In this time of general travel-journal scarcity, I’m stepping up to tell you about a far-too-short getaway to the Top West End, a local term for the very northern part of Western Australia, right on the border ( ;) ) with the Northern Territory.
As usual, I didn’t manage to keep it short, but this time I’ve got photos to go with it!
August 2020. Since the opportunities to explore the world are extremely limited right now, all we (R&X) can do is explore our own island! Well, just a part of it, because with the state borders still closed, we’re stuck in Western Australia (WA).
Luckily, we’re pretty fortunate because this state is huge: over 2.5 million km² (that’s more than four times the size of France or 1.5 times Quebec). What’s more, stretching over 20 degrees of latitude between the Antarctic Ocean and the Timor Sea, you’ll find climates ranging from Mediterranean to arid to tropical. That’s actually why we decided to head as far north as possible.
Sick of the endless rainy winter in Perth, bring on the heat of the Kimberley... way up Nooorth!
Friday. At the airport, the main terminal was closed (not enough flights), so we ended up in the annex (where flights to the various mines usually depart from). There was no crowd at the gate, and in this huge, single departure lounge, empty seats were plentiful. Only three flights were listed on the screens for the rest of the morning: the first to Coondewanna (?), the second to Darwin, and ours to Kununurra (code KNX).
A cool breeze swept through the half-open corridors along the runways. At the top of the walkway leading to the Fokker 100 (the Airbuses and Boeings are now parked!), a flight attendant greeted us with a basket full of sanitary masks. We were actually the only masked passengers (the staff weren’t wearing them either). With zero Covid-19 cases in WA at the time, the only rule was to maintain social distancing—something pretty hard to do on a full plane!
It was also my first time wearing a mask—it felt weird, pretty uncomfortable, and after a while, painful behind the ears. I really feel for those who have to wear one all day, every day.
The flight lasted three long hours, but luckily, I had a good book. From the window, I watched an endless expanse of salt lakes in all shapes and sizes—round, elongated, gray, white, sometimes blue and green—and an infinity of winding, capricious meanders, along with long straight lines that led nowhere. The last half-hour got more interesting as rocky, swollen formations and long, sloping plateaus appeared. Against the vast ochre landscape, green patches became more frequent.
Just before landing, rows of green fields briefly appeared, along with an surprisingly wide river—but we were already rolling down the tarmac. A few hangars, a myriad of small, stationary planes, and a tiny terminal topped with a sign: “Welcome to Kununurra.”
We wanted heat, and here it was—34°C the moment we stepped off the plane! We felt alive again and totally ridiculous in our jeans and sweaters.
We quickly grabbed our suitcase and picked up the 4x4 we’d rented—more out of necessity, since only that type of vehicle can access the national parks we planned to visit.
Just four kilometers separated us from Kununurra, a town of 5,000 people founded in 1961 during the construction of the Lake Argyle Dam and the development of the Ord River Irrigation Area Scheme (more on that later). On the horizon, mountain ranges (a bit of an exaggeration, since we know Mt. Meharry, WA’s highest ‘mountain,’ doesn’t even reach 1,250 meters!) and closer to the road, a few irrigation canals cutting through stretches of bush, then a huge park overlooking a small lake lined with reeds.
A row of baobabs (yes, there are baobabs in Australia too!), a series of motels with immaculate lawns, a gas station, and there’s the main street leading to the town center—that is, the parking lots of the two supermarkets, the bottleshop, the pub, the Town Hall, the municipal pool, and the Tourist Office (already closed!), and at the next roundabout, another park, the Presbyterian church, and a few other shops. In short, two or three green blocks that you can explore in no time.
One road leads to the small industrial area and one of the town’s three or four campgrounds, while another heads toward the residential neighborhoods, which look just like the typical suburbs you find in any Australian city—except with tropical vegetation. We stocked up at Coles, an identical copy of the one near our place, and—surprise—the prices were practically the same.
We checked into one of the motels. The receptionist listed the town’s three or four restaurants, insisting that it’s always better to book a table. She recommended the Pump House, a bit outside town on the lake’s edge.
“Best spot to watch the sunset, but hurry up.” she told us.
It was only 5:00 PM!
