J'ai l'impression que comme pour le léopard, ces bestioles sont rémunérées pour faire patienter le voyageur sur cette longue piste qui mène à Sedudu Gate ! 😄
(Dis Airone, tu te serais pas fait un shoot d'oxygène médical avant d'écrire chaque épisode de ton carnet ???? 😮)
Oui, j'ai vu tes photos, il semble bien que ce soit le même troupeau d'hippotragues.
Non, pas de l'oxygène : du protoxyde d'azote...😛
Erwan
La vie est belle ! La vie est belle ! Je me tue à vous le dire disait la fleur. Et elle meurt ( J.Prévert)
l me reproche d'avoir garé la voiture légèrement sur le bord, ce qui est vrai et m'affirme que si les rangers voyaient ça, ils me colleraient une grosse amende.
Question idiote : pourquoi ne peut on pas s'arrêter sur le bord de la piste ?
Comme ça on permet aux autres de dépasser....
" Nous ne saurons jamais tout le bien qu'un simple sourire peut être capable de faire."
Mère Teresa
Alors que je m'escrimais dans le sable profond à monter cette fichue colline, il bondit devant la voiture, nous passe à peine à 10 m devant, un grand mâle noir de geai, énorme, et poursuit sa course dans le bush.
J'ai l'impression que comme pour le léopard, ces bestioles sont rémunérées pour faire patienter le voyageur sur cette longue piste qui mène à Sedudu Gate ! 😄
(Dis Airone, tu te serais pas fait un shoot d'oxygène médical avant d'écrire chaque épisode de ton carnet ???? 😮)
Ben en avril, nous n'avons pas vu d'hipotragues noirs. Il ne devait plus y avoir de pulas dans la caisse 😕
Pour le ranger grincheux, nous avons aussi connu ça pas à Chobe mais à Savuti. On s'est fait engueuler avec menace de nous dénoncer auprès des autorités du parc parce que nous étions sortis de la piste de 50cm pour essayer de voir deux lionnes couchées dans les herbes !!! 😊
Je me demande s'il ne faut pas payer un droit pour pouvoir sortir de la piste.
(Sur le permis, le gars à l'entrée a ajouté à la main et en lettres plus que capitales : NO OFF ROAD.)
Je me demande s'il ne faut pas payer un droit pour pouvoir sortir de la piste.
(Sur le permis, le gars à l'entrée a ajouté à la main et en lettres plus que capitales : NO OFF ROAD.)
Oui, sûrement, mais doit on se considérer OFF ROAD dès qu'une roue déborde ? Deux roues ?
Il y a certainement de bonnes raisons de pousser les touristes à rester sur la piste, d'un autre côté, s'arrêter en plein milieu peut s'avérer fort gênant, surtout à Chobe et puis, comme je l'ai dit, le rangers que j'ai croisé le long de la rivière ne m'ont rien dit alors que nous mordions tous les deux la berge.
Erwan
La vie est belle ! La vie est belle ! Je me tue à vous le dire disait la fleur. Et elle meurt ( J.Prévert)
morne plaine !
Comme une onde qui bout dans une urne trop pleine,
Dans ton cirque de bois, de coteaux, de vallons,
La pâle mort mêlait les sombres bataillons;
"Une volontaire pour..." Mais telles les légionnaires d'Asterix, elles regardent toutes au plafond en sifflotant."
"Déconnez pas les filles, ce sera plus facile pour vous, les hommes sont plus prévenant envers les filles, mois, à tous les coups ils vont me faire poireauter."
"C'est ça, tu enverrais ta fille en short traverser un groupe d'une vingtaine de mastars ? c'est du joli !"
"Ma fille, non...tu as raison... mais ma femme peut-être ?"
"C'est du joli !"
"Bon, ben c'est non alors ?"../
"Bon, ben j'y vais..."
Tu devrais avoir honte quand même!!!!!😊
Franchement!!! Moi qui pensais, jusque là, que tu étais quelqu'un de bien!!!!!!🤪
pfffff, j'suis déçue!!!!!! na!!!!!😄
SENIATY , NI À MY.
senyatisafaricampbotswana.com/
Trouver la piste qui mène à seniaty n'est pas difficile, un énorme panneau est disposé au bord de la route Nata/Kasane, il est même fluorescent au cas où vous arriveriez de nuit.
Le chemin qui mène au lodge est digne de Chobe, sable profond et en plus ça monte et ça descend.
Trouver la réception de seniaty pourrait être plus simple, mais on y parvient quand même.
Trouver la réceptionniste peut s'avérer compliqué, le plus simple étant de sonner et d'attendre.
Obtenir le sourire de la patronne est une entreprise de haut vol, mais je peux me vanter d'y être parvenu malgré deux coups de sonnette qui ont provoqué une entrée en matière peu avenante :
"one ring tone is enough for me to come..."
Je récupère donc les clés du family cottage, elle nous indique le chemin et je prends également du bois pour le braai et me renseigne pour le tour en bateau du lendemain soir, je réserve pour nous 4 un tour à partir de 15 h.
Retrouver le chalet ne fut pas chose aisée, il faut traverser le camping et, disons le tout net, le camping de seniaty, c'est le bordel...Les emplacements sont ridiculement petits et il y a pas mal de monde, pas évident de se repérer là dedans quand le jour décline.
Nous finissons par trouver en slalomant entre tentes et 4x4.
Le chalet est spacieux et peut facilement loger 6 personnes, on peut parler d'un excellent rapport qualité prix, c'est propre, confortable et plutôt bien équipé avec le même défaut qu'à Mwandy view : des plaques électriques très poussives.
La location est idéale, le chalet est situé le long du cours d'eau qui alimente le waterhole et matin et soir on peut voir défiler les éléphants depuis sa terrasse ou en préparant son braai.
Ce lodge est situé au milieu d'un couloir de passage aménagé pour la faune entre le Botswana et le Zimbabwe.
À 200 m, le bar (il n'y a pas de restaurant) construit près du waterhole et le surplombant, sous le bar il y a l'entrée d'un tunnel étroit de 50 m qui vous conduit à un bunker situé tout près du waterhole et qui permet d'observer les éléphants au plus près.
Il faut bien le reconnaître : c'est magique !
Quelques éléphants sont déjà passés devant nous, je me rends donc au hide pour assiter au spectacle au plus près.
Je suis seul et prends quelques photos au grand angle.
Bientôt, un bruit me signale que du monde arrive, une mère et ses deux enfants, ils parlent en anglais.
"On va voir les éléphants ! On va voir les éléphants !" couine une toute petite voix
"Hey ! Hey ! calmez vous !" répond une voix bien plus grave mais néanmoins féminine " Pas de bruit ! Il y a des gens ! non ! Ne cours pas Eliott ! Owen attention dans l'échelle...reste avec moi ! Donne moi la main !"
"les éléphants ! on va voir les éléphants ! Super ! Super ! C'est par là Maman !" re-couine le premier
"je sais où c'est ! mais reste avec moi ! reste av..."
Un énorme boucan l'interrompt au milieu duquel émergent quelques couinement apeurés et surpris : le gamin lui a échappé, a filé vers le bout du tunnel où se situe la petite salle du hide, est passé en trombe derrière mon haut tabouret...et s'est pris le suivant en plein tronche, provoquant inexorablement une réaction en chaîne que Jean Claude Duss de Paris lui même aurait pu lui envier : un effet domino des plus terrible, une forêt soufflée par l'ouragan, une armée couchée par la mitraille, tous les tabourets se cassent la gueule dans un fracas épouvantable.
le gamin gît au milieu, tétanisé et sa mère essaie de l'en dépétrer.
L'éléphant qui se trouvait tout près en est tout surpris, il sursaute, s'éloigne puis revient renifler prudemment.
Les pauvres gamins sont fermement agrippés par leur mère furax, qui vient s'excuser auprès de moi avant de les ramener au bercail frustrés.
Je pleure de rire...
L'apéro et le braai du soir, les parties de cartes en surveillant les éléphants, les aller retours vers le bar, de nuit en faisant attention à ne pas croiser une bête.
Et se coucher au son des hyènes et du léopard au loin.
Nous mettrons la journée suivante à profit pour :
1- faire une grasse mat'
2-glander au bar en regardant le waterhole
3-faire le braai de midi
Et pour finir : 4-essayer de rappeler Jakes au sujet des foutus ppm et...tiens ? Je vais commencer par ça...
Je l'appelle donc à nouveau, les précédentes tentatives ont été infructueuses, elle était en WE prolongé, mais cette fois ci elle répond.
"Allo ? Jakes, c'est Erwan, je te rappelle au sujet du diesel : il n'y a que du diesel sale ici et je voulais te prévenir à ce sujet pour que tu me confirmes que je peux filtrer et savoir si une chaussette c'est suffisant ou si je devais superposer la paire..."
"..."
"Allooooooo ? Tu m'enteeeeeeends ?"
"Oui, oui, mais qu'est ce que c'est cette histoire de chaussettes? où te trouves tu ?"
"A Kasane, oui, je dis chaussette, mais ça pourrait être des slips hein ? On me dit qu'il y aurait du diesel propre en zambie, mais je ne sais pas si..."
"Tu ne peux pas aller en Zambie, tu n'as pas les papiers pour...ou alors, il faudrait y aller à pied avec des bidons et les ramener pour faire ton plein."
"Quoi ????"
"C'est pour répondre à ton interrogation, mais pourquoi me dis tu qu'il n'y a pas de diesel propre à Kasane, Il y a plein de voitures récentes et sophistiquées à Kasane, si le diesel était sale on le saurait !"
Un affreux doute me prend.
"Ben, euuuuh...c'est écrit dessus non ?"
"Ah non, je ne crois pas qu'il y ait de pompes à essence avec "attention, diesel sale" écrit dessus"
"Euh, je, euh mais ils renseignent le taux de ppm et je croyais que le 500..."
"Pas de problème, tu peux mettre du 500 ppm dans ma voiture"
"Mais alors, comment je fais pour savoir si c'est du diesel sale ?"
"C'est une très bonne question..."
"Oui ?"
"..."
"Et la réponse à la très bonne question ? c'est quoi ?"
"Il n'y a pas de réponse, c'est un peu au feeling, les gens le savent, il faut demander..."
"Demander, Mais à qui ?!?! Au pompiste ?"
"Surtout pas au pompiste ! Autant demander au poissonnier si son poisson est frai ! Ha ! Ha! ha !"
Me voilà bien...Bon, au moins je vais pouvoir refaire le plein sans filtrer quoi que ce soit, mais rétrospectivement, je comprend les réactions des divers pompistes plus que surpris de ma méfiance vis à vis du 500 ppm...et je ne vous parle pas de celui à qui j'ai filé mes chaussettes !
Je glande sur la terrasse, ressassant mon ridicule en regardant passer les babouins, les impalas, les éléphants parfois, les phacochères et puis je me mets au braai.
Le repas avalé, nous filons à Kasane faire quelques courses, sauf la viande et les légumes que nous prendrons après la barrière vétérinaire, à Nata demain.
Et nous nous mettons à la recherche de cartes postales...
A Kasane, ville la plus touristique du pays.
Les cartes ne doivent donc pas manquer c'est sûr !
A Kasane...
Au bout de 3/4 d'h à écumer les boutiques, nous n'en avons toujours pas trouvé une seule !
Nous finissons tout de même par en dénicher dans une agence de voyage, le choix est large : 4 cartes différentes : le léopard, le zèbre, l'éléphant et la girafe...😎 Et soudain nous AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA...
suite post 17
Erwan
La vie est belle ! La vie est belle ! Je me tue à vous le dire disait la fleur. Et elle meurt ( J.Prévert)
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH !
C'est affreux : je n'avais pas assez de place pour mettre toutes mes photos sur un seul post !
MAIS A QUI SE-DUDU DIS DONC ?
Et je disais donc : soudain nous arrivons au ponton, derrière le spar, nous cherchons le bateau de Cherry le boatman.
Un couple de français nous accompagnera, nous sommes 6 + Cherry (Cherry, pas Sherry)
Fort sympathique garçon qui nous demande ce que nous voulons voir.
"Des éléphants !"
"Des ions ! "
"Des buf'"
"Des chiraff !"
"Des chnoug' "
"Des potam' "
"Des tig' "
"Des tigres ?!?!?"
"Euh...non : des tenouilles ?"😊
"Bon, écoutez, comme vous me demandez n'importe quoi, c'est moi qui vais décider de ce qu'on verra ou pas..."
Nous démarrons.
"Mais...et mes tenouilles ?"
"Papa, ta gueule !"
Je boude...
Cherry nous explique sa rivière et les conflits générés par son cours sinueux et les îles qui la jalonnent. Le principal conflit qui a failli dégénérer en guerre, concernait l'île de Sedudu.
Fort heureusement, au lieu de se foutre sur la gueule comme nous avons l'habitude de le faire en Europe, ces deux pays ont décidé de s'en remettre à une cours de justice internationale qui choisit de marquer la frontière là où la rivière est la plus profonde.
L'île de Sedudu, toute surprise, s'en est retrouvée Botswanaise !
La Namibie déconfite, mais bonne joueuse, a accepté l'arbitrage, le président namibien a juste eu cette phrase de dépit :
"Peuh ! De toutes façons cette île est littéralement couverte de cobes rouges...sont trop cons ces cobes rouges..."
Cherry nous explique comment fonctionnent les bestiaux qui vont dans les collines le long de la rivière puis retournent sur les îles le soir.
Il nous apprendra qu'en dehors des "big fives" il y a aussi les "ugly five" qui sont la hyène, le phacochère, le marabout, le vautour et le gnou.
Et puis, il y a aussi les "swiming five" le buffle, le cobe rouge, l'éléphant, l'hippopotame et le crocodile, le groupe des amphibies en quelques sortes.
La faune est abondante, des éléphants des buffles, des oiseaux, il y a vraiment de quoi voir et de quoi faire.
le problème...c'est nous : les bateaux...
Il y en a vraiment beaucoup.
illustration, ces 3 éléphants on décidé de traverser aux heures de pointes, c'est à dire vers 16 h quand tous les bateaux sont engagés sur le départ du tour aux premier embranchement de la Chobe.
Le traversée est longue, au début, il n'y a pas grand monde, mais ça change vite, les gros bateaux ont des vigies hautes placées, les petits surveillent les gros, voient bien où ils se déplacent tous ensemble et foncent pour les doubler !
C'est du sport.
C'est du sport aussi pour les éléphants qui se retrouvent littéralement à passer au milieu d'une haie d'honneur.
Au moins, ça fait sourire le crocodile.
Et marrer l'hippo.
Le babouin, lui s'en tamponne le coquillard, c'est un libre penseur le babouin, il se contre fiche de l'opinion d'autrui et le fait savoir.
Passé se premier embouteillage, les bateaux se dispersent, les petits vont plus loin et ont accès à des endroits plus tranquilles, nous serons bien moins nombreux pour assister à une nouvelle traversée d'une vingtaine d'éléphants qui s'aspergeront ensuite consciencieusement de boue pour saloper ce que la bonne rivière Chobe avait eu bien du mal à faire partir.
Il est particulièrement impressionnant sur ces petits bateaux, de voir combien le boatman se rapproche des animaux, 1 à 2 m du crocodile, 10 m voir moins, des buffles ou des éléphants, ça fait peur parfois et puis on peut se faire maculer de boue assez facilement.
Les éléphants s'engagent ensuite sur l'île de Sedudu où flotte le drapeau du Botswana histoire de bien rappeler aux Namibiens comment qu'on les a bien niqués nananèreu !
Mais ils s'en battent la nouille les namibiens, ils rétorquent que c'est ça de moins à tondre le week end et en plus c'est pourri de cobes rouges alors !
Toutes ces querelles stériles sont épuisantes et le soleil lui même décide d'aller se coucher.
C'est le signal du Braai !
BRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAÏÏ !!!!
Je laisse un pourboire à Cherry pour tout le monde (50 pp) puisque nos compatriotes ont sans doute jugé sa prestation moyenne, moi je l'avais trouvé plutôt bien.
Le Braai de nuit est toujours plus problématique du fait de la présence des hyènes qui ne s'approchent pas trop, les éléphants passent et repassent devant nous, nous irons les revoir de près au hyde et au bar.
Seniaty est un endroit magique.
suite p 7 post 1
Erwan
La vie est belle ! La vie est belle ! Je me tue à vous le dire disait la fleur. Et elle meurt ( J.Prévert)
Ces dames ne sont pas frileuses à être en short pour le boat cruise .
Ça caillait pas ? 🤪
(J'avais hésité à faire un tour en bateau à la place de la traversée du Chobé en 4x4. Vu le monde, je ne regrette pas du tout d'avoir choisi la version terrestre...😮 )
Je trouve ta photo du babouin très signifiante. Décidément entre le Voyou et toi, les deux font la paire. Je me demande qui d'autre a encore une photo très intéressante de babouin??
Par contre ton sourire de crocodile est très énigmatique: on ne sait s'il se moque des gens sur le bateau, ou s'il espère secrètement en faire tomber certains ou certaines pas trop couvertes afin d'en faire un apéritif.
Ton hippo a plutôt l'air de bailler aux corneilles....
des tenouilles
Ça ressemble à quoi ce truc? C'est encore une de tes inventions.
