Discussion · VoyageForum

Translated into English.

Kola Globetrotter ·2017-12-12

From this singer... there's something of Amélie in him.

And if we said the opposite Or if we said nothing If we built the story backwards...

From this singer... there's something of Charlie in him.

It's impossible to remain in doubt—you owe it to us to investigate, return to the scene hoping to meet the artist, who would turn out to be a woman, and it would be a portrait of her husband, who...

Who would be the adversary? Between us, who would be the cleverest?

Voyajou Globetrotter ·2017-12-14

Go back there? Again? And ask the grump about his gender identity? You want my scalp or what?!

No point debating the sex of angels when examining this (unless we consider she wears pearls and he wears leather, which would be totally retrograde). Yet, it’s the most political of all. S and A stand for South Africa (the artist’s wife confirmed it to me). From that wrestling match of a relationship, all that’s left is a broken heart. Hello... Mandela?

(If the photo is tilted, it’s because the elephant on the right is heavier and is weighing down the foundations)

Y7 Y7sag6er1 Veteran ·2017-12-14

the Elephant Curve?😮

Kola Globetrotter ·2017-12-14

From this wrestler’s clinch, a broken heart remains.

A beautiful image, a melancholic symbol bathed in twilight hues, and yet, in that embrace that overwhelms, can’t we also see the mark of an unbreakable bond?

L’entrompage catcheur is a desperate confrontation, a violent embrace to avoid sinking, to swing two broken fragments against each other, to reunite them into one, whose fracture will tell the story. And the scar will make it stronger...

Hello... Mandela?

I neither wanted nor could allow myself to succumb to despair. That path leads to defeat and death.

Voyajou Globetrotter ·2017-12-17

When the building goes Construction of two hundred and fifty new homes is underway in the township. Some residents of the historic city are worried: "They can fit two thousand people in there. And we already don’t have enough water for the gardens!" The municipality issued a reassuring statement: the goal is to decently house those who live in makeshift shelters at the back of courtyards and gardens. I went to see the construction site: twenty-five square meters total, the parents' bedroom for seven, the kids' room for four, a two-square-meter bathroom, and the rest for the living-dining-kitchen area. The small houses are spaced ten meters apart in all directions on less than ten hectares of rocky land. At least they won’t waste water on gardens. Meanwhile, on the other side of the city, a couple of doctors practicing in Cape Town are building a 450-square-meter retirement home on three hectares of fertile land. *

A matter of the heart Fifty years ago, Chris Barnard achieved a world first in South Africa: a human heart transplant. He had practiced extensively on dogs with fierce determination. Opposed to apartheid and leveraging his newfound fame, he demanded to be allowed to hire Black assistants. When the minister himself refused outright, Barnard threatened to accept one of the offers he had received in America and won the day. Later, he transplanted the heart of a white donor into a Black recipient. All hearts are red, just as bones are white. Two years after his feat, Chris, forty-seven, left his wife for another heart. Barbara’s, nineteen. No need for a transplant anymore. *

Risking it to be sure Johannesburg was suffocating him. In this sprawling city—the world’s largest man-made forest—beautiful, wild, and cruel, he felt like he was in the grip of a boa constrictor. So, Athol sought a place more suited to his condition and, defying his parents, settled in the desert. He’s long been fascinated by snakes. Here, he’s available at any hour to remove a reptile from your floor. For free, just out of love for people and these creatures that terrify them. He takes them away in a box, finds them the best spot in the desert, and releases them. He’s particularly wary of the Cape cobra, for the lightning speed of its venom, and the Puff adder for its strike. He works with his face uncovered and bare-handed. Only once in fifteen years has he been bitten. Helicopter, coma, luck: the venom (gratefully) spared him. A rare thing here, he never drinks wine. Only whisky, and only after ten p.m., when the likelihood of a call fades. His antidote. Why take such risks? To feel alive. *

What a couple! Siemon is a painter obsessed with hyenas. Hyenas he distorts across his canvases. His partner, Gabriel, is also his Pygmalion. Together, they rule the local art scene. *

Endangered species When he’s here, you’ll see him running in the mountains in the cool early hours. Wearing heavy boots, a backpack, sharp-eyed, his face carved by a machete. A dog on a short leash, a mass of muscle, a scruffy face oddly black and white. It’s his training. Along with others like him, he’s hired by reserves and parks to protect wildlife from the greed of poaching kingpins. A Kenyan might stand a chance, but certainly not a Mozambican or Zimbabwean. A white South African, he counts himself among the endangered species. On his bakkie, the sticker reads "Save a rhino, kill a poacher," but with his mom, who’s retired here to write, he’s a sweetheart. *

A little delicacy! Lying on the deck, the stars are watching me. Some already dead, they say (when science borders on mythology). True to my Havana, I smoke without shame, and between them and me, a cloud forms (the myth remains intact). Will it rain at Christmas? (If I may offer a tip to the traveler who fancies themselves a nomad in the desert and wants to enjoy a Havana. You have nothing but your knife, and the cigar is a bit dry—you’ve already used up your humidification packs to keep it at the ideal humidity. Don’t risk uncapping it dry and damaging the wrapper. Lightly lick it while giving it a slight twist, then carefully cut the few leaves at the head that were glued by the torcedoras’ saliva.) *

I brought you some veggies When invited for a drink or a braai, you at least bring a bottle of wine. Then maybe some jam, chutney, a jar of olives, or cookies. The best is if it’s homemade. Tonight, Derryn arrived with a bunch of onions and a bundle of celery from her garden. *

Mel-Anchole Cows are often poorly regarded. Here, some civilized folks suspect them of spending their lives watching trains and polluting the atmosphere. Elsewhere, they’re considered sacred. Here, they’re valued fairly: it takes ten to equal one woman. They’re beautiful, with velvet eyes, sleek and supple coats, and those horns... which you’ll wear. Here, Zulu kings only kept white ones. Here, they remain a symbol of wealth, spirituality, and political power. So you see the likely future president of South Africa posing among his herd of Anchole cattle, the largest in the country, wearing a red shirt and calfskin loafers. Yet, despite their two-meter-wide horns, they spare him. Is it because they connect him to his father, a cattle farmer in Venda before he was forced to move to Soweto? *

Worry After finishing his studies, this young man with a hipster vibe decided to raise chickens. Free-range, because it’s the only way to look them in the eyes. He sells his produce at the market but is worried: egg production is flat, feed prices are rising with the drought, and he and his wife haven’t taken a vacation in four avian generations. I finish him off by pointing out that the yolks are pale. Of course, he can’t count on the carotene from desert plants, nor any worms for them to peck at. But there’s a natural solution to reassure customers: marigold flower meal. He gives me that stupid look people attribute to chickens, imagining I’ll turn his own worries into meal. I reassure him and worry him: marigold meal is as expensive as saffron. I offer to fill in for him for a few days in the fall. He looks at me with egg-shaped eyes. I agree to a trial period. I see wings sprouting. *

December 17, 2007 That day, landing in Cape Town, the start of a strange life split between two hemispheres. 10 years (damn, already!) 9 different countries 8 mechanical breakdowns 700 books—not a desert island 60, 600, 6,000, 60,000, 600,000, 6,000,000 Africans The Big Five (and the Small Five too) 4 aces (on top of the four-leaf clover) 300,000 kilometers 2 cars (and a few borrowed ones) One question: again? Zero! I’m leaving the desert for Brittany via a layover in China (Addis Ababa).

Michel85200 Globetrotter ·2017-12-17

Just to note, these elephants are never pink...😉

michel85200

Atila Globetrotter ·2017-12-17

10 years (damn, already!)

Little player! !😉

Max68 Globetrotter ·2017-12-17

Great photos, as usual! 🙂

I just didn’t quite get the end:

One question: again? Zero! I’m leaving the desert for Brittany via a layover in China (Addis Ababa).

It’s true that Ethiopia feels very Chinese 😕. Apparently, there are 800,000 of them in Abyssinia... safe travels back to the Breton climate! 😎

https://apprentisvoyageurs.com

Diamina Globetrotter ·2017-12-17

Hi V....ou

I went to see the construction site: twenty-five square meters total, the parents' bedroom for seven, the kids' room for four, a two-square-meter bathroom, and the rest for the living-dining-kitchen area. The little houses are spaced ten meters apart in every direction on less than ten hectares of rocky land. At least they won’t waste water on gardens. Meanwhile, at the other end of the city, a couple of doctors working in Cape Town are building a 450-square-meter retirement home on three hectares of fertile land.

I recently read an article in Le Monde that highlighted how the inequality gap keeps growing and how these disparities are even more glaring in developing countries. Looks like South Africa is right on trend!!!

Two years after his feat, Chris, forty-seven, left his wife for another heart. Barbara’s, nineteen years old. No need for a transplant anymore.

After the heavy stuff, something lighter? Just like the news!

The cow is often poorly regarded. Here, civilized folks suspect it spends its life watching trains and polluting the atmosphere. Elsewhere, it’s considered sacred. Here, it’s valued fairly: you need ten of them for one woman.

And now we’re stirring up feminist outrage

8 mechanical breakdowns

Do you keep track of your mechanical breakdowns? Do you also count how many times you had to dig yourself out of sand or mud?

I’m leaving the desert for Brittany via a layover in China (Addis Ababa).

A few years ago, Vancouver on Canada’s Pacific coast had the same effect on me. It was already Asia!!! When we talk about tectonic plate movement, it’s nothing compared to the movement of populations!!!!! It’s through people that continents get closest!

Is your move to Brittany temporary?

Hugs!

Nord Chili, NOA, Sud Lipez, La Paz août 2012 https://voyageforum.com/forum/mois_dans_andes_peripeties_en_altitude_D5526293/ Apologie du southwest en hiver https://voyageforum.com/forum/apologie_sud-ouest_etats-unis_en_hiver_D5851267/ Impressions d'Afrique et de Namibie

Diamina Globetrotter ·2017-12-17

Hey Michel,

You’re always there at just the right moment for *the* photo!!!!!😂

Michel85200 Globetrotter ·2017-12-17

Hi there,

Couldn't help myself!

😉

michel85200

Magryelle Regular ·2017-12-17

The hearts are missing 😏

mayrig

Magryelle Regular ·2017-12-17

Hello Jean Luc, So, a trip to the Kalahari in a Defender planned to help someone in danger? Or to find a hidden bottle? Seriously, do you want to leave South Africa? For good? Yet your writing shows a real love for this country and its people🙂 As usual, I love it and read it with pleasure!

mayrig

Voyajou Globetrotter ·2018-03-15

@Max The Defender was sold and the house was on the market. Time to ask myself questions I’ve now found answers to: I bought a new car and took the house off the market. Karoo—live somewhere else?

@Magryelle Which country, indeed, to be closest to the issues shaking the world: economic inequality, racial questions, resource ownership. I do bodybuilding—I cultivate my alterophilia, me, a misanthrope by birth.

@Diamina

And now we’re stoking the wrath of feminists

To make it up to you, I’ll give you the diamond I just fished out in Port Nolloth.

@Michel-the-naturalist Doesn’t the color of elephants vary depending on the type of grass consumed by the observer? 😉

Coming soon (maybe)...

