Elles voyagent seules...

Nous souhaitons passer 1 mois au Vietnam . L'aide d'un guide est-ce utile?

Hi everyone! 😉 I’m Typhaine, 35 years old. Five years ago, I left France for a solo round-the-world trip—no planes, just a van, hitchhiking, cycling, and even a canoe in the Amazon! Today, I work as a naturalist guide in Argentine Patagonia. Wherever I go, my compass stays the same: observing and photographing wildlife, which I deeply admire and respect.

My project: I’d love to share this experience through a sustainable, authentic, and immersive nature tourism initiative. But to build something meaningful, I need to understand how other nature enthusiasts experience their own adventures.

If you:

Are over 20 years old

Have a true passion for Nature

Have already taken at least one trip lasting more than 3 nights (in your country or abroad) in your life

Then... would you have 5 to 7 minutes to help me by filling out this questionnaire? 🙂 »» https://forms.gle/y74ckkvN9TjrougLA

Promise: I’m not selling anything, this isn’t marketing. Your answers are 100% anonymous and will only help me shape this wild project. A huge thank you to everyone for your help and kindness! Looking forward to chatting in this thread 😛

(Dear admins, this is purely a collaborative effort for my project study, with no commercial purpose. Thank you so much for your support!)

Photo: Grizzly Bear (Ursus arctos horribilis), female on the left and her cub on the right. Photo taken by me in Alaska, Denali National Park.

Hello everyone,

It’s something we often notice in this forum—and many others—this behavioral shift.

A long-time member, or even a new one, asks a question. They get one or more answers, some brief, some detailed, and then... nothing???

Not even a simple thank you!!!

From what I’ve gathered, if the answers don’t align with what they wanted to hear, it seems natural for the asker to just disappear!! 😕 Unless—(and I fear this is the case)—basic politeness is no longer part of our society????

Please forgive my little rant.

Wishing everyone all the best. Cheers,

Puma2A



...

I spent 3 weeks in Bali last summer (+ 3 nights on Gili Meno and a day trip to Kawah Ijen in Java). So I wanted to see what ChatGPT could suggest for comparison...

Here’s the prompt I gave:

"You’re a local expert guide for Bali.

- Plan a 20-day itinerary for Bali with a side trip to Gili Meno and a day trip to Kawah Ijen in Java without staying overnight.

- I’m traveling with my wife, and I love visiting historical sites, hiking, relaxing at the beach, snorkeling, and exploring rice terraces...

- For the duration of the stay, I don’t want more than 8 places to sleep, and I’d like to stay at least 2 days at each stop to avoid unpacking too often. Except for the last night, where I’m okay with just one night near the airport.

- I prefer neighborhoods that are walkable and try to avoid typical tourist traps, though I don’t want to miss the must-see spots. So suggest a mix of iconic sites and hidden gems.

- Recommend hotels or guesthouses with a budget of 50 to 100 € per night, including breakfast. Make suggestions in areas popular with travelers, specifying the vibe (I prefer quiet), and consider safety and proximity to attractions.

- For lunch and dinner, suggest two to three restaurants that are well-rated by customers.

- Give me a day-by-day program with details on travel times, visiting times for each point of interest, and recommendations for transportation (taxi, train, bike, etc.). Estimate the total cost of the trip, including accommodations, food, transportation, and activities, and suggest two tips for saving money in each category.

- Don’t make anything up—be realistic about travel times, take into account the opening dates and hours of sites, and give me the entry fees for places to visit.

- Ask me all the questions until you’re 95% sure you understand what’s being asked. Don’t generate your response until you’ve understood."

The AI asked for a few clarifications:

"Great request—I can build you a really optimized and enjoyable itinerary, but to be 95% sure I hit the mark, I need a few key clarifications (this will really influence the pace, areas, and accommodations)."

In the end, it proposed a program very close to what we actually did. I’ll skip its accommodation and restaurant suggestions...

Its proposal:

"Ubud (4 nights) => we did 5 nights Sidemen (2 nights) Amed (3 nights) => we’d planned 2 nights Gili Meno (3 nights) => we did Gili between Sidemen and Amed Munduk (3 nights) => we did 2 nights before Pemuteran Pemuteran (3 nights) with Ijen => we did 4 nights Sanur (2 nights + 1 last night) => we chose Jatiluwih instead of Sanur

It suggested "activities" (and accommodations too):

IN UBUD: - Walk around central Ubud (1–2h) - Campuhan Ridge Walk - Tegalalang Rice Terrace - Tirta Empul - Gunung Kawi - Massage / market / slow café

IN SIDEMEN: - Rice terrace hike (2–3h) - Cooking class

IN AMED: - Snorkeling - Japanese Shipwreck - Beach + relaxation - Volcano sunset

ON GILI: - Snorkeling at Gili Meno Turtle Point, Nest Underwater Statues

IN MUNDUK: - Jungle & waterfall hike - Munduk Waterfall + Melanting Waterfall - Loop: 3–4h (perfect for your level) - Ulun Danu Bratan Temple - Twin Lakes

IN PEMUTERAN - Snorkeling: Menjangan Island

For Kawah Ijen, it detailed the day well: 👍 from Pemuteran = best possible option 12 PM: leave hotel (we left at 10 PM) 1 PM: ferry 3 PM: arrival in Java + transfer 11 PM: start ascent 2 AM–6 AM: volcano Return to Bali around 11 AM–12 PM (we got back at 4 PM) 👍 still very intense, but doable with an agency 💰 ~80–120 €/person all-inclusive

IN SANUR: - Relaxation - Quiet beach - Proximity to airport (30 min)"

BUDGET: "3,000 – 3,900 € for 2 people" (We paid 3,200 €)

In conclusion, it’s not (yet) enough, but it’s (already) pretty impressive!

Hello everyone,

I’m sharing the menu posted at the entrance of a bar at the foot of the Porto Tower in Southern Corsica. . .

. .

Greetings and have a great Sunday.

Puma2A . .



...

J'ai gardé comme habitude, de me moucher à l'évier, et de me laver ensuite les mains, coutume ramenée d'Inde, parfois, ca choque certains non voyageurs quand je suis prise en flagrand délit... Aussi, quand je tombe en panne de pq, ca ne me dérange pas, sauf si j'ai de la visite... 🤪

Maintenant je reviens d'avoir baladé le chien (d'un copain en vacance), portant djellabah et bottine tibétaine... 😏😏😏 Ah pour sur si j'avais croisé des locaux, sans doute aurais je choqué?😏

Enfin, tant que je ne suis pas à cracher par terre au resto et à m'accroupir sur le bord d'une autoroute bouteille d'eau en main... Et vous, vous ramenez des coutumes au pays?

After taking a little trip around the world, I came back a few months ago with an idea in mind.

I mostly do diving, and I love observing animals in their natural habitat without disturbing them.

During the trip, I realized it was quite complicated to know where and when to see certain species.

For example:

where to dive with sharks or manta rays where you might get a chance to swim with whales

I even discovered thresher sharks during my trip… I didn’t even know this species existed before, even though they’re incredible to see.

We spent a ton of time searching for info all over the place, especially on social media, without ever getting a clear picture.

So I started putting all this together on my own, in the form of a map, to make it easier to visualize where to go depending on the seasons.

I recently put a first version online (it’s called Fauneya). There are probably mistakes, inconsistencies, or things to improve, and that’s partly why I’m posting here.

I’d really love to know how you all go about planning this kind of trip.

