Merci beaucoup pour ce témoignage qui m'a fait revivre mon voyage en Roumanie trois ans après le tien. Dans tous les domaines, je confirme tes dires: queue plus rapide réservée aux occidentaux à la frontières, essence payée en dollars, magasins vides, cuisine souvent infâme ; mais des gens accueillants, très curieux de choses simples et terrorisés par la "Securitat"...Pour la Hongrie et la Yougo, j'ai eu la même impression que toi: c'était déjà, d'une certaine manière, l'Occident.
J'avais seulement 10 ans, mais certaines images de ce voyage dans la Roumanie de Ceausescu m'ont marqué. C'était un voyage exotique unique. J'ai seulement 10 photos mais aussi un film super 8 de ce voyage. On avait poursuivi jusqu'en Turquie, en passant par la Bulgarie. Comme pour toi, ce voyage a été déterminant pour moi.
Je suis retourné en Roumanie en 2008. J'ai été déçu : routes pourries (ont-elles été refaites depuis 1986 ?), conduite au volant suicidaire et totalement irrespectueuse (dépassements et stationnement dans des endroits incensés), omniprésence des gros 4x4 noirs et des BMW des nouveaux riches, arnaque au restaurant, absence de signalisation même basique...Je me suis demandé comment la Roumanie pouvait avoir adhéré à l'UE en 2007. Le pays reste toutefois magnifique, couverts de lieux historiques et avec des paysages diversifiés. Je venais de traverser la Tchéquie, la Slovaquie et la Hongrie qui m'ont paru tellement modernes comparé à la Roumanie ! Y es-tu retourné, toi ?
Non, je n'ai pas encore eu l'occasion mais je pense refaire un voyage par là-bas.
Par contre, je suis allée en Bulgarie dernièrement et je me suis aussi demanndée comment ce pays a pu devenir membre de l'UE ...
Certains villages semblent sortis tout droit du 19 ème siècle....😮
De 1967 à 1989, je suis bien allé une quinzaine de fois en Pologne.
Par l'Allemagne de l'est, par la Tchécoslovaquie.
Oui, c'est vrai, il y avait un contraste phénoménal entre la France de l'époque
et ces pays du bloc de l'est. Mais, pour moi, il y avait aussi autre chose. La Pologne
est le pays d'origine de mes parents...
Donc, on vivait vraiment en symbiose avec les gens, dans toutes sortes de milieux.
Je crois que je n'ai jamais rencontré un seul Polonais convaincu par le régime - qu'on
leur avait imposé-, mais je n'ai pas rencontré TOUS les Polonais...
La démotivation, la pénurie, la lassitude, l'ennui, l'alcool, la combine...oui. Et pourtant, je ne suis pas
un fan du système capitaliste...
Deux anecdotes.
Le 20 août 1968, je me trouvais dans le sud de la Pologne, non loin de la frontière tchécoslovaque.
Cette nuit là, on n'avait pas dormi du tout à cause d'un bruit énorme qu'on n'arrivait pas à identifier.
Le lendemain matin, certains Polonais nous ont dit en catimini, que la Pologne avait prêté main forte
aux Soviétiques pour envahir la Tchécoslovaquie et mettre fin au printemps de Prague. On a alors compris
que le bruit que l'on avait entendu toute la nuit était celui des chars polonais qui se mettaient en route pour Prague...
Tels Fabrice à Waterloo, au coeur de l'évènement, on est loin de tout comprendre, surtout sans infos.
Le jour même, la police nous donnait 24 heures ( pas une de plus ) pour rejoindre par la route le rideau de fer
qui séparait les deux Allemagne et repasser à l'ouest. Toute la nuit, nous avons doublé des colonnes de chars,
montés sur camions, qui montaient se positionner sur le rideau de fer, au cas où, les occidentaux auraient
eu l'idée de réagir ...militairement. Quelle illusion !!!
En 1995, 6 ans après la chute du mur, j'étais dans une banque dans la ville de Cracovie. Il était 15h55, la banque fermait
à 16 heures. Entre un jeune gars - dans les 20/22 ans- qui lance bien fort à la cantonnade : " C'est à quel guichet qu'on peut déposer 20 000 dollars américains ? " Une des employées, écoeurée, lui répond sur le même niveau sonore: " Pour une si petite somme, ce sera ici...! " Ce jour là, j'ai décidé d'arrêter d'aller en Pologne...
Merci beaucoup pour ces témoignages très intéressants et même "historiques" !
"Le jour même, la police nous donnait 24 heures ( pas une de plus ) pour rejoindre par la route le rideau de fer
qui séparait les deux Allemagne et repasser à l'ouest. Toute la nuit, nous avons doublé des colonnes de chars,
montés sur camions, qui montaient se positionner sur le rideau de fer, au cas où, les occidentaux auraient
eu l'idée de réagir ...militairement. Quelle illusion !!! "
Je suppose que vous n'avez jamais eu autant de circulation sur les routes polonaises ! Cela doit faire bizarre, après coup, de se rendre compte que l'on a été au coeur d'un événement historique d'importance mondiale. Quant à "l'illusion" d'une intervention occidentale à ce moment, cela me fait penser à l'Irak en 1991 : les Etats-Unis ont incité les Chiites à se révolter contre Saddam Hussein puis les ont abandonné entre ses mains (voir le film Les rois du désert).
"En 1995, 6 ans après la chute du mur, j'étais dans une banque dans la ville de Cracovie. Il était 15h55, la banque fermait
à 16 heures. Entre un jeune gars - dans les 20/22 ans- qui lance bien fort à la cantonnade : " C'est à quel guichet qu'on peut déposer 20 000 dollars américains ? " Une des employées, écoeurée, lui répond sur le même niveau sonore: " Pour une si petite somme, ce sera ici...! " Ce jour là, j'ai décidé d'arrêter d'aller en Pologne..."
Je crois que je te comprends. Ces nouveaux riches slaves, flambeurs, ultra "bling-bing", aux goûts kitshissimes, à la fortune sans doute souvent suspecte, c'est ce que j'ai le plus détesté dans les pays de l'Est que j'ai visité récemment. Ils sont à fond dans l'ostentation, le mépris de la masse de leurs compatriotes...Ce sont eux qui font fonctionner l'industrie automobile allemande en Europe...J'en regrette presque l'époque communiste. Et je sais que nombre de personnes agées qui ont connu le communisme dans ces pays le regrettent également. L'essentiel, c'est que des classes moyennes existent et semblent solides. Le salaire moyen tchèque serait de 1100 euros environ.
Je ne résiste pas au plaisir de vous livrer deux autres anecdotes ( j'en ai des dizaines et des dizaines..)
Mon père, né en 1914, était originaire de ce qui est aujourd'hui, le sud est de la Pologne.
A l'âge de 12 ans, il a commencé à travailler - plonger depuis une barque pour aller chercher du sable au fond d'une rivière !-, pour un hobereau local...Le moyen-âge, quoi.
En 1970, j'étais en voyage avec lui dans sa région d'origine. Un jour, il me dit : " Viens, on va rendre une petite visite."