Max68 Globetrotter ·2018-03-15

And to the question—sedentary or nomad—have you found the answer? 😉

https://apprentisvoyageurs.com

Atila Globetrotter ·2018-03-15

Wouldn’t this photo have been taken in the Richtersveld? 😉

Michel85200 Globetrotter ·2018-03-15

Hi there! The (naturalist?) is heading back to South Africa for 3 weeks. A route that’s a real classic—almost retracing Ms. Atilla’s steps, just after her. Should we see some kind of South African camaraderie here? Or is it the wisdom of experience? Hope the grass has grown back by now. Glad to see the traveler’s still around! Michel

michel85200

Magryelle Regular ·2018-03-20

Prince Albert is such a beautiful little town where life seems so good! And South Africa is buzzing with unmatched potential right now, so staying a little longer... to see which way the wind will turn...

mayrig

Voyajou Globetrotter ·2018-03-22

A moth-eaten myth A myth conceived in another era and overtaken by the century. One you’ve worn out as much as it’s worn you out. We had to part ways, once again. At first, it was perfect—it took its lumps, it doled them out. Then it grew tired of this breakneck pace, and I grew tired of its whims. The new one looks more modest. Gone is the Empire’s arrogance, replaced by the Levant’s smoothness. Not a star’s career, but an honorable service record. I crossed North America with its cousin over a semester, on a zigzag diagonal from British Columbia to Florida, and often slept inside it. But over there, you quickly hit the limits. Now it’s time to see what it’s really made of before heading into the Kalahari’s sands or up the torrents of Lesotho. There’s no shortage of testing grounds in the Northern Cape. Namaqua Coastal is ideal for deep sand, and the secondary tracks of the Richtersveld Community Conservancy for the rough stuff. Though it lacks the joint flexibility to climb trees, it’ll live up to its name, Pathfinder—even if its plastic skirts could use a trim and it could stand a few extra centimeters of ground clearance. As for my co-pilot, she thinks it’s a considerate car. *

Until now, in the diplomatic suitcase, the traveling library rode in a shoebox: literature on the move. This time, it’s borrowing a fine wine case: literature on the zigzag. Among the good vintages, the thousand roborative pages of Microfictions 2018 (Régis Jauffret), which I’ve sliced into mille-feuille booklets and bound with reinforced tape. More flexibility in the case, and no elbow tendonitis. *

Close call Abriella, eleven years old, just set a world record. She’s the youngest person to swim from Robben Island to the mainland, fulfilling the dream of apartheid-era prisoners held there. Her brother is named Alcapone: now that’s an adventurous family. During this crossing, over 200,000 rands were raised for a Red Cross hospital serving sick children. *

The nobility of water In Cape Town, prolonged drought—and, some say, incompetence—led authorities to urge the city’s four million residents not to use more than 50 liters of water per person per day. Otherwise, the last drop from the last tap would fall in April. That Day Zero has now been pushed back to June. In this residential suburb, signs reading “Borehole,” “Boorgat,” “Own water,” or “Eie water” reassure passersby in their own language: these Babylonian gardens owe nothing to municipal water. They’re all on their own supply!

In the small town where I usually stay, we’re better off: the daily municipal water cap is 90 liters. The community set up a phone number to report wasteful citizens, guaranteeing anonymity to tipsters. Next thing you know, they’ll be rewarding them with a jerrycan of the precious stuff. The powerful borehole that once fed the English’s Versailles-like fantasies gave out after two neighbors drilled even deeper last year. Another, more modest borehole delivers a steady trickle, like a lifeline. We’ll have to cut back further on water-dependent surfaces, speed up the return to the original state. Some pioneers have already abandoned their lawns’ roots—those that tied them to Ireland, England, Holland, or Brittany. Others won’t consider changing a thing: the water lords, a few hundred people who own historic homes and benefit from “leiwater,” whose flow never weakens. This association has its own mountain intakes and distributes water to its members via open canals. You’ll see kids washing in them and neighbors scooping water for their little gardens. Beyond this tolerance, the water owners resist any interference or sharing. With every lord, dishonor is never far. *

When the moon throws him off while traveling, the homunculus thinks he’s the one who moved. He has to stop fidgeting to realize she’s the one playing games—taking off when she pleases and never rising from the same spot two nights in a row. Tonight, she’s playing peekaboo behind the intangible ficus with its thousand waxy leaves, which from my chair look like just as many stars. And the delicious gin infused with Karoo herbs has nothing to do with it. *

Fluid physics The semi-desert Namaqua is famous for blooming in spring. Less known—probably because it’s only crossable by 4x4—Namaqua Coastal is hardly less flowery and stays that way year-round thanks to moisture from the Atlantic. Sure, it’s not Holland’s tulip fields, but the succulents thrive here, and they’re beautiful plants, even without flowers. Campsites are scattered along the shore, but the south wind that rides the cold Benguela Current never lets up. Park authorities built stone circles six meters across and a meter and a half high. In the center, a spot for the fire. The wind, surprised by the obstacle, redoubles its fury inside the pitiful shelter, whipping flames in every direction. In the end, you’re roasted like a sausage twenty meters from the ocean you can no longer see, your eyes stinging from the smoke. *

Hit the road, Jack Before heading into Namibia, this German photographer boasts about learning the ropes in the Australian outback and Canada’s far north. He’s just published a photography book with an original layout and some clever design touches, but his shots are... ordinary. That’d be fine if he didn’t devote ten pages to bush survival and etiquette. He’s right to say that on tough tracks, it’s important to know exactly where your wheels are. His suggestion for practicing? On a normal track, aim for an abandoned can, elephant dung, or a forming termite mound, then check your rearview to see if you crushed it. Repeat. The problem is, kids here turn aluminum cans into survival sculptures, dung beetles feast on elephant poop, and no one taught termites the rules of the road. A Panzer. As for his colleague, a Cape Town photographer complaining about barely scraping by—cause or consequence—she’s mostly into herself and never misses an AfricaBurn, which tears through the Karoo’s silence every late April. *

Decoys and callers Safari used to mean hunting; then, as the times softened, it became a photographer’s game. The shutter hurts less than the trigger—for the hunter and the hunted. But now photographers whip out their phones, whistling recorded bird calls to lure them into the frame. Sometimes to the point of seriously disturbing them. Trophy hunters, image hunters—will there be birds who’d rather take a bullet than these permanent nuisances? (I hear some jokers use voyeur drones to violate birds’ airspace, stealing their point of view without adopting it.) *

Beef at the campsite To go with the surf on Namaqua’s coast, The Köln Concert (K. Jarrett); with the rustle of the Orange River’s little rapids in the Richtersveld, Universal Syncopations (M. Vitous); in the Cederberg’s silence, Timbuktu (A. Bouhafa), music from the eponymous film, for its gentleness despite the fury. *

From the track, the car’s headlights cast random flashes on the mountain. Time to drop anchor. *

I’d have loved to have the status of a drifter, but I walk backward like a klutz. I had to take the garage route. *

A lovebird ruffles its dorsal crest of feathers and, borrowing Aldo’s swagger, circles a female. Just as he’s about to close the deal, the dove flies off. Chagrined, the jilted suitor suddenly takes an interest in breakfast crumbs, determined not to let the shadow steal the prey. *

An all-too-ordinary evening There’s Peter, who fought in Rhodesia and later ran a business in KwaZulu-Natal before living like a refugee in his own country; John, a building contractor; Ellen, a project manager in economic cooperation handling European funds; Allan, a mathematician turned climatologist; and others. After a few drinks, black Africans get saddled with every flaw. No apparent racism—these folks are just stating facts, sharing their experiences. And they laugh about it. I slip away into the night for a doubly salvific cigarette and confide in a mixed—well, gray—cat. Some pile up handicaps: they have the flaws of the qualities they lack. *

For six days, I’ve been simmering a Karoo lamb with local herbs. For five nights, from one opportunity to the next, from salads to braais, I’ve had to host and be hosted while the lamb freezes in the fridge. What’s the point of fleeing to the desert? *

Muriel18 Globetrotter ·2018-03-22

Hello Jean-Luc

I often read you silently—so silently that I forgot to thank you for "a wildly beautiful and cruel world"... which I really enjoyed 🙂. Muriel

Si tu diffères de moi, mon frère, loin de me léser, tu m'enrichis (Saint Exupéry)

Diamina Globetrotter ·2018-03-22

Hey V...ou!!

I slip away into the night for a doubly life-saving cigarette and confide in a mixed-race cat—well, gray.

Apart from Mickael J, I don’t know any mixed-race person who’s gray!!!!! 😄

By the time they’re rewarded with a jerrycan of the precious liquid.

Good grief!!! Could water already be more valuable than black gold?

the homunculus

feces

Where on earth do you find words like that? You almost want to say "bless you!!!" 😄

Hit the road Jack

A little music in this brutal world!! www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q8Tiz6INF7I

Anyway, I’ve learned some good news since you picked up your travel journal again—you’ll keep causing trouble in South Africa for a while longer!! Awesome!!!😉

But a pathfinger instead of a def, that’s the decline!!!!🤪

To make it up to you, I’m offering you the diamond I just fished out in Port Nolloth.

I hadn’t had the chance to tell you yet that I accept your gift. Thank you!!!

Kisses.

Rjulie95 Globetrotter ·2018-03-22

Thanks for all these beautiful words that let us experience another side of Africa! So you switched to the Japanese Nissan—should gain in comfort and, most importantly, reliability! 🙂

"Je suis africain, non pas parce que je suis né en Afrique, mais parce que l'Afrique est née en moi." Kwame Nkrumah.

"J'ai appris que le courage n'est pas l'absence de peur, mais la capacité de la vaincre." Nelson Mandela

https://www.en-voyages.fr

Max68 Globetrotter ·2018-03-22

A moth-eaten myth and the American sent packing?

Wasn’t there supposed to be a Jeep Wrangler Unlimited? 😏 and the FJ didn’t win you over either 😇

Pioneers have already abandoned the roots of their lawn, the ones that tied them to Brittany.

😉

https://apprentisvoyageurs.com

Magryelle Regular ·2018-03-22

Hi Jean Luc,

Your writing is as wonderful as ever!

Congrats to little Abriella! I’m so impressed. And if there’s any lamb left, I’d love to try some..... and that bottle you buried in the Kalahari—still there? You’re making me want to go back to Namaqualand in the right season. A spot we really loved, both inland and along the coast.

mayrig

Voyajou Globetrotter ·2018-03-23

Nice to be back in the southern part of the continent, especially since you headed east. Glad you enjoyed that novel. It’s a phrase we hear a lot here—it's a beautiful country. We don’t emphasize the other two words in the title as much. One day, I’ll go see the gorillas... in your travel journal. 😉

Voyajou Globetrotter ·2018-03-23

On the other hand, a pathfinger instead of the Def, that’s the decline!!!!🤪 I hadn’t had the chance to tell you yet that I accepted your gift. Thank you!!!

Pass me your finger so I can slip the diamond I found along the way onto it. 😏 The Pathfinder won’t be my last car—unless it becomes my coffin. 🙁 I’ll bounce back. (Thanks for the background music)

Diamina Globetrotter ·2018-03-23

Pass me your finger so I can slip on the diamond I found along the way.

So nice!!!!

The Pathfinder isn’t my last car—unless it becomes my coffin. I’ll get another one.

Oh, come on!!! Because getting stuck with a Pathfinder is something anyone can do, but with a Defender, it’s just way cooler!!!! It’s kind of like the difference between a good hunter and a bad one!!!

Voyajou Globetrotter ·2018-03-24

Definitely a gain in comfort and reliability, especially on tarmac and gravel—where we spend most of our time anyway. When I’m older, if I ever get the chance, I’d love to revisit about ten of the toughest spots I’ve crossed over the past decade in a Defender or Toyota Land Cruiser to put the Pathfinder to the test. It’d probably come back a bit worse for wear, but I’m not sure it’d leave me stranded (with a bit of cosmetic prep, of course).

Voyajou Globetrotter ·2018-03-24

.. and the American sent packing?

I was this close to giving in to the buff American, even though the test drives in easy conditions hadn’t blown me away. But the spec sheet was as long as a day’s hike since it had to avoid all the Defender’s flaws. On top of that, in neighboring countries there’s often only one Jeep dealership, its modular roof is fun but not great for carrying gear, and the interior space isn’t amazing (same issue with the FJ Cruiser we’d talked about).

The Rubicon version is tempting and just as capable as the Defender in tough conditions, but when I had to admit the car was collecting dust through the tailgate, my co-pilot saw… red.

I’m not married to this one—we’ll see what the future Defender can do. We already know it’ll be more civilized than its predecessor but also more sophisticated and expensive.