As part of my Master’s thesis, I’m currently conducting a public survey on a topic that concerns all of us when planning a trip: artificial intelligence and the role of human contact in travel planning.

These days, we’re using more and more digital tools to find ideas, compare options, and book trips... but is the role of human advisors still essential? At what moments? And for what types of trips?

The survey is anonymous and takes about 7 minutes.

It’s aimed at anyone who travels (or has traveled) for leisure, whether you plan everything yourself or go through an agency.

Survey link: https://docs.google.com/forms/d/e/1FAIpQLSdkmBzW2QOE3_ZirhmdG8e2LQyaWLJxWUeyTR0LzpC8ytlufQ/viewform

Your response will be a huge help for my work and will contribute to a broader reflection on the future of the travel experience.

Thanks in advance to everyone who takes the time to participate!!

en parcourant le forum pour glaner des infos pour mon prochain voyage en thailande, je vois souvent les mots "voyageur, grand voyageur" mais aussi "touriste" donc pour vous quelle est la nuance?

I've traveled quite a bit in Vietnam over the past few years—from the southern delta to bustling cities and even some small islands—but what really sticks with me is the north, the high mountains. Up there, there's something different—maybe slower, more raw. The morning markets with ethnic groups, women in traditional clothes, the colors... The stilt houses, kids following you and laughing for no reason, the terraced rice fields—it almost feels unreal at times, so vast and quiet, yet so human and simple. You often hear that Sapa has become too touristy, and that's partly true, especially in the center. But as soon as you move a little farther away, everything changes quickly. The landscapes open up, encounters feel more natural, and you rediscover something truly authentic. I think it's that contrast that struck me—the difference between what you imagine before going and what you actually discover when you take the time. And you—what memory do you hold onto from Vietnam? A particular place that touched you more than others?

Hello, We’re finalizing the plans for our upcoming trip to China in May 2025. The second-to-last stop will be in Zhangjiajie, where we’ve planned to stay for 2 full days before heading to Shanghai. We’re traveling solo using local transport and have arranged to stay in the city of Zhangjiajie.

We’ve seen that there’s a lot to see: Tianmen Mountain, the Grand Canyon and the glass bridge, Zhangjiajie National Park, and that the sites are quite far apart with fairly expensive entry fees. We’re thinking of dedicating one day to the national park and the Grand Canyon (glass bridge) and one day to Tianmen Mountain. But we’re not sure if this plan is realistic—any thoughts would be much appreciated!

Do you know if it’s possible to get around on our own, or is it better to go through a local agency or book a package like the one sold by TravelChinaGuide? https://www.travelchinaguide.com/package/zhangjiajie/2days-tour.htm

Thanks in advance for your advice! Alod

Hello 🙂

I should be serving a warming drink to the participants in the discussion about gardens and parks that provide us with beautiful photos, I could mention the delicious buttery scent wafting from bakeries in the thread about returning to France, but my heart, its powerful pulse that nourishes my entire being, is elsewhere.

Dasht-e Lut, Yazd, Esfahan, Bam, Kerman, Qeshm, Hormuz—a melody, a prayer at the heart of desire.

A dream, an unattainable fantasy? No. Not anymore. A very serious Italian travel agency is organizing this trip for 6 people this winter. I’m signed up, I’m going, I’m living. Maybe.

"But you’re completely crazy!!!!"

I know... I know that every civilization, every society has a vital need to create scapegoats to define and justify itself, pathetically. And Iran is one of them, top of the list. I laugh or sigh, and it doesn’t bother me.

But that unchanging red, deep red and garnet, so beautiful in itself, in all the Western chancelleries repeats, whispers, shouts: don’t go, don’t go, don’t go, you’re putting yourself in danger and we can’t do anything for you. You’ll be turned into mere bargaining chips, into arguments for endless negotiations. Fear must be instilled, its power absolutely preserved, no concessions made to the enemy. The information (how many French hostages, real or fake, compared to the number of travelers?) is always lacking.

Traveling becomes a merciless confrontation between desire, the vital pulse, and anxiety, its ghosts.

Catherine

Hi everyone, here’s our itinerary. Arriving on the evening of December 13th. Departing on January 7th. Thanks in advance for your tips and valuable feedback.

Manila – 1 night Coron – 4 nights Coron to El Nido cruise – 2 nights El Nido – 4 nights Port Barton – 5 nights Flight from Puerto Princesa to Vigan Vigan – 2 nights Sagada – 2 nights Banaue – 2 nights Bagabag – 1 night Manila – 1 night I’ve only booked the flight to Manila and the Manila/Coron flight so far. Is it possible to book boat trips, accommodations, and the Puerto Princesa flight last-minute?

Thanks in advance. Florence

Vraiment déçu du Costa Rica ! Pura vida ? L'arnaque du siècle ! ( Costa frica pure vide ).

Le pays où les animaux sont en liberté et les hommes en cage . 3 semaines en décembre dans ce pays et bien plus jamais. . Imaginez la bande annonce d'un film qui paraît intéressant, et en allant le voir vous vous apercevez que c'est un ''nanard'' et que les meilleurs moments tenaient dans la bande annonce. Et bien c'est ce que l'on a ressenti avec le Costa frica pure vide . Nous avons ma femme et moi pas mal voyagé et nous ne nous attendions pas à nous tromper a ce point. Dans les grands axes nous avons fait : Sant José Alaiela Limon cahuita Porto viejo manzalino ( côté caraïbe) Jaco quepos manuel Antonio ( côté Pacific) Et d'autres courts passages dans les villes intermédiaires.

Notre mécontentement c'est fait crescendo de la sorte:

Arrivés à l'hôtel le taxi nous dépose dans une petite rue devant un portail métallique blanc avec les fenêtres du RDC entravé par des barreaux. Nous le regardons dubitatif mais l'enseigne correspondait . Il s'approche du portail appuie sur la sonnette le buzzer retentit et la porte s'entrouvre .Hôtel pas trop mal pour le prix , à 10 minutes à pied du centre ville, mais avec effet " Fleury merogis" garantie.

Jusqu'ici tout va bien .

Après la douche et après avoir repris nos esprits, nous partons faire un tour au centre ville. Ce qui a commencé à nous interpeller sur le trajet c'est de voir quelques maisons avec barreaux aux fenêtres au RDC et même au premier étage. Sur le coup nous nous sommes dit que le quartier de l'hôtel ne devait pas être trop top .

Le centre ville de san José : C'est une ville quelconque pas dépaysante avec une rue piétonne et un petit mercado où vous pourrez manger local sans artifice. Très peu de touriste pour ne pas dire pas du tout ce qui vous permettra de vous noyer dans la population . Nous déjeunons et avons des difficultés à nous faire comprendre car hormis un ou deux magasins l'anglais n'est pas parlé. Sur le trajet du retour à l'hôtel nous empruntons un autre chemin et en papotant et flânant ma femme me fait remarquer une belle maison blanche à étage complètement barricadé façon fort Nox. Dès cet Instant on s'est mis a regarder les façades des maisons et des immeubles et lá , glauque de chez glauque, la plupart des façades ressemblent à des prisons avec barbelés pour certaines. Bien que refroidi nous nous sommes dit que c'était peut être l'effet grande ville et que tout le pays ne devait pas être comme ça .

Jusqu'ici tout va bien.