Nous voilà partis visiter le chateau de Lancut, transformé en musée. Chateau d'une richesse inouïe, entièrement meublé, propriété d'un noble qui s'était enfui au moment de l'arrivée des Soviétiques ( à la fin de la guerre, au moment de la " libération " de la Pologne du joug allemand). Je voyais mon père avec une mine de plus en plus réjouie et aussi très ému. Je lui demandais alors ce qu'il avait et il me répondit : " Tu vois, quand j'étais petit, je travaillais pour le propriétaire de ce chateau et jamais je n'aurais imaginé qu'un jour, je me promènerai dans ses meubles ...! La vie est tellement bizarre, parfois...".
La même année, quelques jours plus tard, on se promenait à Varsovie, en voiture. C'était le soir et la nuit était déjà tombée. A cette époque, même à Varsovie, très peu de circulation. On décide d'aller voir de plus près la maison de la culture de Varsovie, énorme bâtiment, cadeau des soviétiques aux Polonais et copie conforme de celle de Moscou. On roule très lentement sur l'énorme place qui entoure le bâtiment, en se tordant le cou pour apercevoir le sommet de l'édifice. Tout à coup, la voiture commence à tanguer et à s'incliner très fortement sur LES DEUX ROUES GAUCHES..! On ne comprend rien à ce qui se passe mais on comprend bien que la voiture va se coucher sur le flanc ! Alors, sans trop savoir pourquoi, je donne un grand coup de volant. La voiture fait une embardée et, dans un fracas terrible, elle retombe sur ses quatre roues.
On stoppe, on sort et on essaie de comprendre ce qui s'est passé. On comprend alors que tous les alentours du batiment sont constitués de très larges marches ( 5 à 6m ) d'escalier en granit qui ont la particularité, du fait de la légère déclivité de la place de passer de 1cm à 40 cm de hauteur de marche !!!! On comprend aussi que l'énorme bruit vient du fait que le plancher de la voiture a arraché des morceaux de granit, sur l'arête de la marche. Depuis ce jour, j'ai, sur ma cheminée, un " morceau" de la maison de la culture de Varsovie...
J'aime aussi vous lire, c'est vraiment très intéressant ces souvenirs !
Je n'ai connu que la Roumanie et l'ex URSS mais j'en garde aussi des souvenirs assez percutants !
Merci à vous pour vos témoignages
un grand voyage commence toujours par un petit pas. ..............
Voyager dans les pays de l'Est communistes était tellement dépaysant ! C'était plus exotique que de voyager dan nombre de régions "mondialisées" aujourd'hui même en Amérique du Sud, en Afrique ou en Asie. C'était un voyage dans le temps, dans un autre système de société et de pensée.
Le " morceau " de la maison de la culture ? Je l'avais simplement laissé trainer dans le fond du coffre de la voiture. Si on m'avait demandé, j'aurais simplement fait l'étonné en leur disant que ça devait être un caillou de la route, mais on ne m'a rien demandé...
Une dernière anecdote pour la route...
Je vais essayer de vous retranscrire ce que pouvait être le passage du rideau de fer, entre les deux Allemagne, en 1967. A Helmstedt Marienborn, exactement. Vous commenciez à ralentir déjà quelques kilomètres avant, au cas où vous auriez eu l'idée de passer en force... Un premier point de contrôle de douaniers/militaires d'Allemagne de l'ouest. On épluche vos passeports, votre visa assez longuement et on vous dit quelques chose en allemand- que je ne comprends pas- qui doit vouloir dire " bonne chance ou bon courage !". Encore quelques centaines de mètres et on arrive dans une zone bizarre qui tient du parking désafecté, où plus rien n'est balisé distinctement. Déjà des miradors avec des soldats armés..." Passeports ! " exigés par des sodats en armes, toujours par deux, l'un couvrant l'autre. Au bout d'un moment, on vous fait signe d'avancer en slalomant entre des pneus vers une espèces de préfabriqué hors d'âge. Vous devez comprendre que vous devez pénétrer, bien que personne ne vous explique rien. A l'intérieur, plusieurs touristes attendent déjà, debouts. Dans le mur, une petite lucarne, à hauteur d'homme, fermée par un rideau verdâtre. A un moment, vous entendez une voix forte qui semble sortir du rideau et qui vous intime quelque chose en allemand - que je ne comprends toujours pas-. Un bras habillé d'une veste militaire sort de dessous le rideau et la main ouverte semble attendre quelque chose.Sans trop savoir, on donne nos passeports et on attend...Comme les autres. Personne ne parle...déjà la parano ? Au bout d'une heure environ, vous entendez vaguement votre nom, la main repasse et vous rend vos passeports tamponnés. Vous pensez être quittes... Ca ne fait que commencer ! Plus loin, autre point de contrôle, on vous redemande votre passeport ! Cette fois, c'est pour la déclaration de devises : combien vous avez, en quelles monnaies, etc... Encore quelques centaines de mètres et autre point de contrôle. Jamais de ligne droite entre les points de contrôle, toujours des slaloms, j'aperçois dans l'axe, une mitrailleuse en batterie ...! STOP ! Contrôle du véhicule : le coffre bien sûr, les bagages - un peu-. " Ouvrez à l'avant ! " " - C'est le moteur ! " " - OUVREZ ! " Un vopo regarde si personne ne s'est caché à l'intérieur du moteur !!! Puis, un autre passe sous la voiture une espèce de chariot bas, muni d'une glace. Toujours pour les mêmes raisons : et si quelqu'un ... ( ce sera pire au retour...). A chaque point de contrôle, il faut prendre son mal en patience et attendre son tour longuement. Les barbelés, les chevaux de frise, je ne vous en parle même pas...
En tout, il fallait compter ( si on était en règle!!!) entre 4 heures et 4heures 30 pour passer les 12 points de contrôle étalés sur environ 2,5 kilomètres!
Au fil des ans, la durée de passage, le nombre de points de contrôle, tout cela s'est assez amélioré. C'était devenu un bon indicateur de la volonté ( ou de la nécessité ?) des autorités de l'est, de recevoir ou non les touristes occidentaux.
Mais, nulle part au monde, la liberté ne se met en cage. Si un jour vous allez à Berlin visiter le musée du mur à checkpoint Charlie, sur la Friedrichstrasse, à l'endroit même où passait le mur, plusieurs salles sont consacrées à tous les moyens que les Berlinois de l'est avaient imaginé pour s'échapper à l'ouest. Certains ont réussi, beaucoup d'autres y ont perdu la vie...
J'y suis allé en octobre 1978. J'avais 20 ans... et ma 1re voiture.
C'était moins compliqué qu'en 1966, mais il fallait tout de même avoir envie de traverser la frontière.
Rapide contrôle allemand au poste de Pomesi-Cheb, puis traversée du "no man's land", tel que nous l'avions imaginé. Un léger vallon d'environ 300 m, encombré de barrières et de barbelés, et un rail de chemin de fer motorisé en travers de la route pour freiner les plus rapides 🏴☠️.
La ligne tchèque était parsemée de miradors. On nous observait aux jumelles depuis le poste tchèque en face. Fouille du véhicule, ils vérifiaient s'il n'y avait pas de double cloison entre le moteur et l'habitacle. Puis paperasse et change obligatoire.
Nous avons pris un jeune auto-stoppeur qui nous a invité 4 Jours chez lui à Prague: on ne laisse pas filer comme ça des touristes français 😇. Il parlait allemand 🙂. Ce qui me restait du lycée suffirait.
Son discours était sans surprise pour nous: il faut travailler, se taire, rester dans le rang.