When we got there half an hour later, the place was packed, and the sun had already disappeared behind a row of trees! Sure enough, we’d see a few days later that the sunset can be a stunning spectacle—if you wait a bit for the sky (especially if it’s cloudy) to blaze and reflect in the lake’s calm waters.
A little disappointed, we headed back into town, where we easily found the other lively spot in town: the pub (nothing like an old English pub). Above the long L-shaped bar, several giant screens (thankfully muted) were broadcasting live footy, rugby league, etc. In one corner, players circled the pool table, while in another, customers were digging into plates of the day’s special. Instead of rooms, there were various patios where groups of friends and coworkers (easily recognizable by the fluoro vests they were still wearing) were gathered. We found a table under a mango tree—unfortunately, a little too close to the guitarist strumming his entire Country Music repertoire, complete with Keith Urban-style tremolos.
Guaranteed culture shock!
Since it’s the custom here, we called the Country Club to book a table before the kitchen closed! The CC is the town’s—and even the region’s—fancy spot. Dark decor, modern furniture, dim lighting, and the air conditioning blasting. The twenty or so customers had taken refuge on the vast terrace, lit by torches. The view of the tall eucalyptus trees, illuminated by spotlights shifting from red to blue, was breathtaking.
The menu was minimal, but the grilled salmon was excellent, and the Pavlova (the meringue dessert Kiwis and Aussies have been arguing over since 1906) with melon and watermelon was absolutely divine.
It wasn’t even 9:00 PM, and we were already in bed. Had we already adopted the Top West End’s chicken schedule?!
Saturday. 08:30! Okay, fine, we’re still city chickens—those of us who love sleeping in and forget that at these latitudes, if the sun sets early, it also rises early and fast.
We realize we’ve just ‘wasted’ a few precious hours because the sun is already high and hot when we hit the road to Wyndham, the northernmost town in WA, about a hundred kilometers away.
After passing the airport and then the Diversion Dam on the Ord River, we drive along an endless, absolutely deserted straight road between long red rock formations, pale yellow stretches of spinifex (tall grasses), new varieties of eucalyptus, and more and more gray baobabs of all sizes. Some only have their fruit dangling from the ends of their bare branches, while others still have their tiny leaves. How can such an imposing tree have such small leaves?
The euphoria of vast, empty spaces and the sense of freedom they bring washes over us.
We stop often—either to inspect those curious shrubs with yellow flowers up close, to touch the baobabs or strange rocks, or simply to breathe in the warm holiday air and feel the sun’s prickling heat on our skin.
A sign announces Molly Springs to the right. We follow the red track that winds into the sparse bush toward a rocky outcrop we can more sense than see. A few kilometers later, we discover a creek (stream) with a few remaining puddles, suddenly lusher vegetation, and at the end of a stone path, a small cracked cliff and a rockhole that serves as a natural pool during the wet season (January to March).
Since we’re currently in the middle of the dry season (April to September), we won’t see the many waterfalls that dot the region and make it so charming. But that also means the tracks won’t be flooded or muddy, there’ll be no tricky river crossings, and we won’t risk getting stuck waiting indefinitely for the waters to recede.
It turns out August is considered one of the best times to visit the Kimberley—not too hot (it’s only 36°C!) and, most importantly, not yet humid. The best time is actually May, well after the wet season, when the tropical vegetation is at its most abundant. We know we’ll have to come back!!!
While Ry checks out the huge spiderwebs in silence, briefly interrupted by two squabbling black cockatoos, I climb the rockslide to reach the top of the cliff (barely fifteen meters!) to take in a panorama of rolling hills and a thin stream weaving through the tall green grasses. The fresh kangaroo droppings tell me they’re not far off. Closer are the little lizards I see darting away at full speed, jumping over the rocks. The snakes are invisible—and I’m grateful for that.
What serenity, so far from everything. The walk isn’t long and is limited to the paths through the bush leading to the rockhole on one side and to the imposing baobab, the true lord of the place, on the other. Far from being botany experts, we can’t help but notice the incredible diversity of the flora, and we spend a long time examining an unknown plant here, a strange piece of bark there, the foliage of the trees further on, or the trunk of these palms—or even the fruits of shrubs, wondering if they’re edible. When in doubt, we abstain!
It’s time to leave this Garden of Eden where only the flowers are a bit scarce.