On se pose un peut a l'hôtel on prend un verre au bar de celui ci. La nuit tombe tôt vers 17h30 . Sur les coups de 19h30 on repart pour le centre pour dîner . Un peu flippant le soir pour une capitale, le centre était quasi désert et hormis les chaines de fast food , trés peu de restos ouverts et pas grand monde dans les rues . Des bars avec agent de sécurité devant . Je ne dirai pas ce soir là que nous nous sommes senti en insécurité mais la nuit tombée on s'est dit que les barreaux aux fenêtres n'étaient pas la pour rien . Premier jour sur place un peu mitigé.

Le lendemain journée ville et environ , et sentiments inchangés .

Jusqu'ici tout va bien.

Direction cahuita par bus ,4 h de trajet Paysages très vert , mais vite lassant la route longe la forêt et traverse quelques villes où villages et à la campagne aussi autant de maisons prisons . Le bus nous dépose à la station terminus de cahuita, nous sommes 4 a descendre . C'est un village, que dis-je un bourg , c'est simple cahuita c'est une ligne droite et une perpendiculaire et franchement la le doute commençait à s'installer sur nos visages . Quelques restos qui appliquent 13 % de taxes et 10 % de service soit 23% .on pose les affaires a l'hôtel , et on part visiter ce lieu . En 20 minutes on en fait le tour , on déjeune et devions aller jeter un œil a ce fameux parc . L'entrée est sur donation , enfin l'entrée c'est comique , il y a un chemin en bord de forêt qui longe la mer et voilà le tour et joué.

Jusqu'ici rien ne va plus .

Là on s'est dit que c'était une belle fumisterie mais n'ayant pas été très loin nous décidons de revenir demain pour approfondir. On rentre a l'hôtel , on se pose, et sur les coups de 20h00 on sort dîner . Et bien , 2 restos ouverts et rues désertes .

Flippant !

Le lendemain on approfondit la visite du Pseudo parc et là vraiment on a compris. Chemin qui longe la forêt en longeant la mer , 2h de parcours aller et idem retour où vous croisez les animaux qui veulent bien montrer leur museaux Une belle connerie " tout ça pour ça "

Plage avec plein de morceaux de bois et de cadavres de noix de coco . on s'est demandé si les photos sur le net n'étaient pas retouchées , car la mer trés agitée n'est pas du tout bleue azur Mais oser appeler ça un parc c'est comique et ressemble à un nouveau concept..

Quand on repense aux avis émis sur le net , on a commencé à se dire que des professionnels ayant des intérêts dans ce pays épiés et contrecarrer tous avis qui risquerait de nuire a leur business. Dommage que nous n'avons pas pensé a regarder les avis négatifs avant , nous l'avons fait pendant et je dois dire que cela nous bien aidé, car nous nous sommes demandé si nous n'étions pas devenu trop exigeant grâce où a cause nos nombreux voyages, mais non quand c'est pourri c'est pourri .

le parc de manzalino est encore plus comique il y a un début de chemin qui longe la mer mais que sur 500 mètres et ensuite plus rien vous devez escalader dans la boue et vous frayer un passage dans la foret . nous avons fini pieds nues car la boue nous arrivé aux mi- mollets . tout ca pour croiser un raton laveur et un survol de perroquets

On s'attendait pas a voir l'Arche de Noé mais on a vu plus d'animaux a bali au Mexique en thailande en allant voir les temples ou en baladant que dans ces soi disant parcs !

puerto vierjo non loin de cahuita et apparemment plus vivant et bien oui ça pouvait pas être pire ! sur le lonely planet il était question d'ambiance caribéenne et de soirées endiablées et bien peut etre que cette époque a eu bien lieu mais ce n est plus le cas et le très bon son reggae diffusé un peu partout n'y suffit pas .

le soir a puerto viejo un peu plus vivant que cahuita mais ça c'est pas difficile ; pas enormément de touristes voir trés peu, pas de marché de nuit mais 2 à 3 boutiques ouvertes avec leurs t shirts à 20 dollars et même constat qu' a san jose.

Pas grave on a profité de la plage et du soleil qui lui était fidèle au rendez vous.Notre programme devait inclure le parc de tortuguero mais après avoir échangé avec d'autres touristes qui en revenaient nous nous sommes ravisés sachant que nous devions faire côté pacifique le parc de manuel Antonio.

Pour repartir côté pacifique vous êtes obligés de reprendre le bus et passer par sans José . 5 h cette fois ci et ensuite il faut changer de terminal de bus et c'est reparti pour 4h30 pour arriver à quepos . Ville étape qui permet de se rendre a manuel antonio plage et parc ! ville à l'image de ce que nous avons pu voir jusqu'à present c'est à dire : qui se dérsertifie dés le coucher du soleil sachant que la journée il n y a pas foule ! ( mais ou sont les touristes ?, )

toujours autant de barreaux aux fenêtres et cette sensation de s'être trompé d endroit

7 km plus loin ; manuel antonio plage et parc la plage est très belle et assez vaste mais ne vous attendez pas à avoir une mer bleue turquoise car les vagues font remonter le sable en surface et donnent une couleur marron a l'eau ; le long de la plage boutiques et restos sur 300 mètres et plus rien ; quand au soir après le coucher du soleil la ville se couche aussi .

parc de manuel antonio assez vanté pour la richesse de sa faune nous l'attendions de pieds ferme car quand vous exprimez votre mécontentement concernant les parcs de cahuitat et manzalino , la mode est de vous dire ''mais non il faut faire le parc de monteverde ou manuel antonio '' en fait quoi que vous fassiez ou disiez on vous dira '' mais tu aurais dû aller là bas ou ici

revenons à notre fameux parc ; entrée 16 dollars de mémoire et contrairement à ce que l'on a pu nous dire on ne s'y bouscule pas ! des guides a l entrée équipés de longue vue vous proposent leurs services moyennant une trentaine de dollars le parc ; un chemin planchéié ou pas dans la forêt qui longe par moment de magnifiques criques et plages . Dès notre entrée dans le parc , un attroupement qui prenait en photo une biche qui mangeait des feuilles, un peu plus loin un guide accompagné d'un groupe de 5 personnes marquent l'arrêt, le guide vient de lever le bras et pose sa longue vue ! il leur montre à un centaine de mètres niché sur une branche : un colibri mais oui vous avez bien entendu un colibri! certains en regardant à travers la longue vue s'exclamaient:" oh my good ! amazing ! incredible" on a cru un moment qu'ils avaient découvert une licorne ou qu'ils étaient à jurassic park et qu'ils venaient de croiser la route d un tyranosor rex ! le concept est comique; regarder un oiseau ou un autre animal à travers une longue vue ! car trop loin ! idem qu'à la télé non ? pour notre part on a croisés des singes , des fourmis, un tatou, un iguane et le cul d un paresseux qui montait à l'arbre ! amazing incredible !

nous sommes restés quelques jours à manuel antonio pour profiter de la plage en changeant souvent d'hôtel car les prix variés du simple au double du jour au lendemain pour des prestations honteuses ; en plus ils vous annoncent un prix en dollars pour le convertir à leur guise ! des voleurs!.

Alajuela ville proche de l'aéroport avec un mall sur deux étages et marché local au centre ville ! sans interêt si ce n'est la proximité avec l'aéroport !

Ce que nous avons appreciés :

Le climat et la ville de san jose qui avec le recul est la ville la plus authentique que nous avons traversés .