Prague était assez sale, mais on devinait une très belle ville derrière sa crasse. Il y avait une odeur de fumée, de brûlé, d'échappement. Le pays était plutôt triste dans l'ensemble.
A part le grand magasin du centre ville (dont j'ai oublié le nom), les autres n'offraient pas un choix extraordinaire. Les vitrines étaient vides. Quant aux stations services, nous préférions attendre les heures "creuses" pour éviter de passer devant tout le monde.
Puis nous avons continué vers la Pologne. La frontière impressionnait déjà moins.
Nous arrivons le jour de la Toussaint. Les routes sont encombrées d'une foule de piétons se rendant dans les cimetières. Beaucoup de charrettes tirées par des chevaux.
Avec nos chaussures de tennis blanches, nous sommes repérés à 3 lieues à la ronde🏴☠️. A Lodz, une fine équipe nous aborde et nous propose une bonne poignée de zlotys contre quelques dollars pour 4 fois le change officiel. Mais au premier hôtel (et le seul du voyage), le prix de la nuit étant indiqué sur la feuille de change, nous avons compris qu'on ne pourrait pas dépenser nos zlotys n'importe où. Nous avons donc fait plusieurs restos d'assez bon niveau pour épurer notre "fortune" 😎.
Notre 1er soir polonais, dans un restaurant de Lodz, bon nombre de clients étaient policiers ou militaires, mais tous avaient largement abusé de la vodka. Les serveuses n'étaient pas farouches, et les mains de certains clients les faisaient plutôt rire😊.
Arrivés à Varsovie, nous rencontrons un étudiant équatorien. Il habite à deux pas de la vieille ville dans un immeuble n'abritant que des étudiants. Ce sont les vacances, la chambre d'un copain est libre.
Visite de la ville dans tous les sens, parfois avec notre nouveau guide. Ici, nous parlons donc espagnol 🙂. Grandes avenues, Palais de la Culture impressionnant (comme en rêveraient certains pays😛).
Etant lui-même en congés, il nous propose de nous accompagner jusqu'à Krakovie où il a une amie.
Direction Krakovie. Son amie parle allemand, mais sa haine des Prussiens lui interdit d'en prononcer le moindre mot ! Elle a 20 ans... et la rancune tenace !😠 Notre compère sud-américain nous emmènera en visite à Auschwitz.
Puis le voyage se poursuit jusqu'à Budapest. 2 frontières à passer pour traverser la Tchécoslovaquie orientale. Slovaquie: Banska Bystrica, morne plaine !
Budapest. Nous avons l'adresse d'un étudiant... qui nous loge dans un grand appartement style parisien tout proche du Parlement😎. Tous les étudiants parlent anglais: soit, pas de problème🙂.
La Hongrie dénote dans ce trio socialiste. Budapest respire presque la bourgeoisie. Les mémères en fourrure traînent les salons de thé du centre ville.
La veille de notre départ, panne de voiture: l'embrayage rend l'âme. Plus de sous, et le visa ne nous autorise plus qu'une journée de séjour.🤪
Après avoir emmené la voiture au garage qui nous promet la réparation pour le lendemain, nous prenons d'assaut l'ambassade de France pour implorer leur aide. Après quelques palabres, l'ambassadeur nous cède la somme nécessaire en liquide contre un chèque.🙂
Nous reprenons la route le lendemain matin, sans même s'arrêter en Autriche ou en Allemagne, le portefeuille à sec🤪, mais heureux d'avoir fait un voyage peu ordinaire.
Je suis retourné en Tchécoslovaquie en 1984 et y ai revu mon auto stoppeur. L'atmosphère était sensiblement différente, et peut-être pouvait-on déjà pressentir des changements.
Encore merci pour ce témoignage, merci à toi et à tous les autres qui ont voulu nous confier ces souvenirs de voyages dans un passé et dans un monde finalement si surprenant et si différent des nôtres.
La richesse de vos anecdotes m'a fait penser à une chose : pourquoi ne pas éditer un corpus de témoignages de voyages dans les pays de l'Est ? 😉 Est-ce encore trop tôt ?
On pourrait l'intituler :
vol.1 : Anthologie des récits de voyageurs dans les Pays de l'Est à l'époque communiste.
Ce livre sera sans doute édité par François et VF dans 10 ans environ, avec votre accord pour la publication de vos récits, mais ça François ne le sait pas encore 😄, puisque il n'a pas encore commencé a conceptualisation de sa collection de guides touristiques rédigés par les voyageurs eux-mêmes ! A partir de leurs témoignages tout au moins. Quel créneau, personne ne l'a encore fait ! "VF éditions" va innover ! 😎
Pour le volume 2, ça sera "Anthologie des récits de voyages des baba cools dans les années 1970 jusqu'à Dehli et Katmandu. Il fera 45000 ventes ! Pas mal quand même, non ? 😇
Très jolis récits, je n'aurais jamais connu avant le mur, mais l'europe de l'est reste de nos jours encore intemporelle sur certains points, je suis en roumanie actuellement, dans la région Moldave, il me semble que c'est la région la plus pauvre de l'union européenne. On s'en rend vraiment compte dès que l'on sort de l'aglomération, il y'a des villages qui semblent remonter au XVII em siècle, eau au puit, rues de terre battue, maison en bois, charrettes tirées par des chevaux, 2 misérables lampadaires pour tout le village, tu te demandes si tu vas pas croiser un loup au détour d'une ruelle. En Janvier quand il fait -20°C ça doit pas être facile. Dans le centre de Iasi c'est mieux, une alternance entre les maisons traditionelles et les larges avenues longées de rangées d'immeubles interminables aux façades fatiguées, type bunker à 15 étages, et les églises en rénovations aussi, je suis venu la première fois il y' a 20 mois ici, il y'a des monuments en rénovation depuis tout ce temps, toutes les églises très anciennes déja (une bonne dizaine), des échaffaudages de partout mais personne qui travail dessus, peut être que si je reviens dans 4 ans j'aurais la possibilité de prendre une photo des monuments avec le drapeau européen dessus.
La ville semble avoir végétée pendant des années à la sortie du communisme, les industries on été démantelées à cause des nombreuses magouilles lors du passage dans le privé, et l'héritage est pas glorieux, infrastructures obsolètes, taux de chomage énorme, salaires très bas et disproportionnés par rapport au cout de la vie. Malgré cela il y'a plein de types qui se payent d'énormes voitures de luxe.
Pour le passage dans le bloc de l'est j'ai eu cette impression l'année dernière en passant la frontière entre la Roumanie et La Moldavie, du moins en essayant de passer. Après le poste frontière Roumain, tu passes un pont avec une guerite et un garde de chaque côté avec encore l'uniforme kaki et l'énorme chapeau rouge sur la tête, une rivière avec un bateau qui doit dater de l'URSS, et après le pont tu arrives au point de controle, je suis sur que 50 ans en arrière les uniformes et le décor était le même. Bon par contre pas moyen de rentrer en Moldavie, il m'a gonflé avec les papiers de la voiture, du moins pour ce que je compend en Roumain, je pense que le garde attendait quelque chose, car son comportement était bizarre. Toujours est il après 1 heure à attendre retour en Roumanie.