"Papa, ta gueule !"
Euh, c'est laquelle de tes filles qui te parle comme ça?
Au fait, avec le bandeau que tu leur mets sur les yeux , tu crois qu'elle ne sont pas reconnaissables, c'est ça?
Je laisse un pourboire à Cherry pour tout le monde (50 pp) puisque nos compatriotes ont sans doute jugé sa prestation moyenne, moi je l'avais trouvé plutôt bien.
Euh, c'est pas un peu beaucoup...50pp!!! Est-ce que c'est le juste prix au moins???
En tout cas, en voyant tes photos hyper embouteillées de la zone fluviale, je suis contente de ne pas y être allée. Le bateau des photographes alignés est très drôle!!!!! J'imagine Régis sur un truc comme ça.
L'île de Sedudu, toute surprise, s'en est retrouvée Botswanaise !
La Namibie déconfite, mais bonne joueuse, a accepté l'arbitrage, le président namibien a juste eu cette phrase de dépit :
"Peuh ! De toutes façons cette île est littéralement couverte de cobes rouges...sont trop cons ces cobes rouges..."
Ces pauvres cobes rouges. Je suis certaines qu'ils s'en moquent de ton opinion à leur sujet, sauf qu'ils ne t'ont pas montré leurs parties intimes pour te le prouver!!!!!
Et l'hippo se fout de notre gueule, aucun doute là dessus.
Prononciation infantile de " "grenouille".
Les deux, voir les trois, savent me dire " ta gueule, " mais elles savent qu'elles doivent le faire à bon escient.
Là, c'était à bon escient.
50 pulas, c'est 4€ et c'est beaucoup, sauf que là, c'est pour 6, soit moins de 10 pulas par personne.
Tu as tort de ne pas regretter, la balade sur la Chobe, c'est extraordinaire.
Quant à mon opinion au sujet des cobes rouges, elle n'a rien à voir avec celle du président de la Namibie.
Je peux observer leurs burnes comme celles des babouins sans m'émouvoir.
C'est juste qu'ils devraient faire plus gaffe au soleil...
@Attila
La température ambiante était de 30°...
Short de rigueur.
En fin de parcours, c'était beaucoup plus frais.
Erwan
La vie est belle ! La vie est belle ! Je me tue à vous le dire disait la fleur. Et elle meurt ( J.Prévert)
La route pour redescendre vers Nata ne présente pas plus d'intérêt à la descente qu'à la montée, sauf peut être la barrière vétérinaire qui s'avère beaucoup plus drastique dans ce sens, les voitures sont toutes arrêtées, ouvertes, les frigo contrôlés et les touristes invités à dévorer séance tenante toute victuaille interdite au delà de la barrière.
Et il y a pas mal de gens qui dévorent sur le bord de la route en ce petit matin du mois d'Août.
Nous n'avons pas de frigo et nous faisons l'erreur de montrer un petit sac de courses contenant des fruits (melon et kakis) qui attirent l'attention, nous en serons quitte pour manger une tranche de melon et un kaki. tant pis, on en reprendra à Nata s'il y en a.
En fait, il n'y en a pas...
Nous faisons le plein de fruits, légumes et viandes, mangeons à l'autre supermarché du carrefour, pour changer.
Mal nous en a pris, il est bien moins sympathique que l'autre et surtout, les mendiants ont fait de ce parking leur QG, ça leur permet de passer rapidement des pompes à essence au convives attablés.
Un gars se plante à côté de nous tendant la main, il affiche cet air terriblement malheureux que nous connaissons déjà.
Mais nous avons déjà fait don de kakis au Botswana, et un melon aussi, et puis il a l'air bien moins malheureux que le mendiant de l'autre jour, sur mon impitoyable proposition, nous le saluons et lui rendons tous son regard en commençant à manger. Il est parti tout de suite...
Peu après Nata, sur la route de Maun, une piste part sur la gauche.
Oh voyageur, si tu passes par là, garde toi bien de t'y engager car tu y vivras mille tourments et auras un aperçu de ce qui pourrait bien être l'enfer : LE FESH FESH !!!
Le fesh fesh est une poussière intelligente dont le seul but est de pourrir la vie du conducteur et de ses passagers.
Sur du fesh fesh et par temps chaud, il est prudent d'être muni d'une climatisation, car si tu dois ouvrir ta fenêtre mon ami, l'intérieur de ta voiture prendra l'aspect de l'extérieur : celui d'un film noir et blanc...ou plutôt gris et gris (il y a des nuances tout de même).
Parfois, la couche de fesh fesh se fait moins épaisse, mais ce n'est que pour mieux découvrir des portions couverte de petites pierres bien pointues qui n'ont qu'une envie : celle de niquer tes pneus, puisqu'elles ont bien remarqué que tu as chaussé des pneus route et pas des tous terrains...les salopes !
Parfois le fesh fesh et les cailloux décident de vous lâcher un peu la grappe, mais ils ne le font que lorsque les acacias ont poussé bien dru et encadrent la piste serré serré, assez serré pour bien frotter la jolie peinture de ta belle voiture de luxe que tu voudrais bien ne pas abîmer pour ne pas encore alourdir la facture d'un voyage qui a déjà bénéficié d'une substantielle rallonge...
Le couinement grinçant des épines de cet arbuste sur la carrosserie, rappelle immanquablement le bruit épouvantable des ongles sur un tableau noir.
C'est atroce...depuis, j'encourage systématiquement les girafes que je croise à dévorer les acacias : " allez-y les filles ! Niquez leur leur face à ces bââââtards !"
De fesh en fesh, de pierre en caillou, d'épine en épine, nous allons vers Khubu, pas une seule traversée de pan pour nous donner un peu de répit, nous le voyons, pourtant, ce pan, tantôt à gauche là, derrière les huttes,
tantôt à droite, mais jamais ô grand jamais, la piste ne daigne le chevaucher.
Misère de misère ! trois heures de galère sur cette horreur ! Et comble de malchance, la faiblesse du vent fait que, quand tu t'arrêtes, il faut attendre 5 bonnes minutes que la poussières se dissipe.
Trois heures et enfin nous bifurquons à gauche, l'espace se dégage un peu et khubu Island nous apparaît enfin.
C'est splendide.
Khubu island est magnifique.
On ne peut pas en dire autant du camping, il y a bien quelques emplacements près de l'entrée qui ne sont pas mal, mais qui on le gros désavantage d'être près de l'entrée, il y a donc beaucoup de voitures qui passent à côté et beaucoup de piétons aussi qui partent en balade.
Il n'y a pas d'eau, les sanitaires sont déglingués.
khubu island est un éperon granitique qui déborde sur le pan, immensité déserte et salée, plate comme la mer qui s'étend à perte de vue.
Sur la capture d'écran google earth, le camping se trouve en bas à gauche, la partie la plus belle de l'île se trouve en bas à droite, on y va facilement à pied.
Khubu island est le règne des baobabs, fiers nababs qui prennent une teinte rougeâtre le crépuscule venant.
Kubu island, c'est beau.
Khubu island, ça donne envie de faire des photos.
Mais il faut tout de même monter le camp, la piste m'a fatigué, j'ai conduit pratiquement tout du long et j'ai très envie d'aller me promener. mais il faut monter le camp d'abord et c'est la première fois que nous montons le camp.
Nous trouvons d'abord l'accueil du camping, nous n'avons pas de réservation, mais le gars ne fait pas de problème, il voit que j'avais réservé pour le début de la semaine précédente et avais prépayé, il me donne donc un emplacement libre.
Nous sommes encore assez mal organisés, nous descendons le bois qui est sanglé sur le toit et la bâche qui sert de galerie de toit. Nous posons les sacs en vrac sur la bâche et sortons la tente, la poussière est partout.
Khubu, c'est beaucoup, beaucoup de poussière. Chaque voiture qui arrive ou qui part en balade lève un nuage.
Mais nous poursuivons la tâche, la tente d'abord, j'avais déballé à Senyati et sais comment on la monte, c'est donc relativement vite fait (10 mn à 3, nous le ferons en 5 mn par la suite).
Le souci, c'est que une fois la tente montée, les 3 filles se jettent dedans et commencent à s'y amuser à rigoler à se chamailler, me laissant seul poursuivre le rangement.
Je maugrée, mais ne veut pas gâcher ce moment de bonheur simple et naturel qu'apprécient tant ces être simples et fragiles que sont nos femmes...pourvu qu'on ne leur donne jamais le droit de vote à ces irresponsables ! 😮
Je poursuis donc en grand mâle dominant le labeur indispensable à la survie du troupeau, je monte la bouteille de gaz, sors les boites, cache les bidons d'essence, introduis les sacs idoines dans la tente...bref, toutes ces choses qui doivent être faites et qu'elles ne font pas : je maugrée toujours donc.
Je maugrée et je m'agite en tous sens, tellement que, en passant derrière la tente entre celle ci et un petit acacia, ce dernier ne trouve rien de mieux à faire que de me planter une de ses épines dans le cuir chevelu !
Je suis pour l'extinction définitive de l'espèce "acacia".
J'essaie de me dégager, mais je ne peux pas voir ce qui se passe là haut et ça fait mal cette cochonnerie ! Je tente à l'aveuglette de...mais je ne fais que me piquer les doigts et enfoncer encore plus le dard...
L'humiliation sera le point d'orgue de cette après midi, il me faut appeler au secours...
"Les filles ?"
Rires, chamailleries, couinements, gloussements divers.
"LES FILLES ???"
"Ouiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii?" rétorquent elles à l'unisson.
"L'une d'entre vous pourrait-elle venir m'aider s'il vous plait"
"Pourquoââââââââ?" coassent-elles en coeur.
"je...je me suis planté une épine dans la tête et je ne peux plus bouger..."
"...."
"Hého ?"
L'hilarité générale qui suit me mortifie. Non seulement on me laisse tout faire, je me blesse gravement et en plus ELLES SE MARRENT !?!?!?
C'en est trop : je boude.
Mais hélas, je me rends vite compte que cette attitude est, comme toujours, une impasse et je me dois de subir les lazzis familiaux en feignant de le prendre bien.
Mais ça fait mal...comme le Christ a du souffrir !
Me voyant si souffreteux, mes femelles se décident enfin à m'apporter l'aide tant attendue à l'élaboration du camp et nous pouvons aller nous balader à pied. Ça n'a l'air de rien, mais c'est quasiment la première fois depuis que nous sommes partis que nous pouvons le faire.
Escapade
Escalades
Racines voluptueuses...
Le soir, nous savourons notre premier bivouac, viande grillée au menu et partie de salope dans la tente.
Je me dois d'expliquer que la "salope" est un jeu de plis, ce jeu consiste à ne faire aucun plis contenant des coeurs (1 point chacun) ou l' as, le roi, la dame de pique. Avant de commencer, chacun passe 3 de ses cartes à son voisin.
C'est un jeu très efficace pour se quitter fâchés.
Nous nous fâchons donc et je pars muni de l'appareil, du trépied et du grand angle faire des photos d'étoiles.
Je marche seul dans le noir, je garde ma frontale led allumée sur les sentiers du camping et l'éteins dès que j'arrive sur le pan qui longe l'île.
Marcher par cette nuit sans lune, sous la seule lueur des étoiles, dans le silence fait partie des ces moments contemplatifs indispensables au bonheur.
Je marche au petit bonheur la chance, hypnotisé par le ciel criblé d'étoiles, si différent du nôtre et par l'ombre rassurante des baobabs.
Je n'entend que le bruit de mes pas sur la croûte salée du pan.
Je me rappelle tout de même que j'ai pris l'appareil et décide donc de trouver un endroit où poser le trépied: ces 2 grands baobabs feront l'affaire.
Je rentre et allume ma frontale dans le sentier du camping.
Et je me paume dans le camping...
Impossible de retrouver notre tente ! Je tourne, je vire, je retourne et je revire, les numéros des panneaux que je croise ne sont pas le mien.
Finalement, je décide de faire le tour du camping par son côté ouest en me disant que je tomberai sur la cabane du gardien, nous sommes à 100 m et je connais la direction.
Ça marche : je trouve la maison du gardien et prends aussitôt la direction de...
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH !
Mais qu'est ce que c'est que ce truc ?
Il est fantomatique, haut comme trois pommes, non plutôt comme trois pastèques, de grands yeux qui me fixent et de grandes oreilles qui m'écoutent (pourvu qu'il n'ait pas de grandes dents !), il a de petites pattes avant qu'il tient repliées sur son torse et de grandes pattes arrières de kangourous, ajoutez à ça une grande queue qui se termine par un touffu panache noir et vous avez le bestiau..;
Oh ! Là, un autre, juste à côté !
On dirait que la lumière les paralyse complètement : je peux m'approcher à 1 mètre, ce que je fais, mais ils ne partent pas. je les détaille de tout près et en arive à la conclusion irréfutable qu'il s'agit là d'une sorte de mix improbable entre un kangourou et un lapin.
Je le baptise "kangoupin" et je vais me coucher.
Mais cette photo n'est pas de moi...je n'avais que le grand angle à mise au point manuelle.
suite post 4
Erwan
La vie est belle ! La vie est belle ! Je me tue à vous le dire disait la fleur. Et elle meurt ( J.Prévert)
Je ne sais pas qui ils sont, je ne sais pas d'où ils viennent.
Dès les premières lueurs de l'aube je me lève pour profiter du lever du soleil.
Khubu, c'est la lumière, lumière du crépuscule, lumières de l'aube et lumières de la nuit. Il ne faut surtout pas hésiter à se lever très tôt et à se coucher plus tard, c'est superbe.
J'étais donc le dernier couché et je suis le premier levé, je pars tandis qu'il fait encore nuit armé de mon appareil photo et objectif grand angle.
Je vais tout au bout de l'île pour faire face à l'immensité du pan et profiter des lueurs du soleil sur les rochers blancs. Il y a déjà un groupe de photographes qui, curieusement, partiront dès que le soleil sera au dessus de la ligne d'horizon, me laissant seul.
Je profite de l'instant et fais aussi quelques clichés au flash, vitesse rapide .
C'est alors qu'il sont arrivés.
Je ne sais pas qui ils sont, je ne sais pas d'où ils viennent.
dédaignant la marche, ils sont arrivés en 4x4, ils ont garé le 4x4 entre moi et le soleil.
Ils ont négligé de couper le moteur, je suis assis en retrait dans les rochers à 50 m d'eux, je pense qu'ils ne m'ont pas vu.
Je ne sais pas qui ils sont, je ne veux pas savoir d'où ils viennent.
Ils sont sortis du 4x4, ils avaient l'air pressé, le ventre en avant, vêtus de vêtements kakis type safari, l'un en short, l'autre en pantalon avec des poches partout, chaussures de randonnée aux pieds. L'un d'eux est petit et blond, les cheveux filasses, mi longs, l'autre plus grand mais son abdomen n'a rien à envier à son co pilote.
Ils ont l'air pressés, ils tournent autour de la voiture, déclenchent l'appareil, s'éloignent, déclenchent, se rapprochent, déclenchent, posent l'appareil sur la voiture et se prennent bras dessus bras dessous, changent d'appareil et recommencent, s'éloignent à nouveau, font des photos à genou, accroupis, debout, penchés.
Le moteur tourne toujours, depuis au moins 20 mn et j'observe leur ballet silencieux.
Je ne veux pas savoir qui ils sont, je ne veux pas savoir d'où ils viennent.
Ils décident enfin de partir, au moment de monter dans la voiture, l'un d'entre eux finit tout de même par me voir et me fait un signe de la main qu'il enchaîne par un autre le pouce en l'air, comme pour me confirmer que " c'est super".
Je n'ai pas répondu.
Je ne sais pas qui ils sont, je ne sais pas où ils sont.
Je rentre sans me perdre et sans kangoupins au campement, je réveille les feignasses en leur préparant leur petit déjeûner.
"Les oeufs sont prêêêêêêêêêêêêêêêts !"
Je discerne un "j'arrive " parmi les divers grognements qui me parviennent de la tente...et de la voiture, puisque nos deux filles ont décidé de dormir dans la voiture ! il y a largement la place dans la tente, mais le fait que nous devions dormir dans des camps non protégés avec des lions qui rodent les incite à dormir dans l'espace le plus sécurisé. Si elles le font aussi à Khubu, c'est pour s'entraîner (!).
Elles émergent enfin, pour accélérer leur réveil, je leur raconte ma soirée de la veille et ma rencontre avec les 2 kangoupins.
Face à leur manque de réaction, je tique :
"C'est tout de même incroyable ces bestioles non ?"
"..."
"Non?"
"Bof, c'est pas comme si tu avais rencontré un zébruche, c'est vraiment incroyable le zébruche..." me crucifie Camille.
"Un zébruche ? mais..."
"Et je ne te parle même pas du rhinocéphant ! Impressionnant un rhinocéphant !" m'achève Sabine.
"Et puis, tu aurais pu tomber sur le terrible gnoupotame avec sa grande gueule pleine de dents et ses cornes..." complète Fanny qui ne veut pas être en reste.
"Mais enfin ! Puisque je vous dit que..."
L'éclat de rire général me coupe la chique, je prends aussitôt la décision de bouder et me ravise comme d'habitude pour les raisons exposées plus haut.
