get to watch the sunrise around 7 a.m.—it’s truly a beautiful sight we never tire of. Around 9 a.m., we head to the village of Plaka, where boats depart for the island of Spinalonga, located north of Agios Nikolaos. We board the first boat, which sets sail at 10 a.m., and we’re not alone—the boat is practically full. After 10 minutes, we land on the island at the same time as several other boats from Elounda or Agios. Needless to say, there are already quite a few people walking through the streets of the leper village. The visit remains interesting and moving as we read the explanatory panels recounting the island’s history under Byzantine and then Turkish rule, followed by its transformation into a leper colony. As soon as we climb toward the top of the island via more or less maintained paths, there’s almost no one left. The 360° view from up there is stunning.



Spinalonga Island

The heat is now unbearable, and we can’t wait to get back home to have lunch on our terrace and rest. In the late afternoon, we go grocery shopping at the AB supermarket at the entrance of Agios. We had spotted another nice restaurant in our guide, but unfortunately, there’s a different one at the indicated location that doesn’t inspire us. So, we return to the Avli taverna for another dinner just as good as the first.

Friday, 13/09: We repeat yesterday’s successful program: a swim in our little cove, lunch on the terrace, a nap, and then, in the late afternoon, we discover another nearby village, Kroustas, nestled in the olive groves near Kritsa. Much less touristy than Kritsa, it’s mostly inhabited by locals, especially the elderly who are enjoying the cool air on their chairs—if you can call it cool given the still-high temperatures in the late afternoon! We then return to visit Kritsa, which we hadn’t been able to explore due to the rain. Dinner at a taverna in the village center at a very reasonable price.

Saturday, 14/09: Today, we move to our new base further east. We start with a high viewpoint at the Faneromeni Monastery, which overlooks Mirabello Bay. The monastery itself is of little interest as it’s under renovation with excessive concrete work. We continue to the village of Kavoussi to see another exceptional tree after a few kilometers on a dusty, bumpy track. It’s an olive tree said to be about 3,200 years old—impressive, and the countryside is very beautiful. It’s time to find a place for lunch. We find one in the charming little port of Mohlos, where a few tavernas surround a very nice small beach. Our choice falls on the Bogazzi taverna, where we enjoy fried fish. To reach our new base in Zakros, we still have to drive through the mountains before reaching Sitia, Paleokastro, and finally Zakros. The region is beautiful, with olive groves and rows of wind turbines taking advantage of the strong wind near the northern tip of the island. In Zakros, we’re greeted by our very friendly host. Here too, we have all the comforts and a beautiful terrace overlooking the village. The apartment has reversible air conditioners, but the overly simple instructions leave us puzzled. Thinking we’ve set it correctly, we realize a little too late that it’s blowing hot air over 30°C! After numerous attempts and testing several confusing programs, we finally succeed! Dinner on our new terrace.

Sunday, 15/09: This morning, we get up early to hike in the “Gorge of the Dead” while it’s still cool. The sky is blue as usual! We park in the nearest parking lot and start our descent via a beautiful path winding through the olive groves. A little further on, the landscape opens up, and the path, now a stony trail, begins the descent to the dry riverbed. On either side of the riverbed rise beautiful reddish cliffs.





Gorge of the Dead

The trail winds its way through this narrow gorge with difficulty. It was in the many caves visible halfway up the slope that the Minoans buried their dead, hence the name “Gorge of the Dead.” The gorge opens onto a beautiful small pebble beach. A swim is welcome after this hike that made us sweat. The hike took us 1 hour and 25 minutes, and a little less on the way back. Meanwhile, Monique did some shopping and prepared an excellent lunch. In the late afternoon, we go down to dine at Platanakis, a taverna in the small village of Kato Zakros.

Monday, 16/09: This morning, we explore the northern part of the east coast near Palekastro. We start with a dip at the beautiful Hionia Beach near Palekastro. The water is still just as nice, but a light breeze is blowing—not enough to spoil our fun! Seeing all the wind turbines lining the ridges, it’s no surprise.

Grocery shopping in Palekastro and return to Zakros. A little rain in the late afternoon and an excellent dinner at Iannis Mitsakakis’ Taverna in Adravastis. These are the kind of small tavernas we love—unpretentious, a few tables on a terrace, a warm welcome, a short menu guaranteeing freshness, tasty dishes prepared by the server’s mom, and a light bill. What more could you ask for!