Le plus grand voyageur est celui qui a su faire une fois le tour de lui-même
j'allais en Pologne, Allemagne et Tchecoslovaquie a l'époque avec mes parents, on traversait les frontieres, j'était enfant et je voyait l'armé Allemande avec de "vrai" fusil nous regarder avec un regard vide,
je passai des fois 8h ou 12h00 pour passer la frontiere avec la Pologne
ma premier fois j'avait 2 ans , ma mére a du attendre 3 ans pour revenir dans son pays communiste, elle etait considéré comme reniant sa patrie
Sur les chemins de la bohême, j ai croisé le bout du monde, les ptits matin au café créme, ou je taxai ma 1er blonde. avant de partir le pouce en l'air a l autre bout du bout du monde.... La rue ketanou ;)
Réflexions de voyageurs › Europe de l'Ouest · 296 replies
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Who’d like to share their best and worst travel memories in a few lines?
For me, it’s watching the TAJ MAHAL at sunrise and getting chased by dogs at the top of a mountain pass in GREECE on the way back from ISTANBUL.
THANKS GUYS
This is my 15,000th post, and it's a message I would have preferred never to write.
Patrick—Yangguizi—won’t be returning from his trek in Uganda. His health betrayed him in the mountains.
Like many of you, I laughed until I couldn’t anymore at his travel stories. I met him in Shanghai, then in Istanbul... We scoured restaurants—he was an incredible expert on world cuisines. We relived Korea, China. Always brilliant, so sharp, so funny, so down-to-earth. Being even a little bit his friend was something to be proud of. I think I envied him.
Patrick is still out there, of course...
He found his happiness running across the world. He’s on his path. He never doubted that "the traveler doesn’t even know if he’ll return one day."
Not sure this would’ve suited him, but his departure devastates me.
Alright,
Farewell, you foreign devil. Safe travels.
hello to all travelers with their eyes wide open to the desert...
I’ve always wondered what I was "doing" on this earth. And why my father, who died a few months after I was born—a former youngest French resistance fighter—joined the First Saharan Motorized Company in Atar and spent the rest of his life repairing army engines in Algeria, Mauritania, Senegal, Mali (which didn’t exist under that name back then), Morocco, and finally Algeria, where my mother was born and raised. (Believe me, it’s not "cool" being the child of a soldier in a country occupied by France, and even less so the child of a "pied-noir.")
Of course, I never got an answer: the dead don’t talk, and the army doesn’t either.
But here’s the thing—I had photos...
So naturally, one day I hit the road. I wanted to see, to understand.
It’s thanks to VF that I was able to do a little research on crossing the Morocco-Mauritania border, and I’m grateful to its members, just as I’m grateful to all those who welcomed me on the road for 14 years.
For the past few weeks, I’ve been wondering if I should talk about this or not...
It turns out the Mauritanians changed my life by asking for my help... And that started as early as February 2012... (Did I owe them something? No answer to that question.)
Ah, the irony—they saw me coming. But when you’re handed sick children and begged to do something, what would you have done? I’d worked in a hospital, so I knew a bit about the rules to follow. I didn’t hesitate.
And well, over all these years, I met doctors, surgeons, and together we organized care, evacuations of children, training for surgeons—even trying to stop children from having to travel outside their country. It was never easy. I’d like to thank those who supported us, as well as *La Chaîne de l’Espoir*, *La Fondation Face au Monde*, and everyone who built bridges between our two countries.
Unfortunately, despite the constant efforts of Mauritanian doctors and surgeons, some children couldn’t be helped in time. Today, I want to talk about four siblings—orphans of their mother—suffering from congenital glaucoma causing irreversible blindness. Their case was entrusted to me in 2020, just weeks before the big lockdown. We couldn’t do anything for them then, but when their father asked me for a gift, I rushed to my computer and wrote a story.
Through a tale, the children take a great journey, explore their country, and fulfill a dream. I never thought this book would be published—it was, in 2023.
This book pays tribute to Mauritania. It’s a message for those who know nothing about the hardships of life there, carrying both the harshness and beauty of an immense desert where you can travel by 4x4, bike, on foot, or by camel in complete safety. It bears witness to the kindness of Mauritanians toward travelers.
As a woman traveling alone in my vehicle—a now-rusted old Mercedes that no longer runs—I had the most beautiful encounters of my life there (I’ve seen other parts of the world...). The blind children of Choum, Atar, Nouadhibou, and Nouakchott will forever be in my heart.
Volunteer readers transcribed the book into a free audio version for the visually impaired. It’s available in sound libraries in France, the *Fondation Valentin Haüy*, and the Swiss Romande library.
I made my last trip to Mauritania in my old 4x4 to distribute the book everywhere, especially to its heroes and the school for the visually impaired in Nouakchott.
After that, I thought it was time to close the chapter because I no longer have the means or the strength to travel.
My publishers chose this title for it: *The Blue Eyes of the Desert*.
This publication helped a mission of Swiss volunteer ophthalmologists come to operate on glaucomas in Mauritania. I’m thrilled because they come back every year!
This adventure is ending, yes—everything must come to an end—but ultimately, it was born here, on the VF site!! So yes, I had to say it: THANK YOU!!!!!
Hi everyone,
I’m Loulou, a French expat who’s been living in Southeast Asia for about fifteen years, currently in Phnom Penh, Cambodia. A passionate walker at heart, I’ve trekked in Nepal (Thorung La, Mardi Himal), India, Vietnam, and I’m still planning new hikes (Char Dham, Langtang, Annapurna).
I’ve just published my first travel journal, recounting three months of walking and encounters across India. A portion of the sales goes to an educational center I support in Kep, for children whose parents work in the salt marshes.
I’m also working on a second book about Nepal with a musician friend, focusing on the Mardi Himal trek—two independent perspectives on the same journey.
Happy to swap stories with you about the Himalayas, India, Southeast Asia, or just the urge to hit the road and walk far from home.
Safe travels,
Loulou
Hi! It was totally by chance that I stumbled upon VoyageForum (an ad online and a story lol), and I’ve been reading some really old posts from 2011 about Thai massage schools—discussions on how to get by, accommodation, prices, etc. It reminded me of my own experience: I kept things simple by staying with a local family during my entire trip. I only shared all the expenses with them, which, I’ll admit, was super cheap… and I often traveled with them, which naturally opened a lot of doors for me. To start, at the school in Salaya, my Thai friend immediately connected me with Teacher Phong (the school’s mentor and teacher of teachers, a former monk). I was supposed to join a group session with other foreigners, but for some reason I don’t know, I got two days of private lessons for free with this expert… incredible! And on top of that, he loved France! It was an amazing experience. I "discovered" massage by chance—the Thai family just told me: "Try it, you’ll see!" (I’d had a pretty intense massage in the capital before 😅… but the next day, I felt unbelievably great!))
Every morning, I’d take a taxi (chosen by the Thai family at prices that beat all the competition) to this school—I’ve forgotten the name of the little village now… right in the heart of the countryside. Then, in the evenings, I’d keep practicing massage on all the family members… and they’d teach me Thai at the same time!))
Since then, I’ve practiced a bit, with lots of positive feedback. Following Teacher Phong’s advice—he thought my pressure was deep, firm, and precise—he strongly encouraged me to take this seriously.
I love Thailand so much. It’s a whole different way of living… and it’s a real blessing, even if I couldn’t live there full-time. Anyway, that was an unforgettable memory, and sometimes the Thai family and I still say hi—from 2011, 2013… right up to today!
"It seems to me that poverty would be less painful in the sun" wrote Aznavour...