Ce que nous n'avons pas appreçiés en plus de ce que nous venons de citer :

Les costaricains qui ne sont pas très avenants ni communicants , l' anglais qui n' est pratiquement pas parlé , même pas par les medecins de l'hôpital de Quepos où ma femme victime d'une intoxication alimentaire y ait passé, ( merci Google translate) , l'obésité omniprésente des Costaricains qui s'alimentent à l'Américaine, l'insécurité, les bobos ecolos qui quittent leur lodge à 150 dollars en mini-van avec guide pour visiter les parcs et autres sites puis reviennent se barricader dans leur forteresse la nuit tombée (oh my god amazing incredible), le panneau bleu à l'entrée des villes qui acceptent ce mode de paiement ; "acceptamos american express" les parkings devenus payants par la seule présence d'un gars qui surveille vos voitures , les prix affichés en dollars , le coût de la vie (hotels rerstos taxes ), les paysages trop verts et pas assez fleuris , les plages rien d exceptionnelles , la pollution dans les villes où les gros camions trucks américain sont rois , les eaux usées rejetées directement à la mer . Hormis la jungle il n'y à rien a visiter, aucun vestiges , ruines , monuments , digne de ce nom .

Bref , nous pensons ma femme et moi que la publicité faite pour ce pays soi disant ecolo est surfaite , mais que c est un peu le pays à la mode du moment ! Il y a beaucoup mieux , moins cher , et plus authentique . Avec le recul nous gardons que les bons moments et nos belles photos , mais si c'était à refaire .............

Avant de vous quitter petit message à tous ceux qui n'aiment pas que l'on puisse avoir un avis divergent du leurs : Et bien certaines choses ne se discutent pas , et á ceux qui voudraient nous faire croire qu'en 3 semaines on n'a pas le droit de critiquer un pays ou d exprimer un ressenti , et bien comment pouvez vous l'encencer en si peu de temps. Belle supercherie, Costa frica pompe à fric , pura vida , pure vide sidéral.

Si vous aimez passer vos soirées barricadé dans votre douillé hôtel le soir tombé , et bien ce pays est pour vous . Pour les autres : fuyezzzzzzzzz !

Hello, Since the war between Russia and Ukraine, nothing is simple anymore for traveling to Belarus due to sanctions. No more direct flights from the EU to Minsk. Driving is a huge hassle, especially crossing through Poland at the only open border in Brest—you can wait 2, 3, or even 4 days just to get through by car. The least painful driving option is to come via Lithuania and cross at the only open border, with a minimum wait time of 8 hours, sometimes up to 20 hours or more!! Controls are very strict and annoying on both the Lithuanian and Belarusian sides. Avoid bringing alcohol, food, or cigarettes—everything will end up in the trash, especially when leaving Belarus for Vilnius, where the Lithuanians are tough, even with EU citizens. The joy I once knew when visiting my wife in Minsk is sadly over—it’s now a real ordeal.

The fastest solution is to fly. My wife travels to France by taking a bus to Kaunas in Lithuania, where you can catch a flight (though not daily) to Paris Beauvais or Charleroi in Belgium with Ryanair, for example. For the return trip, it’s the same: a flight to Kaunas and then a direct bus from the airport to Minsk. The bus crossing is quicker than driving—the 250 km journey, including border checks, takes about 6 to 8 hours for buses leaving Lithuania around midnight, but controls are still strict at the border. The biggest challenge is finding flight schedules that align with the bus routes between the two countries, given the unpredictable border crossing times. Now, my wife travels via Charleroi in Belgium (near Brussels), and you can take a train to Paris. Alternatively, you can fly into Beauvais and take a bus to Paris (Porte Maillot). For those driving, note that EU insurance and assistance policies no longer work in Belarus or Russia. You’ll need to get local insurance, usually limited to third-party liability (I don’t think full coverage exists?), as well as mandatory medical insurance. This is available at the border. You now have to pay highway tolls—no more BELTOLL boxes. Instead, you pay a flat fee for the duration of your stay. Stop at the first gas station after crossing from Lithuania to fill up on fuel and cigarettes. From what I know, Lithuania bans carrying more than 60 € in cash, but there’s no limit for USD (though it’s capped at $10,000??). With a Visa card, you can now withdraw 1,000 rubles per week (about 270 €)—two months ago, it was only 500 rubles!! For now, you can still pay by card in shops and gas stations. However, major retailers like KORONA (which may be Russian-owned??) no longer accept foreign Visa cards. Unfortunately, the additional sanctions announced by the U.S. on August 5, 2025, against Russia—and possibly Belarus—aren’t promising for the future. After 20 years of visiting Belarus, I’m truly saddened to see the joy of living in this country with my wonderful wife turn into such a bleak situation, all because of human folly.

Hi everyone! I’m putting together our travel itinerary for Veneto at the end of April. And the more I look and research potential sites to visit, the more I find! We’ll only be there for a week—my family and I—including 3 days in Venice. So we have to make some choices... I plan to rent a car when we arrive in Venice and head straight to Bergamo, which would be our first stop. We’d leave the car at the airport when we return to Venice so we can explore the city at our leisure.

What do you think: 1 night in Bergamo (a 2h15 drive from Venice airport), 1 night in Garda, 1 night in Verona, 1 in Padua, and 3 in Venice—would that be doable?

Thanks in advance for your tips and experiences! :)

Now that the curtain has fallen on the past year, it’s time to see what’s happening around here. It seems pretty quiet, but I’ll read more in detail later.

First, I need to tell you all an anecdote.

My eldest little girl, in her third year of law school, was really scared she wouldn’t pass the year. I told her: “Trust yourself, you’ve worked so hard, and worst case, if you fail, you’ll just redo the year.” “But I don’t think I’ll make it—they changed the rules, and if I mess up even one unit, I have to start all over.” I knew her grades weren’t exactly stellar, and with what I was about to say, I wasn’t taking much of a risk. “Here’s the deal, sweetheart: if you pass, I promise I’ll take you to India, just the two of us.” I have to admit, India is a country I’ve talked about so much to all my grandchildren that in their minds, it’s become a magical, mythical place (hmm).

July had barely begun when my phone rang, her name flashing on the screen. “Mamido, I did it!” My promise came rushing back—oh no, oh no, oh no! “Congratulations, sweetheart!” A little shyly, she said: “Is the India trip still on?”

And me, replying: “Of course it is!”

And that’s that—a promise is a promise, or you risk losing that precious trust that keeps hearts warm and at peace.

We’re leaving in February. Only 8 days—yikes, the carbon footprint! But we can’t miss her tutorials, or she’ll be kicked out. Personally, that works just fine for me.

Going to India has become a challenge for me. It’s far, it’s exhausting, I sweat, I hate mosquitoes, the spices bother my mouth when I used to love them. There’s noise all the time—at night, the dogs bark nonstop, and we almost get run over. I’ll get lost in the streets because my sense of direction has vanished. I don’t like rice anymore. All that chaos and those cultural differences that once enchanted me now just overwhelm me. But I promised.

The upside—and it’s a big one—Raman, the same driver I’ve had forever, will be at the airport with a sign with our names. We’ll stop at the same little shop for chai (or tea, plain and simple) with that aroma that intoxicates me, halfway through the trip.

It’ll be a tiny trip—staying with friends, I’ll show her a few places I love: Chidambaram, Mamallapuram, and the clinic where I worked. Then we’ll head back. My little girl will go home to her parents.

As for me, I’ll leave right away for our Scottish island with Homme for our chilly winter.

How can you love a country so much you want to live there, then suddenly reject it, no longer able to appreciate what once made it special? That’s the mystery of love, I guess.

I’ve visited the U.S. four times myself, including two long road trips. The last one was just this past August...