Las ! Il va me falloir supporter toute la journée et les jours suivants les taquineries familiales qui étofferont le bestiaire fantasmagorique de quelques "Hyènions", "léodile", "gretour" et autres "phacorafes"...
Quand je pense que je leur ai préparé leur petit dej !
Bon...allez, il faut tout remballer.
Nous nous arrêtons pour prendre en stop un baobab qui nous faisait signe, mais il voulait aller vers le sud...
Et nous nous élançons avec beaucoup d'appréhension sur la piste de Gweta.
Je suis allé voir le petit gars qui garde le camping et dont j'ai malheureusement oublié le nom. il me dit que cette piste est bonne et bien meilleure que la piste de Nata.
Quand je m'étais renseigné, auprès de Pierre en particulier (qui sait de quoi il cause), c'est l'inverse que j'avais compris, la piste de Gweta était mauvaise et il valait mieux ne pas y aller seul.
Il s'avère, pour avoir fait les 2 consécutivement, que cette année, au mois d'Août, celle de Gweta est effectivement incomparablement plus plaisante.
La première partie est commune, jusqu'à la porte de la barrière vétérinaire, puis on longe la barrière jusqu'au premier pan.
Nous roulons rapidement sur le pan et y croisons des autruches, j'accélère pour les rattraper et passe ma tête par la fenêtre.
"Où courez vous comme ça mesdames ?"
"Messieurs espèce de mal poli !"
"Non, moi je suis une dame !"
"Toi : ta gueule !"
"Je vous prie de m'excuser, je ne voulais pas commettre d'impair, mais voyez vous, je suis étranger et ne connais pas tout...Donc, où courez vous donc ainsi ?"
"Mais VOTER que diable ! nous courons VOTER ! C'est un devoir que nous nous devons d'accomplir et auquel nous ne dérogeons jamais !"
Quelle classe ces autruches...Nous continuons de pan en pan, où nous nous amusons comme des petits fous laissant même de temps en temps le volant à Fanny.
(vous noterez qu'entre temps, nous avons remis le bois sur le toit pour gagner de la place)
l'équipe de choc.
L'arrivée à Gweta est le mauvais passage, T4A/Garmin est complètement perdu, les pistes se multiplient et il indique des directions incohérentes puisque 300 m plus loin il nous localise hors piste.
Nous décidons donc de suivre systématiquement la piste la plus large et dans la direction générale Nord.
Bien nous en prend puisque nous arrivons à Gweta et nous mettons en quête d'un supermarché , ou d'un restau , ou d'un lodge qui ferait des repas.
C'est au supermarché que nous arrivons en premier, la petite supérette de Gweta n'est pas si mal achalandée que ça, on y trouve quelques produits frais, tomates, quelques pommes et oranges, des patates, des oignons, du pain, des oeufs, de la viande surgelée et une cuisine qui prépare des repas.
Nous sommes les seuls clients et il y a au bas mot une douzaine d'employées callipyges qui, coiffées de leur charlotte blanche et vêtue de blouses papotent les mains dans les poches.
Manifestement elles parlent de nous et elles rient beaucoup chaque fois que nous prenons un nouvel aliment et le mettons dans le panier.
L'acmé viendra quand nous ferons comprendre que nous souhaitons prendre des repas à emporter, s'ensuivra une cacophonie ponctuée de rires tonitruants, constatant que l'une d'elles s'afflige une grande claque sur ses fesses rebondies, j'en conclu qu'elles doivent disserter sur la différence de morphologie fessière manifeste qui existe entre elles et nous...
Effectivement, il y a de quoi dire...
Cette supérette a un défaut : il n'y a pas de table à l'extérieur, nous mangerons donc assis sur le petit trottoir devant la supérette sous le regard médusé des passants.
Puis, nous attendons un peu que le marchand d'alcool situé à côté ouvre pour y acheter des bières fraîches, dont le rôle premier est de refroidir notre cooler bag, car il fait tout de même chaud en cet après midi botswanais.
Nous regonflons les pneus.
Le plein des bidons est fait à Gweta, l'allure de la station me déplait, de plus, le pompiste vide sa cuve dans les bidons, nous ne complétons donc pas le réservoir.
Direction Phuduhudu, l'entrée Nord du Magkadigkali.
suite p 8 post 5
Erwan
La vie est belle ! La vie est belle ! Je me tue à vous le dire disait la fleur. Et elle meurt ( J.Prévert)
Cette supérette a un défaut : il n'y a pas de table à l'extérieur, nous mangerons donc assis sur le petit trottoir devant la supérette sous le regard médusé des passants.
Un âne qui ne supporte pas votre vue et enfouie sa tête dans la première poubelle de disponible.
Bon, j'ai un mois de retard dans la lecture de ton carnet à rattraper.
Je ne suis pas d'accord avec une de tes remarques sur Senyati
Les emplacements sont ridiculement petits et il y a pas mal de monde, pas évident de se repérer là dedans quand le jour décline.
Seuls les 2 ou 3 emplacements "du bas", situés vers les bungalows et au plus près du point d'eau sont plus petits, mais ceux du hauts sont vraiment spacieux (bon certes, cela ne vaut pas les immenses emplacements de Savuti) 😉.
Seuls les 2 ou 3 emplacements "du bas", situés vers les bungalows et au plus près du point d'eau sont plus petits, mais ceux du hauts sont vraiment spacieux (bon certes, cela ne vaut pas les immenses emplacements de Savuti) 😉.
Tu étais passée à une période de moindre fréquentation je crois ?
Je peux t'assurer que ce n'étaient pas 2 ou 3 emplacements qui étaient concernés, mais des dizaines.
Peut-être ceci dit que les occupants de ces emplacements se connaissaient et avaient loué chaque emplacement pour plusieurs véhicules ? Ça me surprendrait beaucoup puisque c'est le seul endroit où j'ai pu observer ce phénomène ( chaque emplacement occupé par plusieurs véhicules)
Erwan
La vie est belle ! La vie est belle ! Je me tue à vous le dire disait la fleur. Et elle meurt ( J.Prévert)
Quand je m'étais renseigné, auprès de Pierre en particulier
Je ne me souviens pas avoir dit que la piste de Nata était meilleure. C'est la plus courte et la plus pratiquée, mais c'est tout. D'ailleurs chez nous aussi les enfants ont conduit entre Gweta et Kubu mais pas question entre Kubu et Nata.
Mais nous n'y avons pas eu de fesh fesh, juste du sable très creusé par endroit pas agréable à conduire, par endroit le sol était au niveau du bas des portières.
Il y a plusieurs pistes parallèles dans ce coin.
Si, tu m'avais bien dit que la piste de Gweta était difficile à l'époque et justifiait même d'y aller en convoi du fait de la faible fréquentation.
Il faut noter que la fréquentation s'est certainement accentué depuis, en août en tous cas, nous avons croisé au moins une dizaine de véhicules qui venaient dans l'autre sens et en avons doublé ( ou avons été doublés par) 5 ou 6 autres...aide assurée en cas de panne donc.
Mais je conçois que les conditions de circulations de ces pistes sont très variables et que mes propres informations ne sont déjà plus valables.
Pour le fesh fesh, je ressors la photo de Gerardinpho qui vaut mieux qu'un long discours :
Erwan
La vie est belle ! La vie est belle ! Je me tue à vous le dire disait la fleur. Et elle meurt ( J.Prévert)
Il semble donc que la fréquentation augmente partout, et rapidement !Désertique, elle l'était à la Toussaint 2013. Nous avons parcouru cette piste dans tous les sens deux jours de suite sans voir un véhicule (Ah si, croisé 3 motos vers le pan).
J'ai peut-être aussi parlé d'orientation ? Aller vers Gweta est plus facile que d'en partir.
J'avais bien vu la photo de fesh fesh (d'ailleurs sortir de la voiture pour la prendre, ça devait être sympa ! 🏴☠️) mais il n'y en avait pas sur la piste que nous avons prise en 2013. Il y avait eu un gros orage dans ce coin deux jours avant notre passage, ça explique sûrement, la poussière était fixée.
Oui.
Il y a très clairement eu de gros changements sur ces pistes et il y en aura sûrement encore.
Concernant la fréquentation, il est clair qu'elle est bien plus importante en Août qu'en Novembre.
d'ailleurs sortir de la voiture pour la prendre, ça devait être sympa !
😏
Je ne te le fais pas dire !
j'avais vu cette photo de Gerardinpho avant de partir et je m'étais promis de faire la même, mais quand j'ai vu ce que ça impliquait, j'ai décidé que Gerardinpho était un héro et pas moi...😐 😏
Erwan
La vie est belle ! La vie est belle ! Je me tue à vous le dire disait la fleur. Et elle meurt ( J.Prévert)
Tu étais passée à une période de moindre fréquentation je crois ?
Oui, en avril, et il est vrai que le camping était à moitié plein, rien à voir avec la période où tu y étais.
Mais, à côté de nous, il y avait plusieurs emplacements partagés par des zambiens dont 1 avec 1 4x4 tente sur le toit + 1 4x4 avec une tente sur remorque + 1 tente au sol, et honnêtement il avait encore de la place.
Peut-être y avait-il surbooking et partage des emplacements 😮
Je ne sais pas si tu as eu l'occasion de voir les emplacements du Chobe Safari Camp, un mouchoir de poche 🏴☠️
POUR L'AVOIR TROP AIMÉE, TE VOICI DONC DANS LA BIÈRE
Phudhuhudu gate est la porte d'entrée nord du Magkadigkali, quand vous avez dit ça vous comprenez en partie le péril orthographique qu'il y a à effectuer ce genre de périple.
Franchement, ils auraient voulu faire plus compliqué, c'était difficile, mais bon, c'est comme ça.
La complexité rebute souvent : nous sommes seuls et nous sommes les seuls à entrer aujourd'hui, enfin, pour l'instant, il n'est que 13 h après tout.
Les rangers sont aux petits oignons, ils nous font rapidement nos papiers puis nous demandent de remplir un formulaire de satisfaction que nous leurs remettons ensuite, nous sommes satisfaits, tout se passe donc très bien et très cordialement avec force sourires, remerciements multiples et variés, bref, nous nous quittons en bons termes...et heureusement, comme on va le voir.
Nous prenons la seule piste disponible, celle qui s'engouffre dans le Magkadigkadi vers Khumaga, le camping au bord de la Boteti.
Le trajet est une longue ligne droite de sable très profond et très sec, les ornières sont très creusées le long de ce très long trait tracé dans cette steppe traîtresse où quelques troncs traînent à troite et à trauche, euh à gauche... le jeu auquel je me propose de jouer (car je suis joueur) consiste à tenter de rouler sur les parties hautes plutôt qu'au fond des ornières afin que le bas de caisse ne frotte pas sur le sable, les pneus sont dégonflés à 1.5 ce qui contribue à améliorer la portance mais qui accroit l'impression de flottement.
Quand on a bien pris le coup, c'est très amusant de tenter de garder la voiture sur le sommet de la vague, on a l'impression de surfer, la voiture glisse et parfois, quand on fait une petite erreur de conduite, elle retombe dans l'ornière et il faut l'en ressortir.
Ça permet de conduire plus rapidement et de se maintenir à 30-35 km/h voir 40, l'ESP aide bien à éviter les tête-à-queue qui arrivent assez facilement quand on pratique ce petit jeu, j'en avais fait un beau à Fraser Island en Australie alors que je découvrais la conduite de mon defender sur sable.
La piste est avalée en moins d'une heure et nous nous trouvons sur les bords de la Boteti que nous longeons donc, surveillés du haut de son donjon long, par un observateur sinistre (oui : je suis très en forme).
C'est une jolie rivière avec une faune très abondante, ce n'est pas Chobe, mais ça y fait penser, en tous cas, il y a nettement moins de monde.
Ceux qui sont là n'hésitent pas à s'arrêter, à descendre de la voiture pour boire une bière au bord de la rivière sans craindre de réprimande non plus que les lions.
C'est cool...
Il y a des zèbres, des gnous qui cavalent dans l'eau,
des éléphants, des koudous, des vautours en grands nombres et une quantité impressionnante d'ossements sur le bord du cours d'eau qui signent la présence de grands prédateurs, les lions suscités que ne craignent pas, mais que devraient craindre, les buveurs de bière du bord de la Boteti.
Ô toi futur touriste buveur de bière qui compte bien t'en envoyer une derrière le gosier au bord de la Boteti tout en compissant d'aise ta roue avant, sache que c'est grand danger que tu courras là, car le lion gourmet sait bien que le touriste engraissé à la bière est plus tendre et plus goûtu que les cul serrés qui boivent du Perrier !
Je t'aurai prévenu, maintenant, tu fais comme tu veux.
Balades grisantes au milieu des troupeaux nombreux de zèbres ou de gnous qui s'enfuient à notre approche.
Vautours omniprésents qui guettent et attendent en se léchant les babines (qu'ils n'ont d'ailleurs point) que le buveur de bière paie son imprudence.
Vautours qui, parfois, commettent la même erreur que les buveurs de bières en finissant une canette entamée et abandonnée par ceux ci...
ils sont pourtant au courant ces cons de vautours, qu'il ne faut pas picoler dans la savane !
C'est la dure loi de la nature.
Comme nous sommes remontés dans la zone sablonneuse au dessus de la rivière, nous apercevons une hyène brune entre les buissons, assez loin.
En repassant le lendemain, nous en verrons une autre qui se dissimulait dans un buisson, nous nous sommes arrêtés après que je l'ai repérée sans savoir ce que c'était.
La voiture l'a dérangée et elle est sortie de sa cachette, c'est alors que nous avons vu qu'elle était blessée et trainait sa patte arrière. L'autre la veille était sans doute son compagnon qui chassait pour elle, ces animaux restant fidèles pour la vie.
Malheureusement, il y a peu de chance que cette hyène ait pu survivre à ses blessures.
Les éléphants pataugent comme seuls savent patauger les éléphants quand ils ne sont pas enquiquinés par une flotte digne de l'invincible armada espagnole.
L'après midi s'écoule gentiment et 16 h approchent, nous nous rendons donc au camping pour formaliter.
Nous sortons nos papiers au petit gars de faction qui nous demande de produire en sus de notre voucher de réservation, notre permis d'entrée du parc...
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!!!
suite post 11
Erwan
La vie est belle ! La vie est belle ! Je me tue à vous le dire disait la fleur. Et elle meurt ( J.Prévert)
Phudhuhudu gate est la porte d'entrée nord du Magkadigkali, quand vous avez dit ça vous comprenez en partie le péril orthographique qu'il y a à effectuer ce genre de périple.
En effet! 🏴☠️
(T'en fais exprès ou pas? Makgadikgadi, deux fois)
Phudhuhudu gate est la porte d'entrée nord du Magkadigkali, quand vous avez dit ça vous comprenez en partie le péril orthographique qu'il y a à effectuer ce genre de périple.
En effet! 🏴☠️
(T'en fais exprès ou pas? Makgadikgadi, deux fois)
Ah ben voilà ! Qu'est-ce que je disais : l'accident, ça devait arriver aussi avec tous ces "kg" et ces "dh"...
Tu m'avais bien dit "gkadi", mais j'ai lu "gkali"...😕
Erwan
La vie est belle ! La vie est belle ! Je me tue à vous le dire disait la fleur. Et elle meurt ( J.Prévert)
Quel suspense insoutenable!
Alors, ce papier...?
Aurait- il été dévoré par un zèbre? Emporté par un babouin? ..
Réussirons- nous à tenir le coup jusqu'en 2016????
En tout cas, nous sommes complètement accros au récit, aux photos, aux moments de folie ... Ou d'amour buffle ( équivalent local de l'amour vache, en plus gros)!
Merci à toi, bon réveillon,
et des montagnes de vœux à tous, avec des souhaits de prochains voyages aussi superbes que celui- ci!
Chris
Chris
"Alors, t'as fait un beau voyage?
Je sais pas, j'ai pas fini de trier mes photos..."
Aaaaahhhh !
Ça sent le papier oublié à l'entrée, cette affaire ! 😉
Bien vu Lacalo ! 😉
QUAND ON A PAS DE TÊTE, ON A DES ROUES
"Mais pourquoi hurlez vous comme ça ?!? Vous m'avez fait sursauter !" Se plaint le préposé.
"Excusez moi mon bon, mais je viens de constater que le permis l'a pus !" rétorquais-je
"Mis l'a pus ? " Se gratte t'il la tête
"Pardon, mon anglais est lamentable, je disais que je n'avais plus le permis"
"Fichtre " tranche t-il " Par où entrâtes vous ?"
"Par Poudouhoudou..."
"Pardon ?"
"Non : par Phudhuhudu, excusez moi, je prononce mal..."
"Diantre..."
"Je ne vous l'envoie pas dire"
"En effet..."
"C'est pas tout ça, mais le temps passe..."
"Oooooooh, vous savez : vous en Europe, vous avez des mon..."
"Oui, bon, écoutez, je vais aller voir à la porte à côté pour leur demander d'appeler la porte de l'autre côté et voir s'ils peuvent me faire un double et puis je reviens vous voir dès que j'ai tout récupéré, d'accord ?"
"..."
"Il est d'accord..."
Nous filons donc à Khumaga gate, juste à côté.
Deux femmes et un homme siègent au bureau d'accueil et font seuls face à la foule : moi.