Not sure...😕 Who can prove that people in hot countries are happier than others?
What do you think?
Is it better to live in Montpellier than in Lille?
Are the Pygmies happier than the Inuit?
Are Canadians less happy than the people of Louisiana?
Are there more French expats in hot countries?
And your travels? Do you choose your destinations based on the climate?
Do you rejoice when a bit of sunshine appears?
Hi everyone, just this once I’m not posting for a travel story, but to share a thought for Venezuela.
If you didn’t know—since it’s not making headlines—the country was hit by two 7.5-magnitude earthquakes last week. Over 2,200 people have died, more than 50,000 are missing, and some coastal towns have been completely destroyed.
Maybe when the scale of the humanitarian crisis becomes clear, our media will cover it a bit more... especially since earthquakes with this many casualties usually make the front page, but there’s been nothing in France.
So here’s a thought for this country, which, whatever you think of its politics, is a true jewel of South America, both for its landscapes and its people.
hi there
I’d like to invite you to discover my coastal province in central Vietnam: Quang Ngai.
This year, my province has really improved its infrastructure—mountains, countryside, and sea are all authentic here.
No harassers or thieves, and no Russians either.
A local lunch costs around 1 €.
A *** hotel room is about 25 €, and you can find hotels right on My Khe Beach.
We have a specialty: *banh xeo*—10 crepes for just 1.5 €.
You can rent motorbikes to explore the province and maybe visit the many ethnic minorities.
I live here—I’m not selling anything, but I can help if needed (my father-in-law is a traditional Vietnamese doctor and he’s very skilled).
Hi everyone! 😉
I’m Typhaine, 35 years old. Five years ago, I left France for a solo round-the-world trip—no planes, just a van, hitchhiking, cycling, and even a canoe in the Amazon! Today, I work as a naturalist guide in Argentine Patagonia.
Wherever I go, my compass stays the same: observing and photographing wildlife, which I deeply admire and respect.
My project: I’d love to share this experience through a sustainable, authentic, and immersive nature tourism initiative. But to build something meaningful, I need to understand how other nature enthusiasts experience their own adventures.
If you:
Are over 20 years old
Have a true passion for Nature
Have already taken at least one trip lasting more than 3 nights (in your country or abroad) in your life
Promise: I’m not selling anything, this isn’t marketing. Your answers are 100% anonymous and will only help me shape this wild project.
A huge thank you to everyone for your help and kindness! Looking forward to chatting in this thread 😛
(Dear admins, this is purely a collaborative effort for my project study, with no commercial purpose. Thank you so much for your support!)
Photo: Grizzly Bear (Ursus arctos horribilis), female on the left and her cub on the right. Photo taken by me in Alaska, Denali National Park.
It’s something we often notice in this forum—and many others—this behavioral shift.
A long-time member, or even a new one, asks a question.
They get one or more answers, some brief, some detailed, and then... nothing???
Not even a simple thank you!!!
From what I’ve gathered, if the answers don’t align with what they wanted to hear, it seems natural for the asker to just disappear!! 😕
Unless—(and I fear this is the case)—basic politeness is no longer part of our society????
I spent 3 weeks in Bali last summer (+ 3 nights on Gili Meno and a day trip to Kawah Ijen in Java). So I wanted to see what ChatGPT could suggest for comparison...
Here’s the prompt I gave:
"You’re a local expert guide for Bali.
- Plan a 20-day itinerary for Bali with a side trip to Gili Meno and a day trip to Kawah Ijen in Java without staying overnight.
- I’m traveling with my wife, and I love visiting historical sites, hiking, relaxing at the beach, snorkeling, and exploring rice terraces...
- For the duration of the stay, I don’t want more than 8 places to sleep, and I’d like to stay at least 2 days at each stop to avoid unpacking too often. Except for the last night, where I’m okay with just one night near the airport.
- I prefer neighborhoods that are walkable and try to avoid typical tourist traps, though I don’t want to miss the must-see spots. So suggest a mix of iconic sites and hidden gems.
- Recommend hotels or guesthouses with a budget of 50 to 100 € per night, including breakfast. Make suggestions in areas popular with travelers, specifying the vibe (I prefer quiet), and consider safety and proximity to attractions.
- For lunch and dinner, suggest two to three restaurants that are well-rated by customers.
- Give me a day-by-day program with details on travel times, visiting times for each point of interest, and recommendations for transportation (taxi, train, bike, etc.).
Estimate the total cost of the trip, including accommodations, food, transportation, and activities, and suggest two tips for saving money in each category.
- Don’t make anything up—be realistic about travel times, take into account the opening dates and hours of sites, and give me the entry fees for places to visit.
- Ask me all the questions until you’re 95% sure you understand what’s being asked. Don’t generate your response until you’ve understood."
The AI asked for a few clarifications:
"Great request—I can build you a really optimized and enjoyable itinerary, but to be 95% sure I hit the mark, I need a few key clarifications (this will really influence the pace, areas, and accommodations)."
In the end, it proposed a program very close to what we actually did.
I’ll skip its accommodation and restaurant suggestions...
Its proposal:
"Ubud (4 nights) => we did 5 nights
Sidemen (2 nights)
Amed (3 nights) => we’d planned 2 nights
Gili Meno (3 nights) => we did Gili between Sidemen and Amed
Munduk (3 nights) => we did 2 nights before Pemuteran
Pemuteran (3 nights) with Ijen => we did 4 nights
Sanur (2 nights + 1 last night) => we chose Jatiluwih instead of Sanur
It suggested "activities" (and accommodations too):
IN UBUD:
- Walk around central Ubud (1–2h)
- Campuhan Ridge Walk
- Tegalalang Rice Terrace
- Tirta Empul
- Gunung Kawi
- Massage / market / slow café
IN SIDEMEN:
- Rice terrace hike (2–3h)
- Cooking class
IN AMED:
- Snorkeling
- Japanese Shipwreck
- Beach + relaxation
- Volcano sunset
ON GILI:
- Snorkeling at Gili Meno Turtle Point, Nest Underwater Statues
IN MUNDUK:
- Jungle & waterfall hike - Munduk Waterfall + Melanting Waterfall
- Loop: 3–4h (perfect for your level)
- Ulun Danu Bratan Temple
- Twin Lakes
IN PEMUTERAN
- Snorkeling: Menjangan Island
For Kawah Ijen, it detailed the day well:
👍 from Pemuteran = best possible option
12 PM: leave hotel (we left at 10 PM)
1 PM: ferry
3 PM: arrival in Java + transfer
11 PM: start ascent
2 AM–6 AM: volcano
Return to Bali around 11 AM–12 PM (we got back at 4 PM)
👍 still very intense, but doable with an agency
💰 ~80–120 €/person all-inclusive
IN SANUR:
- Relaxation
- Quiet beach
- Proximity to airport (30 min)"
I’ve kept the habit of blowing my nose in the sink and then washing my hands—a custom I picked up in India. Sometimes, non-travelers are shocked when they catch me in the act... 🤪
Also, when I run out of toilet paper, it doesn’t bother me—unless I’ve got company over... 🤪
Just got back from walking a friend’s dog (while they’re on vacation), wearing a djellaba and Tibetan boots... 😏😏😏 Oh, for sure, if I’d run into locals, I probably would’ve shocked them? 😏
Anyway, as long as I’m not spitting on the floor at a restaurant or squatting on the side of a highway with a water bottle in hand...