I won’t be going back. I already felt guilty last August, but recent policies have finally convinced me: the humiliation of Zelensky, authoritarian excesses, Gestapo-like methods for detaining people of foreign origin, the murder of innocent people (a mother shot dead), corruption, insane "tariffs," skyrocketing healthcare costs for Americans, the abduction of foreign figures to secure oil, the requirement to disclose social media accounts, and now... threats and blackmail to forcibly take Greenland—a region that belongs to Denmark and thus the European Union!

The reality is that simply posting this could get me denied entry to the U.S.!

In this context, I just can’t keep spending money there. I loved my trips, but there are so many other countries with stunning landscapes to explore.

So I get why you’d want to travel there. I did, and I loved it. But once a country no longer respects any of the values that made us love it, why go?

How can we even consider traveling to a country that threatens to take one of our territories by force?

Bonjour,

en parcourant qq récits de voyages, je m'aperçois que l'on mentionne toujours notre réflexion à propos du gens du pays que l'on visite.

j'aimerai connaitre votre avis sur le peuple qui vous a le plus enchanté parmi vos voyages?

je ne souhaite pas de polémiques, juste des réflexions, des ressentis. a bientot de vous lire ...

Hello everyone, Controversial topic? Not necessarily—maybe just a reflection on a world to come. I spent the last 15 days of August on a cruise in Greenland, from Kangerlussuaq to Tasiilaq. I was utterly amazed by this unique world of rock and ice, the little houses in every color, a simple life that’s also complicated by isolation and climate, among other things... I carry in my heart the kindness of the people I met, the raw and gentle majesty of the icebergs, the colors of the sky...

So, I can’t even imagine a massive presence of raw material prospectors, heavy machinery requiring roads to be built—if that’s even possible—changing their way of life... putting sled dogs out to pasture!

Do fast food and Greenland’s northern lights really mix?

I wouldn’t trade my memories for an ESTA!

All opinions are respectable, which is why this isn’t a controversy—but I’m sorry, I have a soft spot for *my* Greenland.

Best regards,

Hello to all East Africa lovers and nature enthusiasts in general,

While I prepare to share a recap of our latest trip/safari in Kenya soon, I’d like to wish you all a peaceful transition between 2025 and 2026.

Warm regards,

Puma2A.











...

We’re a couple aged 58 and 63. We’ve just returned from a wonderful trip to South India in Tamil Nadu and a few days in Kerala. We traveled with a local French-speaking guide and his friend, the driver. They both live in Pondicherry. We spent 3 weeks with them in the most authentic way!

We covered just over 2,500 km and visited not only temples but also archaeological sites, museums, and small artisanal businesses making tiles, tea, sculptures, bronze, and silk spinning. We were lucky enough to visit a public school, attend a wedding, and even a death announcement in a small countryside village. We were fully immersed in the culture, food, noise, and colors—it was incredible!

The hotels and guesthouses we chose were very clean and mostly quiet. We’re returning from India with amazing discoveries!

We’re happy to share more info if you’d like! M-Claire and Jean

This catchy and somewhat mysterious title comes from several questions I’ve been asking myself.

VF has been back open for a reasonable number of weeks and months now. The number of visitors overall matches past averages, but the number of members online in the last 24 hours seems relatively lower than what we used to see.

Yet, to my surprise, I’m seeing fewer travel journals, way fewer messages, and way fewer questions. I don’t see many new registered users online, and I notice a number of members who are logged in but either aren’t participating or have stopped participating.

Something’s not adding up for me because, in my opinion, VF is still appealing, and I don’t see which other sites could really compete.

Was there a real break between pre- and post-Covid? Does it just take more time for some people to discover the site or learn that it’s active again? Do people now prefer quick consumption on sites like FB or others I’m not familiar with? Where have the site’s old-timers gone, and what are they doing with their time now? What’s really going on here?

Hi there,

This isn’t exactly a traveler’s question... I’d like to know who handles the technical side of this forum?

I run a similar forum on a different topic (unrecognized children), and we’re dealing with a few technical issues that are slowly killing our forum... so I’d have one or two questions to ask 😊.

Also, I was wondering who created this forum... who the administrators or moderators are, etc.

I think this forum is great. Much better than Facebook, which I’ve been using since it shut down (so I’m happy to see it’s working again...)

Hi there, I’ve been traveling for 18 years now, at least 6 months a year, and as the years go by, I actually enjoy coming back to France more and more—a feeling I struggled with at first. I mean, we always think the grass is greener elsewhere. But in the end, I find meaning in that saying about how there’s no place like home. I still love traveling just as much, but now my trips are shorter, and I enjoy spending more time in our beautiful country, even though I don’t hesitate to criticize it. How about you? How do you handle coming back from your travels?

Il y a quelque années, j'étais parti avec un groupe d'amis donner un coup de main dans une petite école rurale à côté de Thiès, au Sénégal. Ambiance détendue mais travailleuse, avec les mains dans le mortier, la rigolade, les échanges, et tout ce qu'une COOPERATION peut engendrer. Aujourd'hui, le petit projet vole de ses propres ailes.

Voulant profiter des richesses du Sénégal, on est parti faire un peu de tourisme dans le Siné Saloum. Une fille de notre groupe est tombée malade (crise de paludisme) et on a décider de l'emener voir un médecin dans un grand complexe touristique juste à coté. Malgré son état, il a fallu montrer patte blanche (si j'ose dire) pour entrer. Elle a été soignée et va bien depuis.

Cette "étape" dans ce centre style Club Méditerranée à la sauce teutonne, ressemblant au Grau du Roy en plus chic à été pour nous une vision d'horreur : Piscines, immenses bassins artificiels teintés de bleu, de rose ou de vert (!!!!), animateur hurlant autour d'un concours de teeshirt mouillés ou d'escalade de cocotiers, et toubabs rotis, ou rosés. L'ensemble de l'hotel était ceinturé d'un immense mur derrière lequel s'était constitué un petit bidonville de marchands de souvenirs digne des derniers faubourgs de Dakar En repartant, on a vu un minibus de clients de retour "d'excursion", avec masques, tissus et djembés - Souvenirs d'Afrique ? Ce sera peut être le leur ? Quel sera l'impression des gamins agglutinés devant les grilles de l'hotel ? Quel sera l'impression des serveurs noirs en "costumes traditionnels africains", servant à tour de bras cocktails et glaces ?

Pour moi, qui ai connu l'Afrique très jeune, et dans la brousse, cela reste une vision d'horreur, gravée en moi.

Sur V.F. ce genre de vacances ne semble pas être le lot commun des internautes, et c'est bien la raison de mon inscription.

Avez vous aussi connu ce genre de voyage intersidéral ? Comprennez vous les martiens ? Leurs motivations sont elles pacifistes ?

Hi everyone.

I’ve been wondering: Is it still reasonable to rent a car in the U.S.?