A few dozen kilometers later, we arrive at an intersection marked by a huge rest area and parking lot. This is where the famous Road Trains (trucks pulling up to four trailers) are formed, crisscrossing and supplying the most remote corners of the state. It’s also the junction between the Victoria Highway and the Great Northern Highway, the country’s longest road (connecting Perth to Wyndham, 3,200 km). This mainly two-lane road, whose construction began in the early 1940s, wasn’t fully paved until 1986.
Fun fact: the Great Northern Highway practically starts at the end of our street, and for decades, one of my dreams (among many!) was to reach its other end. Just over fifty kilometers left before discovering ‘the end of the road.’ However, I still dream of traveling its entire length.
Another stop to check out another natural site called The Grotto, located a few kilometers from the main road. While this long, narrow canyon is very popular during the wet season, today we have the place all to ourselves.
Indeed, who would be crazy enough to walk around in this scorching heat just to see that the normally magnificent waterfalls are on a break?
Us, of course!
After admiring this natural chasm from above and trying to spot the well-hidden water basin, all that’s left is to find the 144 steps that lead down to the bottom, some 120 meters below. The regular calls of a cuckoo echoing off the steep walls of the grotto set the rhythm for our short descent. At the bottom, we discover a jumble of fallen rocks covered in vegetation and trees, and just at the foot of a narrow red and black cliff, we see there’s still plenty of stagnant water—definitely not inviting for a swim.
On the other hand, we enjoy the coolness and the calm. A honey scent floats in the air—it must come from those shrubs growing along the invisible stream. Looking up, we’re surprised to see baobabs growing precariously on the rocky slopes. The climb back up is less treacherous, and we quickly return to the surface and the heat. We push our madness further by taking a short walk to the spot where the water (when there is any!) plunges into the abyss—it’s also the best spot for a full view of the canyon.
Thanks to the AC, cranked up as soon as we get back in the car, we quickly regain our normal color. The road follows a final valley before crossing vast floodplains (flood-prone plains) that announce Wyndham.
A few run-down shacks later, and we’re already in front of ‘The Big Crocodile,’ an enormous 18-meter concrete statue that lets this tiny outpost of 800 souls make it onto Australia’s Big Things list. A dozen deserted streets that reek of boredom and abandonment. On the dusty main street, only the grocery store, gas station, and a café are open.
We push on to the ‘port,’ five kilometers further, skirting The Bastion, a rocky outcrop overlooking the small town on one side and the shores of the Cambridge Gulf, a massive sea inlet cutting into the land, on the other. This is also the historic part of Wyndham, where all that remains is a row of old, dilapidated cottages, a closed hotel (Australian for pub), empty sheds, and a small museum—also closed—surrounded by a scraggly garden where old agricultural machines and other relics rust. Panels illustrated with old photographs recount the town’s history.
We learn that the entire region was once home to the Doolboong community and that several historic sites (mainly rock paintings) are accessible in the area. The first European visitor was apparently a certain Philip Parker King, who in 1819 explored the coast in search of a river penetrating the continent’s interior. Finding no drinkable water, he turned back.
A new expedition in 1886 led to the establishment of a camp, which quickly prospered thanks to the discovery of gold at Halls Creek (350 km to the south) and the ensuing gold rush. As Wyndham was the closest access point, over 5,000 miners arrived to try their luck. Old photos show a bustling wharf, rows of tents, a few wooden houses, shops, and even a couple of taverns.
But two years later, the rush ended, and Wyndham became a simple supply point for the few pastoralists (farmers, ranchers) who had settled in the area.
In 1913, the government decided to boost the local economy by building a slaughterhouse and cannery. This would be the only significant economic activity until 1985, the year the factories closed for good (now entirely dismantled, hence the many vacant lots today).
In 1942, Wyndham made headlines across Australia when Japanese planes bombed the town four times.
In the early 1960s, Wyndham briefly became an important logistics hub during the construction of the dam on the Ord River, but as soon as Kununurra was established, Wyndham declined again.
Today, Wyndham is just a tiny river port where iron ore from nearby mines is loaded, brought in by convoys of road trains.
A few steps on the jetty let us take in the enormity of this sea inlet. A few small motorboats are anchored further up, as fishing is the main leisure activity in the area—and there’s surely plenty to catch… as long as you never forget the crocodiles!