Tuesday, 17/09: We head back toward Palekastro to do some shopping, but it’s also the road to the Toplou Monastery. There, we see a collection of magnificent icons dating from the 15th to the 20th century. We can also admire drawings of Orthodox religious architecture. We continue toward the Mavros Akrotiri headland to enjoy the view of the sea and rocky capes. On the way back to our place, we make a small detour to see the famous Vai palm grove. Meh... As for Vai Beach, it’s filled with paid umbrellas and sunbeds, and there are so many people that we flee. Plus, having to pay for parking is another reason to snub this trendy beach. We prefer our Hionia Beach, which we already appreciated the other day. In the late afternoon, Pat and I start the trail that begins at Kato Zakros Beach heading south. The poorly marked path crosses a plateau of sharp limestone. The paint and cairn markings are no longer very visible, and with dusk approaching, we turn back toward Kato Zakros. Dinner at the Platanakis taverna—less good than last time.

Wednesday, 18/09: To avoid the scorching sun, Pat, Mimi, and I get up earlier than usual to hike the Hohlakies Gorge. At this early hour, the sky is quite cloudy, and it’s drizzling. When we arrive in the village of Hohlakies, we park in front of a small chapel, the start of the hike. The sky is now completely clear. The trail starts among the olive groves, then after passing through a gate, we descend into the gorge filled with large rocks. We’re alone in the world, and the landscape is magnificent. A few wild goats clinging to the cliff watch us from above. After 1 hour and 15 minutes, we emerge onto the wonderful Karoumès Beach. A pleasant swim, then back to civilization! A walk in the late afternoon in Zakros to discover the beautiful springs route. Dinner in Adravastis.

Thursday, 19/09: Another move: Before heading to our next stop, we make a detour to see the beautiful Keratokampos Beach and can’t resist a swim in the still-warm, clear water. We continue our journey via Ziros, then reach the south coast and have lunch at the Stephi taverna in Ferma—excellent meal! The south coast is quite urbanized and has much less charm than the east coast we’ve just left! The numerous plastic greenhouses are partly to blame. We stop for groceries in Ierapetra. Around 3 p.m., we arrive at our destination in the small perched village of Anatoli. Our lodging is at the top of the village, and from the path leading to it, we have a magnificent view of the coastal plain, unfortunately overloaded with plastic greenhouses. It reminds us of the landscapes of El Ejido in Andalusia.

View of the Ierapetra coast from Anatoli

Friday, 20/09: A walk and discovery of the hamlet of Anatoli. There are few services—a tiny grocery store, a taverna, and that’s it. Fortunately, the traveling baker arrives and honks. We take the opportunity to buy fresh bread. Leaving the village, we take a path that should lead us to the hamlet of Drygies. The landscape is beautiful. We walk through a lovely pine forest before arriving at the hamlet. The path continues to a taverna that’s closed today, with a superb terrace overlooking the coast. Luckily, the owner arrives and informs us that the taverna will be open next Sunday and that we can enjoy barbecued meat. Noted! We head back to Anatoli via the small paved road with, fortunately, very limited traffic. Lunch on our terrace, then a dip in our private pool! The water is noticeably cooler than at the beach. Dinner at the village taverna: there’s only one menu—meze starters, souvlaki, water, wine, and bread—all for 35 €! We think we’re dreaming—was there a mistake? No.

Saturday, 21/09: We discover the beach of the village of Myrtos, a small seaside resort that’s quite touristy but on a human scale. We swim in the western part of the beach, and once again, we’re alone in the water. The best part: warm water and tamarisk trees for welcome shade. There’s even a shower to rinse off! In the late afternoon, Pat and I decide to go for a hike in the Selakano pine forest. To get there, we take a narrow, winding, and poorly paved road after the village of Christos. Plus, at this altitude, we encounter clouds clinging to the mountain, so it’s drizzling, and visibility is reduced. We decide to turn back and return to Anatoli. As compensation, we take the path that passes in front of the lodging and leads us to the Timios Stavros chapel, which crowns the summit of the nearby mountain. We arrive at the summit just in time for the sunset at 7 p.m. Breathtaking 360° panorama and magnificent colors!

Sunset from Anatoli

Sunday, 22/09: This morning, Pat, Mimi, and I go for a hike in the Sarakina Gorge, located about 12 km from Anatoli via a beautiful road winding through irrigated olive groves. We park in the small parking lot before the trail. At the start, the path follows a levada (small irrigation canal) and quickly enters a very narrow gorge flanked by high cliffs. The riverbed is cluttered with huge rocks blocking the passage. No matter—in the technical sections, ropes or ladders allow us to overcome these obstacles with a bit of skill. You can imagine how quickly the riverbed must rise during a storm, given the narrowness of the gorge!