I’ve got a South African buddy selling an old HDJ80, the one coveted by adventurers worldwide, but it’d need a full overhaul, and I’m no mechanic (of course, you’ll tell me it never breaks down).

Voyajou Globetrotter ·2018-03-24

Thanks for the compliment, Magryelle. Want me to grill a piece of lamb in the Kalahari when I go pick up that bottle of Sarabande? I’ll pack it in a tightly woven basket of acacia thorns—because competition. While cooking local ingredients is a pleasure everywhere, some regions have more to offer than others. Here, abundance isn’t the norm, but the ingredients carry the essence of the place. The lamb isn’t fatty, and since it’s on the menu, it’s infused with aromatic herbs. The peaches are sun-dried, and the garlic heads are small but flavorful.

Magryelle Regular ·2018-03-26

When are you heading back to the Kalahari? It’s true you’re practically there already... We might head back to southern Algeria before returning to the Kalahari, but the wine will only get better with time ;)

mayrig

Voyajou Globetrotter ·2018-04-16

Lesotho solo

The forecasters are predicting a week of continuous rain and storms with over an 80% probability. If it's anything like Brittany, where their colleagues tend to underestimate rainfall and overestimate sunshine hours, I should be in for a treat. Rain soaks the character too. It's the perfect time to get up close to the machinery and see if it's possible to improve how it works. Shut some valves in the Mountain Kingdom, open a few in the Karoo. Back when the Earth was flat, it was simpler: you just had to tilt it a few degrees to the west.

From home to the foothills of Lesotho, I knit together eight hundred kilometers of backroads along the 32nd parallel south. The vegetation cover shifts from brown to blond and turns green. Conifers, gum trees, alders, and poplars replace the acacias. Sheep become rarer while cows and horses appear. On the road signs, the kudu has turned bovine. In the fields, ponds overflow, and rivers run full. Faces darken.

Xhosa homesteads dot the landscape. Some are old, others modern, and many are abandoned mid-construction. The poorest live in corrugated iron, but it's new corrugated iron. I spend the night by a river determined enough to keep moving forward and spare me the relentless surf, fast enough not to host a frog concert, and inhospitable enough to keep crocodiles, hippos, and certainly sharks at bay: the Orange River, whose source I’ll be on familiar terms with in a few days.

Before entering Lesotho, I’d planned to take Joubert’s Pass, but the locals down here tell me it’s been half washed away by storms, and I wouldn’t reach the top. They were right... without a Defender.

Lesotho is Austrian green. Only the durum wheat and sweet corn are still blond—better days are needed to harvest them. Women have left the terraced fields; only shepherds run through the mountains, drenched to the bone like the land itself. Landslides sometimes cover the tracks and even the new roads, like a reminder. No one seems to care: there’s still room for donkeys and horses to pass.

I follow the Orange River before it leaves Lesotho. It’s still the Senqu River here, but it’s as wide as it will be at its mouth, a thousand miles later. In the meantime, South Africans will have exploited it as much as possible. I have a soft spot for this river, which starts in one of the continent’s poorest countries and saves many regions of the richest. The source springs among diamond mines, and the mouth pours cargos of carats into the Atlantic—I wonder if they’re the same. If so, they should be kept at home.

The road climbs relentlessly. At 2000 meters, visibility is reduced to nothing, no tracks on the ground, no signs, no guardrails, though the precipice is very much there. I have to crawl at ten kilometers an hour. The pass is at 2400 meters; I reach it in an hour after dodging two minibus taxis.

Ahead of me, a woman walks along the muddy track, balancing an enormous bundle on her head and carrying shearing scissors. She’s wearing leopard-print plastic boots, and a blanket wrapped around her waist peeks out from under a worn jacket. She motions for me to stop, leans into the window, and asks for a ride to her home. She smells strong, but my rolling den no longer smells like synthetic roses. Her village is a two-hour walk away, a fifteen-minute drive. No nose plugs, no seat cushions—let’s go! She’s returning from a cousin’s place, where she sheared a few sheep, and is carrying the fruits of her labor on her head. Her hair is naturally curly, but she’s not the type to straighten it—she doesn’t even know what France is, let alone Paris. That says it all! The scent of damp wool fills the cabin. Lydia wants to exchange phone numbers and insists on inviting me to her home. It’s a rare offer here, but I have to decline. Night is falling, and the lodge I hope to find with its doors open is still far away.

By the side of the track, five men surround a smoking carcass. The horse broke a foreleg and was put down on the spot. It’s already skinned, the pile of guts pulled out. They’re butchering it. No, guys, my car isn’t licensed to transport meat. And no thanks, a horse haunch would be too much for one man.

The lodge is open, and I’ll be its only guest tonight. His Majesty the King of Lesotho and his entourage stayed here last weekend. These are people of good taste, not snobs, choosing my favorite address in their tiny kingdom. Though I lack an entourage, the manager gives me the royal pavilion—the only one with a fireplace. It won’t be a luxury tonight. Tomorrow, I’ll drive her to the capital.

Just to be sure, I’d stopped at Semonkong Lodge. Too full of tourists. Some were returning from the falls, more crowded than ever, while others were dreading them and carrying pepper spray before a horseback ride. If you encounter more than twenty tourists in the same place in Lesotho, you’re probably at Semonkong Lodge, Malealea Lodge, or Sani Pass.

It hasn’t rained this late in the season for years in a country already generously watered. Everything is soaked, oozing, and dripping. The new roads are clogged with mudslides and rockfalls. Some sections threaten to give way. Secondary dirt and gravel tracks sometimes exist only as traces. In these conditions, the road to Kao Mine will be a chance to test the limits of the crew. Mud, ravines, washed-away fords that you cross by dancing on the stones—the challenges are varied. After catching my breath following a chaotic river crossing, an old horseman scolds me in his language, urging me to hurry up and restore the place. Three well-dressed women—those who only have one outfit for going out—take off their shoes, roll up their trousers, and cross on foot. I expected to leave some feathers, maybe even a wing, but the Pathfinder comes out intact, not a single adornment missing. It took us five hours for about sixty kilometers. Sure, the automatic transmission doesn’t have a three-digit IQ, and the accelerator pedal’s sensitivity is like that of an over-tanned mule. Let’s just say on this terrain, the Defender is a gazelle, and the Pathfinder is a stubborn calf—but with low gears, a differential lock, and off-road tires, the car balks but gets the job done.

I’d planned to continue on the track to Sehlabathebe National Park, but without even trying, I can tell the wet area after Sehonghong will be impassable.

The road from Mokhotlong to Sani Pass, built and paved three years ago, leading locals from nowhere to nowhere, hasn’t been spared. The Chinese have plastered it with signs warning of curves or that the road is slippery when wet. Some even warn of a slope over three hundred meters. In Lesotho, it’s amusing. As long as there’s room for a car to pass, rockfalls stay put but are marked with a white paint stroke. Let’s hope they get red paint before the snow arrives.

After a break at the highest pub in Africa, I start the descent of Sani Pass. Only the last two kilometers before the summit were delicate. Now it’s eight. Years of work have been washed away. A white tortoise moves at a snail’s pace, and I nearly run it over coming out of one of the first hairpin turns. It’s a city Volvo, even if it’s AWD. After a flat tire, they had to replace a front wheel with what was available: a space-saver spare! For a brand that prides itself on safety, that’s criminally careless. At the South African police post, before stamping my passport, the officer asks if I’d be willing to take a few colleagues down to the valley. How could I refuse? I’m now under good escort with these three Zulus. They assure me Sani Pass won’t be paved for another five years. Yet work has begun on the lower section. Hundreds of workers and a few machines are widening the passage and building bridges. This mythical track is coming to an end.

On the way back, I cross the former Transkei, one of those territories called Bantustans where white South Africans strongly encouraged others to regroup in exchange for a certain autonomy. It was about separate development—apartheid, whose real goal was to eventually ensure no Black person would be a South African citizen. Here, it was for the Xhosas, Mandela’s ethnic group. The hills are pockmarked with colorful homes without any more urban planning than a termite colony. On the main roads, which are fenced off from communal fields, the speed limit is 120 km/h, but there’s as much livestock on the shoulders as behind the barbed wire. It’s pouring rain; I’ve already dodged sheep and jousted with a cow, but then a ewe decides at the last second to see if the grass is greener on the other side of the road. Killed on the spot, and the bumper is dented. This isn’t Lesotho.

Just before Queenstown, I cross a border erased from maps but not from landscapes or minds. The sky clears, the rain stops, and I’m on the edge of the Karoo. Sheep are behind fences, and the landscape returns to what it’s always been, except for a farmhouse here and there in the distance.

Slpb56 Regular ·2018-04-16

Hi Jean Luc I just finished reading your post out loud, and even though my partner and I are crossing the loooonnnng Belgian plains, we found ourselves transported to Lesotho for the duration of the read. My sweetheart said: "Quick, let’s go back to Sani Pass!" ... for now, we’re heading back to Vannes. That’s nice too! And Africa is in October, so patience. Happy travels, Sylvie

slpb56

Zabazou ·2018-04-16

So great to be back with "Inside South Africa" after that (way too long) break, and thanks again for not swapping those lived moments for gardening.

Ghislaine

Y7 Y7sag6er1 Veteran ·2018-04-17

Hi there! Oh, Lesotho... Lesotho, the green Austria, with the sweaty wool of sheep, leopard-print boots, so much water everywhere, our poor shepherds, and the kids—do they go to school? But wait, you in a Pathfinder???😕 Did you close the valves in Lesotho? Sala antle and thanks for your stories... They go down like milk (or rather, like a Maluti beer)😉

Max68 Globetrotter ·2018-04-17

Hello l'Africain,

Thanks for taking us along on this journey through these far-off lands! 😛 🙂

And like Yabazou said:

Thanks again for not sacrificing those lived moments for gardening.

😉

https://apprentisvoyageurs.com

BL Bluequark Veteran ·2018-04-17

Hi there,

Thanks for this walk. I dream of Lesotho.

Bluequark

Carnets : Namibie, Laos-Perhentias-BKK, Ouest US, Lanzarote, New-York, Berlin, Cuba, Bardenas Reales, AFS -Lesotho-Swaziland, Japon et le dernier né Colombie: https://voyageforum.com/discussion/ete-2017-trois-semaines-en-colmobie-en-famille-d10108246/

Y7 Y7sag6er1 Veteran ·2018-04-18

yes!! go for it!!!!!!!!!!!!

BL Bluequark Veteran ·2018-04-18

Yes, we went there for a few days during a trip to South Africa, and ever since, I’ve been dreaming of going back.

Voyajou Globetrotter ·2018-04-18

Reading "A Road Trip Around Lesotho" while crossing the flatlands: a rollercoaster effect?

Voyajou Globetrotter ·2018-04-18

... and thanks again for not sacrificing those lived moments for gardening.

My Co’s character is pretty tough as it is. So I’d left her in charge of watering the succulents with the back of a moka spoon.

But I can tell you miss the days when, as a whimsical foot soldier, I’d charge a herd of buffalo at Mana Pools. The days when I’d tango with elephants and do the breaststroke in Lake Malawi. When you preferred the endless sands of the Kalahari and leapfrog games on the rivers of the Wild Coast. Want me to tell you something? Me neither.

Voyajou Globetrotter ·2018-04-18

Wait, you in a Pathfinder???😕

The car, the tires, and the driver: that’s what counts for going where pedestrians go—unless they start climbing. And when the mechanics hit their limits, the driver pushes theirs. I’d bet a case of Maluti that with the Pathfinder, you’d go wherever your 300GD takes you—in the Adrar or at the Banc d'Arguin. After that, on the Route de l'Espoir, I’d leave you in the dust.

I’ll admit that for some trips, the Pathfinder isn’t as capable as the Defender—guess I’ll have to come up with other arguments. 😇

Nah, the kids weren’t in school. Your little princes were still stuck on the side of the road after the royal convoy passed.