A group of young Aboriginal girls (all girls!) sits in the scorching sun, the eldest showing them how to untangle their fishing lines and cast them into the current. Further on, two men launch their motorboat into the water—they’ve got the full fisherman’s kit and are loading an incredible array of fishing rods. This is serious business!
We’ve reached the end of the road. Time to turn back toward the center of Wyndham, still as quiet as ever. We’re heading to a café that serves Crocodile Pies and Barramundi Pies (AU$10!). Since the croc pies are still in the oven, we settle for the barramundi ones, which we take to the town’s other tourist attraction: The Five Rivers Lookout. Against all odds, the fish pastry turns out to be delicious. And the panoramic view from the top of the Bastion isn’t bad either.
We’ll have to come back during the wet season, though, because the five rivers in question (for info: Durack, Pentecost, King, Forrest, and King) aren’t exactly thriving—you can barely make them out among the vast mudflats. The area is known for its massive tides. From the lookout, you can’t see the Timor Sea, which lies over 80 kilometers away and is hidden by several islands in the Cambridge Gulf.
But the view of the opposite bank is stunning—it marks the start of a barely explored and practically inaccessible region: The Last Frontier. Bush, rocks, rivers, and along the coast, two spots that couldn’t be more different: Beverley River Lodge, a luxury resort accessible only by seaplane, and Kalumburu, an Aboriginal community reachable by a 500-kilometer detour via the south. .
To the south, the arm of the sea disappears into more mudflats and expanses of bush, dominated in the distance by the towering red cliffs of the Cockburn Ranges. Just below, the small port facilities sit between swamps and empty lots. Yeah, this really is the middle of nowhere!
Time to test out our trusty 4x4. We’re heading to the Boab Tree Prison, near the small Moochalabra Dam that supplies drinking water to the town and surrounding Aboriginal communities.
The track starts with a crossing of a vast swamp that turns into a salt lake in summer, then cuts through wide stretches of spinifex dotted with baobabs before following the King River, which you can glimpse now and then through the thick vegetation.
The track quickly deteriorates into an endless corrugated mess, punctuated by frequent potholes and rocky patches. The bumps are intense because, not knowing the road, I can’t drive fast enough to ‘float’ over the terrible undulations. Somehow, some of the fine gray dust cloud trailing behind the car manages to sneak inside. Stops are frequent—either to get a closer look at the river or to photograph the flora.
Finally, we reach the small Moochalabra Dam, but access is blocked by a fence. The thought of taking a dip had crossed my mind for a second, but reason—or rather the image of that Big Crocodile at the entrance to Wyndham—quickly changed my mind.
Nearby, there’s also a rock art site—if we can find it. We turn it into a scavenger hunt: who’ll spot the first clues? Broken branches and footprints in the sand lead us to the base of a small cliff, where a natural gallery stretches about fifty meters up a dozen meters above us. The spot is similar to the sites we’d seen in Kakadu, and I’m sure the art is there. A few strategically placed rocks let us reach the gallery and small caves without much effort.
First, a series of handprints, then sketches of animals appear on the walls, which are also covered in insect nests. Watch out for spiderwebs and their architects! While the paintings aren’t exceptionally detailed, they’re still incredible—dating back thousands of years and telling stories meaningful to the Aboriginal people who created them. As is often the case, these carvings and paintings served as signs for other clans about the kind of food, game, or fish found in the area. Unfortunately, water seepage and fires have damaged part of the site.
On our way back to the car, we spot a billabong (a swampy area near a river) covered in water lilies, and two wallabies standing still, watching us before bounding off into the bushes.
A few more kilometers of bumpy driving, and there it is—the famous baobab turned into a prison in the 1890s! This venerable giant is imposing. Its massive trunk is covered in carved initials and inscriptions, and at about a meter off the ground, there’s a hole big enough for a person to crawl through.
Police patrolling to arrest young Aboriginal people who’d killed livestock (it’s easier to kill a sheep or a cow than a kangaroo!) had noticed that holes in the high branches indicated the tree was hollow. All they had to do was drill a hole… and voilà! They could ‘lock up’ their prisoner(s) and spend a peaceful night before continuing to Wyndham. This makeshift prison was called Hillgrove Lockup, proof it was used often.