After taking a little trip around the world, I came back a few months ago with an idea in mind.
I mostly do diving, and I love observing animals in their natural habitat without disturbing them.
During the trip, I realized it was quite complicated to know where and when to see certain species.
For example:
where to dive with sharks or manta rays
where you might get a chance to swim with whales
I even discovered thresher sharks during my trip… I didn’t even know this species existed before, even though they’re incredible to see.
We spent a ton of time searching for info all over the place, especially on social media, without ever getting a clear picture.
So I started putting all this together on my own, in the form of a map, to make it easier to visualize where to go depending on the seasons.
I recently put a first version online (it’s called Fauneya).
There are probably mistakes, inconsistencies, or things to improve, and that’s partly why I’m posting here.
I’d really love to know how you all go about planning this kind of trip.
As part of my Master’s thesis, I’m currently conducting a public survey on a topic that concerns all of us when planning a trip: artificial intelligence and the role of human contact in travel planning.
These days, we’re using more and more digital tools to find ideas, compare options, and book trips... but is the role of human advisors still essential? At what moments? And for what types of trips?
The survey is anonymous and takes about 7 minutes.
It’s aimed at anyone who travels (or has traveled) for leisure, whether you plan everything yourself or go through an agency.
While browsing the forum to gather info for my upcoming trip to Thailand, I often see the terms "traveler," "great traveler," and also "tourist"—so what’s the nuance for you?
I've traveled quite a bit in Vietnam over the past few years—from the southern delta to bustling cities and even some small islands—but what really sticks with me is the north, the high mountains.
Up there, there's something different—maybe slower, more raw. The morning markets with ethnic groups, women in traditional clothes, the colors...
The stilt houses, kids following you and laughing for no reason, the terraced rice fields—it almost feels unreal at times, so vast and quiet, yet so human and simple.
You often hear that Sapa has become too touristy, and that's partly true, especially in the center. But as soon as you move a little farther away, everything changes quickly. The landscapes open up, encounters feel more natural, and you rediscover something truly authentic.
I think it's that contrast that struck me—the difference between what you imagine before going and what you actually discover when you take the time.
And you—what memory do you hold onto from Vietnam? A particular place that touched you more than others?
Hello,
We’re finalizing the plans for our upcoming trip to China in May 2025. The second-to-last stop will be in Zhangjiajie, where we’ve planned to stay for 2 full days before heading to Shanghai.
We’re traveling solo using local transport and have arranged to stay in the city of Zhangjiajie.
We’ve seen that there’s a lot to see:
Tianmen Mountain, the Grand Canyon and the glass bridge, Zhangjiajie National Park, and that the sites are quite far apart with fairly expensive entry fees.
We’re thinking of dedicating one day to the national park and the Grand Canyon (glass bridge) and one day to Tianmen Mountain.
But we’re not sure if this plan is realistic—any thoughts would be much appreciated!
I should be serving a warming drink to the participants in the discussion about gardens and parks that provide us with beautiful photos, I could mention the delicious buttery scent wafting from bakeries in the thread about returning to France, but my heart, its powerful pulse that nourishes my entire being, is elsewhere.
Dasht-e Lut, Yazd, Esfahan, Bam, Kerman, Qeshm, Hormuz—a melody, a prayer at the heart of desire.
A dream, an unattainable fantasy? No. Not anymore.
A very serious Italian travel agency is organizing this trip for 6 people this winter. I’m signed up, I’m going, I’m living. Maybe.
"But you’re completely crazy!!!!"
I know... I know that every civilization, every society has a vital need to create scapegoats to define and justify itself, pathetically. And Iran is one of them, top of the list. I laugh or sigh, and it doesn’t bother me.
But that unchanging red, deep red and garnet, so beautiful in itself, in all the Western chancelleries repeats, whispers, shouts: don’t go, don’t go, don’t go, you’re putting yourself in danger and we can’t do anything for you. You’ll be turned into mere bargaining chips, into arguments for endless negotiations. Fear must be instilled, its power absolutely preserved, no concessions made to the enemy. The information (how many French hostages, real or fake, compared to the number of travelers?) is always lacking.
Traveling becomes a merciless confrontation between desire, the vital pulse, and anxiety, its ghosts.
Hi everyone, here’s our itinerary. Arriving on the evening of December 13th. Departing on January 7th.
Thanks in advance for your tips and valuable feedback.
Manila – 1 night
Coron – 4 nights
Coron to El Nido cruise – 2 nights
El Nido – 4 nights
Port Barton – 5 nights
Flight from Puerto Princesa to Vigan
Vigan – 2 nights
Sagada – 2 nights
Banaue – 2 nights
Bagabag – 1 night
Manila – 1 night
I’ve only booked the flight to Manila and the Manila/Coron flight so far. Is it possible to book boat trips, accommodations, and the Puerto Princesa flight last-minute?
Really disappointed with Costa Rica! Pura vida? The scam of the century!
(Costa Rica pure emptiness).
The country where animals are free and people are in cages.
3 weeks in December in this country and never again. Imagine the trailer of a movie that seems interesting, and when you go see it, you realize it’s a flop and the best moments were in the trailer.
Well, that’s exactly how we felt with Costa Rica pure emptiness.
My wife and I have traveled quite a bit and didn’t expect to be so wrong about a place.
On the main routes, we visited:
San José
Alajuela
Limón, Cahuita, Puerto Viejo, Manzanillo (Caribbean side)
Jaco, Quepos, Manuel Antonio (Pacific side)
And a few short stops in intermediate towns.
Our dissatisfaction grew gradually like this:
When we arrived at the hotel, the taxi dropped us off on a small street in front of a white metal gate with ground-floor windows barred. We looked at it skeptically, but the sign matched.
He approached the gate, rang the bell, the buzzer sounded, and the door opened slightly. The hotel wasn’t bad for the price, a 10-minute walk from downtown, but with a "Fleury-Mérogis" vibe guaranteed.
So far, so good.
After showering and regaining our bearings, we headed downtown.
What started to unsettle us on the way was seeing houses with bars on the ground-floor windows and even on the second floor.
At first, we thought the hotel’s neighborhood wasn’t great.
Downtown San José:
It’s a generic city, not very exotic, with a pedestrian street and a small mercado where you can eat local food without frills. Very few tourists—if any—which let you blend in with the locals. We had lunch and struggled to make ourselves understood because, aside from one or two shops, English wasn’t spoken.
On the way back to the hotel, we took a different route, and while chatting and strolling, my wife pointed out a beautiful two-story white house completely barricaded like Fort Knox.
From that moment, we started noticing the facades of houses and buildings, and wow, it was creepy—most looked like prisons, some even with barbed wire.
Though put off, we told ourselves it was probably a big-city thing and the rest of the country couldn’t be like this.
So far, so good.
We relaxed at the hotel and had a drink at the bar. Night falls early, around 5:30 PM. By 7:30 PM, we headed back downtown for dinner. A bit unsettling for a capital—downtown was almost deserted, and aside from fast-food chains, very few restaurants were open, with hardly anyone on the streets.
Bars with security guards out front.
I won’t say we felt unsafe that night, but once it got dark, we realized the bars on the windows weren’t for nothing. First day in, and our impression was already mixed.
The next day, we explored the city and surroundings, and our feelings didn’t change.