Michel85200 Globetrotter ·2018-04-18

Where to read in English "the worst trips by tourists in Southern Africa"

Several passages about Lesotho... with 4 meters of snow!

Best,

Michel

michel85200

Y7 Y7sag6er1 Veteran ·2018-04-18

alright, come lose me on the Road of Hope—I’ve got so many friends there and so much tea to drink!!😉 bring your Malutis because if I take you into the Tagant or the Assaba, things are gonna get real. You driving a 4x4 all the way or not? which dune am I waiting for you on?😎

Y7 Y7sag6er1 Veteran ·2018-04-19

hey Voyajou! about the Route of Hope; http://cridem.org/C_Info.php?article=710241 😕

Herikles Globetrotter ·2018-04-22

The cars 😎😏 all look the same. 😉

Les concours photos VF

Atila Globetrotter ·2018-04-23

Wishing you the most surprising paths with your new steed. 😉

Diamina Globetrotter ·2018-04-24

Hey V....ou,

Seriously, do you have a globe with animal pictures on it? Where’d you buy that?

Dolma Globetrotter ·2018-04-24

I’m tiptoeing into the midst of the Africaddicts, 4x4addicts, and other déliraddicts 😉 wondering if I’m about to get lynched for being so clueless about Africa, cars, and wild adventures. Oh well! Here goes nothing!

It seems to me we don’t say it enough—you can simply take real pleasure in reading beautifully written texts that paint a picture better than any image and invite you to travel, whether you actually go or not.

That’s the reading pleasure you’ve given me with your words, so thank you, thank you, thank you...

Dolma 🙂

un chemin et la caresse du vent, alors je pars en voyage...

Voyajou Globetrotter ·2018-04-25

I dream of Lesotho.

With our dreams as our only luggage...

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Larri 14 hours ago

Pérou: un rêve d’enfant enfin réalisé

Préambule

J’aurais pu intituler mon carnet de voyage comme Carmen: « Il y a des voyages qui naissent deux fois ». En effet, nous avions envisagé cette destination en février 2020. Cependant, un TO honnête nous avait déconseillé le voyage à cette période en raison du climat. Nous avions alors renoncé et nous nous étions orientés vers le Guatemala (cf. « Sur les terres mayas » sur ce site). Alors, pourquoi ce titre? Quand j’étais à l’école primaire, il y a plus de 65 ans, les illustrations de mes livres d’histoire (Machu Picchu) et de géographie (lac Titicaca) me faisaient rêver et ces images étaient restées dans ma tête. Il aura fallu attendre 2026 pour enfin concrétiser ce rêve! Nous avons préparé notre voyage avec Tout Pérou, une « agence » francophone. Tout s’est fait par mail et par échanges WhatsApp avec notre interlocuteur: Laurent, à la fois compétent, sympathique et de bons conseils. Moyennant 200 €, Tout Pérou nous a fourni chauffeurs et guides quand nous le désirions, nous a aidés à acheter nos vols internes (moins chers en les achetant au Pérou), a réservé des navettes entre les aéroports et les hôtels, nous a fait bénéficier d’un rabais sur le trajet en train vers Aguas Calientes, sur les bus entre Chivay et Puno et entre Puno et Cusco. Bref, Laurent s’est occupé de toute la logistique et des entrées pour le Machu Picchu. Charge à nous de réserver nos hôtels. Une liste est proposée par Tout Pérou, sans obligation d’en tenir compte. Autre avantage de la formule: on n’avance pas d’argent, on rémunère directement les intervenants au jour le jour. Nous n’avons pas rencontré Laurent sur place car il était en vacances en Europe. Avant son départ, il nous a fait un briefing, donné un tableau récapitulant tout le programme, les intervenants, leur numéro de téléphone, leur rémunération, les horaires et nous a prodigué de nombreux conseils (argent, change, sécurité, etc.). Rentré en fin de notre séjour, il a constamment pris de nos nouvelles. Signalons enfin que nous avions pris des renseignements auprès d’Arnaud Lagadec, qui tient un hôtel à Cusco et qui propose des visites de la région. Il nous a également donné beaucoup de renseignements. Autre interlocuteur: Thomas Montaigne, très sympathique, qui tient une agence à Arequipa (Agence Pérou exclusif).

J1 – Paris-Lima Avant-propos Je vais vous narrer notre voyage sans prétention: je n’ai pas le talent de certains contributeurs du forum, et je vais l’illustrer avec quelques photos (smartphone ordinaire). Mes commentaires sont personnels et n’engagent que moi. Aussi, soyez indulgents! N’hésitez pas à commenter mon récit à votre guise, mais évitez les polémiques stériles et inutiles. Bien qu’habitants au sud de la région parisienne, fidèles à nos habitudes quand le vol est en matinée, nous avons choisi de passer la nuit précédant notre départ dans un hôtel à proximité de CDG et de garer notre voiture dans un parking à Garches. Nous évitons ainsi le stress que peuvent occasionner des déplacements souvent compliqués autour de Paris (accidents, travaux, bouchons, etc.). Enregistrement, contrôle aux frontières: tout est fluide en ce dimanche matin. Notre vol AF est sans histoire. À Lima, le passage de la frontière est particulièrement long et, pour la première fois, nous n’avons pas de visa d’entrée apposé sur nos passeports. Comme convenu, un chauffeur nous conduit jusqu’au quartier de Miraflores, où se trouve notre hôtel. Nous sommes surpris par les nombreux panneaux consacrés aux possibles tsunamis, ayant oublié que le Pérou est propice aux événements de ce genre et est régulièrement le théâtre de tremblements de terre. Nous aurons l’occasion d’en voir les conséquences lors de notre périple. Fatigués par le réveil matinal, les 13 h de vol et le décalage horaire (7 h), nous dînons à l’hôtel avant une nuit réparatrice. Notons que ce jour est celui de l’élection présidentielle au Pérou. Aussi, on refuse de nous servir une bière: la vente d’alcool est interdite ce dimanche.

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Patbill 14 hours ago

A Slightly Less Touristy Japan

Hi everyone, I’m Patrick, 67 years old, a seasoned traveler (already 22 trips outside Europe). In autumn 2025, I took my first 3-week trip to Japan, with stops in Tokyo, Kamakura, Matsumoto, Kamikochi, Takayama, Kanazawa, Kyoto, Nara, Osaka, Koyasan, Tokyo again, and Nikko. I wanted to go back in May 2026 and explore some lesser-known places to complement my first trip. Last year, there were four of us traveling together to discover Japan (a fairly classic itinerary). This time, I’ll be traveling solo for part of the trip and with a couple of French friends for the rest. The weather was gorgeous in May, averaging around 25°C, with two very hot days in Kyoto and only two rainy days. As usual, I organized everything myself, gathering plenty of information from various sites, including this one.

Transportation: An ICOCA card is essential. I got a 5-day Kansai-Hiroshima pass because I took the shinkansen between Hiroshima and Osaka three times, and it paid for itself quickly.

Accommodations: Mostly through Booking. No issues at all. Average cost was 46 € per night.

Meals: For breakfast, I alternated between buying food at a konbini to eat in my room or on the train and grabbing something at local cafés. For lunch and dinner, I tried to vary my meals as much as possible—lots of sashimi, sushi, and ramen. Okonomiyaki in Osaka and Hiroshima. Oysters in every form (raw, grilled, fried) in Onomichi and Hiroshima. A variety of seafood (shrimp, shellfish) in Hiroshima and Matsumoto. Fish whose names often escaped me, but notably mackerel and eel (unagi). Tempura and gyoza. Chicken skewers (yakitori) and one teppanyaki meal. One omakase meal (9 different dishes). In the end, not much meat aside from a few yakitori skewers. No splurges on super expensive wagyu or Kobe beef. Average dinner cost: 4,800 yen, drinks included.

The Itinerary: Day 1: Departure from Brussels Day 2: Arrival in Osaka Day 3: To Himeji, then Kurashiki Day 4: To Fukuyama, then Tomo no Ura, then Onomichi Day 5: Cycling the Shimanami Kaido Day 6: To Takahara, then Hiroshima Day 7: To Kyoto to attend the Aoi Matsuri parade Day 8: To Miyajima Day 9: Hiroshima, then Kyoto Day 10: Southern Kyoto Day 11: Northern Kyoto Day 12: Final day in Kyoto, then to Nagatsugawa Day 13: Start of the Nakasendo Trail (Magome to Tsumago) Day 14: Second day of the trail (Kiso Fukushima) Day 15: Third day of the trail (Narai), then Matsumoto Day 16: To Mt. Fuji (Kawaguchiko) Day 17: To Tokyo Day 18: Excursion to Enoshima and Kamakura Day 19: Flight home, with a 10-hour layover in Hong Kong Day 20: Arrival in Brussels

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Muriel18 14 hours ago · Partirester

A few days in Lesotho and Zambia: the (difficult) return

After a first trip to South Africa in 2009 that enchanted us, we decided to return to this part of the world this year.

Given how much I enjoy reading others' travel journals, I'm mustering up the courage to try my hand at this kind of exercise (which I'm not used to at all 😕). Thanks, of course, to everyone who answered my questions and helped finalize this trip...

So, it's decided—it'll be Southern Africa... but where, with only two weeks of vacation? Victoria Falls, which we had to cancel in 2009 due to turbulent Zimbabwean elections, was automatically back on the itinerary (yes, I know some say "the falls, meh," but I wanted to see them 😛!). We added South Luangwa and ultimately swapped Chobe and Hwange for Lesotho. We have no experience driving a 4x4, which limited our routes in both countries, especially since it's not yet the dry season... but that didn’t stop us from bringing back amazing memories.

Sunday, April 14: After a smooth flight (and even quite comfortable in BA’s brand-new 747), we land early in the morning in Johannesburg. We pick up the car (a little Micra) and off we go toward Clarens, our first stop. We get back into the swing of driving (moving over to the right—sorry, to the left—to let others pass, flashing lights, hazard signals, "thank you," "you’re welcome"...).

I was expecting a small town, but Clarens looks more like a village: a large grassy square,

a few cars,

and dirt roads as soon as you leave the main street.

Still, we found the same quality of South African B&Bs here. We stayed at Patcham Place (the little white speck in the photo above is our Micra!).

We end the afternoon with a walk around Clarens and its surroundings. No doubt about it—it’s autumn...

Monday, April 15: We set off for Lesotho on nearly deserted roads, heading toward Malealea.

We quickly cross the border at Caledon Poort, and the atmosphere changes: more people on the roadside, animals, scattered huts... and lots of traffic police! We still managed to get stopped four times! Mostly, after checking our driver’s license, it was just to chat for ten minutes or so (police aren’t like that back home!). Well, one officer wanted to fine us for not waiting for him to wave us through after I stopped at a stop sign. After some tough negotiations, he let us go 😇.

We leave the main road and find ourselves in wilder landscapes.

The road narrows until it becomes a dirt track. A short climb to the gates of paradise:

... and then it’s just a matter of descending toward Malealea.

Malealea is like a village within a village. You’ll find different types of accommodations, a canteen-style restaurant (no menu choices, but the food is great, and it’s a fun way to chat with others around big tables), and lots of activities offered in partnership with the locals. We’re shown different rondavels to choose from... we pick this one:

Simple but clean and functional, with a private bathroom. On the bed, "real" Basotho blankets.

We decided to stay two nights to have a full day there.

Tuesday, April 16: We opted for a four-hour pony trek to the waterfall—nothing difficult, everything is done at a walking pace, with just a few "slightly" steep climbs and descents where you have to trust the Basotho ponies (no worries, they’re sure-footed 😏). The landscapes are truly stunning:

We walk down to the waterfall (which isn’t anything special—it’s the trek itself that’s worth it) and take the return path...

... crossing through Malealea village again.

We spend the rest of the day exploring the area, reading in the sun, and sipping marula coffee on the bar terrace. We really loved the family atmosphere in Malealea and how the locals were involved in the activities.