We push on down the rough track for a few more kilometers, hoping to reach the legendary Gibb River Road (which connects Derby to Wyndham) by skirting the Cockburn Ranges, but we have to turn back due to time—just like yesterday, night falls fast. We head back to Wyndham, still as empty and depressing as ever.
Just outside town, another track (this time to the right) awaits. It leads to the Parry Lagoons, specifically the Marglu Billabong, known for its wide variety of birds.
Here, no brutal corrugations or sharp turns—just a few sandy patches that occasionally throw the 4x4 off course. The road crosses a flat expanse surrounded by distant hills. We approach a spot where the vegetation is denser and greener—we’ve arrived.
Boardwalks and camouflaged huts let you get up close to observe the different bird species. While we’re not biologists, we’re even less ornithologists—we can’t put a name to the many birds we see, even when comparing them to the well-illustrated lists posted on the hut walls.
Silence and patience, kind of like fishing, I imagine.
We envy a young Italian couple equipped with super-zoom lenses and high-end cameras, who we end up chatting with for a while. They *are* biologists, but like us, they don’t know much about birds. They tell us they arrived in Australia last September on a Working Holiday visa and got stuck in WA because of Covid-19. Having saved up well, they didn’t hesitate to splurge on professional gear, which, they tell us, is much cheaper here than in Italy.
« In a month, we’ll be back home. » they say sadly.
Now we don’t envy them at all!
The light, shadows, and contrasts are perfect now, but that also means we shouldn’t dawdle if we want to get back before dark and avoid kangaroos on the road.
Just a quick detour to Telegraph Hill to see the ruins of an old telegraph station (!) and farm, built atop an isolated hill overlooking the swamps, plains, and hills turning red before our eyes. A beautiful panorama, likely the same one Aboriginal people gazed upon thousands of years ago.
More bumps before we hit the smooth asphalt of the main road and rediscover this morning’s landscapes—from the opposite direction.
We arrive in Kununurra just in time to catch the sunset… well, almost. A few hiccups finding the right road—the one leading to Kelly’s Knob (a small hill on the edge of town)—mean we’re a little late. Still, we see the sun dip behind a distant mountain range, but with a cloudless sky, it’s a bit of a non-event.
The evening wraps up at Pump House, the town’s ‘in’ restaurant. The setting is surprising—it’s the old pumping station building, and much of the machinery is still there. The tables are placed wherever there was space. No social distancing issues here!
A lovely way to end this first beautiful day of vacation.
Sunday. 7:30 AM. Dawn has been gone for a while, but there’s still a clear improvement over yesterday. Time to dip the croissants in coffee (found yesterday at the local Coles and just as good as in Paris!), prepare the thermoses, load the car without forgetting the water bottles, fill up the tank, and buy a road map (for my collection!), and we’re finally on the road—the same one as yesterday until the highways intersection and the parking lot for road trains.
From there, we head due south toward Bungle Bungles National Park (now called Purnululu National Park), over 200 kilometers away. The landscapes are the same as yesterday but even more vast. The bush in all its glory—immense, flat with a few undulations, and here and there, mini mountain ranges with flattened peaks.
Sparse vegetation with colors ranging from the green of eucalyptus to the yellow of spinifex, along with the ochre of the earth, the deep blue of the sky, the grays of termite mounds and baobabs, the reds of the rock, the white of dried riverbed sand, and the purple of wildflowers. It’s a feast for the eyes.
We rack up the kilometers without feeling the slightest monotony—a true case of ‘the more it stays the same, the more it changes,’ an expression that’s hard to grasp but perfectly fitting for the landscape around us.
The road is flawless and completely deserted—we’ll only cross paths with two road trains and nine vehicles, all towing caravans. The ‘grey nomads’ (retired wanderers) are out and about.
The feeling of solitude and emptiness is even more striking since, between Wyndham and Halls Creek (350 km), there’s only one tiny hamlet, two roadhouses (gas stations), and a few small Aboriginal communities that are inaccessible. We’ve just passed Doon Doon, the first roadhouse, which also serves as a cafeteria, campsite, and garage. A few prefab units can also be used for lodging—for desperate travelers or workers on the move.