So far, so good.
Off to Cahuita by bus—4 hours of travel.
The landscapes are very green but quickly become monotonous. The road runs alongside the forest and passes through a few towns and villages, and even in the countryside, there were just as many prison-like houses.
The bus dropped us off at Cahuita’s terminal station—only four of us got off. It’s a village, or rather, a small town. Cahuita is basically one straight road and a perpendicular one, and honestly, doubt started to creep in.
A few restaurants that add 13% tax and 10% service charge—so 23% extra. We dropped our stuff at the hotel and went to explore. In 20 minutes, we’d seen it all. We had lunch and planned to check out the famous park.
Entry is by donation—well, the "entry" is a joke. There’s a path along the forest by the sea, and that’s it.
Nothing’s going right anymore.
We thought it was a total scam, but since we hadn’t gone far, we decided to come back the next day to explore further.
We returned to the hotel, relaxed, and around 8:00 PM, we went out for dinner. Only two restaurants were open, and the streets were deserted.
Creepy!
The next day, we explored the so-called park more thoroughly and really got it.
A path along the forest by the sea—2 hours there and 2 hours back, where you see animals that feel like showing their faces.
A total joke—"all that for this?"
The beach was full of wood debris and coconut husks. We wondered if the photos online were edited because the sea, very rough, wasn’t the azure blue we’d seen in pictures.
But calling this a park is a joke—it’s like a new concept.
When we thought about the reviews online, we started to suspect that professionals with interests in the country were monitoring and countering any negative feedback that could harm their business.
Too bad we didn’t check the negative reviews beforehand—we did while we were there, and it helped. We wondered if we’d become too demanding after all our travels, but no—when something’s bad, it’s bad.
Manuel Antonio’s park is even more ridiculous—there’s a short path along the sea for about 500 meters, and then nothing. You have to climb through mud and hack your way through the forest. We ended up barefoot because the mud was up to our calves. All that to see a raccoon and a few parrots flying overhead.
We didn’t expect Noah’s Ark, but we’ve seen more animals in Bali, Mexico, and Thailand while visiting temples or just walking around than in these so-called parks!
Puerto Viejo, not far from Cahuita and supposedly livelier—well, it couldn’t be worse!
According to Lonely Planet, it had a Caribbean vibe and wild nights, but maybe that was a long time ago. The good reggae music playing everywhere isn’t enough.
In the evening, Puerto Viejo was a bit livelier than Cahuita, but that’s not saying much. Very few tourists—if any—no night market, just two or three shops open selling $20 T-shirts. Same vibe as San José.
No big deal—we enjoyed the beach and the sun, which was reliable.
Our itinerary was supposed to include Tortuguero Park, but after talking to other travelers who’d just been, we changed our minds, knowing we’d be visiting Manuel Antonio Park on the Pacific side.
To get back to the Pacific side, you have to take the bus and go through San José again—5 hours this time—then switch bus terminals and another 4.5 hours to Quepos.
A stopover town to get to Manuel Antonio’s beach and park!
A town just like the others we’d seen—deserted as soon as the sun sets, and not exactly bustling during the day either. (Where are all the tourists?)
Still as many bars on the windows and that feeling of being in the wrong place.
7 km later: Manuel Antonio beach and park.
The beach is very beautiful and quite large, but don’t expect turquoise blue water—the waves stir up the sand, giving the water a brownish color.
Along the beach, shops and restaurants for about 300 meters, and then nothing. At night, after sunset, the town shuts down too.
Manuel Antonio Park is highly praised for its wildlife, so we were eager to see it. When you express dissatisfaction with Cahuita or Manzanillo parks, the response is always, "But you should’ve gone to Monteverde or Manuel Antonio!" No matter what you do or say, they’ll tell you, "You should’ve gone there or here."
Back to our famous park—entry was about $16, and contrary to what we’d heard, it wasn’t crowded!
Guides at the entrance with spotting scopes offered their services for about $30.
The park: a mix of boardwalk and dirt paths through the forest, sometimes running alongside beautiful coves and beaches.
As soon as we entered, a crowd was taking photos of a deer eating leaves.
A little further on, a guide with a group of five stopped. The guide raised his arm and set up his spotting scope! He showed them, about 100 meters away, a hummingbird perched on a branch. Some, looking through the scope, exclaimed, "Oh my God! Amazing! Incredible!"
For a moment, we thought they’d discovered a unicorn or were in Jurassic Park and had just crossed paths with a T-Rex!
The concept is comical—looking at a bird or another animal through a spotting scope because it’s too far away. Isn’t that what TV is for?
For our part, we saw monkeys, ants, an armadillo, an iguana, and the backside of a sloth climbing a tree. Amazing, incredible!
We stayed a few days in Manuel Antonio to enjoy the beach, changing hotels often because prices varied wildly from one day to the next for shameful services. On top of that, they’d quote a price in dollars and convert it at their discretion—thieves!
Alajuela, a city near the airport, has a two-story mall and a local market downtown! No interest except its proximity to the airport.
What we liked:
The climate and, in hindsight, San José—the most authentic city we visited.
What we didn’t like, in addition to what we’ve already mentioned:
Costa Ricans aren’t very friendly or communicative. English is barely spoken, not even by doctors at Quepos Hospital, where my wife ended up with food poisoning (thanks, Google Translate). The widespread obesity among Costa Ricans, who eat like Americans. The insecurity. The eco-hipsters who leave their $150 lodges in minivans with guides to visit parks and other sites, then return to barricade themselves in their fortresses at nightfall (oh my God, amazing, incredible). The blue signs at the entrance of towns that accept this payment method: "We accept American Express." Parking lots that become paid just because a guy is watching your car. Prices displayed in dollars. The cost of living (hotels, restaurants, taxes). Landscapes that are too green and not flowery enough. Beaches—nothing exceptional. Pollution in cities where big American trucks rule. Sewage dumped directly into the sea. Aside from the jungle, there’s nothing to visit—no ruins, monuments, or anything worth seeing.
In short, my wife and I think the hype about this supposedly eco-friendly country is overrated. It’s just the trendy destination of the moment. There are much better, cheaper, and more authentic places.
In hindsight, we keep the good memories and our beautiful photos, but if we had to do it over...
Before signing off, a little message to those who don’t like hearing opinions different from theirs:
Well, some things aren’t up for debate. And to those who’d have us believe that in 3 weeks, we don’t have the right to criticize a country or express our feelings—how can you praise it in so little time? What a scam. Costa Rica is a money pit. Pura vida? Pure cosmic emptiness.
If you like spending your evenings barricaded in your cozy hotel after dark, this country is for you.
For everyone else: run!
Hello,
Since the war between Russia and Ukraine, nothing is simple anymore for traveling to Belarus due to sanctions.
No more direct flights from the EU to Minsk.
Driving is a huge hassle, especially crossing through Poland at the only open border in Brest—you can wait 2, 3, or even 4 days just to get through by car.
The least painful driving option is to come via Lithuania and cross at the only open border, with a minimum wait time of 8 hours, sometimes up to 20 hours or more!!
Controls are very strict and annoying on both the Lithuanian and Belarusian sides. Avoid bringing alcohol, food, or cigarettes—everything will end up in the trash, especially when leaving Belarus for Vilnius, where the Lithuanians are tough, even with EU citizens.
The joy I once knew when visiting my wife in Minsk is sadly over—it’s now a real ordeal.