We progress slowly through this magnificent and impressive rocky chaos. At the exit of the gorge, we take another return path that partly follows the paved road. Back in Anatoli, we go to lunch at the Drygies taverna. We sit at the edge of the terrace under a huge tree that covers almost the entire terrace and order grilled lamb dishes prepared according to the ancient “antikristo” method.

Monday, 23/09: Departure for our last stop before Heraklion. We thought about swimming at Tertsa Beach, but it turns out to be less pleasant than expected, with pebbles and an uneven rocky plateau. So, we return to Myrtos Beach, which we know well and suits us perfectly. We head west, leaving the coast a bit. Around 3:30 p.m., we arrive at our destination in the village of Kamilari, near the famous Matala spot. We’ve rented a beautiful, modern, well-equipped apartment with a lovely shaded terrace. The owner is very friendly and explains everything necessary for a good stay. We explore the quite touristy village with its few tavernas, all full of tourists, mostly Germans.

Tuesday, 24/09: Visit to the village of Sivas, well restored thanks to the Germans, who have invested a lot here. We take the opportunity to scout out “friendly” tavernas, then go for a swim at Kalamaki Beach. Apart from a small sandy access, you have to enter the water via a chaotic limestone plateau—proof of this is that Monique trips slightly when entering the water. A group of very unfriendly German women blocks the sandy passage and doesn’t hesitate to push swimmers they deem too close. Back home, lunch, and a nap. In the late afternoon, we drive to visit the nearby Phaistos site. We benefit from very beautiful lighting. From the elevated site, we overlook the Messara Plain with a beautiful view of the olive grove checkerboards highlighted by the late afternoon sun. The site itself is quite vast, but to appreciate it, it’s better to read the explanatory panels placed throughout the different quarters. At this hour, the site is almost empty, and the beautiful light adds charm to the visit.

Wednesday, 25/09: Departure for the village of Matala, which doesn’t interest us in itself, having been there during the “hippie” era in 1976. However, going to Red Beach, only accessible by taking a path overlooking this area, appeals to us much more. We park in the large parking lot just outside the village and start our climb, which brings us to a pass from where we can admire this beautiful red-sand beach framed by beautiful cliffs plunging into the sea. The weather is magnificent, and at this early hour, there aren’t many people yet. We swim in the free part located near the cliff on the right when arriving at the beach. The sea is like glass, warm, and without a single ripple—a real treat! After half an hour, we turn back, and now there are many people rushing on this path, not at all made for feet in sandals or flip-flops, yet many vacationers venture out like this! Matala lives up to its image—a trendy place, full of shops, bars, and restaurants. You could be in any seaside resort with a standard global urbanism, lacking particular charm. Back home. In the late afternoon, a walk through the olive groves surrounding Kamilari, then dinner at Evangelina’s, who runs the Minoan Parassies taverna in the middle of the olive groves. Evangelina is quite a character: we came to reserve a table for 8 p.m. when it was only 7 p.m., but since we lingered near her restaurant, she prepares a table for us and urges us to sit down! And there she takes our order, and a little later, the meze arrive, followed by the main dishes. We finish this good dinner with several generous glasses of raki, accompanied by Evangelina’s encouragements, repeating “poya poya bravo bravo” in a loop. We’re in great shape too, by the way! We return in the middle of the night, on foot, fortunately, with the path vaguely lit by our phones...

Thursday, 26/09: This morning, we discover a new beach, Kommos Beach, not far from Kamilari either. It’s a long sandy beach, a small part of which is dedicated to paid umbrellas and sunbeds, and the rest is free. We spot a tamarisk tree to take shelter from the still-hot sun, and once again, we enjoy clear, warm water. The few swimmers spread out easily over nearly 500 meters of beach. In the late afternoon, Pat and I go to admire the sunset from the hill near our lodging. The hill, covered with olive trees, is threatened by a planned housing development of large cubic villas—trends dictate. Concrete never stops...

Friday, 27/09: We thought about leaving the car at the Odiyitria Monastery, the end of the paved road, but since the track descending to the cave remains drivable, we park 3 km further at the junction of the track leading to Kali Limenes Beach. We still have to walk for half an hour on a less drivable track, and then we’re at the entrance of the Farango Gorge. It’s a beautiful, easy hike since we follow the dry pebble riverbed. Before arriving at the beach, there’s a very beautiful small chapel sheltered under a large cliff, beautifully lit at this early hour.