Ils parlent bruyamment, ce qui est toujours intimidant dans un endroit mal sonorisé, les voix ricochent et se multiplient en un brouhaha tonitruant entrecoupé de rires et d'exclamations.
Mais j'ose les interrompre : je pose mon voucher sur le comptoir et commence à exposer mon cas.
Bran le bas de combat, l'image de l'efficacité de l'administration botswanaise est en jeu, sans plus attendre les 3 présents se jettent sur mon voucher et le compulsent fiévreusement, la discussion est montée d'un ton.
Attiré par le vacarne, un autre fait irruption, puis une autre, je commence à me demander s'ils ne vont pas oublier que je suis là, moi, l'objet, voir le prétexte de la discussion.
Je hausse le ton afin de rappeler ma présence, 5 paires d'yeux surpris se lèvent faisant passer leur regard alternativement du manuscrit à moi.
"So...you are Mr Erwan ?"
Halluciné par l'intelligence de cette femme, je décide d'en faire mon interlocutrice privilégiée.
Oui ! M'exclamais-je tout en récupérant délicatement mon voucher, "je suis bel et bien Mr Erwan et je pense avoir oublié mon permis à Pudhuhudu gate".
"Figurez vous qu'ils nous ont appelés il y a deux heures et que nous vous attendions..."
Je reste interloqué : mais de quoi pouvaient ils bien parler à l'instant, comment autant de mots peuvent ils servir à simplement confirmer que je suis Mr Erwan ?
Peut-être n'en étaient ils pas sûr ? Mais alors, pourquoi ne pas me le demander ?
C'est un mystère.
Je demande alors s'il serait tout bêtement possible de me rédiger un autre permis ?
Que n'avais-je pas fait là.
Tonnerre : 7 apostrophes, 12 gémissements, 4 hochements de tête, 5 imprécations, 8 dénégations, 2 affirmations péremptoires et 1 "c'est moi l'chef ici" plus tard on m'annonce que, ben non, c'est trop compliqué.
Mondieumondieumondieu, mais que vais-je devenir ? Suppliais-je.
On m'annonce impitoyablement que mon permis il faudra aller chercher.
Je tente maladroitement la corruption : et si j'en payais tout simplement un autre pour me punir d'être aussi distrait et pour aider , en passant, les oeuvres de la paroisse ?
Tonnerre identique au précédent, on m'annonce que, ben non : c'est trop compliqué...
Incorruptibles botswanais...
C'est bien ma chance...
nous remontons donc dans la carriole et filons vers Pudhuhudu.
Je fais des miracles de conduite pour tenter de gagner du temps, au moins, ne sommes nous pas dérangés par le trafic, pas une voiture durant les 20 premiers km avalés en 1/2 h.
Je discerne alors un autre véhicule qui vient en face, un pick up remplis de locaux dont 2 en uniforme et, surprise : l'un des passagers dans la benne nous fait de grands signes, nous nous arrêtons.
Tonnerre : 8 "comment allez vous ?", 25 "et votre famille? ", 12 "merci vraiment merci beaucoup", 42 "on a ton papier", 7 "bon c'est pas tout ça mais", 4 "vous allez par où?", 4 "Par là ? Nous aussi" et 32 "au revoir" plus tard, nous repartons dans le même sens.
Un témoin interloqué assiste muet à la scène
D'autres préfèrent ne pas voir ça
Rapidement le pick up bifurque à gauche sur une petite piste, tous les passagers de mon véhicule doivent alors m'imiter, à savoir sortir le buste entier par la fenêtre pour saluer à grands gestes au risque de se planter lamentablement sur le bas côté
Nous pouvons enfin rejoindre le factotum de khumaga campsite pour remplir nos formalités.
J'avais prépayé globalement toutes mes réservations, et ne me rappelais pas le coût de chacune d'elle, je me souvenais des pris exorbitants de Moremi, mais pas de celui ci...tout aussi énorme : 50 US$ par nuit et par personne !
Quand il m'annonce le prix, il me dit "50" je lui tends donc 50 pulas...il est gêné et me montre le papier officiel affiché au mur.
Ma mâchoire tombe, mais je fais bonne figure, je ris et rassemble les pulas nécessaires, c'est à dire environs 500...
Je prie intérieurement pour qu'on en trouve entre ici et l'entrée du Kalahari où je vais devoir payer également dans les 150 pulas et surtout, je dois faire le plein à Rakops et ce sera sans doute en liquide, sans parler des quelques courses que nous comptons faire à Rakops.
Or il ne nous reste plus que 500 pulas en liquide.
J'ai des rands, pas mal même, ça devrait le faire au cas où.
Je m'en enquiers auprès du garçon qui me confirme que dans les "tourist places", c'est accepté.
Je me contente de cette notion très vague et décide que le Grand Central Kalahari est une "tourist place"...après tout, on y voit que des touristes ! Là où je suis sans doute un peu trop optimiste, c'est quand je me dis que Rakops est sûrement aussi une "tourist place" vu sa proximité du CKGR...
Le camping de Khumaga est propre, il y a un point d'eau à chaque emplacement, l'eau des sanitaires est chaude, les sanitaires sont impeccables.
Mais.
Les emplacements sont loin d'être les plus spacieux que j'ai pu voir, ils sont trop proches les un des autres, il n'y a pas de vue sur la rivière, c'est poussiéreux...
Bref, préférez toujours dormir de l'autre côté de la rivière à Tiaans, c'est plus beau, plus confortable, plus spacieux, avec un abris de la pluie et une possibilité de restau et petit dej (il faut commander la veille), il y a de l'électricité aux emplacements , les sanitaires sont tout aussi propres et bien plus jolis.
Nous montons le camp, quelques blaireaux locaux (honey badger) traversent le camp à la tombée de la nuit de leur démarche mécanique, légèrement bondissante.
Nous dormons dans le camp bercés par les feulement lointains des lions et les gloussements des hyènes.
Réveil à l'aube et petit dej' sur la bâche accompagnés d'un malotrus qui n'est que l'avant garde d'une bande d'au moins 12 congénères.
Nous repartons le long de la Boteti pour la journée, toujours aussi belle, sa faune toujours aussi abondante,
beaucoup d'oiseaux, mais nous ne verrons pas d'autres fauves que cette hyène brune dont j'ai parlé plus haut.
En bons touristes imprudents, nous sortirons faire notre picnic dans l'herbe et y écluserons imprudemment nos bières;
Heureusement, les lions sont déjà repus.
Et puis nous nous décidons enfin à ramasser le camp
et à traverser la Boteti.
le passage s'avère très simple, il suffit de se présenter, le bac qui est de l'autre côté arrive immédiatement, les formalités sont rapides le prix est de 150 pp, je me présente devant le bac guidé par le capitaine qui me fait aller tout au bout tout au bout du bateau.
Il démarre et à mi rivière me demande de reculer tout à l'arrière tout à l'arrière du bateau.
Ces manœuvres permettent tout simplement au bac d'approcher la rive au plus près.
Tiaans nous semble être un lodge 5* en comparaison de Khubu et Khumaga.
C'est Heike qui nous reçoit, charmante hôte allemande, 'est une excellente cuisinière parait-il, mais nous arrivons trop tard pour commander le dîner, nous nous contenterons du petit déjeuner demain matin, en attendant, nous allons sur la terrasse surveiller les hippopotames de la Boteti en éclusant quelques bières fraîches.
Les lions ne viennent pas jusqu'ici...
suite p 9 post 14
Erwan
La vie est belle ! La vie est belle ! Je me tue à vous le dire disait la fleur. Et elle meurt ( J.Prévert)
50 $ la nuit par personne pour du camping ? 🤪
Je crois que je vais plutôt aller faire un tour en Namibie ou chez Bob plutôt qu'au Botswana la prochaine fois ! 😮
Carnets de voyage › Afrique du Sud / Swaziland · 230 replies
Depuis que nous avons fondé notre famille composée à présent de 3 enfants, Maxime, Rachel et Timéo, âgés respectivement de 11, 9 et 5 ans, nous entretenions le…
Carnets de voyage › Namibie / Afrique du Sud · 258 replies
Absent de VF ces derniers mois je me rattrape aujourd’hui en vous proposant un carnet de notre voyage en Namibie+AdS qui s’est déroulé l’été dernier. J’avais…
Comme promis à certains, voici un petit carnet descriptif de ce séjour de 3 semaines dans le Nord Ouest de la Namibie qui termine un petit tour d'Afrique…
This travel journal summarizes a trip I took in March to Argentine and Chilean Patagonia. It starts in El Calafate and ends in Ushuaia. During my planning, I considered looking into the Australis cruise from Punta Arenas to Ushuaia, as well as the W trek in Torres del Paine National Park. In both cases, I was put off by the prices. Instead of the cruise, I found two interesting wildlife excursions from Punta Arenas: whale watching in the Strait of Magellan and observing king penguins in Tierra del Fuego. The journey to Ushuaia was by bus. For Torres del Paine, things were a bit confusing, so I reached out to two agencies. In the end, I went with a rental car option, overnight stays on-site, and day hikes. I shared my full itinerary with the agency and ended up being taken care of by a local Argentine agency and a Chilean one.
So, here we go...
March 2nd — Departure by bus from Latour at 6:50 AM. The journey isn’t direct: we pass through Elne then Corneilla. In Perpignan, I switch to a BlablaBus heading to Barcelona’s northern bus station. Before reaching Le Perthus, French police stop us to check IDs. Several people aren’t in order, but after about fifteen minutes, we’re on our way again. We’re checked again at La Jonquera: this time, the wait lasts almost forty-five minutes while police identify those in violation and wait for a vehicle to pick them up. The driver then tries to make up for lost time; we finally arrive at our destination half an hour late.
I quickly head to the Arc de Triomphe metro station, located 200 meters away: you have to cross the bridge along the bus parking lot, then walk through a large garden; the station is on the right before the garden entrance. The trip to the airport isn’t direct: I have to change at Tomasso and take the line to the airport, where I arrive at 1 PM.
At the Emirates counter, I learn my flight was just canceled due to the war in Iran; they offer me another flight for the next day. I have to wait at the airport until 7 PM before being taken to a hotel; the next morning, I’ll take a flight to Vienna (with an 8-hour layover), then an Air India flight to Delhi, and finally a flight to Kolkata. I agree: I don’t know Vienna, so it’ll be an unexpected discovery.
At 7 PM, a small group is taken to the hotel, 35 minutes from the airport, where we’re served a light dinner upon arrival.
March 3rd — A taxi picks me up at 6:30 AM; the flight to Vienna takes off at 9:30 AM and arrives at noon. I’m free until 7 PM; the metro is direct to the city center. The weather is pleasant and not too cold, luckily, since my clothes are light.
When I exit the metro, I spot the St. Stephen’s Cathedral tower in the distance and approach it: the roof, made of glazed tiles, is remarkable.
Entry is free, and the interior, a mix of Gothic and Baroque styles in the center, is stunning.
Not far from there is St. Anne’s Church
, also Baroque, adorned with beautiful frescoes
—a music concert adds an enchanting atmosphere to the visit.
I continue my walk at random through the pedestrian streets lined with magnificent buildings: I’m charmed by the city.
Before heading back to the airport, I stop at a lovely tea salon. My flight will eventually leave with a delay.
Wednesday, March 4th — Delhi and a little luggage scare
We arrive in Delhi shortly after noon. Immigration is quick, and good news: my bag was checked through from Barcelona to Kolkata. I head to the connecting terminal and arrive half an hour before boarding: the flight goes smoothly. Upon arrival, the luggage comes out quickly… except mine. After filing a report, I’m told my bag is in Delhi—I have to retrieve it before taking another flight. I didn’t know (or had forgotten): with the delays, I wouldn’t have had time to pick it up and make the connection.
I take a taxi to the Ichamati Hotel. The welcome is warm, and the room is clean but very small. Without my bag, I feel a bit lost—I have nothing to change into.
Tonight, I’m dining with Raja and his friends at a beautiful restaurant, an old colonial house turned into a hotel.
We’re happy to see each other and have a comforting evening together.
June 2024.
While hiking with my brother on the GR 36 Tour du Morvan, I catch sight now and then of strange rectangular markers fixed to tree trunks. Against a bright orange background, a deep black Greek tau topped with a white dove. My first encounter with the Assisi Way.
The Way of St. Francis: a pilgrimage route linking Vézelay in Burgundy to Assisi in Italy, covering nearly 1,800 km.
It felt like an obvious next step—I immediately knew I’d take it on, attempt the adventure solo.
In the months that followed, I talked about my project to everyone—family, friends, my partner. An avalanche of comments, more or less the same but varying depending on each person’s character and life experiences. But deep down, it all boiled down to one legitimate question: why?
And the answers?
Hesitant, awkward, partial, even confused. I quickly realized they weren’t so easy to find. It was as if my project seemed more like a whim, a kind of intimate caprice, rather than a well-thought-out plan.
Of course, I knew the reasons that pushed me to leave—you always have to give some. Loved ones need to understand to feel reassured, and that’s understandable.
But I fear that when I list them, they’ll sound like the same old checklist anyone embarking on this kind of journey might give.
Of all the reasons I could mention, I’ll highlight just one here: the call of the road, the solo adventure that brings a powerful sense of freedom.
A bit like Monsieur Seguin’s goat, who from her comfortable pen gazes longingly at the unconstrained horizon of the mountain.
But if I’m being honest, I think I didn’t really know what I was looking for—or, more importantly, what I’d find. Deep down, when I reflect on it, one word keeps coming up that explains nothing and everything at once: desire.
Now well past sixty, I know that when I ask myself who I am or where I’m going, two things bring me fully back to myself: hiking and writing.
And my intention was also to anchor this adventure through words, day by day. Writing down my feelings, emotions, discoveries, and reflections each evening. The famous travel journal that grounds the daily experience in reality.
When I discovered the app "Polarstep," which was initially just meant to keep my loved ones updated and reassured, inform them of my progress, and maintain a connection, I found an opportunity to do it a little differently than usual.
No retrospective notes polished up after returning, but spontaneous writing—recounting everything that crossed my mind during the day and publishing it immediately. A journey lived in real time.
This text is the exact transcription of my daily writings. Rereading them, I didn’t change a thing—just corrected a few mistakes and tweaked some awkward phrasing here and there. Short texts, fitting the format imposed by this kind of app. Writing as if addressing others.
Now, all that was left was to walk.
April 18, 2026 – Vézelay.
This trip had been on my mind for about fifteen years.
But the discomfort of overnight stays, the difficulty of communication, and the prices of the few car rentals kept making me postpone the project.
And then, everything fell into place—I told myself, now’s the time!
Preparations took longer than usual; the destination is still far from mainstream.
A bit of Kazakhstan?
Not in the end.
The south or not?
Yes, in the end.
Pre-book or play it by ear?
Only two stops were a leap into the unknown.
To help me find the ideal route, I made great use of this forum (thanks to everyone for patiently answering my questions!), pored over travel journals and blogs (Christian, Jeff), zoomed in on Google Maps and Yandex, and bought the guide published by OunTravela on this destination (the guide has been updated since).
---/---
You’ve got your passport, international driver’s license, bank cards, and euros?
Off we go to Lyon—just one night left before our early morning flight.
Tomorrow night, we’ll be sleeping in Bishkek!
(‘Beefsteak’ for my partner’s mischievous nephews...)
Here’s our account of our trip to Malaysia from September 11th to 27th.
I hope our tips can help others as much as this forum has helped us!
Day 0:
Departure from Nantes with a transfer in Amsterdam via KLM (720 €).
Day 1:
We arrive at KLIA1 in the early afternoon.
First challenge: figuring out where to pick up our luggage. Turns out the answer is right under our noses—we need to take the airport’s internal metro!
Once we’ve got our bags, we withdraw some cash from a Maybank ATM right there.
Next up: SIM card! Just outside the arrivals hall, several kiosks offer them. We go for a Celcom 5 GB card (70 RM).
Then it’s taxi time to get to KL, in the Bukit Bintang area—about 85 RM in a slightly old taxi with weak air conditioning.
We check into our Airbnb apartment, which is clean, more spacious than a hotel room, and—best of all—has a charming balcony with a gorgeous nighttime view!
We end up hanging out on that balcony, reviewing our plans for the next day. After dark, we take the monorail just a short walk away to enjoy our first evening on a rooftop at the 34th floor: Hélipad (Raja Chulan station—you have to enter the Menara Tower at the base of the station) with a panoramic view of the city and its iconic towers.
Finally, we head to Jalan Alor to grab a bite in this super busy street.
Big sleep ahead! 😴
After the summer of 2022 left me with a sense of unfinished business, here I am back in Swedish Lapland for the summer of 2024, ready to attempt the Sarek crossing again—and this time, tackle part of the Kungsleden too.
After much hesitation, my companion Jean Marie and I decided to start with the Kungsleden, which, from what we’ve read, is stunning but very crowded (and it really is!!), and finish with the wilder option: SAREK! This park is known as Europe’s last wild space—I think it’s incredibly inspiring!!
The downside of this choice is that there are no resupply options in Sarek, and the Kungsleden isn’t exactly set up for long treks either, so we’ll have to carry a lot of food for the first part with Sarek in mind.
But hey, we’re motivated!