The fastest solution is to fly. My wife travels to France by taking a bus to Kaunas in Lithuania, where you can catch a flight (though not daily) to Paris Beauvais or Charleroi in Belgium with Ryanair, for example.
For the return trip, it’s the same: a flight to Kaunas and then a direct bus from the airport to Minsk.
The bus crossing is quicker than driving—the 250 km journey, including border checks, takes about 6 to 8 hours for buses leaving Lithuania around midnight, but controls are still strict at the border.
The biggest challenge is finding flight schedules that align with the bus routes between the two countries, given the unpredictable border crossing times.
Now, my wife travels via Charleroi in Belgium (near Brussels), and you can take a train to Paris. Alternatively, you can fly into Beauvais and take a bus to Paris (Porte Maillot).
For those driving, note that EU insurance and assistance policies no longer work in Belarus or Russia. You’ll need to get local insurance, usually limited to third-party liability (I don’t think full coverage exists?), as well as mandatory medical insurance. This is available at the border.
You now have to pay highway tolls—no more BELTOLL boxes. Instead, you pay a flat fee for the duration of your stay. Stop at the first gas station after crossing from Lithuania to fill up on fuel and cigarettes.
From what I know, Lithuania bans carrying more than 60 € in cash, but there’s no limit for USD (though it’s capped at $10,000??).
With a Visa card, you can now withdraw 1,000 rubles per week (about 270 €)—two months ago, it was only 500 rubles!!
For now, you can still pay by card in shops and gas stations.
However, major retailers like KORONA (which may be Russian-owned??) no longer accept foreign Visa cards.
Unfortunately, the additional sanctions announced by the U.S. on August 5, 2025, against Russia—and possibly Belarus—aren’t promising for the future.
After 20 years of visiting Belarus, I’m truly saddened to see the joy of living in this country with my wonderful wife turn into such a bleak situation, all because of human folly.
Hi everyone!
I’m putting together our travel itinerary for Veneto at the end of April. And the more I look and research potential sites to visit, the more I find!
We’ll only be there for a week—my family and I—including 3 days in Venice. So we have to make some choices...
I plan to rent a car when we arrive in Venice and head straight to Bergamo, which would be our first stop. We’d leave the car at the airport when we return to Venice so we can explore the city at our leisure.
What do you think:
1 night in Bergamo (a 2h15 drive from Venice airport),
1 night in Garda,
1 night in Verona,
1 in Padua, and
3 in Venice—would that be doable?
Thanks in advance for your tips and experiences! :)
Now that the curtain has fallen on the past year, it’s time to see what’s happening around here.
It seems pretty quiet, but I’ll read more in detail later.
First, I need to tell you all an anecdote.
My eldest little girl, in her third year of law school, was really scared she wouldn’t pass the year.
I told her:
“Trust yourself, you’ve worked so hard, and worst case, if you fail, you’ll just redo the year.”
“But I don’t think I’ll make it—they changed the rules, and if I mess up even one unit, I have to start all over.”
I knew her grades weren’t exactly stellar, and with what I was about to say, I wasn’t taking much of a risk.
“Here’s the deal, sweetheart: if you pass, I promise I’ll take you to India, just the two of us.”
I have to admit, India is a country I’ve talked about so much to all my grandchildren that in their minds, it’s become a magical, mythical place (hmm).
July had barely begun when my phone rang, her name flashing on the screen.
“Mamido, I did it!”
My promise came rushing back—oh no, oh no, oh no!
“Congratulations, sweetheart!”
A little shyly, she said:
“Is the India trip still on?”
And me, replying:
“Of course it is!”
And that’s that—a promise is a promise, or you risk losing that precious trust that keeps hearts warm and at peace.
We’re leaving in February. Only 8 days—yikes, the carbon footprint!
But we can’t miss her tutorials, or she’ll be kicked out.
Personally, that works just fine for me.
Going to India has become a challenge for me. It’s far, it’s exhausting, I sweat, I hate mosquitoes, the spices bother my mouth when I used to love them. There’s noise all the time—at night, the dogs bark nonstop, and we almost get run over. I’ll get lost in the streets because my sense of direction has vanished. I don’t like rice anymore. All that chaos and those cultural differences that once enchanted me now just overwhelm me.
But I promised.
The upside—and it’s a big one—Raman, the same driver I’ve had forever, will be at the airport with a sign with our names. We’ll stop at the same little shop for chai (or tea, plain and simple) with that aroma that intoxicates me, halfway through the trip.
It’ll be a tiny trip—staying with friends, I’ll show her a few places I love: Chidambaram, Mamallapuram, and the clinic where I worked. Then we’ll head back.
My little girl will go home to her parents.
As for me, I’ll leave right away for our Scottish island with Homme for our chilly winter.
How can you love a country so much you want to live there, then suddenly reject it, no longer able to appreciate what once made it special?
That’s the mystery of love, I guess.
I’ve visited the U.S. four times myself, including two long road trips. The last one was just this past August...
I won’t be going back. I already felt guilty last August, but recent policies have finally convinced me: the humiliation of Zelensky, authoritarian excesses, Gestapo-like methods for detaining people of foreign origin, the murder of innocent people (a mother shot dead), corruption, insane "tariffs," skyrocketing healthcare costs for Americans, the abduction of foreign figures to secure oil, the requirement to disclose social media accounts, and now... threats and blackmail to forcibly take Greenland—a region that belongs to Denmark and thus the European Union!
The reality is that simply posting this could get me denied entry to the U.S.!
In this context, I just can’t keep spending money there. I loved my trips, but there are so many other countries with stunning landscapes to explore.
So I get why you’d want to travel there. I did, and I loved it. But once a country no longer respects any of the values that made us love it, why go?
How can we even consider traveling to a country that threatens to take one of our territories by force?
Hello everyone,
Controversial topic? Not necessarily—maybe just a reflection on a world to come.
I spent the last 15 days of August on a cruise in Greenland, from Kangerlussuaq to Tasiilaq.
I was utterly amazed by this unique world of rock and ice, the little houses in every color, a simple life that’s also complicated by isolation and climate, among other things...
I carry in my heart the kindness of the people I met, the raw and gentle majesty of the icebergs, the colors of the sky...
So, I can’t even imagine a massive presence of raw material prospectors, heavy machinery requiring roads to be built—if that’s even possible—changing their way of life... putting sled dogs out to pasture!
Do fast food and Greenland’s northern lights really mix?
I wouldn’t trade my memories for an ESTA!
All opinions are respectable, which is why this isn’t a controversy—but I’m sorry, I have a soft spot for *my* Greenland.
We’re a couple aged 58 and 63. We’ve just returned from a wonderful trip to South India in Tamil Nadu and a few days in Kerala. We traveled with a local French-speaking guide and his friend, the driver. They both live in Pondicherry. We spent 3 weeks with them in the most authentic way!
We covered just over 2,500 km and visited not only temples but also archaeological sites, museums, and small artisanal businesses making tiles, tea, sculptures, bronze, and silk spinning. We were lucky enough to visit a public school, attend a wedding, and even a death announcement in a small countryside village. We were fully immersed in the culture, food, noise, and colors—it was incredible!
The hotels and guesthouses we chose were very clean and mostly quiet. We’re returning from India with amazing discoveries!
We’re happy to share more info if you’d like!
M-Claire and Jean
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