Agio Farango Chapel

A few climbers are scaling the cliff, and about ten swimmers are enjoying the sea. Return to the car under the hot sun. In the late afternoon, we all return to visit the interesting Odiyitria Monastery. Last swim at Kommos Beach and an excellent dinner at the Sigelakis taverna in Sivas.

Saturday, 28/09: There’s an end-of-vacation atmosphere... We pack our bags and head north. A short stop to see the village of Vorri, and a little over an hour later, we arrive in the big city of Heraklion. Since it’s too early to check into the apartment, we park in the city center to visit the famous archaeological museum. It’s indeed a must-see highlight of our stay in Crete. All four of us are amazed by the quantity and quality of the objects presented from the Minoan civilization. After more than 2 hours, we come out without having seen everything, but we’re a bit overwhelmed by all these wonders. Lunch at a nice little taverna very close to the Titus Church. We go to take possession of our apartment—the same as on the way there, still just as satisfying. In the late afternoon, I go alone for a walk in the historic district of the city, passing by the Morosini Fountain, which is bustling with people—some seated at café terraces, others standing and chatting. There’s a lively atmosphere here. A little further on are the Venetian loggia and the Agios Titos Church. I walk down to the old Venetian port to stroll along the jetty and admire the fortifications under beautiful late-afternoon lighting, then return to the apartment. Dinner near our place at Kiriakis, a “chic” restaurant but with very reasonable prices and excellent cuisine.

Sunday, 29/09: Wake-up at 3:30 a.m., quick coffee, and drive to the nearby airport. We leave the car in the parking lot. Already a lot of people at this early hour. Since we don’t have checked luggage, we go straight to security, which goes fairly quickly, then it’s waiting time and takeoff on time in an Airbus A321 for a 45-minute flight to Athens. We take off again in another Airbus A321 with a 50-minute delay to arrive in Zurich at 11:10 a.m. local time. Then we have to take the train to Basel and then the one to Colmar. With fewer Sunday services, we won’t arrive in Colmar until around 4 p.m.

Conclusion All four of us returned very satisfied with this stay in Crete for several reasons: - We found superb beaches with clear, warm water and often very few vacationers. - The few hikes we did were magnificent, especially those where the trails went through gorges leading to deserted beaches. - We greatly appreciated Cretan gastronomy—there were so few disappointments that we can count them on one hand. - All the accommodations we booked turned out to be superb, with the icing on the cake being the very friendly welcome from our hosts. - Generally, contacts with Cretans were always very warm despite the language barrier—we speak a little Greek. - We also appreciated the diversity of landscapes in this eastern part of Crete, with plateaus and mountains with splendid rugged reliefs.

Note: The photo album is available by clicking on this link: https://photos.app.goo.gl/hfdjQndA5eXkL5k7 Captions are only visible per photo by clicking on the circled “i” in the top right. Budget: approximately 3,300 € per couple for 21 days, including train and flights Budget details per couple: - Flight Zurich-Heraklion: 440 € - Trains Colmar-Basel-Zurich round trip for 4: 442.40 € (221 € per couple) - Accommodation: 2,431 € / 21 = 115.80 € per night for 4 (1,216 € per couple) - Car rental for 21 days: 684 € + 145 € fuel (1,150 km) (414 € per couple) - Restaurants, food, etc.: 1,009 €

Hello everyone,

As usual, I’m posting a new travel journal about our trip to Norway last September. This one will span several months, with a day-by-day account of our adventure. I won’t be posting many photos on the forum (the publishing rules have become even more complicated since my last journal), but you can find all the shots on my blog (address in my signature).

We’ve just returned from a truly extraordinary, unforgettable trip. Planning this trip wasn’t easy, and I’ll admit I struggled to decide on the itinerary… Should we take the Hurtigruten all the way from the south to the north? But a whole trip by boat didn’t really appeal to us. Or focus on the south in the fjord region? But that would mean missing out on the Lofoten Islands… In the end, we chose to concentrate on southern Norway, exploring the coast and fjords, while including a stop in Oslo and mixing train, boat, and car travel. I also opted for a trip where we’d drive less than in previous years (1,650 km compared to 2,000 km in Portugal and 3,800 km in the American West), but we’d still move around a bit and do some hikes. Here’s the itinerary we followed:



This trip was absolutely amazing and introduced us to so many things we’d never seen or done before—fjords, a night on a boat, glaciers, stave churches, snow in summer (…and the high cost of living!).