Our plan is to start in Abisko (classic), head to Vakkotavare (also classic, but with some variations to avoid the official route and the crowds), then continue the Kungsleden from Saltoluokta. Before Aktse, we’ll set off on an east-to-west crossing of Sarek (weather-dependent, since aside from the Skarja hut in the center of the park, there’s no shelter if conditions turn bad).
At least we’ll be on the right side of the park to climb Skierfe and enjoy the jaw-dropping view of Rappaladen if we have to abandon the Sarek crossing.
That adds up to 17 days of trekking, including 1 rest day + 1 buffer day for weather delays.
So if you’re interested, I invite you to follow our overstuffed backpacks!
08/03 - Abisko – 5km before Abiskojaure
Some info (guides used for prep, SFT map, sending food to Saltoluokta)
08/04 – 5km before Abiskojaure - on the east shore of Lake Alisjavri
08/05 – East shore of Lake Alisjavri – just before Tjaktja
08/06 – Just before Tjaktja – above the Salka hut via Nallo
08/07 - Salka – just past Singi + side trip to Djalson Lake
08/08 - Singi – Teusajaure
08/09 - Teusajaure - Vakkotavare (end of the first section of the Kungsleden)
08/10 – rest day in Saltoluokta + round trip to the Sámi village of Pietjaure
08/11 – Saltoluokta – Sitojaure
08/12 - Sitojaure - Skierfe - So, Sarek or no Sarek?
08/13 – Skierfe – somewhere above Rapadalen
08/14 – Somewhere above Rapadalen – above the Skarki hut
Coming up:
08/15 – Above the Skarki hut - Skarja
After a pretty disastrous weather-wise trip to Gran Canaria, we’re hoping this time the sun will shine in Puglia.
It’s not a sure thing, though—the weather’s been awful all over Europe in early May.
For those who’d like to (re)read the story without the digressions, it’s here.
Saturday, May 16:
This time we’re flying out of Charleroi (Brussels South): the ticket prices, flight times, and proximity all worked for us.
The airport (Ryanair) was recently renovated... but it’s still not very well organized. There are hardly any seats in the boarding areas, and... the restrooms cost money!!!
The flight goes smoothly, though, and we land in Bari a little late.
We quickly pick up our rental car, a very local-looking Pandina (even more so than the Fiat 500 in this region), and hit the Italian roads... and their unique driving quirks (like the fact that the countless road signs along the streets and in towns are purely decorative 😏, and that Italian cars don’t have turn signals 😮... except for rental cars).
About an hour later, we arrive at our first accommodation, right in the middle of the countryside near Monopoli.
The owner isn’t there, but they’ve left us a ton of info via messages and even turned on the space heater, which is a nice touch.
We explore the property:
And the next morning before breakfast, its immediate surroundings:
Sunday, May 17:
After our "seaside" experience in Gran Canaria last weekend (packed with people and locals), we decide to start inland.
After a hearty breakfast,
we head toward Alberobello, a super touristy village famous for its trulli—those stone houses with conical roofs.
We easily find a free parking spot on a street near the Aia Piccola district, where some trulli are still lived in year-round.
We almost immediately come across the Trullo Sovrano (the only two-story one), which you can visit (but we skip it—it’s opening time, and there’s already a line).
From there, we head down toward the Basilica of Cosma e Damiano... but we don’t go in because there’s a mass.
Now we’re on the main Piazza del Popolo, which connects the two districts of Alberobello: Rione Aia Piccola and Rione Monti, the more touristy one.
Come along, I'm taking you to this country where it's so nice to wander and slow down...
This trip was in 2023, but when I wanted to write my travel journal, VF was still closed to contributions...
So, now that I've just finished my Japan travel journal here, I figured it was high time to honor this destination we came back from so enchanted.
Disclaimer 1: This is a written travel journal. There’ll be text! Too much, for some!
Disclaimer 2: This is an illustrated travel journal. There’ll be photos! Too many, for some!
I have to say, every time I try to discipline myself, to keep it shorter, to include fewer photos... I end up adding more. It feels like my dear Aunt Nicole, who exhausted us with her slide-show evenings in the 70s/80s, decided to take her revenge. The upside for you, readers, is that you can slip away anytime without offending Aunt Nicole. I won’t even notice!
Anyway, since I love maps, here’s one to give you an idea of where I’m taking you. As you can see, we only saw a tiny part of Laos (the areas circled in red); we only had 3 weeks for ourselves (my husband’s newly retired, I still work), and we prefer taking our time over rushing around like crazy.
In broad strokes, it was very classic:
First, we “settled in” at Luang Prabang (8 days), because we wanted and needed to.
From there, we took three days to venture a little further north—not far in kilometers, but as we know, distances aren’t just about km!
Then we flew south to Paksé, letting ourselves drift down to the 4,000 Islands while stopping by the pre-Angkorian archaeological sites.
We wrapped up with the Bolaven Plateau.
A few practical notes: We arrived via Bangkok, then took a Bangkok-Luang Prabang flight, having picked up our luggage in Bangkok to check it in for Luang Prabang. No issues—the Bangkok airport, which many of you know, is very well organized.
We got our visas on arrival in Luang Prabang. Quick, but to be fair, we were on a “small” plane, and the big flights had arrived earlier, so we weren’t too crowded in line!
At the end of our trip, we didn’t fly out of Paksé but from the nearby airport in Thailand, Ubon Ratchathani (a 2.5-hour drive from Paksé), then Bangkok and Paris.
You’ll notice we skipped Vientiane to stay longer in Luang Prabang. That said, there’s now a high-speed train between Vientiane and Luang Prabang—good to know—and soon the (Chinese) train will go all the way to Bangkok and even Kuala Lumpur!
With that intro out of the way, let’s dive into the heart of the matter.
To be continued: Slowing down the pace... in Luang Prabang
Here’s a little story about my first trip to Japan with my partner.
We went for our first visit from October 29 to November 13, 2024.
I had planned this entire trip back in November 2020, but given the health situation at the time, I had to cancel...
Here’s the classic route we took:
We booked everything ourselves and got a regional pass for the area from Kyoto to Hiroshima.
The hotels were reserved 3 months in advance on Book... and Agod... (1030 € for 2 people for 13 nights = 80 €/night).
For the flight, we chose a Qatar Airways flight with a layover to break up the long journey (950 € per person).
We also got a pass on the same site (Japan-Experience) to take the train connecting Narita Airport to Shibuya Station (the N'EX Narita Express).
Since the airport is 75 km from central Tokyo, we opted for this mode of transport, even though there are cheaper alternatives.
After reading various posts on VoyageForum, I understood how important it was to have a Welcome Suica card to pay for public transport (subway, tram, bus, boat throughout the country), and we were able to buy one at Narita Airport.
It turned out to be super useful!
After a long but smooth journey, we found ourselves at Narita Airport in the evening.
Even though we had a pass for the Narita Express, we had to go to a counter to make a reservation for the train (mandatory).
Then, once we arrived at Shibuya Station, we took the subway for 2 stops and finally reached our hotel, exhausted (Hotel Asia Center of Japan – 270 € for 3 nights with breakfast included).
I’m inviting you on a stroll through my drawings—a completely subjective, far from exhaustive, and totally personal take, since it’s based on my own sketches. I put this travel journal together after returning in late 2024, mostly using felt-tip pens and pencils, with a few collages thrown in. I worked from our personal photos.
Let’s start with the shotengai...
Our first "wow" moment came as we stepped out of the subway in Asakusa, the Tokyo neighborhood where we’d booked our hotel for our first five nights. Exhausted after our long flight, we finally arrived and took an exit that led straight into a shotengai—one of those covered shopping streets that pop up in city centers and flourished between the 1950s and 1980s.
It was an instant aesthetic shock, like a close encounter of the third kind between the modern city, a typical Asian market with its street stalls, the vintage vibe of the arcade, the sheer abundance of goods, and the bustling crowd—a mix of tourists, pilgrims (thanks to nearby Senso-ji Temple), and locals (it’s a very working-class area).
In the end, it set the tone for a feeling we’d experience throughout the trip. Wherever we went, shotengai turned out to be fantastic spots for finding little restaurants, shops, or even fresh produce. Some are like real mazes, like in Kyoto, where we spent ages trying to relocate a restaurant we’d loved ;-)
In Kanazawa, the Omicho Market:
And in Kyoto, Nishiki Market:
With my girlfriend Christelle, we’ve chosen South Africa for our first trip to Southern Africa, focusing on safaris—after a long debate with a Cape Town/Kruger combo.
But that would’ve meant cutting out St Lucia, which would’ve been harder to fit into another trip.
And St Lucia—thanks to Michel and all those travel journals—we really wanted to go there.
So our 11-night itinerary ended up like this, mostly shaped by school holidays:
- 3 nights in St Lucia
- 1 night in Hluhluwe
- 1 night at Mkhaya Game Reserve (Eswatini)
- 1 night at Hlane Royal National Park (Eswatini)
- 3 nights in Kruger (Berg en Dal / Satara / Tamboti)
- 1 night at Shindzela Tented Camp in the Timbavati private reserve
- 1 final night in Kruger at Lower Sabie
All of this in the off-season and rainy season, just a month after catastrophic floods that killed over 150 people and seriously damaged Kruger’s infrastructure.
I’ll jump straight to St Lucia and skip the loooong journey to get there (with a layover in Frankfurt, landing in Johannesburg, a domestic flight to Durban, and the rest by rental SUV—First Car Rental, perfect, no complaints).
To motivate readers—especially some familiar faces here—I’ll drop in a first photo.
If you're looking for great tips and offbeat spots, if you love exploring uncharted parts of a country, if the exotic is your adrenaline, then move along!
Our 15 days in early May in this part of Turkey (a country I first discovered during a city trip to Istanbul in 2017) will only tread well-worn paths and revisit popular routes. Simply because I kept hoping until the very end that our flight to Jordan wouldn’t be canceled. Events in the Gulf proved me wrong, so we left with:
Zero preparation.
Not a single hotel booked (well, except the first one), no visits planned, just a flight ticket bought three weeks earlier. No guidebook, no app—just the desire to explore southern Turkey and Cappadocia, whose images and the chance to stretch our legs had caught my eye.
Oh, wait—I did bring along a new guide: Gemini! Yes, my friends, generative AI was my chief advisor throughout the trip for sites to visit, accommodations, routes, and even restaurants! An experiment I wanted to try to form my own opinion on using this new technology. And what better way to test it than a Turkish getaway?
The verdict? You’ll have to wait for the trip recap to find out!
The main idea of the trip is also relaxation.
So, the plan is Antalya for a few days, the Turkish Riviera for a few more, Cappadocia as the highlight, and a return via Antalya to wrap up the trip. And it was all planned by AI!
So, if you're ready, fasten your seatbelts—cabin crew, doors to automatic and cross check—boarding for Turkey now!
We went to Albania in August 2025.
Our itinerary included adventure (sporty activities, site visits), naps on the beach interspersed with swims, incredible natural sites, and a bit of culture.
I booked all our accommodations on Booking.com. Note: almost all places ask to be paid in cash!! You can obviously withdraw from banks, but the fees are pretty high. Luckily, we had plenty of cash, and the country is very safe. You can pay in euros most of the time, which avoids exchange fees.
We started in Tirana. I’d read a really interesting post about Albania’s bunkers (link in my profile). We chose to visit Bunk’Art with a guide from the agency that wrote the post. It was fascinating—not only to better understand the country’s history but also because her grandfather was repressed by the regime, and she shared her family’s experience with us.
Bunkers are everywhere! In Tirana, Bunk’Art is the most interesting and largest. You’ll see the dictator Enver Hoxha’s office, where he would’ve taken refuge in case of an attack on the country. Bring a sweater—it’s really cold in the underground tunnels and their huge corridors.
You can visit other bunkers around the country, in Tirana and elsewhere. Almost all are just abandoned.
The cable car up Mount Dajti is right next to Bunk’Art. The view is stunning—you realize Tirana is so close to the mountains and the sea... But otherwise, it’s not that exciting for older teens (17 and 19) and their parents.
We picked up a rental car in Tirana—it’d be ours for the next three weeks. We used Goalbania’s agency to avoid any hassles. First, there aren’t many cars available in Albania in summer. Second, French credit cards can be a nightmare abroad. So we preferred to sort that out in advance.
After Tirana, we headed to Permet. Just a heads-up: the roads are in great condition except in the mountains. And Albanian drivers aren’t stressful to deal with. Though you might suddenly encounter a herd of goats crossing the road—haha—but if you’re not going too fast, it’s fine.
In Permet, I’d been dreaming of rafting on the Vjosa, one of Europe’s last wild rivers. And we did it with a local agency! It’s beautiful, accessible to everyone, not too physical but still a bit lively—just how we like it. You can even jump into the river in some spots.
In Permet, we also hiked through a canyon and visited a lovely little church.
And we took a workshop to make their local culinary pride: gliko. It’s a jam with whole fruits inside. We’d seen it on Goalbania’s site, and it was really fun. We were with a family where the secret to making gliko has been passed down for generations...
Next, we headed to Gjirokastër. A city we loved: its old traditional houses (Skendulli and Zekate), its grand castle, the Ali Pasha Bridge. Along the way, we stopped for artisanal ice cream at a little shop run by a grandmother who’s been making it herself for ages.
One afternoon, my husband *had* to go to the coast in the south, to Ksamil (he’d read it was better than Sarandë). Verdict: we didn’t like it. Parking is a nightmare, the beaches are super noisy and crowded. The sea is packed with jet skis, boats, pedalos, and ropes. Avoid it.
On the other hand, we really liked Himarë, where we went next. We stayed at a campsite where we rented tents with mattresses and sheets inside. Right by the sea, on a low cliff (about 2 meters high). You can hear the waves at night... Magical!! To swim, you either jump straight into the sea (almost from the tent) or climb down a ladder, which you’ll need to climb back up to get out.
I was a little worried the campsite wouldn’t be very comfortable, so afterward, I’d booked a small place in Gjilek. Turns out, the place was really tiny (one room for four, no kitchen) and pretty expensive (over 100 € a night). We’d drive to the beach or restaurants—it’s on a steep slope, so not very accessible. Parking near the sea is tricky. But the (private) beaches were nice—we’d rent an umbrella not too close to the music and spend the day there. We also went to a wilder beach, harder to reach, via a long path. Behind the beach, there’s an amazing canyon where we’d sometimes climb using ropes (already in place, no need to bring your own) over big boulders rolled around by the stream, which must swell a lot in spring.
So, the sea in Albania: it’s nice if you like swimming and relaxing, but it’s not the most interesting part of the country. There are so many other amazing things to see and discover—so many stunning sites! Maybe an agency could’ve helped us find more practical accommodations and avoid Ksamil and its surroundings.
We left the coast to head to the beautiful city of Berat and its "thousand windows." We explored the city, its fortress, and its icon museum.
Then we discovered the Osum Canyon—it’s incredible. The view from the top is breathtaking. And at the bottom, it’s magical. There’s little water in summer, so rafting isn’t an option. We weren’t tempted by the big-tube descent offered by an agency—it looked fun, but the group had 40 people. We preferred hiking on our own as a family of four. We scouted the area on Google Maps... and found where to descend. We walked in the water, then it rose to our waists, then our shoulders... We weren’t moving fast. And how to get back up?? Eventually, we followed a group with a guide—the path was hard to find.
After that unforgettable hike, we visited the Bogovë Waterfalls. It’s pretty, and we swam, but the water was *really* cold.
We passed through Tirana again and then headed to Shkodër. We explored a bit—its charming little streets, the Rozafa Fortress. There’s a tiny museum where you can see *huge* Ottoman stone cannonballs. And they tell you the (charming) story of the young woman who was walled alive in the castle’s foundations to ensure its strength...
Shkodër is mostly a stopover to head into the mountains and discover Theth. Our goal: hiking in the Valbona Valley, from Valbona to Theth. We organized the trip ourselves, without an agency, but it took some time to figure everything out. So I’ll save you the trouble—haha. Book your tickets on the Komanilakeferry website. The ticket includes:
🙂 minibus transfer from downtown Shkodër to Koman
🙂 ferry ticket from Koman to Fierze. This ferry ride is *gorgeous*—between mountain slopes covered in pine trees, and sometimes a little house with a few fields...
🙂 minibus ticket from Fierze to Valbona. Now you’re in the mountains! The minibus drops you off near your accommodation—pick one as close as possible to the start of the hike (if that’s your goal!). The ones at the far end of the village add up to 1.5 hours of walking. Our choice: Guesthouse Dioni. The host is really lovely, it’s in the woods, and it’s basic but great.
After a day of hiking, we arrived in Theth. What beautiful mountains! Then we explored Theth and the surrounding area. It’s pretty busy, but you can still enjoy the Blue Eye of Theth and its swim. It’s *so* cold! But so beautiful!
🙂 minibus ticket from Theth back to Shkodër.
After a night in Shkodër, we drove to Kepi i Rodonit. A guidebook (I forget which one) raved about its beauty. And it *is* beautiful!
But the view is ruined by plastic bottles and other trash in the bushes, along the paths, and of course on the beaches. The only peaceful spot: the private beach at Kepi i Rodonit, which is cleaned. You can rent an umbrella and have lunch there. That’s where we spent our last few days—very relaxing.
In short... Albania turned out to be perfect for us and our teens!