Wednesday, April 17: We hit the road again toward Katse. The owner of Malealea advised us against taking our car through Theba Tseka (I know Chris did it last year around the same time, but since we’re not very adventurous, we’ll go back through Maseru and Leribe—oh well, we’ll just take the same route back from Katse).

Quick aside unrelated to the story: putting together a travel journal is taking even longer than I thought 🤪... so, the rest will come a little later...

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Ellobo 14 hours ago

The Pearl of Africa - July-August 2026

Preamble: Africa was calling to me, so a year ago, with our usual travel companions, we decided to return to the continent we love so much. Where to go? Uganda quickly caught our attention—wildlife we’re used to seeing, plus gorillas and the shoebill we missed in Zambia. We got in touch with Paul, who’s been mentioned several times on the forum back in September, booked our flight tickets, secured the gorilla permits, and by early October, the most important things were done. We still had plenty of time to hold our "prep meetings" for the final itinerary.

Three days before departure, I sprained my ankle (my weak spot, as you’ll recall from our Colombia trip). I wasn’t in great spirits, but after a year of waiting, nothing was going to stop me. We’d see how it goes! Off we went for our new adventures

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Attila 14 hours ago · Chalembert

Breathtaking Kyrgyzstan!

This trip had been on my mind for about fifteen years.

But the discomfort of overnight stays, the difficulty of communication, and the prices of the few car rental options kept making me postpone the project.

And then, everything suddenly fell into place—I told myself, it’s time!

The preparations took longer than usual; the destination is still far from mainstream.

A bit of Kazakhstan? Not in the end.

The south or not the south? Yes, in the end.

Pre-book or go with the flow? Only two stops were a leap into the unknown.

To help me find the ideal route, I made great use of this forum (thanks to everyone for patiently answering my questions!), pored over travel journals and blogs (Christian, Jeff), zoomed in on Google Maps and Yandex, and bought the guide published by OunTravela about this destination (the guide has been updated since).

---/---

You’ve got your passport, international driver’s license, bank cards, and euros?

Off we go to Lyon—just one night left before our early morning flight.

Tomorrow night, we’ll be sleeping in Bishkek! (Steak for my partner’s mischievous nephews...)

You’ll find here a post with some practical information.

And here, the version of the travel journal without comments.

---/---

As a supplement, the route track. Not necessarily ultra-accurate since Google has serious gaps for this destination...

From Bishkek to Karakol:

From Karakol to Kochkor:

From Kochkor to Baetov:

From Baetov to Kara-Köl:

From Kara-Köl to Bishkek:

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Nathalie971 3 days ago

From Southern Shikoku, between land and sea, to the blue waters of Miyakojima and finally the Tokyo metropolis

From Southern Shikoku, between land and sea, to the blue waters of Miyakojima and finally Tokyo’s megacity

Hi everyone,

I have to admit, I really hesitated before deciding to write this travel journal... Writing one takes a lot of time and energy, and since this is my 4th trip, I wondered if it would even interest anyone other than myself (both for the discovery and the writing). But after a few people asked, "Are you going to write a journal?" and especially after rediscovering the joy of reading other travelers’ journals about Japan or elsewhere on this forum, I’ve decided to share my 4th installment in the Land of the Rising Sun here.

The itinerary: 27 full days, from late May to late June 2025, right in the middle of the rainy season, including:

-->13 days in Shikoku, from Kochi (Kochi Prefecture) to Matsuyama (Ehime Prefecture)

-->7 days in Miyakojima (Okinawa Prefecture)

-->7 days in Tokyo

The trip was decided on fairly last-minute again this year.

Since I regularly check flight prices to track fluctuations for this destination even without concrete plans, stumbling upon a slightly cheaper direct flight (900 €) than what I’d seen in previous months (around 1,200–1,400 € on average) for a Paris-Tokyo route with Japanese airline ANA was too tempting to resist the urge to return to this enchanting country. After much hesitation between exploring the San’in region (Matsue, Tottori, Yamaguchi) and Southern Shikoku, the decision was made—I took the plunge! The ticket is booked: Paris to Kochi with a layover in Tokyo, all with ANA, the airline I’d been dreaming of... for 1,120 € per person. Okay, it’s not cheap, but it’s better than in 2023.

Departure in 2 weeks! Now I just have to get everything ready!

Intense prep work over these next 2 weeks to:

finalize a more precise itinerary and reach an agreement—yep, because even though we both love Japan, our preferences differ slightly, and we have to choose between exploring new places or revisiting beloved spots... decide how much time to spend in each area without rushing while still exploring research places that might interest us and watch videos about Japan book accommodations: yes, it’s possible to do this on the spot, but last year, we realized that last-minute options were pretty expensive, so we’re booking ahead—though we’ll keep a few options open in case better deals pop up later reserve rental cars order yen check the weather regularly and wonder if choosing the *tsuyu* (rainy season) was really a good idea—are we going to be drenched the whole time???

"What hard work," you might say! Going to Japan for a month—what a tough life! Despite this being my 4th trip, the excitement is just as intense as the first time.

The only small downside is that when we booked the flight, there weren’t many seats left, so we’re only sitting together on the international return flight. Plus, on the way there, we have middle seats. Another lingering question: what French-language films will be available? According to the internet, the selection seems limited. Oh well, these are just minor details—it’s already time to fly! PS: I’ll be posting slowly and irregularly... so for those interested, be patient, and maybe set an alert...

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Zigomar67 3 days ago · MichelG78

Argentine and Chilean Patagonia from El Calafate to Ushuaia

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...

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Jojoone1 4 days ago

All Over Thailand

You can post your personal photos in the following thread: https://voyageforum.com/forum/quelque-part-en-thailande-d10655574/

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.

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Kola 5 days ago · Partirester

Desert Crossings... (Morocco)

The story of a trip to Morocco, from the first to the last day—otherwise, it wouldn’t have made sense... Marrakech... then four days on foot in the desert, alone with a guide, a camel driver, and two dromedaries... and Marrakech again. Everything mattered, even the smallest details, so this is a (very) long story. Behind the descriptions and anecdotes, there’s emotion, intimacy, and... soul-searching. All the things it’s strangely easier to share this way, all the things it’s strangely easier to share with people you don’t know... I have beautiful images in my eyes, but only a few are visible—if you read carefully, you’ll understand why. The other photos are imagined, created upon returning with souvenirs and a bit of staging. But everything is authentic.

Since I’ve been back, sometimes at night I open my eyes and don’t know where I am... Sleepless night, starry night, night of communion, connected night... In that suspended moment, between wakefulness and sleep, which makes you so receptive... Communion with whom? Connected to what? Lila gnawa... lila de derdeba.

The desert, a solitary path. You step in, and you’re immediately in the essential...

Wednesday... My companion drops me off at Orly Ouest... There are two hours before boarding. My MP3 player turns on but that’s it. It freezes—no commands work, and nothing fixes it... Smile... A trip without music, then? And the first anchor falls away.

(Photo...) ... Passport, tickets, receipts, labels...

Nose pressed to the window for the entire flight... Descending over Marrakech, at low altitude, a pretty mosaic—shades of pink and ochre dotted with green, but also, to the right, less harmonious, aligned cubes. Housing developments under construction? A bumpy, turbulent landing—the plane circles for a long time before touching down.

Welcomed by the familiar, unchanged sound of creaking doors and seats in the little taxis. In Casablanca, it was red Simca 1000s with meters; here, they’re yellow, and you have to negotiate the price. I have no talent for that, so here’s 100 DH!

Traversed and forgotten

Marrakech... Sunny, luminous, sensual. Torn between tradition and modernity... Shimmering and fragrant, very noisy... rather polluted? On the road, horses and donkeys still mingle with vehicles... and watch out for traffic when crossing! It’s always a strategic—and athletic—adventure: at what exact moment do you sprint to the opposite sidewalk? And why aren’t any street names marked?

Afternoon on foot, heading to the Bab Doukkala bus station... A landmark: the McDonald’s, then a square with a fountain. Then turn left onto Avenue Hassan II. There’s a bus to Zagora Friday morning, but I can only buy the ticket tomorrow. On the way back to the hotel, at a kiosk on the corner, I buy *Tel Quel*, which I read with great interest online.

Thursday... Early morning, walking to Place Jemaa el-Fna, calm and almost deserted... I don’t get a good deal buying two small daggers for my kids. No talent for haggling—it takes more than charm for that... So I’ll pick the rest of my gifts at the artisan center on Avenue Mohammed V, where prices are marked, and it’s a pleasure to watch the craftsmen work... For my daughter, a satchel and earrings. The satchel smells like goat. The earrings are hand-chiseled in front of me by a very young man with nimble fingers—marvels of delicacy and fragility. Then I linger for a long time in the souk alleys. Scents of leather, thuya and cedar wood, wool and copper... Familiar smells... Childhood memories...

Dear daggers

Earrings

Back at the bus station, an unexpected change: no bus Friday morning, but a departure tonight at 8:30 PM... I have a little time before packing, so I take a long detour: Boulevard de Safi, then right onto Avenue El Mansour to the Majorelle Garden... A quiet pause. Rare plants, all kinds of cacti—smooth, fuzzy, bristling with spines... strange, squat, or stretched-out shapes. An infinite variety of greens, and that famous blue... The song of birds, the sun and shadows playing in the water basins... Time flows lazily. I write postcards—they’ll arrive long after I’m back...

Back to the hotel. Avenue El Mansour, Boulevard Zerktouni—okay, but why are the small street names never marked?!! I get a little lost...

I hope you got my MMS, because before leaving, I left something for you at the front desk...

8 PM, night has already fallen. Arriving at the bus station, and then... Then, a step back... A dense crowd, a tangle of buses... Where to go?... Rare woman, lone foreigner, backpack... I’m quickly spotted, surrounded, poorly guided... Someone with a badge finally points me to the right sidewalk. The bus isn’t there, and the sidewalk is already packed, mostly with men. Will I even get a seat?... Three young men are particularly insistent... They want to know where I’m going and why, if someone is with me, if I’m expected... I answer with a smile. A bit tricky—choosing words, staying polite while evasive... Their French is hesitant, my Arabic is more than rudimentary... Actually, I shouldn’t have tried... Their tone becomes a bit... aggressive, and their eyes light up. Uh-oh... They say they’re students, but what of?... Want to know what I think of the Quran and Allah, what I think of holy war, if I’m "for the Americans," "for the Palestinians"... Other travelers intervene... And the bus still isn’t here... The speech turns fanatical... Then, my smile freezes a little... A small wave of panic, so I send a "freaked out" MMS... (But who else could I send it to?) Then, in this dark crowd, a light dressed in white... Nabila, a young student heading to Zagora for vacation, she speaks French... She plants herself in front of them and scolds them thoroughly. I didn’t catch everything, but it worked! The three troublemakers retreat. Plus, they weren’t on the right sidewalk, and their bus is about to leave without them...

Nabila and I manage to board and sit side by side... The bus leaves two hours late. The trip is long, a bit uncomfortable, slowed by many stops—it was very cold...

Friday... A little stiff, a little dazzled, a little chilled, arriving in Zagora at dawn with the sunrise... Magical! Craving something warm... And then, a heartfelt gift—kindness and hospitality—Nabila invites me to her home. Warm welcome from her mother and siblings, not at all surprised to see me show up so early to share their breakfast! A few hours in their company... We exchange addresses, and the youngest brother, Nouamare, gives me a children’s storybook...

Noon, at *La Fibule du Draa* Lahcen Sarti, the owner... I finally put a smile and a face to an email exchange... He shows me the trek route on the map, laughs when I tell him about my night on the bus, and sends me to rest by the pool... No swimsuit, so a lounge chair and a book... A book that will accompany me into the desert and which I’ll finish in Marrakech, in the Koutoubia Garden...

Saturday, Day 1... When I wake up this morning, I know the desert sand will also absorb my blood...