If we had to sum up our top highlights, here’s our top 3: Mr.:

the variety of landscapes the colors, especially the colors of the water—from crystal clear to light blue and turquoise in some spots eating good fish

Mrs.:

the roads: the ones in the area we explored were truly stunning Geirangerfjord, especially in the late afternoon, when it was quiet and free of cruise ships the Trolltunga hike: a challenging trek and a little personal achievement for us

What we liked less:

the sometimes inconsistent signage on hikes the cost of living (everything costs money, and even food is expensive) the tunnels: there are so many, and they’re not much fun (except for one with a roundabout inside…!)

That’s it for this first summary/overview, and I can already tell that choosing photos is going to be tough!!! Here’s a little preview of what we discovered:



To see the photos in full size on my blog: check it out here

Hi everyone!

So, I’m putting into action an idea I had two years ago... I’m inviting anyone who’s interested to help build a beautiful collaborative project—a shared travel journal!!!

The concept: one post =

a photo you’ve taken in the American West that means something to you and your thoughts on that photo or about it: where and when it was taken, the story behind it, why it’s special to you...

Grab your pens!!!! (And I hope this doesn’t flop, but if it does, at least I’ll have tried!!!)

And I’ll kick things off in the next post!

Hi there,

I’ve got a bit of time to share my latest Cape Town – Cape Town trip... A fairly short itinerary, but it was just before heading to Kruger for an extension. In May... Honestly, I’d usually recommend a different time to visit CT—I’ve been there in August, September, and October before. But as they say, "Do as I say, not as I do" or "Only fools never change their minds." Why? Whale season peaks from August to October... and seeing whales right by the shore or breaching out of the water is absolutely spectacular. The end-of-year holiday period—take this year, for example—can get absolutely packed, with beaches closed due to overcrowding, etc. June and July are freezing (for me)... early August isn’t always great either. That said, 2024 saw a September-October with rain, cold, and fog like never before. The Postberg section of West Coast National Park (WCNP) is only open in August and September. Flower season is roughly from mid-August to mid-September.

So, May... The weather? Gorgeous (lucky me!). The route... Not super original (I’ve done it before, though it’s been a while). I didn’t go too far from CT because I prefer slow travel. Cape Town – Langebaan (for WCNP, again) – Cederberg (at Mountain Ceder, again) – Bontebok NP (new to me, and on the way) – De Hoop NR (at De Hoop) – Agulhas NP – Boulders (for Boulders Beach and the peninsula, again and again).

The trip started off badly due to storms in Frankfurt... My overnight flight was delayed until the next day, but via Amsterdam, so a daytime flight instead. A bit stressful, but Lufthansa and KLM handled it well. Now it was my turn to sort things out... "Well, I need you to keep the car for me... I’m arriving tonight!" (aroundaboutcars, a Chinese Haval, blue and 4x4—though I didn’t actually need the 4x4... which waited for me).



"Well, I need you to keep my room for me... I’m arriving *very* late tonight." A hotel perfectly located by the lagoon, right by the gates of WCNP, but still close to Langebaan and its restaurants. I spotted it myself and booked it during Black Friday...





Yep, what was normally a short 1.5-hour drive *in daylight* from the Mother City to Langebaan... was now *at night*. And here I am, usually the one telling people, "Don’t drive at night, folks!" Well, I know the route, and Google won’t let me get lost... until Langebaan, that is. The last few kilometers were rough—"Don’t they put up signs? Don’t they have streetlights?"

Alright, it’s late, the day’s been long—time for bed! !

Since I used this forum a lot to prepare our trip, here’s a little feedback from our 15-day self-drive adventure in southwestern Uganda. For those who have questions, don’t hesitate! I’ll do my best to answer them 😉

We’d already traveled quite a bit in South Africa and once in Namibia, always self-driving. When the idea of visiting Uganda came up, we debated—especially me 😛—whether to go solo or with a guide. My husband quickly convinced me to do it self-drive, so I started planning and organizing the trip accordingly. We began preparations and bookings in June 2019 for a trip scheduled during the first two weeks of February 2020. We deliberately chose to explore just a small part of Uganda and take our time. We traveled as a group of four, with our oldest son and his partner.