I’m diving into a recap of our loop—pretty classic, really—Denver-Yellowstone-Denver this past summer, from July 24 to August 17. Given the sheer number of trip reports already out there (or in the works), and since I don’t have the writing chops or the photography skills of many of you, I’ll keep it practical—well, I’ll try, at least—to share our take on some of the less-visited parks and spots.
First off, a huge thank you to everyone whose trip reports, blogs, websites, comments, and more helped us put together this itinerary. Looking back, it could’ve been even better optimized: a few disappointments when we missed out on some great discoveries, often because we were short on time. Plenty of reasons to come back to the area!
We’re traveling with our four (almost) teens—18, 16, 14, and nearly 12 years old. To keep the trip enjoyable for everyone, we had to make compromises on both sides: cutting a visit short to spend more time swimming, waking up at dawn, and so on. But logistics also played a big role—things like laundry, grocery shopping, and keeping luggage organized could’ve quickly become time-consuming without a little planning.
And honestly, I think we visited every Walmart along the way! Blame it on the lack of fridges in some accommodations and, more importantly, the *very* limited space in the car, which made it impossible to bring a proper cooler. I’ll come back to the car saga later.
For accommodations, this year we alternated between basic cabins in KOA campgrounds and Yellowstone (when staying more than one night in the same place) and hotels. Always with a pool (except in Yellowstone, of course), which let the kids burn off energy—because they always have reserves, even after packed days!—and, let’s be honest, gave us a chance to relax. No Wi-Fi issues either; we all had plans with 25 GB of data (a big thanks to Gilles for the amazing deal at 0.99 €). It worked perfectly, even for texts and calls between phones—no extra charges.
Now, onto our route: as I mentioned, a classic Denver-Yellowstone-Denver loop. To avoid rushing through the parks or spending all our time on the road, we prioritized staying as close to them as possible, with at least two nights in each place. And I’ve got to say, it’s really nice to settle in, even if it’s just for two nights. It also helped us deal with the weather, which wasn’t always great during this trip. The trade-off? With vacation time being limited, some driving days ended up being long. We knew that going in, but since we kept a relaxed pace with no time constraints (don’t ask me for timings—I don’t keep track of the clock on vacation, except in the morning to get everyone up before noon!), we sometimes ended up with marathon days.
With that said, I’ll dive into the trip itself in the next post.
We all have two lives. And the second one kicks off the day you realize you only have one, with the determination to spend the time you have left on what truly adds sparkle to your life, Kevin! I like to elegantly introduce a trip with a philosophical quote. First, it gives you the illusion that I’m some kind of deep thinker, and second, it lets me fill up the first few lines of my blank page when I don’t know how to tell you I’m diving back into what really lights up my life: another adventure beyond the horizon! And nearly every other year, like a toxic relationship, my horizon tends to take shape in Uncle Sam’s backyard. And this, despite his cousin Donald calling the shots. Speaking of which, it was partly that impulsive guy who pushed us to be just as impulsive and snag our four flight tickets at a ridiculously low price—a direct result of foreign tourism taking a hit from BetaMax’s repeated antics... Four tickets? Who are the other lucky ones? In this case, our lucky ones are actually lucky ladies: My Flo, always up for exploring the world with me on foot, camelback, or scooter, is obviously in on the fun. The other two seats went to our daughters, Sasha and Luna, both thrilled to be part of this new American adventure...
But what’s the American West like in February?... A gamble. Let’s call it Russian roulette since we’re not landing during peak weather season. That’s why we encouraged our transportation and accommodation to get cozy and produce a little camper van, so we can stay ultra-flexible in the face of any weather tantrums. We’ll be roaming in Kara the van with the motto "Follow the sun!" Bad weather? We bolt. Snow? We speed up. Sunny? We act like it was the plan all along and soak it up.
"Okay, but why keep coming back to the same corner of the globe? After ten American adventures, you must be tired of seeing the same things, right?" But I’m not crazy, you know!... The American West is like making love to your gorgeous wife over and over, always enjoying it just as much. And contrary to what you might think, the American West isn’t just the Grand Canyon, Monument Valley, Las Vegas, and Bryce Canyon. Proof is, after ten trips to the U.S., my retinas are still untouched by three-quarters of the places I scribbled on a napkin for this adventure... Oh, and add to that my wife, who I’ve easily converted to my religion, and boom... relapse is even easier! Because yes, we’ve landed in Los Angeles after a sunny flight over Greenland, still under Danish flag for now. And we’re already heading east through the XXL traffic of L.A.’s eight-lane highways, eager to dive into our first discoveries. But first, night is taking over the sky, and second, we’ve been officially awake for 24 hours, so I suggest wrapping up this intro. I’ll tell you more tomorrow morning. Sound good?
And we still haven’t seen everything!
Before setting off for new horizons at the end of this year, it’s time for me to share my trip to Cape Verde this summer 2025.
I particularly love these spontaneous trips, and our stay in Cape Verde is one of those because it was only at the beginning of April that we decided on this getaway, which had been catching our eye for a while, given our love for the mountains.
As always—well, when it’s open—I turned to VF, and I want to immediately thank Marie, aka ptitortue, who helped me a lot in planning this trip through her travel journals and our exchanges!
Because Cape Verde is both small and vast! We decided not to rush from one airport to another, to enjoy the places and the people, but also to relax, since the work backlog from being stuck in May (see my previous travel journal 😅) had to be caught up on in June.
So, 4 islands will be our winners from 06/28 to 07/19:
Santiago first for logistical reasons, as round-trip flights from the capital Praia were the cheapest (650 €/person from Lyon via Lisbon with TAP, still!)
São Vicente, because it’s the gateway to the next one but ultimately more than that...
Santo Antão, pretty much the main goal of the trip since Marie (and the photos) had really sold it to me.
And finally, Sal Island, for some rest—a non-negotiable condition for my other half—and we’ll see that I should’ve listened to Marie...
That said, what a chatterbox I am—buckle up, flight attendants at the doors, off we go on new beautiful escapes! (Thanks to Sophie for the easy loan)
Last note for my eager fan club 😏: yes, there will be alcohol—how could there not be in the land of grogue!
Hello,
Since I enjoy not only the countryside but also everything related to rail travel, I’m starting this photo thread dedicated to trains in Thailand (I’d guess most of us have taken one at some point...).
Feel free to post your pictures here as long as they fit the theme: rolling stock**, stations**, platforms, tracks (even without a train on them), technical equipment, engineering structures (bridges, viaducts), etc.—all in Thailand.
For each photo, I’ll (or you can) note the station or line where it was taken.
Comments and questions are welcome.
As I’ve mentioned elsewhere, I inherited my love of travel from my parents and some of my grandparents. A strong passion, but one that was unfortunately limited by our family’s modest resources. Back then, living in northern Alsace, a simple trip to the southern part of the region—with the Wine Route as our destination—felt like an extraordinary journey to a land of plenty for the little boy I was in the late 60s and early 70s.
Everything seemed so huge when you were still just a kid.
Back then, I was overwhelmed by countless sensations—I was already highly sensitive, with a keen mind and a nose and taste buds that were developing like a pro’s. Which, as I’d later realize, wasn’t always an advantage.
Those magical days always began with a gentle late-spring or midsummer morning. The interior of the white Peugeot 404, license plate 210 LZ 67, had already soaked up the sun before the engine purred to life, and the cabin gave off a scent I could still recognize today—a fragrance I found so pleasant. Back then, I had no idea it was just the smell of warm plastic from the car’s interior.
Yes, the scents of the 404 on sunny days became my madeleine de Proust...
What’s more, the whole family was unusually cheerful because those moments of relaxation and leisure were rare. Everyone worked, and no one had an easy job or was well paid. Without the *Trente Glorieuses*, these experiences might never have happened.
Once we crossed the canton’s borders, I felt like I was light-years away from my everyday surroundings, and every kilometer plunged me deeper into *terra incognita*. It was thrilling. Far from my so-called "medium-sized" town, wheat fields, cornfields, and cabbage patches stretched out, punctuated by tall poles connected by long wires and topped with vegetation—like giant clotheslines without laundry, where magical beanstalks might grow to touch the sky. Back then, I was still far from tasting their product, which was simply beer. At the time, there was still a significant local hop production. Fun fact: it wasn’t until 2002 that Anglo-Saxon scientists proved hops and cannabis belong to the same biological family.
After the fields, the landscape took another step up as it rolled past the little boy’s eyes, often glued to the windows. First came modest hills, then a succession of rolling slopes that soon formed an unbroken chain. Their 700 meters in altitude felt like Himalayan peaks to me—impressive, inert giants, a whole new world. Gazing at them, an intense emotion welled up somewhere between my stomach and lungs, nearly taking my breath away. What mysteries, what treasures did these heights hold?
And then there were the cherries on top—the crowning touch that made the scene even more magical: proud, majestic castles perched on the summits like impassive sentinels. Monuments from the past, yet firmly rooted in the present on their rocky spurs.
The little boy’s eyes sparkled—he’d been given a castle for Christmas, complete with battlements, towers, a drawbridge, and fully armed knights. He’d watched and lived *Ivanhoe* on the only French TV channel that existed back then.
Only once did my paternal grandfather join us on one of these trips. A tall, intelligent man with a face that could shift from stern to mischievous, clearly full of humor and charisma. Sadly, his relationship with alcohol had taken a toll on his life and, by extension, those of his loved ones. He had a strong personality—if his boss crossed the line, he wouldn’t hesitate to punch him, which meant he went through a lot of different jobs. Back then, you could quit one job and easily find another. It was quite something to see him in his final stages, hallucinating pink elephants and even drinking perfume when he had nothing else left. The last time I saw him, he’d slipped away from the doctors and nurses while hospitalized in pretty bad shape—at least, I assume his liver was the issue. We were sitting down for a family lunch when the door burst open, and there he stood in his pajamas, eyes twinkling with mischief, clearly pleased with the dramatic entrance. That theatrical moment didn’t spare us from burying him a few months later at the age of 71. One day, my mother told me the family doctor had quietly remarked that it was a shame—with his robust constitution, he could’ve lived to be a hundred. Yes, the family doctor—this was the man who’d come treat you any day, at almost any hour, just for a phone call. It really existed, it’s not a myth!
That day, his wife—my paternal grandmother—was also along for the ride. Everyone agreed that Jeannette was a good woman. She worked as a waitress at *Le Tigre*, the biggest brasserie in town, right in the center. Most customers preferred to be served by her, including local dignitaries and even the mayor. As a kid, I didn’t find her very fun, open, or warm—she seemed a bit stern. Back then, women in their fifties already had the face and build of grandmothers. Same went for men, don’t get me wrong. I had no idea about the struggles she faced because of her husband. I didn’t know that 30 years earlier, she’d had to flee Alsace while pregnant, under threat from Nazi fighter-bombers. I didn’t know she’d had several miscarriages, and that my father—her only surviving child, born prematurely in March 1940 at the other end of France—weighed less than a kilo at birth and was so tiny he could fit in a shoebox. Hard to imagine he’d grow into a strapping man nearly 1.80 meters tall, tipping the scales at 100 kilos.
When you come back from summer camp in early August and ask why she didn’t pick you up with your parents, and they gently tell you she’s "in heaven," you don’t realize she passed away at 54 after suffering greatly from stomach cancer that had spread.
Back to that family outing, that enchanted parenthesis. I even remembered where we’d had lunch when I passed through Dambach-la-Ville decades later. One of those charming, flower-filled towns Alsace produces in abundance—and preserves so well. This one sits high on a hill, and I was a bit stunned on the parking lot because the view stretched far, revealing the Alsace plain below—its fields, villages, hills, and forests. The world seemed so vast and enticing that day, even though I was only glimpsing a tiny fraction of it.
The region was already very touristy, but I wouldn’t notice the downsides until much later. That Sunday noon, I discovered a large restaurant filled with diners. I can still see the enormous piece of meat they served me, decorated with a little wooden skewer topped with a flag. I kept that one for a long time. Those were the golden days of rich, flowing, thick sauces—so flavorful—and the era of the world’s best fries, made on the spot with the best potatoes. To top it off, I was *exceptionally* allowed a small bottle of apple juice, Orangina, or—even better if possible—Sinalco. Yes, Sinalco—like Orangina, but better. A brand that must’ve disappeared in the 70s, but why, and what a shame! Since then, Orangina’s little bubbles have taken the brand to the other side of the planet—it’s now Japanese.
Year after year, I’d eagerly await that ecstatic moment when the most beautiful castle in Alsace, the Haut-Koenigsbourg, appeared in my field of vision. The perfect model, the archetype that blended into the landscape at the height of a child’s dreams.
The trip home always felt like a reality check—less jarring than an alarm clock, but more diffuse and melancholic. From then on, there was only one wish: *When do we leave again?*
Hi there,
Here’s a recap of a trek through the Balkans covering three countries: Albania, Montenegro, and Kosovo. I was with a friend, and we didn’t do the full route (only one day in Kosovo).
It was a wonderful trek through snow-capped mountains and vast flower-filled meadows, meeting incredibly welcoming people.
At the end of the travel journal, I’ll share what I loved and what I liked less.
Day 1: Flight from Paris-Beauvais to Tirana with Wizz Air.
Since Albania isn’t part of Europe when it comes to phone service (at least not yet! :-)), we had to buy a physical SIM card—otherwise, the bill would’ve been sky-high if we’d used our French plan! We got one from Vodafone AL at the airport. You can buy online before leaving with a virtual SIM (e-SIM) for compatible phones, so you don’t have to swap cards. But given the uncertainty about choosing a plan online, we preferred buying one directly at Tirana Airport. Cost: 31 € for 100 GB. That’s way too much—100 GB is overkill. For 40 GB, it’s 27 €, and the plan lasts 21 days. The price difference isn’t huge, and it was cheaper than online. This plan covers all the countries along the Balkan range.
Money tip: All guesthouses and accommodations accept euros. The local currency in Albania is the LEK. In Montenegro, it’s the euro. Bank fees for withdrawing money from an ATM in Albania are pretty steep: 8 € for a withdrawal of 600–700 LEK (about 200 €)! So it’s better to withdraw cash (euros) in France. Oh, and we booked all our accommodations before leaving, but payment is always in cash. Budget around 400–500 € for 9 days of trekking.
Then, a transfer the same day to Shköder, about a 2-hour bus ride. Cost: 10 € per person. Tickets bought directly on the bus. We spent the night in Shköder at a very clean guesthouse, Open Doors B&B. It had a small balcony overlooking the city.
I really liked Shköder, especially its pedestrian street lined with restaurants and lit up at night. It’s a great place to stroll and eat. The food isn’t expensive—two big salads and two beers: 14 € :-) . Fruit prices are also very reasonable: 3 € for a kilo of cherries, compared to 9–10 € in France.
Religions coexist peacefully in these countries—Catholics and Muslims. From our balcony, my friend heard the call to prayer for the first time, coming from one of the city’s mosques.
Day 2: Bus ride to Theth, about 1,100 meters in elevation gain, the starting point for our hike the next day.
The trip took 2 hours and 40 minutes with a break in the middle. The bus was affordable, but taxis also make the trip—though they’re very expensive.
We slept in the heights of Theth at a new guesthouse, "Mountain Vista Shkafi," with an amazing view.
The family was adorable. The husband is a handyman and built almost everything himself. Their baby is named "Sky"—such a cute name, right? :-) Throughout the trek, I found the guesthouses very clean, and the hosts think of everything—no need to bring soap or shampoo; they provide it.
Lunch in Theth at a traditional restaurant on the main road. We tried "Tave Dheu," an Albanian dish with beef, cabbage (very common), and cottage cheese. Delicious but not quite filling enough. For dessert, a honey cake that was perfectly moist—such a treat! Desserts like this are rare; sometimes they serve watermelon instead.
We took a small private bus for 5 € to the "Blue Eye" parking lot, then walked for about 45 minutes to reach a stunning natural site—a kind of lagoon with incredibly blue water. The bravest can swim, but the water’s freezing!
That evening, we dined at "La Montagne Blanche"—excellent! A delightful mix of grilled meats with potatoes and grilled peppers. Some watermelon slices (which I’m not a fan of) and the famous Raki, a brandy served in Turkey and the Balkans! It was my first time drinking brandy "bottoms up." 😉
I’d like to share my family trip to Colombia with kids aged 8. After spending hours browsing the forum and only having two weeks there, we decided to focus on two regions: the Coffee Zone for one week and the Caribbean coast for another. We traveled from August 8 to 23.
Day 1 – First stop: Bogotá
We arrived in Bogotá in the evening on an Air France flight—nothing to complain about, decent service, comfortable, and on time. However, the first night was a miss. We’d booked a hotel near the airport (Abitel Prime) for convenience, but the soundproofing was almost nonexistent; we heard planes as if we were on the runway. Luckily, exhaustion helped us sleep well anyway.
Day 2 – Off to the Coffee Zone and Salento
The next morning, we headed to the airport for a domestic flight to Pereira with LATAM. No issues: punctual and efficient, and in 30 minutes, we landed in Pereira. The landing already set a different mood: lush valleys, endless plantations, and humid air.
We picked up our rental car from Localiza. Unfortunately, the experience wasn’t smooth—the paperwork took forever, and the wait tested our patience. Finally free, we hit the road to Salento, one of Quindío’s gems.