Early departure for four days and three nights, alone, as I wished, with a young guide, Mohammed, and a younger camel driver, Abdou. We’ll be together 24/7, and we won’t see a soul until we reach the fixed campsite on the third evening. Everything we need is loaded onto two dromedaries. And in those baskets, there are miracles—a *Prévert*-style inventory I’ll discover bit by bit, like... a tray for glasses, a basket for bread, a sugar loaf and small glasses for tea, but... large glasses and sugar cubes for coffee, spices, oranges, vegetables, raw eggs!... That won’t break, *La Vache qui Rit*... And so many other unexpected wonders, so surprising in the middle of the desert... (*La Vache qui Rit* is the desert butter. Every morning for breakfast, it was coffee with Nido powdered milk and *kesra* with *La Vache qui Rit* and Aïcha apricot jam... A delight.)

Start of the journey, and the beginning of a long, long walk... We’ll cover 80 km in three days, crossing all kinds of landscapes until the real desert of sand and dunes... I’ll drink water from wells, eat raw vegetables, sleep on a mattress that saddles the dromedaries by day... I’ll forget all the warnings and all my hygiene references... My body will quiet its complaints. No heat, no thirst, no fatigue, no trouble of any kind... just woken by the cold every morning around 6 AM... I take off my watch. Like my companions, I’ll live by the sun’s rhythm...

Abdou leads the dromedaries, so he walks at their pace. Sometimes, we’re grouped together. Sometimes the two guides are together, and I walk behind. Sometimes we talk. Nothing is forced, no discomfort. It’s a simple, harmonious dance—one foot in front of the other, following your shadow as it turns with the sun... Each step leaves behind the useless, the cumbersome, the superfluous... Room for intimacy... Room for silence... Room for the inner self... Facing yourself... I find seashells, and with my eyes closed, I smell the sea...

... One foot in front of the other...

I take out my camera... Capacity for a hundred shots, but it’ll be 10 photos, no more. It freezes—no commands work, and nothing fixes it... Smile... A trip without photos, then? And the second anchor falls... I think of my MP3 player...

... A few photos among the ten...

Noon... Unsaddling the dromedaries, which immediately wander off in search of food. And before the meal cooked by Mohammed, the mint tea ritual, prepared by Abdou in a tiny teapot... Thick, frothy, very sweet tea... He serves it on a tray with dates, peanuts, and raisins... And it’ll be like this every day, noon and night...

We gradually get to know each other... Mohammed, 25 years old... Calm, very introspective, almost ascetic, he knows the desert well and loves it... So at ease that he’ll walk in slippers or barefoot, no matter the terrain... When I’m behind him, the advertisement on the back of his sweatshirt makes me smile... There’s a date: January 8, 2003... A little wink from life? (I have a clear memory of that day.) Abdou, barely 20, with a round, jovial face. The mint tea master... When he hands me my glass, he says "Bismillah," and I respond in kind... A joker and a foodie. Thrilled that I only eat vegetables, he’ll have double the meat!

... Abdou and his teapot...

... Mohammed...

Late afternoon, a well... Abdou waters the dromedaries, and Mohammed fills the canteens. The caps aren’t watertight, so he wedges a piece of plastic bag found in one of the baskets and screws it on top... Forget all hygiene warnings...

First night in a tent at the foot of Jebel Baní...

... Jebel

Sunday, Day 2... Crossing and ascending Jebel Baní... A mineral, lunar landscape—rocks the color of burnt bread and anthracite gray. I pick up pretty pebbles, and Mohammed finds me a fossilized stone... Lunch in a deserted nomad oasis... When we resume our walk, the wind picks up. A wind that only blows in April, violent, terrible—the *Sahli*... Swirls of sand and gravel. Where’s the sky, where’s the earth... everything is dust, everything is yellow and opaque... The gusts are so strong they make us stagger. At times, we even have to crouch to avoid falling. In the acacia forest, Abdou and the dromedaries are only a few meters ahead, yet we can’t see them... We’ll later learn that on that day, planned excursions were canceled... That a group got lost and had to be picked up by 4x4... But Mohammed has a sense of the desert. He’s calm, he guides us... so we continue, and I trust him. He wraps a *chèche* around my head—a fragile barrier against these onslaughts... We have to keep moving, and it’s difficult... But the desert has accepted me, so without resistance, I accept it... And the sand gets everywhere... in my mouth, crunching between my teeth, in my eyes, ears, and nostrils... in my hair... A fine ochre layer covers my face and body, even under my clothes. I’ve become a sand woman... Communion... Fusion with the mineral. I absorb the desert’s prodigious power, just as the desert absorbs my blood...

We walked for four hours, pushed by this furious wind, before stopping for the night under an acacia... There, we had to set up the tent, which they did with difficulty. Then we had to weigh it down... So the utensils and the mint tea tray served as shovels to cover the edges with sand. Then Abdou took care of the dromedaries, holding one of their front legs bent with a rope to keep them from wandering too far... Then we brought everything into the tent and collapsed... but not for long.

Mohammed prepared kingly meals at noon and night with the wonders in the baskets: finely chopped raw vegetable salad, vegetable tagine, soup (and not from a packet!)... Even the canned sardines were garnished with thin orange slices... After this exhausting day for all of us, I told him that bread with *La Vache qui Rit* would be enough... He looked at me with a big smile and said his evening ritual phrase: "Now, Laurence, sit down, take your time, take your book..." He pulled his sand-filled utensils from the miraculous basket, his stove, some vegetables, and made us couscous (and not from a box!), couscous he rolled between his hands... Meanwhile, Abdou took out his sand-filled teapot, his sugar loaf, the peanuts, the dates... The mint tea ritual, like every day, noon and night...

Outside, the wind keeps blowing, stirring up sand whirlwinds... So I won’t go out like the other night to brush my teeth and hair. Just a wipe on my face to remove the dust... Mohammed turns off the gas lamp, and I curl up in my sleeping bag. The dromedaries have moved closer to my side of the tent, and the moonlight stretches their shadows on the canvas. They’ve settled in and make strange noises... We fall asleep very quickly...

Monday, Day 3... My two companions are still asleep when the cold wakes me at 6 AM, like every morning... Everything seems so calm—the wind has stopped... I untie the tent door and... A pure blue sky, gradually tinted with pink and flaming orange. The sun rises before my dazzled eyes. A day of light begins: no trace of yesterday’s storm, except sand... everywhere.

So, breakfast with sand... Then we shake out everything that can be shaken, sending clouds of dust flying... Then Abdou gives the dromedaries back their fourth leg, and we continue the journey.

After the expanses of stones and shrubs on the first day, the rocky ridges of Jebel Baní, and the acacia forest on the second day, the landscape changes, softens... We arrive in the desert as you imagine it, as you dream it, as you’ve seen in thousands of photos: endless golden dunes, in harmonious hollows and curves... The desert of sand... vast, fascinating...

Last meal for the three of us... Tonight, we’ll arrive at the fixed campsite, and we won’t be alone anymore. The break stretches on... So, a little apart on the smooth sand, I write a few words... an obvious truth... entrusting a secret to the desert. In a small box, I’ll bring back some of this magical sand...

.. A secret in the desert...

Abdou grabs my notebook and draws the dunes. Mohammed draws Abdou and his dromedaries... I learn to do dishes with the contents of a single glass of water... A tiny bird lands on my bag... A bird!... in the middle of nowhere!... The dromedaries seem to relish the acacia branches, thorns and all...

Desert drawings

We set off again... The dunes are higher... Easy to climb, the desert has sensual, feminine curves. A giant’s hand would fit its reliefs like a caress on a soft, supple body... The setting sun gives the landscape colors of amber and spices, cinnamon reflections... The sand offers me pink pebbles and pieces of white quartz that sparkle... I also find a black stone... Mystery...

Pink pebbles, fossilized pebbles, sparkling pebbles, and a black stone

Late afternoon, arrival at the fixed campsite at the foot of Erg Lihoudi... The guardian, Lahcen, a whirlwind of chatter and energy, welcomes us with mint tea. He quickly pegs me: "You do yoga, right?" He tells lots of anecdotes about his "clients," ending every sentence with: "No problem! *Machi mouchkil*... *Machi mouchkil*, no problem!" Around the tents, dozens... hundreds of big black beetles swarm on the sand... As I shudder, Lahcen gently picks one up and wants to put it on my hand: "*Machi mouchkil*! It doesn’t sting!"... I hold out a hesitant palm... Despite Lahcen’s infectious enthusiasm, I don’t like this last evening. Two groups arrived by 4x4 to spend a night in the desert... Noise of engines, cameras, voices, and exclamations... An intrusion into my bubble... I keep my distance... They’ll leave very early the next morning...

Memory of beetles

Tuesday, Day 4... Standing still on a sand dune, I see both the full moon and the sun in the same sky... A luminous face-off. Magical, overwhelming... Then the moon paled, and the sun blazed brighter. It wasn’t quite night anymore, but day wasn’t far off... The Sacred, Mystical universe unfolded before me... A moment of grace that made my heart beat a little faster... Something indescribable gradually filled me, with infinite gentleness, to the depths of my soul... Facing this unlikely encounter, hesitations, reluctance, and fears seem so trivial... What are we if not fragments of this universe where everything is united... everything is connected...

Then comes the intention of a new message: "I’d love to put a face to..." But in this exchange scattered with misunderstandings, could you receive the intention without interpreting it?...

I stayed a long time on that dune, under the spell... Standing, barefoot and rooted... heart open... Receptive... in Unity between the infinitely small grain of sand and the infinitely vast universe... I hadn’t come to seek anything, yet the generous Earth offered its energy, its subtle strength to every cell of my body, and filled my soul with light... In exchange for this blood spilled on the sand over these four days?...

Give to Receive... Receive and Give... like a signed pact.

What exiled me from my life, disrupting all my bearings, drew me here... A necessary passage through space, withdrawal, and silence... for another birth?... The real desert after the symbolic desert... Pausing for a moment, as if at a crossroads. Connecting before continuing... If this path leads to the essential, then this path has a heart and will continue...

At the foot of the dune on the way down, I found a little Fatima’s hand made of beads. A gift from the desert...

Gift from the desert, good luck charm?

Mohammed and Abdou leave Erg Lihoudi with other people—our shared adventure ends here... Emotion... looks and gestures speak louder than any words... Thank you, from the bottom of my heart...

Return to Zagora in a rickety, bumpy 4x4... After the track, we cross a vast palm grove... Shimmering colors, lush vegetation, palm trees growing in wheat fields... Tender green of the ears, faded green of the fronds, all shades of green contrast with the ochre and pink stone walls... My eyes rediscover green... My eyes rediscover colors... On a narrow path, the 4x4 finds itself facing a donkey carrying three children on its back... Impossible to pass. Who will back up?... Well, roaring progress bowed to four-legged tradition: in a cloud of dust, the 4x4 reversed for several hundred meters... The donkey passed calmly... On its back, the three children waved their hands...

Noon, arrival at *La Fibule du Draa*... Smiling welcome from Lahcen. He offers me a shower—I refuse... Even if he seems a little surprised, he has the delicacy not to show it too much... Strangely, I don’t feel dirty. Yet my clothes are the same, and my body hasn’t seen a drop of water since the day I left... But I want to keep the warmth and the smell of sand on my skin... reconnecting with forgotten, instinctive, animal sensations... So, I transfer my meticulousness and civilized conditioning to my bag... I take everything out, empty it, shake it... hunting down the smallest grain of sand... Futile effort! (I still find some today...) The afternoon stretches lazily by the pool... I contemplate my pebbles and make a lovely encounter...

The Zagora-Marrakech bus leaves at 7 PM... It’s the night of the full moon, and as soon as night falls, the sky fills with stars... Points of light without beginning, without duration, without end... Tiny lights so distant and so close...

Wanting to share this moment... And with whom else? If you look up, you’re the only one seeing the same sky as me. So, the intention of another message. But in this fragile, stumbling exchange... marked by misunderstandings... could you receive the intention without interpreting it?