Here’s our itinerary: - February 1: Departure from Brussels, arrival and overnight in Entebbe - February 2: Drive to Lake Mburo and overnight there - February 3: Drive to Lake Bunyonyi and overnight there - February 4: Boat ride on the lake, then departure for Kisoro. Overnight there - February 5: Trek in Mount Mgahinga National Park for the youngsters. Overnight in Kisoro - February 6: Drive to Bwindi Impenetrable Forest. Overnight in Rushaga - February 7: Gorilla tracking in Rushaga. Overnight in Rushaga - February 8: Drive to Queen Elizabeth National Park – Southern sector – Overnight on the park’s edge - February 9: Morning in the southern sector of the park, then crossing to the northern part – Short safari in the late afternoon – Overnight by the Kazinga Channel - February 10: Safari and boat cruise – Second night on site - February 11: Drive to Kibale Forest – Overnight there - February 12: Chimpanzee tracking in the morning – Bigodi swamps in the afternoon – Second night there - February 13: Scenic drive to see the crater lakes + walk at Lake Nkuruba Nature Reserve – Third night there - February 14: Return to Entebbe - February 15: Morning boat ride in the Mabamba swamps – Afternoon by Lake Victoria and midnight flight to Brussels. That’s the broad outline of our trip.

We fell in love with this country: the people, the kids shouting "muzungu," the colors, the landscapes, the wildlife... But we were also saddened by the poverty in some villages and the child labor, especially in "quarries."

I’ll try to post a day-by-day account if it interests anyone.

Thursday, November 9, 2023 Cairns

TV scriptwriters are a funny bunch. As soon as their ordinary mug starts becoming recognizable on the street thanks to success, their egos start swelling. They walk on clouds. So, one of the guys who worked on the script for our trip—the one who specifically came up with the bit about the SD card being ejected into the great beyond—has built himself a nice little reputation. The kind that can sometimes launch a real career. Then, inevitably, they just can’t stop. That’s how this guy had the poor idea of adding one last twist to the sequence that made him a one-day star. An idea that’s basically about squeezing the lemon until the very last drop, if you know what I mean. The little bag I take everywhere with my essentials—car keys, camera, phone—has also hosted a bunch of secondary items over time. Tissues, a book, city maps... whatever. It became a mess! So I finally decided to sort it out. I empty it onto a table. And there, stunned, I find the memory card that Dom and I desperately searched for on all fours on Cahill’s Crossing walkway, remember? Under the shocked gaze of a little Australian girl. It had ejected straight into my bag! What do you think? Should we fire the scriptwriter? It’s way too improbable! Stuff like that doesn’t happen in real life, right?

We head out to explore Cairns. The city is mostly about the waterfront, the Esplanade. You’ll find tons of bronze plaques there, most of them in memory of a deceased loved one. All you have to do is shell out a few hundred euros, and one day, a bewildered tourist will read your prose, charmed by your lovely turns of phrase. Vanity is a thriving business!

It makes for some reading... We spot our parakeets again... What were they called? Oh right, in abundance! Everywhere, banyan fig trees provide shade from a sun that never seems to tire. Parks... Here, kids are king. Luxury hotels with their infinity pools...

You don’t know where to look first... You’ve got to go all out. Google... Where can we rent bikes? When we finally track down the only operator in town, we find the place closed. A bit further on, a Visitor’s Center might find us an alternative? We meet a charming young guy, super dynamic and a great communicator. We leave without bikes but with a full snorkeling package for the day after tomorrow! I call the shop that let us down... Well done! The owner was at the doctor’s; he’s back now, and we can make a deal!

- Oh, Dominique, where are you off to like that, so proudly and at full speed? - Me? To the Botanic Garden, of course! It’s huge and free!

They’ve recycled oil tanks into art galleries!

Hello, We’re a couple in our sixties and we’ve just spent 22 days in Brazil, from October 29th to November 21st. We flew from Marseille via Lisbon—outbound to Rio, and back from Recife. Our itinerary: 4 days in Rio 4 days on Ilha Grande 2 days in Paraty 4 days in Salvador 4 days on Boïpeba 4 days in Olinda The transfer between Boïpeba and Recife took us 2 days—boats, taxis, and a flight. We stayed in Airbnbs except in Paraty, where we were in a pousada, and during the Boïpeba–Recife transfer, when we booked a hotel near the airport. Our flights were with Gol and Azul. Transfers from Rio were arranged through Paraty Tour. In Rio, we used a local agency to visit Corcovado and Sugarloaf Mountain.

Happy to answer any questions! Marc

Sometimes a trip to Thailand starts in a hotel near an airport, where guests have misunderstood the meaning of the name easyJet...