We arrived in the late afternoon and discovered a colorful village bustling with artisan shops and cafés. Our first stroll helped us soak in the atmosphere before dinner at Bambú restaurant—a great surprise with careful cooking and local flavors. We spent the night at Casa Serafín, a charming little hotel, nicely decorated and well-located… but unfortunately very noisy.
Day 3 – The magic of Cocora Valley
This was one of the trip’s highlights. We set off early for Cocora Valley, famous for its giant wax palms, Colombia’s emblem. We chose the 12 km loop recommended by the *Routard*. The landscapes were spectacular: towering palms, rivers, suspension bridges. It felt like walking through a postcard. The weather was perfect.
That evening, we dined at Barnabé restaurant—pleasant setting, decent food, but the bill was a bit steep for what it was. Back to Casa Serafín.
Day 4 – Coffee and panoramic views
The plan was a visit to Finca El Ocaso. For 1.5 hours, we followed a passionate guide who explained the entire coffee process, from harvest to cup. Very educational, accessible for both kids and adults, all in a stunning setting. The tour was in English for us, and we translated for our kids, who aren’t bilingual yet.
In the afternoon, we climbed to Salento’s viewpoint. The valley view was superb. That evening, we ate at Veggie Garden, a simple and pleasant spot that was a nice change from the heavier meals of previous days.
Day 5 – Horseback ride to Santa Rita Waterfall
We booked a horseback ride with Cocora Magic. It was a real success: calm horses, a beautiful trail, mountain and meadow landscapes, and finally the refreshing and wild Santa Rita Waterfall. Without a doubt, one of the best moments of our time in the region. We even got a bonus ride up a 300-meter hill.
We then headed to Filandia, less known than Salento but just as charming. We spent the late afternoon enjoying the pool at MuchoSur Filandia. The hotel is beautiful, in an idyllic setting. However, we also had soundproofing issues and could hear our neighbors.
Day 6 – Rainy detour through Filandia and Manizales
Rain caught up with us in the early morning: torrents of water made it impossible to go out. We stayed at the hotel, reading quietly. By noon, the rain let up: a quick walk in Filandia, a quick lunch, then off to Manizales. We chose to stay at El Otoño hot springs. Great choice: as soon as we arrived, we plunged into the hot pools, perfect after hours on the road.
Day 7 – Hiking and hot springs
In the morning, we hiked the Camino de Super Coco (found somewhat randomly on Google). A pleasant trail with mountain views and a peaceful atmosphere. The afternoon was spent in the hotel’s thermal pools, with a short marked hike down to the river. Dinner on-site at the hot springs’ restaurant. A simple but very relaxing day.
Day 8 – Rain, jacuzzi, and games
We continued to Finca Los Alpes. The rain greeted us again, but this time it turned into an asset: nothing like a steaming jacuzzi with a view of the misty mountains. The kids enjoyed the facilities too: mini-golf, ping-pong, billiards. Dinner and night at the hotel, cozy vibes.
Day 9 – Off to the Caribbean coast
Back to the airport to return the car (still a bit long). Flight to Cartagena with Avianca: punctual and comfortable. Upon arrival, we picked up another car and headed straight to the Hyatt Regency, a modern hotel with a pool. That evening, we dined at the hotel—practical after a travel day.
Day 10 – Colonial Cartagena
We set off to explore Cartagena’s old town. It was enchanting: colorful facades, flowered balconies, colonial charm—just magical. However, the heat was stifling and very humid. Afternoon relaxation by the pool. Dinner at Gestlani, a good restaurant in town.
Day 11 – Road to Barú
A hearty breakfast, then one last swim in the pool before heading to Barú. We checked into Las Islas Hotel. The setting was enchanting: wooden cabins nestled in the vegetation, a private beach, turquoise sea, impeccable service. Dinner at the hotel’s restaurant.
Day 12 – Beach and relaxation
A full beach day in Barú. Warm water, white sand, coconut trees, peace and quiet. A real postcard scene with iguanas and birds.
Day 13 – On to Santa Marta
Another morning at the beach before hitting the road to Santa Marta. The drive was a bit long (6 hours), especially with traffic jams in Barranquilla. It was the longest car ride of the trip. We spent the night at Villa María Tayrona, a beautiful place near the park.
Day 14 – Tayrona Park
We left early for Tayrona Park. We entered through **El Zaino**, parked the car, and set off on a hike to La Piscina (about 2 hours). We stopped along the way at Playa Arenilla, a stunning little beach, to rest. Lunch on-site, a swim, then back by 4 PM. The hike was a bit tiring, but the nature was spectacular: dense jungle, the sound of waves, and even a monkey encounter along the way. Evening and dinner at the hotel.
Day 15 – Last swim and return flight to Bogotá
Our last morning was split between the pool and the beach (the hotel has direct access via a 7-minute trail through vegetation and flowers)—hard to leave this paradise. We drove to Santa Marta’s airport to return the car, then flew back to Bogotá. We spent the night at Casa Dann Carlton, a comfortable hotel. We simply ordered room service, arriving too late to go out.
Day 16 – Bogotá and the end of the trip
Our last day in Colombia. After a good breakfast, we explored La Candelaria. Its cobbled streets and colorful houses were worth the visit. We visited the Botero Museum (free) and the Gold Museum, both fascinating. Back to the airport for our 11:55 PM Air France flight.
That’s a wrap on a varied trip—lush mountains, colorful villages, dream beaches, and tropical jungle.
The pace was pretty relaxed, well-suited for our kids. They absolutely loved the trip to Colombia.
Driving in Colombia was very easy, and we didn’t regret renting a car at all—it gave us more freedom to get around.
If I were to do it again, here’s what I’d change:
- I’d spend less time in the Coffee Zone to stay a bit longer on the Caribbean coast, which was more relaxing for the kids. Or I’d head to Medellín, but I didn’t think the city was very kid-friendly.
- Bogotá is a city that deserves a day’s visit, but it’s not a must-see. Maybe I’d have taken the KLM flight from Cartagena to Amsterdam instead.
Since I didn’t have time to write a proper travel journal, I thought I’d share a few photos of Bologna—a really lovely city I discovered in 2017 while stopping on my way to Tuscany.
Around Piazza Maggiore, which was packed with a stage and chairs for a show, stands the Basilica of San Petronio, massive and Gothic in style, with an unfinished façade (a common sight in Italy).
Another building near the square:
But Bologna’s real charm lies in its porticoes, which were added to the UNESCO World Heritage list in 2021: 62 km of arcades running along buildings, letting you walk sheltered from the sun or rain. Back in 1288, the city required houses to include private arcades for public use. In the city center, you can stroll under 32 km of porticoes in all sorts of styles—some plain, some ornate—with a strong presence of red tones.
Okay, it wasn’t a total disaster either. Actually, I hesitated before starting this travel journal: is it even worth writing about a holiday that won’t leave an unforgettable memory?
In the end, I went for it (there aren’t many recent travel journals about this destination).
So, read on... or don’t .
Every time we’ve been to the Canary Islands, it’s been by default (basically: where can we go in winter or early spring when we only have a week—so not too far, not too much jet lag, but with decent weather?).
This time, we had two weeks, but the winter plan kept changing: first Thailand (dropped for personal reasons), then Martinique (dropped because of work leave dates that weren’t up to me), and finally, the Canary Islands.
We’ve already been to Tenerife (which we really liked) and Lanzarote (which we liked a little less).
This year, two options: Gran Canaria or one of the smaller islands west of Tenerife (La Palma, or even La Gomera or El Hierro).
We chose Gran Canaria... not sure it was the right call!
Whose fault is it?
Storm Thérèse’s!
Yes, Storm Thérèse followed us on arrival, and its effects lasted quite a while. We had to adapt, cancel visits, change activities...
But even without Thérèse...
Saturday 21/03
Departure from Orly at 6:10 AM with Transavia.
The plane took off on time and landed a little early, tossed around by strong winds before touching down.
It had just rained, but it was (almost) no longer raining.
We quickly picked up our luggage and then the car at the Cicar counter.
We got a Seat Arona instead of the Corsa we’d booked. Well, while the driving position didn’t feel great at first (I got used to it), the engine’s smoothness and power were much appreciated on the island’s winding and sometimes steep roads.
It was only 10 AM, and we couldn’t theoretically check into our accommodation until 3 PM (the owner promised to message me if it was ready earlier).
So, we headed to the (big) *Jardín Botánico Viera y Clavijo*, where we planned to spend a few hours.
We found a huge parking lot... empty.
The passenger in the car in front of us (yes, we weren’t the only ones at the closed gate—there was a car in front and one behind) went to ask for info: it was closed due to the storm 😕.
So, we calmly headed toward Puerto de las Nieves, on the northwest coast of the island.
The plan: go to a restaurant, visit the village, and do some shopping while waiting for early afternoon.
As soon as we got out of the car, it started raining... we took shelter under the awning of a shop, waiting for it to pass. But the rain turned into a downpour, and within minutes, awning or not, Gore-Tex or not, we were soaked!
Since we were already wet, we might as well go to the restaurant—they weren’t far! But here’s the thing: contrary to what Google Maps said, they all opened at 1 PM, not noon!
Back to the car, wading through 5 cm of water because all the village streets were flooded .
The rain let up, we did some shopping, went to eat, and I got a message from the owner saying the accommodation was ready 🙂.
So, off we went to La Suerte, a few kilometers north of Agaete.
The downside of the place, especially with luggage, is that you have to climb several flights of stairs via an outdoor staircase (after parking more or less far away on a steep street) to get there 😛).
Of course, on the way from the car to the apartment, it started pouring again—the bags got soaked!
Enough rain for today! We settled in quietly, and by late afternoon, we could (finally!) go admire the view from the terrace.
Trip Planning
My partner and I are heading to the Canary Islands for a week at the end of September, specifically to Lanzarote. We chose this island over the more crowded ones for its volcanic landscape and the variety of hikes it offers.
I booked everything through Expedia: our hotel stay, car rental, and Ryanair flight tickets departing from Marseille. It was the only way to get a direct flight. To make getting around easier during our stay, I picked a hotel located in the center of the island from the wide selection available. It’s part of the Barceló chain, specifically the "Barceló Teguise Beach Adults Only" in Teguise Beach, which turned out to be an excellent choice.
The Trip
Sunday, September 21 - Monday, September 22
Departure
It’s 2:15 PM, and we’re at the Avignon TGV station. Danielle picked us up earlier due to the weather—thunderstorms and heavy rain all the way to the station. The TGV was on time, and it only took 30 minutes to reach Marseille Saint-Charles. The shuttle to the airport is quick and convenient, right behind the station.
The bus leaves for the airport in the middle of the storm, with flooded roads and cars stuck in some spots.
We get soaked making our way to the terminal. Two hours to wait before the flight. The plane finally takes off at midnight, but just before landing, the pilot announces that the destination airport is closed, and we’re being diverted to Tenerife. Ryanair will re-route us as soon as possible.
We end up waiting 2 hours, and Ryanair kindly gives us a 4 € voucher.
We re-board around 5:15 AM and take off at 6:00 AM. About 45 minutes to reach Lanzarote. After collecting our luggage, we head to the car rental desk. The counter in the terminal is closed, and we’re directed to parking lot P4—it takes us a while to find it.
I’m a bit worried about the rental company’s reaction since the car was supposed to be picked up 7 hours earlier, but it’s not a problem. A woman next to us is furious because she’s in the same situation, and her rental was canceled. Anne-Marie translates for her, but nothing changes.
We pick up a brand-new Toyota Aigo and head to the hotel.
After checking in, we cross the garden, walking alongside the large pool to reach our room.
A lovely first-floor room with a jacuzzi and a sea view.
It’s early, so we head to breakfast—a generously stocked and varied buffet with everything you could want.
Afterward, we drive to Cueva de los Verdes, but it’s packed with people and a long wait. We decide to come back another day.
Next, we visit Mirador Del Rio. This rocky viewpoint at the edge of the island has breathtaking cliffs plunging 500 meters into the ocean. The view is stunning and impressive.
A panoramic bar lets you cool off while enjoying the scenery.
We return to the hotel for a short walk around the neighborhood and enjoy the beautiful pool with its pleasant water temperature. Relaxing by the pool, sun loungers, and all.
In the evening, a very varied buffet at the restaurant. Then early to bed to recover from the sleepless night before.
Tuesday, September 23
After a restful night, we enjoy another varied and hearty breakfast. The terrace seating is very pleasant. We take an inland road leading to Timanfaya National Park.
The road near the park runs alongside vineyards where the vines are surrounded by lava stone walls to protect them from the prevailing winds.
Our first stop is at the visitor center, where the island’s volcanic activity is well-documented. Next, we stop at an area where you can take a short camel ride—two seats are installed on either side of the camel’s hump. This little ride offers a great view of the volcanic landscape from a higher vantage point. A fair price of 11 € per seat for a 20-minute ride.
We then head to the park entrance via the road leading to the parking lot, where only authorized buses can take the winding route inside the park.
It’s crowded, and we wait about 45 minutes with several stops before reaching the parking lot.
We board the bus, and the route offers beautiful views of this volcanic area and its many craters. The journey is very interesting, with several stops for photos.
At the parking lot, a guide shows us how the heat from the rocks beneath the surface can ignite dry vegetation. Water poured into holes in the ground immediately creates geysers and jets of steam.
The building next to the parking lot has a restaurant where meat is cooked using the heat from a well dug into the volcanic rock.
On our way back, we drive to Playa Blanca, a seaside town with a small sandy beach.
Back at the hotel in the late afternoon for dinner.
Wednesday, September 24
We wake up early and have a quick breakfast—few people are around at this hour. Two days ago, we booked a 10:00 AM visit to Los Verdes, lava tunnels created by eruptions and lava flows from the La Corona volcano, which extended all the way to the coast.
When the lava came into contact with the air, it solidified on the surface while continuing to flow underneath. The lava tunnels stretch for 8 kilometers to the volcano, but we only walk one kilometer.
The inside of the tunnel is impressive, with narrow passages and larger chambers.
You can see traces left by the flowing liquid lava—varied colors and twisted shapes.
At the end of the path, a large chamber has been turned into a concert hall with perfect acoustics.
Next, we visit Jameo Del Agua.
This is a continuation of the lava tunnel, developed by Manrique.
There are beautifully designed bar and restaurant areas, as well as an underground lake where you can see small blind white crabs—a protected species in this very pure water.
Higher up, there’s a lovely space with a central pool that could double as a swimming area, surrounded by beautifully designed white pathways that contrast with the blue water.
Further on, you reach a large space inside the lava tunnel, set up as a performance hall with perfect acoustics.
Stairs let you view this beautiful space from above. A gap in the lava landscape reveals the ocean on the horizon.
We head back toward the village of Yé, at the foot of the La Corona volcano.
A 160-meter walk from the church, a path crosses vineyard plots and then climbs to the top of the volcano’s crater in about 30 minutes. It’s the island’s highest volcano.
When you reach the edge of the crater, you see how deep it is, with steep slopes inside forming a large circular opening. The place is breathtaking and awe-inspiring.
We drive back to the hotel via a road that climbs quickly, offering a beautiful view of the island’s northern part.
Thursday, September 25
After another enjoyable and varied breakfast, we head to the center of the island toward the volcano park and stop at a roadside parking lot where a path leads to the Montana Cuervo volcano.
This is a crater that opened on one side. During an eruption, an explosion created a breach in the crater.
Huge blocks of rock were thrown dozens of meters away. The path goes through the breach and descends into the crater, allowing you to walk around it. It’s impressive, and you really feel small and fragile in this environment.
The crater walls, with their different colors, highlight the rock formations. The crater is surrounded by a sea of lava with sharp, jagged rocks.
You can walk around the outside of the crater, but it’s not very interesting. We then head to the west coast, stopping at a spot with a small green lake next to a beautiful black sand beach.
Next, we stop at Salinas de Janubio, a lovely viewpoint overlooking the salt marshes with different water colors. A small shop sells various local products.
We then head to the famous Papagayo beach.
The road ends at a booth where they charge 3 € to continue.
From here, the land is private, and you have to pay to drive down a 3-kilometer rocky dirt road.
Quite a few cars are driving along it, kicking up clouds of dust. The car gets a dusty makeover.
We arrive at a large parking area, with several paths leading to different small beaches.
We go to Papagayo, a small blonde sand beach surrounded by red rocks.
The beach slopes gently into the water, which is a pleasant temperature. The setting is charming and peaceful.
We stay for a while before heading back to the hotel.
Friday, September 26
We start with a visit to the César Manrique Foundation in Tahiche. This was originally one of his homes. The modern construction spans several levels and is integrated into the lava flow, using the gaps to create living spaces. Large windows make the rooms bright and open to the scenery. The place is pleasant, with flower-filled gardens outside. It’s well worth a visit.
Next, we drive to Las Grietas, where a path leads to a narrow crack in the volcanic rock, forming a tight passage where only one person can walk at a time.
The passage isn’t very long, but progress is slow due to the endless selfies being taken here.
We then stop at Casa Del Camposino, a renovated farm that houses several artisan shops.
We taste a local wine recommended by a charming woman and buy two bottles of Lanzarote red wine on her advice.
Now, we head to Tamara beach, a beautiful and wide beach at the foot of high cliffs. There are always great waves here, making it a surfer’s paradise.