The trip is shorter than on the way there, but barely more comfortable. A speaker right above my seat blares music and incantations the whole way... Halfway through, the same unusual stop in a village lit up and bustling as if it were daytime (Taddart, I think...). Along the main street, the ground is checkered black and white. Butcher stalls display entire beef carcasses... Smells of smoke and grilling... People are busy... Others, seated, are eating... in the middle of the night.

Arrival in Marrakech at 2 AM. Taxi strike, no room until tonight... Uh-oh! My backpack draws attention: a car stops and offers to take me for 80 DH... Trust... Five minutes later, I push open the door of *Le Toulousain*... The guard offers to let me finish the night on one of the lobby benches. I unfold my sleeping bag and slip into the desert’s scent... No sleep. But with my eyes closed, I see the stars... You came to pick up my bulky envelope.

Wednesday... Difficult early morning... Now, I feel dirty, my clothes bother me, my shoes hurt... Craving a long hot shower, wanting to find my body, wash my hair, put on cream, do my nails, and... It’ll be a long shower... cold! The hotel is charming but a bit run-down.

Clothes from 4 days...

Afternoon on foot in the quiet Hivernage district, searching for a childhood memory that may have changed names: the *Holiday Inn* hotel... I didn’t find it, or didn’t recognize it. Long stroll in the Menara Gardens, and return to the hotel at sunset...

Thursday... Last day... Wanting to see the Marrakech Museum because the founder was a friend of my father’s... So, the familiar route: the McDonald’s, the square with the fountain, Avenue Hassan II, Bab Doukkala... but this time, I pass through the ramparts, and in the old city—sensual, charming, enchanting—I get lost, found, and lost again... I tracked down the museum and the Ben Youssef Madrasa at the end of a maze of alleys... Followed scents of mint, olives, honey, and cinnamon... Savored, moved, the same donuts as in my childhood—golden fried dough rings with a hole in the middle, tied together with a blade of grass... (I don’t remember the name...) I filled my eyes with pretty things and exchanged smiles... Received, just like that... A gift... a ring for my little finger... Someone called out to me: "Hey, gazelle," and it made me happy...

.. Still lost!...

Afternoon in the sun in the Koutoubia Gardens. I finish my book—sand falls from between the pages...

.. Started on the plane... read in the desert... finished in Marrakech...

Melancholy of the last evening... So, on the way back to the hotel, I buy *kesra* and *La Vache qui Rit*...

Long, long sleepless night... Flight in a few hours... Happy to see the ones I love again, too.

Thoughts, emotions, sensations, images... Questions... One question... So, more than reason, going over and over the question... What there is to live, it’ll have to be lived...

The desert, a solitary path... like all paths that lead to the essential...

3:30 AM, your message, read by the metallic voice of a voicemail. And you, facing physical failure, past mistakes, fear... A solitary path. Also. Like all paths that lead to the essential...

Open

Aleph240758 6 days ago

Villages around Hazaribagh in West Bengal

Wednesday, April 1st

Hazaribagh I’ve got a meet-up with Adam Iman, a guide and painter. He picks me up from the hotel at 10 AM. Another traveler from Bangalore is supposed to join us, but while we wait for him to arrive, Adam takes me to see the paintings his mother and sister created at Hazaribagh station. The town became famous thanks to these murals, which can also be found in several surrounding villages. This art form has earned recognition and is now protected, a sign of its cultural importance. Once the visit is over, we go to pick up the other traveler and then head to our first village: Belwara, where Sohrai art is practiced. At the entrance, a sign proudly announces that we’re entering an artists’ village, where this art is created by women organized into micro-enterprises. Some even offer workshops for those who’d like to learn this tradition.

Sohrai art is tied to the harvest season, from October to mid-November. The motifs, in natural colors, celebrate fertility and abundance. The artists use pigments from the earth: red oxides, ochre, white kaolin, and black manganese. On the walls, you’ll see animals, fish, birds—all symbols of life and prosperity. As I look closer at the murals, I start to realize that each motif tells a story. Large animals like cows or bulls often take center stage. Their bodies are filled with intricate, almost hypnotic patterns. They symbolize wealth and prosperity for the household, as well as the deep respect for cattle, which are essential to daily life. On some facades, elephants stand out—massive and decorated with the same precision. They evoke quiet strength and protection. But it’s when I stop in front of one of the houses that I really take the time to look. The wall, a soft ochre, is entirely covered in murals. Two large animals stretch out on either side of the door, their elongated bodies fitting the length of the wall. Their silhouettes are filled with geometric patterns and incredibly fine curved lines, as if every space was patiently filled. Around them, stylized plants, flowers, and small decorative elements fill every gap. The door, dark and worn, becomes almost the silent center of the composition, framed by these living, protective forms. To the right, a more colorful motif catches the eye—a flower or a stylized lamp—like a touch of light on the earth. The whole thing gives an impression of perfect balance, between the rigor of the patterns and the freedom of the gesture.

Elsewhere, birds and freer forms bring movement. Peacocks, recognizable by their stylized silhouettes, embody beauty and vitality, while fish symbolize water, fertility, and the continuity of life.

On some paintings, the scenes become almost narrative: you can make out figures, everyday gestures, like a memory of the village inscribed in the walls. The decorative frames around the doors aren’t left to chance either—they symbolically protect the house, like a boundary between the inside and the outside world.

During the Sohrai festival, cattle are led into the jungle in the morning. Meanwhile, the women finish the *aripans*—these floor paintings—and continue the wall murals. Around noon, the animals return to the village, and the bulls’ horns are anointed with oil and vermilion in a gesture of gratitude, amid the vibrant colors adorning the houses. We visit several artists, including Parvat Devi, a well-known woman who has received many awards. Her arms are adorned with intriguing tattoos, which I’ll talk about in more detail later.

On another wall, the style changes completely. Here, no massive animals—just birds occupying the space, light and graceful, as if caught in mid-movement. Two silhouettes face each other, their long necks arched almost like mirrors, while their outstretched wings seem to vibrate with the patterns that compose them.

The design is more graphic, almost airy. The lines are smoother, more fluid, as if drawn in one confident stroke. The birds’ bodies aren’t solid—they’re filled with repetitive motifs like scales, stylized feathers, and spirals, giving a sense of continuous movement. Around them, everything comes to life: flowers burst open, arabesques swirl, and even the simplest shapes seem alive. What strikes me here is the sense of lightness. Where the large animals evoked stability and grounding, these birds bring something freer, almost joyful. They seem to embody movement, the circulation of life, like a breath flowing through the village.

The colors remain the same—deep reds, intense blacks, and chalky white—but the rhythm is different. Faster, more spontaneous. As if each wall had its own personality, while still speaking the same language.

That’s probably why I’m so moved. I’d heard about these paintings from my friend Raja, and last year, I saw an exhibition in a village near my home. That first encounter made me want to come here. But seeing them in person is a whole different experience. These paintings are unique. This ancient art is passed down from mother to daughter, or mother-in-law to daughter-in-law, in a quiet, deeply living continuity. At first glance, it might seem almost childlike in its simplicity and pared-down forms. And yet, everything is thought out, balanced, mastered. Nothing is left to chance.

That apparent simplicity, combined with such rich symbolism, touches me deeply. There’s something sincere and essential in these walls—and that’s what moves me.

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Oliverte64 6 days ago

Short video of our trip from northern Vietnam to Yunnan via Upper Laos

Here’s a little clip we filmed in November–December 2019 (just before Covid) of a trip from Hanoi to Cat Ba Bay and then on to Xishuangbanna via Luang Namtha.

https://youtu.be/suZYN3LvgkQ

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Aleph240758 7 days ago · Bananette

A month in Cambodia in November 2024

Here we go!!! I left home at 4 AM on October 31st and headed to Barcelona. Driving through Barcelona on the ring road stresses me out a bit, but at 6 AM the traffic is smooth, and I arrive at the airport without any issues. I call the valet, who quickly comes to pick up my car. He takes photos of it from all angles before letting me go.

Baggage check-in hasn’t started yet, and there are already several of us waiting.

Once free, everything happens very quickly. The flight to Abu Dhabi is on time and goes smoothly. I’ve never had any problems with this airline, which I’ve been using for several years.

The flight to Bangkok arrives at 7 AM as scheduled. This is my first time in Thailand and Bangkok. I’m used to traveling in India, and I notice that everything here is well organized—the customs process is quick, and the luggage is already on the carousel.

I booked a taxi on Booking. All I have to do is find the right exit and door based on the agency’s instructions. A large sign with the names of people who booked is posted on a wall. A hostess greets me and calls the taxi, which arrives 5 minutes later. I booked one night at the Lost Inn BKK hotel in the Phra Nakhon district, and we arrive at 9 AM. The welcome isn’t warm, and I have to wait until noon, sitting on a chair, before I can check into my room. I’m exhausted, and sleeping sitting up isn’t ideal. Noon finally arrives—the room is small but clean, which is fine for one night. I quickly take a shower to wake up because I plan to spend the afternoon visiting the Grand Palace. First, I need to exchange some money, and the banks are all close together on the same street, which is very convenient. When I enter one, a hostess gives me a ticket and invites me to sit down. There are about twenty counters, and I wait quietly until my number is called. The exchange is quick, so I can head out to find the Royal Palace. It’s actually very easy, and the walk is pleasant.

Entry to the Royal Palace (500 baht).

It’s magnificent and grand, and there are quite a few of us visiting. The sky is gray, it’s very humid, and a shower interrupts the visit. It’s a vast complex of temples and palaces. The buildings are colorful and sparkling, with a great sense of serenity (without the tourists, of course). I quietly enjoy the place and try to take photos without tourists, which isn’t easy.

Very close to the Grand Palace is Wat Pho, one of the oldest Buddhist temples in the capital.

It’s very famous for its 46-meter-long reclining Buddha statue.

Walking around the temple, you can see different representations of Buddha, all covered in gold leaf.

Inside the temple, on one side, monks recite their prayers, while the other side is reserved for tourists who come to meditate in silence.

Before returning to the hotel, I have dinner at an Indian restaurant. I go to bed early because tomorrow’s wake-up call will be very early again.

Saturday, November 2nd Wake-up at 4 AM, departure from the hotel at 4:30 AM. The taxi I booked via Booking is waiting for me and takes me to the airport. The trip is fairly quick—he takes small roads, and at this hour, there’s no traffic.

The flight to Phnom Penh is on time. Before boarding, I realize I left my fleece jacket on the carousel, but it’s too late to go back for it.

The flight goes well, and customs is quick.

At the exit, I take a tuk-tuk to Julieka’s GH near the museum. The welcome is friendly. I won’t be able to check into my room until noon, so I take the opportunity to exchange some euros on the market street. The street is lined with restaurants, and I’ll have my first meal there.

The museum is right across the street, so I don’t waste any time visiting it.

The representations of Hindu deities are very different from those in India, and I don’t recognize them. Many beautiful Buddhas are on display.

The museum is very pleasant, and there aren’t too many people, which is a plus.

At the exit, I return to the GH, settle into my room—which is decent and clean.

The Royal Palace is 1 km away. I walk along a garden, and at the end of the street is the Tonlé Sap, but I turn right. I arrive at a large esplanade and see the buildings with tiered roofs and glazed tiles. The entrance to the palace is a little further away.

At the entrance, I notice there isn’t the same crowd as at the one in BKK.

Khmer architecture is magnificent. The complex consists of gardens, palaces, pagodas with golden roofs, and slender spires.

The Silver Pagoda houses the small Emerald Buddha, which is actually made of jade. The silver flooring is covered with carpets. Photos are not allowed.

The walls surrounding the pagoda are covered with frescoes depicting scenes from the Ramayana.

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Aleph240758 7 days ago · Explora30FER

New adventures from Perpignan to Ranchi (Jharkhand)

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.

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Bibouns51 7 days ago · JeffPrX

Off on a winter adventure in the American West!

Day 1 – February 14

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?