We know all too well that this long flight will leave us a bit jet-lagged when we arrive...



all while hoping we won’t start our stay completely...



Still, we’re lucid enough to notice that they could’ve at least leveled the ground before adding the decor at the airport:



As always, our arrival is under the watchful eye of some...



under the frankly curious gaze of others...



but of course, there are plenty who couldn’t care less...



All that’s left is to set off exploring, while staying cautious so we don’t get caught off guard...

Hello! 🙂

In 2017, struck by western addiction, our first road trip gave us an irresistible urge to return, which we did from September 2nd to 24th, 2019, on a loop from Denver to Denver via Yellowstone. The westernmost point of this journey, which took us through the geographical center of the USA, brought us within about a hundred kilometers of Moab, which had been the easternmost point of our last trip.

We’ve been back for over a month now, and I realize I’m starting to forget some details—it’s high time I started my travel journal before my brain turns into Swiss cheese and lets everything slip away. As I mentioned in my last story, it’ll take me quite a while to finish, so if any travelers have specific questions, don’t hesitate to message me privately. Once again, I’d like to thank everyone who helped me (and there were many!) prepare our road trip, with a special shout-out to Disneydiddl, Hiacinthe, and Titou (ladies first) as well as Fred and Itat, whom I bombarded with questions for months and who always kindly and patiently gave me tons of great tips. It’s thanks to all of you that this trip was such a success. I was a little worried I wouldn’t recapture the emotion and enthusiasm of our 2017 trip, but this one was just as "Wow" as the last.

For those who don’t know us, let me introduce our little group. We’re four friends in our sixties (this time, everyone made it, which let us score some "senior" discounts...). We live in the Var region, have known each other for over 20 years, and this was our second trip together to this magical West.

Mimi (Michèle): always the smallest and the funniest. Thank goodness she was there to speak English! Maumau (Maurice): her husband, always with his white hair, his Gallic mustache, his humor, and his Southern accent. He drove every other day. DD (André): the one with the beard, with whom I celebrated our 41st wedding anniversary at Yellowstone. Our second driver appreciated having a peaceful mind since he’s been retired since July. Marcalamar (Martine): that’s me—still blonde with glasses, still talking a lot, and still terrified of messing up the organization of this trip despite all the hours spent on the forum.

Recognize us? Ha ha ha!!!! No, just kidding!!!! That’s us!!!

Hi everyone,

We traveled between Christmas and New Year’s to visit our son in San Francisco. We’d already seen the parks during a 2008 vacation but hadn’t had time to drive Highway 1 between San Francisco and Los Angeles, so we decided to do it this time. At this time of year, the days are short—it gets dark by 5 PM, which limits sightseeing time. Weather-wise, we had temperatures between 11°C and 20°C (52°F and 68°F) during the week, so it was pretty pleasant. There was a bit of rain one day and some gray skies or fog in the mornings. Financially, California is *very* expensive! Prices listed don’t include tax or tips. Taxes are automatically added to restaurant bills or supermarket receipts, but *you* add the tip. Americans always leave a tip, no matter if they’re happy with the service or not (except at self-service places). The absolute minimum is 15%, but 20% is more common. Here’s how it works: First, the server brings the bill with the tax already added, then takes your card and the bill. They come back after charging your card, leaving you a new bill and a pen. You write down the tip (tips) you want to leave, add it up, and sign. You leave the paper and pen on the table and go. In some restaurants, the server brings the card reader to your table, and there are preset tip percentages to choose from. On your bank statement, the total amount (including tax) shows up as “pending.” A few days later, the transaction is finalized with the tip included. The 9-hour time difference isn’t trivial, especially as we get older 😉. Keep it in mind when planning—don’t overdo it in the first few days.

Here’s our itinerary: 12/25/2024: Flight from Lyon (7 AM) to San Francisco (11:50 AM): 1-hour layover in Amsterdam—way too tight. The airport is huge, and flights to the U.S. are at the far end. You also have to go through customs. We had to run! Luckily, there’s a special line for tight connections, and our flight was delayed! Reunited with our son and walked to the Painted Ladies (Victorian houses) and then through Alamo Square. Return trip via Waymo—a driverless Uber. Surprising, but the ride was super smooth, and we felt safe.

12/26/2024: San Francisco Walking tour of the city: Lombard Street, Pier 39 (sea lions), Coit Tower via the Filbert Steps (great view of the city), Chinatown, and Union Square (ice rink and Christmas tree).