Apparently, since early January 2025—and very quietly—the most important insurance coverage, namely the driver’s civil liability, has seen its coverage amount drop from $1 million to just $300,000. This coverage is supposed to protect us from damages we might be responsible for while driving. We can go decades without a single scrape (especially if it’s our fault), but anything can happen in a split second. A motorcycle appearing out of nowhere, a misjudgment at one of those huge intersections with staggered traffic lights, and suddenly we could be deemed at fault for the accident. We’d then have to pay out of pocket for the other party’s medical expenses. Given what hospitals charge... it can easily exceed $300,000 and turn into a nightmare in no time!!! Plus, anyone who’s driven on American roads has seen those billboards for lawyers offering their services to accident victims. So on top of the sky-high medical bill, the lawyer will demand compensation worthy of a Hollywood movie!!!! So, is it even worth getting behind the wheel in America anymore? Well... that’s just my take! And on top of that, I haven’t found any insurance company that offers such high civil liability coverage. Chapka and others do offer coverage in the millions, but motor vehicles are excluded.... So here’s the thing... Unless I’ve "missed something," I’ve come to this conclusion: Renting a car in the U.S. is like playing Russian roulette! But maybe I’m being too pessimistic? What do you think?

My two bullfighting traditions when I'm back home in Camargue (France) and in Colombia (Caribbean) every time I return. 🤠 Details: Bullfights (corridas) aren’t part of my two bullfighting traditions, but I respect those who attend them!!! In these two ancestral bullfighting traditions—which aren’t bullfights—the Bulls and Toros aren’t killed or tortured, as some might think. These are bull games where the animals return to their pastures afterward and only come back to the Arenas 2–3 times a year at most. They spend 15 minutes in the ring for the Camarguais and 5 minutes for the Toros in the Colombian Corralejas. They’re cared for and pampered. They’ll die of old age in miles of open fields. The young people who face them are professionals, risking their lives to support their families and live their Passion for the Toro!!! 😄 https://youtu.be/yYKQer42HoQ Colombian Corraleja in the link below (hope it works) 🤪 https://fb.watch/BMfmuCgQpG/

“Hey, your Marker... - My Marker? - The one you used to make hitchhiking signs.”

The marker in question is sitting proudly on the kitchen table. Marielle found it at the bottom of a moving box.

I’ve been meaning to tell the long story of my love affair with hitchhiking for years. Here we go.

To be honest, I’m not quite sure when it started. My earliest memory goes back to a fair with a bike race in my maternal grandparents’ village. I was with my cousin, my little sister, and three girl cousins. There were six of us, ages ranging from six or seven to thirteen or fourteen. Our parents stayed at the fair, and we’d had enough. So we decided to walk home. Only it was four kilometers away. So we hitchhiked. A guy driving an old car picked us all up and dropped us off at the farm. He probably found it amusing to see us thumbing a ride by the side of the road, but maybe it also worried him a bit. With everything you read in the papers...

Around fifteen or sixteen, I started hitchhiking regularly, alone or with a friend, to go to the nearby town. But it was especially when I started boarding school in Orléans that it became more regular. The first year, I’d leave Monday morning and come back Saturday noon by bus. It was an old, uncomfortable bus where we froze in winter. To make matters worse, I often got motion sickness if, as was too often the case, I ended up sitting in the back. In the spring, a high school friend suggested I hitchhike back. It meant a slight detour, but the advantage was taking only national roads.

So that’s how, from the end of tenth grade to twelfth grade, I’d thumb a ride every Saturday on the Pont de Bourgogne. Drivers were used to seeing young people hitchhiking, and it worked pretty well. Our biggest fear? Soldiers! At that time, military service was still mandatory, and on weekends, it wasn’t rare to see them competing with us. They’d keep their uniforms on to go home. That gave people confidence—with everything you read in the papers—and they’d rarely wait more than five minutes. We, with our long hair, were definitely less popular. From time to time, three big red-faced guys in a van coming back from a construction site would flip us off, yelling things like “go get a haircut, you bums!” Those were the good old days.

We still had a good laugh, though. Patrice, the friend I’d hitchhike back from school with on Saturdays, is a musician—I’d later discover he’s an excellent composer. A die-hard Beatles fan, he knows their repertoire by heart and spends his time singing at the top of his lungs while we thumb a ride. One Saturday late morning, we’d been waiting for a while at the exit of Châteauneuf-sur-Loire when a little lady came up to him and asked if he could please sing a little quieter: a baby was sleeping in the house. He put on the most sorry face: “Oh, sorry ma’am, we didn’t realize.” No sooner had the lady gone back inside than he started again. Luckily, a car stopped just then, sparing me the embarrassment of seeing the lady come back out.

Saturday was also the day when the cigarette pack was dangerously low. So before leaving, we’d go buy some “Parisiennes,” the “P4s” as we called them back then. They were slightly thinner cigarettes with a mix of tobacco scraps. Sometimes they tasted like light tobacco, sometimes like dark. Not great, but by the end of the week, our pocket money was gone. They were sold in small packs of four, hence the name P4. We’d only pay 20 centimes. On Saturdays, it was rare for the two of us to manage to scrape together 1.50 F to buy a whole pack of Gauloises...

The last twenty kilometers, I’d usually do alone, Patrice having reached his destination. From time to time, luck would smile on me: an acquaintance would just happen to pass by and stop. One January Saturday, at the exit of Gien, I ran into another guy from Argenton whom I knew a little. That day, the weather was nice, but the temperature was well below zero. It was around noon, and it was the off-peak hour. We were shivering, stamping our feet by the side of the road, when a Citroën “Tube” arrived: it was his father’s boss’s, a mason. They were both sitting in the front, but since they were obese, they had us climb onto the open back. Even though we huddled against the cab to shelter from the wind, the twenty kilometers felt very long, especially since we were only going sixty kilometers an hour. Our hands and cheeks were blue when we finally arrived.

The year I took my baccalaureate, a friend with a 2CV would take me Monday mornings with one or two others we’d pick up in nearby villages. We’d share the gas costs, but it was still cheaper than the bus. And in winter, the bus was my nightmare. You had to get up at five to catch it at six. Not enough sleep, and outside it was freezing or raining—or both. The 2CV was luxury. Plus, Philippe would pick me up at home. On the other hand, since I didn’t have class Saturday mornings—well, I did, but we only had PE the first two hours and nothing after—I’d skip class and slip out right after breakfast to thumb a ride at the Pont de Bourgogne.

Those three high school years were formative in this optional subject that was hitchhiking. Little by little, I learned the rules of the game. First, you shouldn’t walk along the road while thumbing. Cars go too fast and can’t stop easily. Accepting a ride that’s too short is also a no-go. The guy who offers to take you a little way but drops you off at some vague crossroads in the middle of nowhere? No thanks. You need to get dropped off in a town. If it’s a fairly big city, you often have to cross it from one end to the other, but it’s better. At the exit, you have to choose your spot well. Actually, you have to put yourself in the driver’s shoes: they need to see you early enough, not be going too fast, and be able to stop easily without risking an accident. So when leaving a city, it’s better not to go too far. It’s wiser to find a spot where cars go slowly and can stop easily. And preferably near a café. The café is for when you still have a few coins for a coffee and need to warm up. From time to time, you’d run into someone nice who’d make a detour to drop you off at a better spot to start again. Finally, if possible, avoid hitchhiking on Sundays. Cars are packed with whole families who, most of the time, aren’t going far. And then there’s the little worry of those people who rarely leave home: with everything you read in the papers...