On the way back to the hotel, we stop at the cactus garden, César Manrique’s final creation. Designed with a great sense of aesthetics around an old windmill, it features 4,500 varieties of cacti in various shapes, all in a beautiful setting.
We return to the hotel in the late afternoon for the evening.
Saturday, September 27
After another hearty breakfast, we head north to Haria. We stumble upon another of César Manrique’s homes, where he lived for a long time. This house is more traditional than the previous one but still has large, modern, and very pleasant rooms. At the back of the garden is his large studio, where he created his works.
Next, we visit the craft market—this was our original plan. Various stalls offer local items, and it’s very crowded. No room at the café terraces to sit down.
We then return to Famara beach for a long stay. There are always great waves here, much to the surfers’ delight. The water temperature is pleasant, and we enjoy it.
On the way back to the hotel, we stop at a gas station to refill the car, which has been very fuel-efficient. Gas is also much cheaper here than in France—1.16 € per liter of SP95.
We also wash the car, which was very dusty after the long dirt road to Papagayo beach.
At the hotel, we enjoy a farewell cocktail before dinner.
Sunday, September 28
We spend the morning by the hotel pool before checking out at noon. For lunch, we go to a restaurant called "Dona Lola," near the hotel, with a terrace offering a view of the coast. We order tuna carpaccio, which is delicious.
We then head to the airport, just 15 minutes away.
We return the rental car and go to the airport.
A long line to check in our luggage.
The return flight is on time.
A shuttle bus takes us to Saint-Charles station.
We then head to our overnight rental. The boulevard slopes down, making it easier with the suitcases.
The rental is between the old port and the train station.
Once there, we pick up the keys and make one last effort to carry the luggage up to the third floor.
The studio is nice, clean, and simply equipped—perfect for one night.
This travel journal is therefore intended solely for my photos, to present a consistent style.
All the shots were taken with a simple Samsung Galaxy smartphone and with whatever was at hand.
All stays combined, I’ve spent the equivalent of a year at most in Thailand, and I’m no great expert.
However, after many trips, lots of reading on VoyageForum and other sites, and conversations with many locals as well as expats, my view of the country is becoming clearer, though it’s constantly evolving. You never stop discovering and learning.
I guess I wanted to deliver a puzzle, mainly for those who want to get an idea of the country here and for those who feel nostalgic about it.
I don’t know if this minimalist sharing will interest anyone, but it’ll do me good to put it together. After so many months without traveling and then these other long months with VF closed, there’s plenty of material available.
There’ll be a mix of places, periods, and subjects, but it might well be intentional.
I suspect many Thais have dogs because they make excellent guardians for the home. Nothing better to deter burglars or to signal the presence of a snake. You’ll often see Thais tapping the top of their dog’s head, but don’t be fooled: it’s a sign of affection from them. Judging by the dogs’ reactions, they’re used to it.
Thailand is one of the countries on the planet where rabies is still present, so keep that in mind. It’s not just bites that can be dangerous, so don’t let just any dog lick you. Especially on a wound, of course.
Even though dogs often fear humans—this dangerous and unpredictable predator—we still need to stay cautious.
Be careful when walking into alleys because the dog will defend its master’s big yard. Be careful at night, and be careful when they’re in packs.
It sometimes crosses our minds that Thailand isn’t all that made for walking around, and dogs are one of the reasons.
That said, it’s not uncommon to see them chasing bikes or scooters. Cars, though? Much rarer—they’re too big.
It seems Thais prefer to give their dogs freedom by not locking them behind gates. Though sometimes the gate is closed, the little side door is wide open. Oh, and sometimes there’s no gate in front of the property, or it’s been full of holes for years.
You’ll often see dogs sleeping on the roadside, sometimes right on the road. When you approach, they move aside nonchalantly—or not at all. It’s less funny when they suddenly appear from thick vegetation, reminding visitors not to drive too fast. As a result, you’ll notice that dogs with injuries or missing legs aren’t that rare.
Since they believe in reincarnation and respect for all forms of life, they don’t chase dog packs away too much, and they don’t sterilize them enough. When you see a small pack roaming freely in the countryside, you think twice about running into them at the edge of a field.
A darker side of this is that euthanasia isn’t often practiced. Twice, we saw dogs at death’s door in temples, enduring terrible suffering with no one to help. The image (and the smell) of one of them, agonizing and exuding the stench of death, still comes back to me sometimes.
Some of you may have seen the YouTube vlog of a French woman living in Phuket who was given a little pig by her Thai friends. The animal, well-fed, quickly became a happy and enormous beast with its own garden. Yet it didn’t take long for it to fall seriously ill and become incurable. In her video, the French woman described how difficult it was to find a vet willing to perform euthanasia.
You’ll often see bowls by the side of the road. Thais leave food and water there for stray cats and dogs. Overall, they have a big heart for animals.
If you ever pop into a shopping mall, you might see people pushing their small dogs in strollers. It’s not just for fun—these strollers are provided for customers to put their pets in, otherwise you can’t bring them inside. It looks a bit odd when you expect to see a baby.
I’m a newbie to this forum, passionate about wildlife, the landscapes of East Africa, and Tanzania in particular.
This June 2024 trip/safari is our 7th visit to Tanzania and our 5th in the south, which has drawn us more than the north ever since we discovered it in 2015.
In 2024, the entrance fees for the reserves and services have gone up again since our last visit.
I chose to return first to Mikumi Reserve, which was the very first one we visited in the south. Then, we’ll head to Selous (J. Nyerere N. P.) as usual.
Initially, we wanted to spend 2/3 days on Mafia Island at the end of the trip, but it made the total cost too high, so we gave up...
We usually go to Ruaha and Selous, but I wanted to mix it up a bit—also to save some money...
As for the timing, June is a new experience for us. I thought it might be interesting to come just after the lodges reopen... hoping for some great wildlife encounters??
The trip starts in Marseille with our first flight on Ethiopian Airlines to Addis Ababa, then continues to Dar es Salaam, where we’ll finally set foot on Tanzanian soil again.
In Addis... "our" A-350.
.....
After arriving in Dar, we spent one night at a hotel near the airport. The next morning, we headed to the domestic flights terminal, which hasn’t changed in years.
By mid-morning, we boarded a Cessna 208B Caravan with Safari Air Link, heading to the Kikoboga bush airstrip in Mikumi, which we reached 45 minutes later.
Fun fact: the pilot was the same one as on our return flight two years ago.
Welcome on board:
Of course, a driver/guide team from our chosen lodge was waiting for us upon arrival:
I was surprised to see so many aircraft parked there... even twin-engine Embraer Brasilias??
As a fan of vintage planes, I loved it...
On the other hand, the light was incredibly harsh.....!!
Our guides only speak English. We knew that in advance. In the south, it’s very rare to find someone who speaks French. This’ll force us to dig into our high school English memories... from 60 years ago... at least.
It’s noon, and we head toward the lodge.
Near the airstrip, next to the Mikumi rangers’ base, there are quite a few herbivores. They find a bit more peace here—the big cats don’t venture this way...
Our first encounter was a group of Masai giraffes.
Rarer (for us), a savanna monitor lizard basking in the sun right in the middle of the track...??
A large gathering of impalas (mostly males) along with a few blue wildebeest:
Also unusual: a African crowned hornbill taking a dust bath in the middle of the track...!!
When it comes to identifying mammals or birds, I don’t know everything... so I might make mistakes. Please forgive me.
I’m counting on my friend Blesl’s active participation... 😉
Last February, I made a trip using "public transport" from France to southern Senegal via Spain, Morocco, Western Sahara, and Mauritania.
It’s a journey of about 5,000 km, where I took trains (as far as Marrakech), ferries (to cross Gibraltar and then to reach Casamance from Dakar), and mostly buses on the long desert straightaways. I hadn’t planned any stops in advance or booked any hotels, except for the very first train to Spain, which left plenty of room for the unexpected.
Why travel by land and sea? In recent years, flight-free travel has been gaining popularity. On social media, posts explaining how to cross Europe by train as quickly as possible go viral. Traveling without flying—and making sure people know about it—has become a great way to earn a badge of eco-responsibility: an essential totem for anyone wanting to prove both their dedication to the ecological cause and the wisdom of slow travel.
I haven’t flown in years, and this journey to West Africa could easily be filed under "responsible travel." But it wouldn’t be honest to say that: in reality, it wasn’t really my aversion to flying that motivated this long trek. I see overland travel primarily as a way to experience the world’s geography at a grounded, earthly pace—the pace of the locals. Besides, I’ll be flying back, which disqualifies any claim to being a model of sustainability.
So no eco-badge, and no adventurer’s badge either: you won’t find any heroic tales of camel rides in lost lands or mineral train wagons in this account (popular with influencers, the Mauritania iron ore train now attracts tourists from all over the world, turning "the experience" into something you "have to do at least once in your life"). This five-part story, written on the road, has no other ambition than to recount a journey through places and people, and to share the thoughts they inspire in me. As simply and, I hope, as humbly as possible.
I’m posting the episodes here, which you can also find on my blog (with more photos) at the following links:
Episode 1: Spain, from Avignon to Algeciras
Episode 2: Morocco, from Tangier to Tarfaya
Episode 3: Western Sahara, from Tarfaya to Guerguerat
Episode 4: Mauritania, from Guerguerat to Nouakchott
Episode 5: Senegal, from Rosso to Saloulou
To help those who might want to make the same trip, I’ve also put together a summary of the route with recommendations—you can read it at the end of the story and on the blog:
From France to Senegal Without Flying: Route and Itinerary Recommendations
This time, I landed in Monastir on a direct flight from Nice, again with Tunisair. We left about ten minutes late, and the flight lasted around 1 hour 30 minutes. A meal was served on board (cucumber salad with Edam-like cheese, carrots, and two small portions of dishes I couldn’t identify—semolina with peppers, olives, and parsley, two small rolls, a square of processed cheese, and a chocolate cake). It’s worth noting because it’s not common on flights this short.
In February, France and Tunisia were in the same time zone, but now Tunisia is one hour behind. This time difference and the flight duration work perfectly for a short 15-day trip since it takes me a few days to adjust to jet lag.
Luckily, I’d asked my hotel about the taxi fare from the airport because the drivers (there were several around me) didn’t hesitate to quote outrageous prices. The actual fare is 20 dinars, but one asked for 120 dinars. I refused, and another offered 60 dinars. I replied, "That’s too expensive—I’ll take the metro!" (Having tried the Tunis metro, I had no desire to repeat the experience in Monastir with a suitcase!). I started walking toward the metro, and one of the drivers caught up with me, saying, "20 dinars is fine!" I’ll skip the details, but the negotiation took a little while.
When I arrived at the hotel, I told the receptionist someone had asked for 120 dinars. He put his hands to his head and said, "They’re awful!" He remembered our phone call two days earlier when I’d booked (he’s the one who told me I could take the metro).
The Mezri Hotel isn’t expensive. I got a sea-view room for 75 dinars (22 €). (I’d booked a balcony room for 90 dinars but wouldn’t have had time to enjoy it.) It’s well-located but noisy because there’s no double glazing.
The receptionist is a very kind older gentleman. He called a friend whose wife is from Tozeur to find out if I should take a bus or a *louage* tomorrow and what time.
I arrived at the hotel around 7:00 PM and had time to stroll along the corniche to the ribat. Despite some run-down buildings, the seaside seemed livelier and cheerier than Sousse’s.
Monastir is the hometown of former president Bourguiba. I passed his mausoleum by taxi. There are Tunisian flags along the avenue by the sea because every year on April 6—the anniversary of Habib Bourguiba’s death—the president of the Republic visits the Bourguiba Mausoleum in Monastir to pay respects.
The taxi driver mentioned other Tunisian presidents. He complained about rising prices and insecurity, blaming President Kaïs Saïed (I’d already heard that security was better under Ben Ali).
At the end of my stay, I’ll take time to explore Monastir, but tomorrow morning, I’m off to Tozeur—a long bus ride awaits me.
Just back from two weeks in Andalusia, and I wanted to share this experience with you—maybe it’ll help with planning a trip. I’ll start with a quick recap in this post and try to add photos and day-by-day details later (still sorting through them). Hope I don’t bore you too much! 😎
Trip details:
April 20 to May 4, 2019:
7 days on the Costa de la Luz (El Puerto de Santa María) in an Airbnb,
4 days at the junction of the Costa del Sol and Costa Tropical (Salobreña) in an Airbnb,
3 days at Cabo de Gata for some rest at a campsite in Los Escullos.
Two families of four, each with our own car: three 9-year-old boys and a 6-year-old girl. One family was more into city exploration (not us, but we’re working on it), and the other preferred relaxation and nature (that’s us). We speak a little Spanish.
Over 5,000 km, including 2,500 km for the round trip from Carcassonne.
The weather: Variable, but we expected better for this region in late April. The first week on the Costa de la Luz was sometimes chilly (< 20°C), and the second week was warmer but not excessive (< 25°C). At least we didn’t get much rain!
Our budget: Around 2600 € per family:
700 € for accommodations, about 50 € per night,
1000 € for meals and restaurants. We usually spent around 50 € per family at restaurants—we ate out for lunch (except for 2–3 picnics) and cooked at home in the evenings, trying to be back by 6 PM.
600 € for activities: Río Tinto, a flamenco show, visits to the Alhambra, Giralda, and Alcázar, Oasis Park with meals, and a kayaking trip.
300 € for gas and tolls.
Preparation: A few months ahead with bookings for accommodations and tickets for the Alhambra, Giralda, and Alcázar. We used a few travel guides—I like the *Évasion* guide for initial planning. *Géoguide* was okay, but our friends’ *Routard* was the most useful. We also spent three months brushing up on Spanish with Mosalingua (a great spaced-repetition method, max 10 minutes a day). Downloaded Maps.me and the Andalusia map in advance—essential. And we used Tricount to track shared expenses with friends—super handy.
What we did/saw:
3 city visits (Seville, Granada, and Cádiz) + Málaga for our friends (we vetoed Córdoba—too many cities for us).
4 white villages (Vejer de la Frontera, Arcos de la Frontera, Grazalema, Ronda) + Tarifa for our friends.
Beaches (Tarifa and Bolonia, Matalascañas, Nerja, Cabo de Gata).
Nature and fun moments: Doñana National Park, a kayaking trip along the rocky coast near Nerja, and the Wild West/animal park in the Tabernas Desert.
A little culture: Río Tinto mines, the archaeological site of Itálica, Columbus’s caravels, Nerja Cave for us, and the Picasso Museum in Málaga for our friends. Plus, seeing the ham-drying process in the Alpujarras (for our friends).
Our highlights
Nerja and the surrounding villages: The rocky coast was amazing, and we loved the kayaking trip, even if the water was freezing for snorkeling. The beaches are sheltered from the wind, the town is charming, and the cave is incredible.
El Rocío and Doñana National Park. El Rocío has a timeless, almost Wild West vibe—we could’ve stayed a day or two. The quiet and pine scents reminded us of the Landes region.
What we didn’t love as much:
Río Tinto mines: Not super exciting, and the guides’ nonstop chatter kind of ruined the "nature" experience.
Our little regrets (for next time):
Forgetting our passports and missing a day trip to Tangier from Tarifa.
Not having an extra day around Nerja to go snowboarding in the Sierra Nevada—just 1.5 hours away (the kayak guide suggested it).
Not spending at least one night in El Rocío to explore Doñana National Park at dawn.
Antequera with the Guadalhorce reservoir and the Caminito del Rey (but it would’ve meant 2 more hours of driving, and we didn’t have the energy).
My general impressions of Andalusia and Spain
Landscapes: A feeling of extreme concentration of a single activity in some areas—endless olive groves, wind farms on the Costa de la Luz (which I thought were well-integrated), rows of buildings along the Costa del Sol (yikes, glad we didn’t stop there), greenhouses around Almería (a shame to have frozen the coast for so many kilometers), and the massive industrial port of Huelva.
What surprised us compared to France was the lack of small hamlets—villages are clearly defined, and people cluster there, leaving vast landscapes without human presence. In France, you find houses scattered everywhere.
Roads: Relatively few tolls. Sure, rest areas aren’t as nice as in France, but the roads are in good condition, and our wallet was happy. The roads are pretty straight with countless bridges and tunnels—the upside (besides fast travel) is that there aren’t many secondary roads disrupting the scenery.
Tourism and activities: A huge variety and richness. Feels like everyone can find something they like, and 15 days barely scratched the surface. It’s amazing how quickly you go from the coast to snow-capped peaks (Sierra Nevada) or from farmland to desert (Tabernas). And the mix of European and Arabic architecture in the same city is really special.
One small regret: Not interacting more with locals. We didn’t luck out with our Airbnbs. But shopkeepers were great—very patient with my broken Spanish! :-)
Overall, I think our choice to stay on the Costa de la Luz and then near Nerja worked well. We could explore pretty easily (even if we logged a lot of kilometers), and the settings were fantastic. The 3 days of total relaxation at Cabo de Gata were perfect.
If you prefer shorter stops, you could try staying in El Rocío (easy access to Seville and great for an early visit to Doñana National Park) or maybe Grazalema for a hike in the mountains (weather-dependent). And of course, Tarifa for a day trip to Tangier or Gibraltar.