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Patbill last week · Tulipe57

Three beautiful weeks during the Japanese autumn

I’m sharing our three-week trip to Japan from late October to mid-November 2025. There were four of us—my partner and a couple of friends. I’ve traveled often with my friend Christian (Bolivia, Argentina, Costa Rica, Namibia, Laos), but this time our partners joined us. The rough itinerary: Arrival in Tokyo. Visiting Shinjuku/Shibuya districts + day trip to Kamakura 5 days in the Japanese Alps, from Matsumoto to Kanazawa (via Kamikochi, Hirayu Onsen, and Takayama) 5 days in Kyoto Nara, Osaka, Koyasan Return to Tokyo (Asakusa district), with a day trip to Nikko We booked our flights well in advance (9 months ahead): the flight cost 1086 € per person. Compared to over 2000 € if we’d booked for the same dates just 3 months prior. For accommodations, we mostly used Booking.com. The onsen was booked via Japanican, and in Kyoto, we stayed in an Airbnb. We also made 5 train reservations a month in advance on Klook or directly on the train’s website.

Day 1: Departure from Brussels (October 24, 2025) Early morning takeoff at 6 AM to Munich (1.5-hour layover) with Lufthansa, then a 12-hour flight with ANA, arriving the next morning at 7 AM at Tokyo Haneda.

Day 2: Arrival in Tokyo Airport formalities were quick. The eSIM we bought before leaving activated as soon as we landed (10 GB plan with Saily—more than enough for our mobile internet needs, mainly Google Maps and Google Translate). We’d received 4 ICOCA cards from our neighbors, which we loaded with 15000 ¥ each. We took the Keihin train, then the Yamanote Line. It’s easy to navigate since everything is in English, and each station is announced on scrolling displays in English too.

We got off the Yamanote Line at the station just after Shinjuku because it’s easier to exit that massive station with our luggage. So we ended up in Shin-Okubo, right in the Korean district. A 10-minute walk took us to Villa Fontaine Hotel. A great hotel, well-located north of the Kabukichō district. The room even seemed bigger than we’d expected.

It was 15°C, but it rained—and kept raining on and off all day. Belgian weather, basically. We went for a walk in Shinjuku Gyoen Park. Not as pretty in the rain, but the big greenhouse was interesting.

Then our first ramen (hearty and for 1000 ¥—pretty much the price of all our ramen during the trip). We headed back to the hotel since check-in was after 3 PM. Shower and relax before going out for dinner. Dinner was barbecue at Shichirin Yakiniku Anan (1700 ¥ each—good and cheap). Ordering via tablet wasn’t easy, but luckily it was in English.

We ended the evening with a stroll through Kabukichō before a well-deserved sleep.

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Phil64 last week · Kola

Live from India - Act III (on the way to the Himalayas)

Namaste! Here I am live from Delhi, past midnight, at least 30 degrees.... I wanted to post the start of this France travel journal but couldn’t find the time, so here it is live! Off we go for a third trip, but this time for double the duration—6 weeks with the goal of discovering Ladakh and Spiti, starting with a detour to Varanasi to meet up with Babeli and her family.

Phir milenge for the rest of the adventures...

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MirandaMouse 2 weeks ago

Mice in Switzerland, the Other Cheese Country!

I'm starting my first travel journal since VF reopened!

This will mostly be to share my impressions and some photos, with a few days' delay, but I'm starting this journal while I'm still here.

First, I'd like to thank those who helped me prepare for this trip.

I was able to organize this stay in one of the most expensive countries in the world thanks to the home-exchange principle. Not necessarily a direct swap, but through a points system, which is more practical for choosing where you want to go without it having to be a reciprocal exchange.

For this trip, there will already be two different accommodations. We'll see how it goes after that.

The first place is near Yverdon-les-Bains, close to Lake Neuchâtel.

So, we're going to explore this area!

We arrived under capricious weather that won’t leave us for the next few days!

We had dinner at a pizzeria recommended by *Le Routard* in Yverdon, then took a little nighttime stroll through the town center before heading inland to settle into our accommodation.

We discovered a very large, quiet house—and especially the cat that stayed behind! Funny for a couple of mice! He’ll be sleeping with us 😹

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Montagnard74 2 weeks ago · Muriel18

Turkey 2026: Riviera, Antalya, and Cappadocia

Hi everyone!

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!

A little sneak peek?

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GeorgesOZ 2 weeks ago · Hypnos

Langtang – Trekking in the Rain

We did the Langtang trek (hike) from September 10th to 17th, with the first and last days being the trip from Kathmandu and back—so 6 days of actual walking. It’s a fairly well-known trek but certainly not as famous or crowded as those in the Annapurna or Everest regions, which is why we chose it.

In theory, it’s mandatory to have a guide for this trek. In reality, it seems there are ways to bypass the regulations: we met at least two people hiking without a guide—a South Korean, a New Zealander, and possibly also a couple of English women and an American couple, though we’re not sure if they had a guide.

The agency we booked with had told us it was an affordable trek for relatively older people in good shape—which is our case (I’m 72 myself). I have to say upfront that we found it quite challenging, maybe because we didn’t have good weather—it was the end of the monsoon season. To be clear, no matter your fitness level, I’d say doing this trek in the middle of the monsoon season would be suicidal.

Day 1 – Journey from Kathmandu to Syapru Besi

On Monday, September 8th, there had been violent protests in Kathmandu against the government, which had, among other things, blocked access to social media and been accused of nepotism and corruption. There were 19 deaths. The situation was very tense on the day of our departure, Wednesday the 10th. The agency warned us that public transport was very unreliable. So, we decided to take a jeep, at an additional cost of $100 ($160 minus what was already budgeted for the bus).

We left a little before 7 a.m. and it took us a good hour just to reach the outskirts of Kathmandu. Along the way, we saw several houses and vehicles set on fire by protesters.

The road to Syapru Besi is only 120 km, but it’s frankly awful. It’s always narrow, winds through endless mountains, and the shoulders range from bad to confusing to nonexistent. Several sections are just dirt tracks. We didn’t regret opting for the jeep, as we could stop several times at our convenience—if only to let Y (my Thai partner) throw up everything she had. She’d taken her usual motion sickness medication, but the constant turns, accelerations, and braking eventually made her terribly carsick.

In Nuwakot, we stopped for breakfast at a nice little restaurant, Jimbu. It was around 8:30 a.m., and we’d barely covered 60 km. The restaurant has a lovely garden overlooking the Trishuli Ganga, the river flowing down from Syapru Besi. First photo: the river in the bottom right corner, mist and clouds over the mountain on the other side.

An hour later, my second photo: the hills along the Trishuli Ganga. You can see the different crops—lush green rice paddies in the lower right and corn, already yellowed and likely harvested, in the foreground on the left. And of course, the mist and clouds through which you can glimpse the mountain on the other side of the river.

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Calisson94 3 weeks ago

Back to Swedish Lapland: Trekking the Kungsleden and Crossing Sarek

Summer 2022 left me with a sense of unfinished business, so here I am back in Swedish Lapland for summer 2024, ready to attempt the Sarek crossing again—and this time, tackle part of the Kungsleden too.

After much hesitation, my partner Jean Marie and I decided to start with the Kungsleden, which is, from what we’ve read, stunning but very busy (and it really is!!), and finish with the wilder option: SAREK! This park is known as Europe’s last true wilderness—sounds like a dream, right?! The downside of this plan is that there’s no way to resupply in Sarek, and the Kungsleden isn’t exactly set up for long-distance trekking either, so we’ll have to carry a lot of food for the first part of the trip with Sarek in mind. Oh well, we’re motivated!

Our plan is to start in Abisko (the classic route), head to Vakkotavare (also classic, but with some variations to avoid the official trail and the crowds), then continue the Kungsleden from Saltoluokta. Before reaching 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 bail on Sarek.

All in all, that’s 17 days of trekking, including 1 rest day and 1 buffer day for weather delays.

So if you’re interested, I invite you to follow our fully packed backpacks!

08/03 - Abisko – 5km before Abiskojaure Some info (guides we 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 - Sarek or no Sarek? 08/13 – Skierfe – somewhere above Rapadalen 08/14 – Somewhere above Rapadalen – above the Skarki hut 08/15 – Above the Skarki hut - Skarja 08/16 – Camping at Skarja 08/17 – Ruohtesvagge 08/18 – Ruohtesvagge - Padjelantaleden 08/19 – Padjelantaleden - Ritsem – End of the trek 08/20–24 - End of the trip (Lullea - Stockholm) And of course, the recap

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RichardXI 3 weeks ago

Page by Page on the Assisi Way – 1,200 km on Foot

Preamble

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.

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Cendryon 3 weeks ago · Eole34

Kattegat Tour and Norway’s Majestic Fjords – 32 Days (Denmark, Sweden, Norway)

Kattegat isn’t just the name of the village in the TV series *Vikings*—it’s also the stretch of water separating Denmark from Sweden... the sea, basically! And further north, you’ve got Norway and its fjords! Originally, I’d planned to just do a loop around Kattegat, with the *Under* restaurant in Lindesnes as our anniversary treat... but along the way, we thought, why not "push" a little further north, keeping an eye on the budget since we’d chosen to travel by car in June 2025 through Scandinavia.

Why by car when most travelers opt for a camper van, while others prefer the comfort of cruises? Well, because we don’t own a camper van, renting one is pricey, and then you’ve got to add fuel costs (those things guzzle gas!), ferry fees, and other "tolls." All things considered, we went for mostly rentals—especially since there were four of us at the start of the trip. We spent the first week in Denmark with our daughter and son-in-law. Then they flew back to Belgium, and we continued our adventure as a couple. For accommodation, we mainly booked Airbnb apartments, which helped keep costs down and, most importantly, let us prepare our own meals (diet, diet!). In this travel journal, you’ll discover (or rediscover, for those who followed my older ones) our unbridled love for theme parks, museums, unique experiences, and—especially in Denmark—Legos! Unfortunately, we didn’t do any hikes this year because the unpredictable weather had made the trails slippery, and since I’d already taken three tumbles during the trip, I didn’t want to risk another! In the end, we traveled for 32 days, covered 6,200 km, and most importantly, discovered the charming country of Denmark, marveled at Norway’s breathtaking fjords—all without suffering the heatwave that hit France and Belgium that June! If you’ve got any questions, don’t hesitate to ask!

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Servanel 4 weeks ago · Vandfaure

Two weeks in Malaysia in September 2017

Hi there,

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! 😴

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Muriel18 4 weeks ago · Puma2A

Two weeks under the Puglia sun

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.

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Fabhyène 4 weeks ago · Chrisfenua

3 weeks in Laos, stress-free

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

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Torpan last month · Tulipe57

Japan: First Discovery!

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).

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Fabhyène last month · Tulipe57

Draw Me Your Japan...

Hi there!

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:

To be continued...

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Holigirl last month · Solene40

South Africa in safari mode: February/March 2026

Hi everyone,

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.

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Caroki last month

Three weeks in Albania with two older teens

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!

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Attila last month · ReneVoyageur

Albania in Autumn Colors

A new work assignment means our vacation dates can't stay the same.

We had planned to go to the Canary Islands, but flight prices are skyrocketing with this new holiday schedule.

So, I’m looking for an alternative to Gran Canaria and El Hierro and found two round-trip flights with Wizz Air to Tirana.

398 €, including baggage and seats—perfect!

Plus, the departure and return times are great, which is pretty rare for a low-cost flight!

All that’s left is to rent a car, plan the route, and book accommodations.

With two weeks, we’ll have to make some choices!

Here’s the final itinerary: Shkodra (2 nights), Valbonë (3 nights), Tirana (1 night), Lake Ohrid (1 night), Korçë (1 night), Përmet (1 night), Gjirokastër (1 night), Himarë (2 nights), Berat (2 nights), and Krujë (1 night).

A mix of countryside and small towns, a bit of the Mediterranean, and some mountains!

Late October isn’t the best season, so let’s keep our fingers crossed for the rest...

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