During those high school years, it was only short trips, rarely exceeding a hundred kilometers. Later, I aimed bigger, and things were a bit different. In 1973-74, I crossed part of France for the first time on two or three occasions, coming back from the German border or returning to Bordeaux, where we lived briefly. Since there weren’t many highways back then, we took national roads. It was during these trips that I realized it was better to leave in the evening. As I said earlier, Sunday is to be avoided, but on weekdays, there’s another problem: if you leave in the morning, you only make short hops. First, it often takes longer to get going because drivers are people going to work nearby. Which brings us back to those who drop you off in a bad spot, far from everything. There, you have to know how to refuse. You thank the driver for stopping—oh, if only everyone could be like you—while explaining why you’d rather stay put. People don’t take offense, by the way. Those who pick up hitchhikers often hitchhiked themselves when they were in the military or before they had a car. In the late afternoon, you’d often run into salespeople or truckers, in other words, people who drive a lot. At that time, salespeople no longer had appointments and were more relaxed. They wanted to talk about something other than the merits of their products. On the radio, it was time for *Les Grosses Têtes*. You’d also quite often run into small business owners, professionals, or even hippies. The conversations were pleasant and often enriching. A little later in the evening, truckers would take over. They’d already driven a few hundred kilometers, and the depot or customs was still far away. So they’d gladly take a hitchhiker to stay awake at the wheel and chat. The radio with Max Ménier’s show *Les routiers sont sympas*, you’d eventually get tired of it. So a hitchhiker was a change. Others, who’d hit the road at midnight to be at their destination by morning, were nice and offered to let you lie down on the bunk while they drove. When you’d been hitchhiking since six in the evening, freezing in the wind between two vehicles, you weren’t unhappy to take a little nap.

Speaking of Max Ménier, he’d often make announcements for hitchhikers. One evening, I called him. It was getting late, and I still had quite a way to go. No luck: the show had ended for good the day before!

In short, it’s better not to rush, sleep in, and leave after lunch, or better yet, in the late afternoon. Obviously, I’m talking about when you have several hundred kilometers to cover. That’s when you have to play it pro.

First thing, especially at night, but it also applies in the middle of summer when the light is blinding: dress to be seen from far away. I’ll admit I have an advantage over most other hitchhikers: I’m small and don’t scare people. To balance that out, racist drivers often take me for an Arab and are less likely to pick me up, but overall, the balance tips in my favor. Back to the need to be seen: at night, I wear light-colored clothes. In headlights, you can see me from far away.

Second thing: travel light. Forget the big backpack with a frame. Drivers don’t always have room in the trunk or on the back seat, especially if it’s rained and the ground is wet. Plus, it forces them to get out of the car. If they’re nice enough to pick up a hitchhiker, you shouldn’t ask for too much either.

Third thing: bring a cardboard sign and a big marker—like the ones in the photo at the start of this post—to write the name of your destination. In the early 80s, I ran a tourist house in the Cher, but I lived in the Netherlands. In the off-season, it was only open on weekends. On Fridays, I’d leave Holland and return on Mondays. 1200 km round trip. On the way there, in Paris, I’d stand at Porte de la Chapelle. At that spot, the road is very wide, and drivers could stop easily. Obviously, on the sign, I didn’t write Eindhoven, which not everyone knows, and even less Amsterdam because of its seedy reputation. In that case, you’d expect to see a police car stop and two officers in kepis ask for your papers. So as a first destination, I’d write Compiègne. We were well out of Paris, and since it wasn’t too far, a trucker or salesperson was less reluctant to stop. Once past Compiègne, I’d take out my Lille sign. Once in Belgium, it wasn’t really necessary to use a sign anymore, since everyone was going in the same direction. Usually, the guy who picked me up at Porte de la Chapelle would say he wasn’t going far but could take me a little way. Before that, I’d still ask if there was a gas station on the highway where he could drop me off before exiting. While talking, the guy would realize he wasn’t dealing with a dangerous criminal. He’d pretend to check his watch, think for a moment, then say that actually, he was going to Belgium and could take me to the border or a little beyond. To leave Paris on the way back, I’d take the train to Melun, where it was easier to hitchhike than at Porte d’Italie.

Over all those years, I think I was pretty lucky. Or maybe philosophical enough not to imagine a car would stop after a few minutes. An hour’s wait was average. Sure, I sometimes waited three, four, or five hours. Most often at odd hours and in terrible weather. When it doesn’t work, it doesn’t work. But there’s always a moment when things pick up. Sure, when you’re soaked in freezing rain in the early morning after a sleepless night, you’re less philosophical than when I’m writing these lines comfortably at my computer, but it still holds true.

Earlier, I mentioned clothing and the importance of being well-rested before leaving. When you’ve eaten well and just gotten out of the shower, shaved, you’re in a better mood. And somehow, drivers sense it. Or at least, that’s the impression I’ve always had. It’s better to look in shape than disgusted at standing there, half-heartedly thumbing a ride. In short, when I’d start to get fed up with waiting, I’d go into the first café I saw for a coffee. Coming back out, I’d be refreshed, and most of the time, a car would stop within minutes. I’ve often said that when I stood by the side of the road thumbing a ride, I felt a bit like a gambler in front of a slot machine. It was a matter of giving luck a chance. And well, it worked out pretty well.

Then, there are countries where hitchhiking works really well and others where it’s harder. In the 70s-80s, it worked best in Germany and England. In the late afternoon, it wasn’t rare to be invited for tea. Well, that was in England. Tea meant being offered room and board. In Germany, they’d offer you coffee. Once there, they’d first show you the guest room and point out the bathroom before sitting you down in front of a big plate of cold cuts. In the evening, they’d go out in town, and the next morning, they’d usually drop you off at a good spot for hitchhiking. On the other hand, in Mediterranean and Scandinavian countries, you’d better be patient. In Spain or Italy, it’s better to take the train, which was dirt cheap back then. However, if you’re a couple traveling light, it’s already easier in most countries.

In 1982, I went on a trip around Turkey with my girlfriend. We only had two small bags, which was plenty. It was November-December, and we wore our warm, bulky clothes. Leaving Eindhoven at nine in the morning, we arrived in Graz, near the Yugoslav border, at eleven at night. 1300 km in a day! In just four or five vehicles. One to the German border, about fifty kilometers from Eindhoven, the second to Hagen in the Ruhr, the third to Salzburg, and the last to Graz at the Yugoslav border. Record broken. During the night crossing of Yugoslavia, we ran into a trucker close to retirement who lent us the truck’s bunk. So we arrived fresh and rested near Skopje the next morning. We continued to Thessaloniki in northern Greece before taking the train to Istanbul. In Turkey, we traveled a good part of the country by hitchhiking too. With truckers in old, overloaded, slow trucks that climbed hills at fifteen kilometers an hour, but also in cars where five or six people were already crammed in. And every time, we were invited for tea. Once, we were even picked up by a big shot in his Mercedes with a chauffeur. Until then, the average speed was around fifty kilometers an hour. There, we were going two hundred. On a national road, not a nice European highway.

I’ve also hitchhiked in Nepal, from Lumbini, Buddha’s birthplace, to a village on the way to Pokhara. It must have been midday. No bus until the next day. I gave it a try. A small truck overloaded with rice sacks, with two or three young people already perched on top, stopped. I rode on the roof of the cab. At fifty kilometers an hour when it was going well, with a breathtaking view. Coming back from India, I also crossed part of Iran by hitchhiking, from Tehran to the Turkish border. I did this trip with an Austrian I met at the hotel who, like me, had to watch his pennies. We gave it a shot. There was almost no traffic, but to our great surprise, the first car that passed in the area would always stop. They’d just ask for a modest contribution for gas, and it cost next to nothing.

Sometimes, you get scared too. After leaving Turkey in early December 82, we spent about two weeks in the southern Peloponnese harvesting olives. A few days before Christmas, we hitchhiked back to Holland. A girl picked us up in her little Fiat 500. We were driving on a mountain road, and that morning there was a bit of black ice. After crossing a pass, we saw the old Ford Taunus ahead of us at fifty meters start to skid. The driver let out a “heeee!” while grabbing my knees. I reflexively grabbed the wheel. Finally, the Taunus got back on track. And we didn’t swerve. But those few seconds felt very long.