12/27/2024: Monterey It took us about 2.5 hours to drive straight from SF to Monterey (to save time, we skipped the start of Highway 1). The goal for this stop was visiting the aquarium. It’s in an old sardine cannery, and there’s an interesting room showing the machinery and explaining the process. The aquarium features all the local fish and plant species, plus a stunning jellyfish exhibit. We spent about 2.5 hours there. Entry is pricey at $65, and it was packed when we went. For parking, you can use meters or day lots. The cheapest we found was $25 for the day, with in-and-out privileges. We saw some closer lots charging $80, so it’s worth shopping around before parking and walking a bit more. Afterward, we stopped by the Monarch Butterfly Sanctuary—a small, free park where these butterflies land, along with some wild deer. We ended the day at Lover’s Point, a park with an ocean view and surfers. That evening, we tried clam chowder in a sourdough bread bowl. Stayed overnight in Monterey.

12/28/2024: Big Sur Parks The Big Sur area has many state parks. Entry is $10 per car for the day (valid for any number of parks visited that same day). Pro tip: If you park outside and walk in, you don’t pay. We chose to visit Point Lobos Reserve. We hiked the trails along the ocean. Two must-do (short and easy) trails: “Sea Lion Point,” where massive waves crash onto the rocks, and “Bird Island Lookout,” where you can see thousands of pelicans and cormorants on the rocks, plus a few elephant seals. It’s truly stunning. We spent about 3 hours there. After driving along Garrapata State Park and crossing the famous Bixby Bridge, we went to Pfeiffer Big Sur State Park to do the short Valley View Trail + Pfeiffer Falls hike. It was nice being among the redwoods, but the waterfall was underwhelming. Maybe it’s more impressive in the summer when the river is flowing better. We ended the day at McWay Falls, a waterfall that flows directly into the ocean—super photogenic, especially at sunset. Returned to Monterey for the night.







12/29/2024: Drive to Morro Bay Highway 1 is currently closed near Gorda, so we had to take the inland route from Monterey, adding extra miles. It was raining, so we skipped the planned stop at Carmel-by-the-Sea. Instead, we detoured to Mission San Antonio de Padua, the 3rd mission (out of 21) built by the Spanish in 1773 to evangelize the region. It’s less famous than others, so there were fewer people, and it felt more “authentic” (free to visit). With fog adding to the rain, we headed straight to Morro Bay, our stop for the day, instead of continuing up Highway 1 to San Simeon. Took a short evening walk to Morro Rock—saw a few otters in the harbor. Stayed overnight in Morro Bay.



12/30/2024: Elephant Seals at Piedras Blancas The sun came back! We took a quick walk on the pier to see the otters in daylight, then drove back up Highway 1 to Piedras Blancas (near San Simeon), a famous spot for elephant seals. It’s birthing season, so there were lots of pups, plus males fighting for the females’ attention—what a show! We couldn’t get enough. We walked to the Piedras Blancas Lighthouse, with a few viewpoints of beaches where elephant seals were lounging (though far fewer than at the beach near the parking lot). We continued to Santa Barbara, our stop for the day. Stopped in San Luis Obispo for lunch and a quick city tour (Bubblegum Alley, the theater facade, and the mission). Since it was getting late, we skipped Los Alamos and went straight to Solvang, a charming Danish-style town (windmills, typical Danish houses) with lots of holiday lights (it’s their Julefest). Stayed overnight in Santa Barbara.

As planned every year for quite some time now, here we are in Italy on the Ligurian Coast to spend a few days and celebrate New Year's 2024/2025.

Our base is in the charming town of Rapallo, between Genoa and La Spezia. We're right on the coast, with our hotel offering a sea view and access to the beach.

Not far from Rapallo, you can find, besides the Cinque Terre, Portofino, Santa Margherita Ligure, Chiavari, and others like Carrara and even Pisa. In short, there's plenty to do.

Five days there with so-so weather, and crowds but nothing overwhelming.

For the trip between home and our base, we're using an electric vehicle. It's manageable without any issues. The hotel has outlets, and otherwise, there are charging points all over Italy. And just to note, Tesla chargers are the best in terms of cost and charging speed.

There you have it.

Once we arrived on Sunday, December 29th, it was time to go for a walk, book a restaurant for Monday evening, and finalize the itinerary.

On Monday the 30th, we were lucky enough to see a beautiful sunrise from our window.











And the town of Rapallo in the early morning!