In January 77, while I’d been living in Germany for a few months, I decided to spend a few days in Italy. By hitchhiking, of course. I left in the early afternoon, and by ten at night, I wasn’t far from Frankfurt. I saw a big Mercedes stop. The four or five young people crammed inside were listening to Schlager at full volume. Beer cans littered the floor. They didn’t have a precise destination, and as long as they were going south, that was fine with me. They’d finished their military service that very day and had clearly already celebrated their discharge. The driver was going 160, zigzagging dangerously from one side of the highway to the other. I should have realized he wasn’t entirely sober either. Luckily, there was almost no traffic. Finally, I managed to get dropped off at a gas station just before Frankfurt, relieved. I hope their trip didn’t end tragically.

Another time, coming back from Holland with my wife, we were picked up early in the morning near Senlis by two guys from Lille. They were going to work near Tours and could drop us off at Porte d’Italie. Apparently, they were coworkers but barely knew each other. The driver offered us a beer—at six in the morning, sure!—before opening another can for himself. He was clearly having trouble staying in the right lane. We politely declined, the passenger too. Everyone was tense. Luckily, it was rush hour on the ring road, and we were going slowly. When we got out of the car, the passenger said goodbye with the look of a guy being offered the condemned man’s rum and cigarette.

Finally, there are the annoying remarks from drivers who are either gay when you’re alone or turned on by the sight of your girlfriend when you’re a couple. In those cases, I’d get in the back so the guy wouldn’t feel too confident. And if the conversation got a little too suggestive, we’d deflect until we got dropped off.

And luckily, there are the times, not so rare after all, when you run into really nice people who invite you to eat and sleep at their place and drive you to a good spot the next morning. In Germany and England, that was common. And then there are the big strokes of luck, like during our trip to Turkey when we crossed most of Germany in one car, or that other time when some Germans drove me from the exit of Geneva all the way to the Costa Brava.

Going back to “with everything you read in the papers” and its variant “with everything you see on TV”—and now on the internet—it’s always left me perplexed. Personally, I’ve never heard of hitchhikers assaulting drivers, even if it may have happened. On the other hand, what was most common were hitchhikers being assaulted, especially girls. Anyway, even armed, it seems a bit stupid to assault the driver—wouldn’t that risk causing an accident?

Finally, since that time, I’ve occasionally wanted to hitchhike somewhere far away in France. Most often, too busy with work, it never happened, but the nostalgia hasn’t completely disappeared.

* * *

Other Hitchhikers

And then one day, I... settled down to become a driver myself. Ten years had passed, and you saw fewer and fewer hitchhikers. Or maybe I saw fewer because I had a regular job and wasn’t traveling the same way. And then I understood a few things.

Several times, I was tempted to pick up a hitchhiker, but they didn’t meet the required conditions. They were walking along the road instead of staying at the exit of the previous town. Hard to stop without risking an accident. Or the guy looked really scruffy. Or he was sulking, if not both. Then you think of that famous “with everything you read in the papers.” Not that I was scared, but unfortunately, the few hitchhikers I did pick up later were rarely interesting.

A few years ago, we picked up a young guy at the exit of a small town in Sologne. Not an easy spot for hitchhiking. Bad luck, he was a pretentious little jerk. He was barely 20 or 25 and talked like a bitter old man. He was a waiter in a restaurant. According to him, it was lucky he was there, otherwise the boss would have closed up shop long ago. You’d think he had thirty or forty years of professional experience behind him. As we approached Blois, he started ranting about Arabs, blaming them for all evils. And he laid it on thick. That morning, we were going to a teenager’s funeral who had just committed suicide, so he really got on our nerves, Mr. Know-It-All. Out of anger, I dropped him off next to a shopping center a few kilometers from downtown. Not nice, but it felt good.

Some time ago, we were driving around the Limousin on a Sunday to try out the used Twingo we’d just bought. We picked up a guy in his forties. A German who spoke French well. He started talking about the environment. He was a green Khmer. He got worked up all by himself with his pseudo-eco rant and, after a few kilometers, was almost yelling at us. As we were about to leave the main road for a small one, I dropped him off at a crossroads in the middle of nowhere. Normally, I would have made a little detour to take him to a better spot, but this time, I didn’t feel like doing the... eco-warrior a favor.

On the other hand, I’ve still done my good deed a few times. One June morning, coming back from Orléans, I saw a man in his sixties hitchhiking. The poor guy had had a rough time. He was from Montpellier and was coming back from Caen, where he’d been promised a job. Once there, they bluntly told him the position was already taken, and he had to go back. Except he didn’t have enough money left for the train. He’d spent the night hitchhiking without success. I could only take him as far as Lamotte-Beuvron, where I dropped him off near the fire station. Apparently, there was some vague shelter there or something, but it only opened a few hours later. In the meantime, he settled on the grass in a corner to sleep a little. While he was doing that, I quickly went to the train station to check the price of a ticket to Montpellier. It was within my means. Since he was sound asleep, I slipped the train ticket and 100 francs into his pocket. I couldn’t imagine him continuing to hitchhike all the way to Montpellier. And I bet he didn’t even have a piece of cardboard and a marker!

When we go to Brazil, we usually rent a small car. One day, we were coming back from Paracuru to Fortaleza when we saw a whole family hitchhiking. Two adults and two or three small children. Here near the equator, the sun sets very quickly, and it would soon be night. There was little traffic, and trucks wouldn’t stop because there was no room in the cab. As for the rich people driving big 4x4s, they wouldn’t stoop to picking up the lower classes. The only hope for this kind of family was usually a farmer or artisan who’d let them ride in the back of his pickup. Obviously, they were a bit surprised to see us. Everyone crammed in as best they could in the back of our little car. When we dropped them off, we got a whole string of “Deus lhes abençõe”—God bless you.

Still in Brazil, we were on the road from Barreirinhas to São Luís do Maranhão. About 150 km of deserted road with an isolated mud house here and there. A young woman flagged us down. She was very pregnant and had to get to the clinic twenty or thirty kilometers away to give birth. Someone was supposed to drive her, but the first signs of labor started earlier than expected, and the driver was unavailable. Even driving fast, we weren’t feeling great: it would be just our luck if she gave birth in the car!

Today, we’re in the age of smartphones and carpooling apps. Safety. With everything you see on TV... Three or four years ago, we signed up on a platform. Our first, and only, “client” was a little jerk who didn’t say a word the whole trip. No hello, no goodbye, and certainly no thank you. The next day, we found his Ray-Bans in the car. We didn’t run after him to give them back. Ha!

Hello,

On a flight from Paris to Montreal, since the aircraft trajectories pass quite a bit to the north (maybe even too much...), is there any chance of spotting this very special phenomenon from your seat on the plane? That is, the combined result of a meteorite impact dating back about 214 million years and Hydro-Québec’s major works in the 1960s and beyond on the Manicouagan for massive electricity production, which flooded and highlighted the valleys and topographic trenches? A few years ago, I somewhat naively asked "Totem Aviation," based near Les Escoumins and offering light aircraft flyovers above the Manic-5 dam. They told me the altitude needed to observe the entire phenomenon was way too high for them... 🤪 On geographical maps, it’s absolutely spectacular! 😮