On my brand-new map (well, before my co-driver unfolded it and tried to refold it, ugh), the towns, marked by black dots, look like European megacities, and the many rivers, represented by wide blue lines, take on the appearance of impressive waterways. This is especially true for the Wilson and Bow Rivers, which meet where we stop for ‘morning tea.’
Reality is quite different, though. While the brand-new bridge is indeed large, especially compared to the old one still standing, the river itself is nowhere to be seen. The wide riverbed is nothing but stones and sand—not even the start or end of a tiny puddle.
It’s hard to imagine that the huge parking lot where we’re standing, despite being far away and elevated, can be completely flooded by these rivers after a cyclone.
From here, the road conditions worsen. The funds for maintenance haven’t made it this far yet! Narrower and bumpier, the bridges are reduced to a single lane. More dangerous are the animals that get a little too close to the road, like stray cattle or wild horses.
Warmun (formerly Turkey Creek) isn’t very big. Before being a gas station/grocery store/motel, it’s primarily a settlement (a gathering/camp) of several Aboriginal communities, organized in a classic urban model with a few right-angled streets, individual houses, administrative and cultural buildings, and stretching along the Great Northern Highway, behind fences identical to those in any suburb.
At the beginning of the 20th century, as European ranchers gradually settled in the region, tensions between Aboriginal people and pastoralists grew increasingly violent, sometimes escalating into armed conflicts and massacres. The government created two vast cattle stations (stations) to regroup, employ, and assimilate the Indigenous population. In 1901, Turkey Creek was established as a ration depot. These rations were only distributed to Aboriginal people who agreed to settle in the new camps. Others were forced to do so by the police in the following years.
The community is now managed by an officially constituted organization that runs the gas station, motel, and, most importantly, the cultural center and art gallery (both sadly closed due to Covid-19). These valuable resources provide some independence to this community, established in the 1970s and known for its talented artists.
To access the interior of Warmun and its art gallery, you need permission (a phone call is enough), but since we know all Aboriginal communities are currently closed, there’s no point insisting—especially since what little we see from the road doesn’t really encourage a visit.
Another fifty kilometers or so, and finally, the turnoff to the national park and the campsite a little further on. 4x4 mode—let’s go!
Ugh, so many bumps!
It’s 1:00 PM when we arrive at the campsite reception—a vast, dusty area barely shaded by a few eucalyptus trees. A few permanent buildings, small wooden bungalows, tents set up on raised platforms, and about half a dozen caravans.
Bad news: we’re told that, due to the low number of tourists (still Covid-19!), the restaurant is closed! So, it’s sandwiches and cookies for the next two days (luckily, we had stocked up a bit!).
As for the tent—safari-style, almost luxurious—it’s perfect. There’s even a shower inside! We’re going to quickly become fans of glamping.
Another nasty surprise: the entrance to the national park is located 53 kilometers away at the end of a hellish track, as we quickly discover.
The little bit of track we did yesterday was certainly good practice, but here it’s absolute horror—even the worst roads in Burma or Armenia are more bearable and comfortable than this access route. The track, wide and fortunately deserted, is nothing but a dreadful succession of dusty sections littered with stones and potholes, plus that terrible corrugated iron effect, even more irregular and harsh than yesterday. The numerous rocks and frequent bends make it impossible to pick up speed to soften the jolts. At times, the vibrations are so intense that I expect the car to fall apart entirely, leaving me with just the steering wheel in my hands.
Impossible to enjoy the beautiful landscapes we’re driving through—I’m so focused and completely tense that I can already feel a pain in my right shoulder!
While the climbs give a bit of a break (*vibration-wise*), some descents give you cold sweats, especially those ending with stream crossings—fortunately all bone-dry but synonymous with ruts and big rocks.
Nearly two hours to cover the fifty-odd kilometers separating the campsite from the Visitor Centre, where we finally arrive. The small building is closed (*obviously due to Covid-19*), but access to the national park remains open. Forms to fill out and envelopes for the entrance fee in $ are available, ready to be dropped into a mailbox. Oh, we see another car for the first time!
We’re not out of the woods yet—the track splits, left toward Echidna Chasm (19 km) or right toward Piccaninny Creek (16 km). The choice is quickly made!
The tracks inside the national park are more bearable (*sort of*), with fewer climbs and descents, fewer rocks, but more sandy patches. Then, as we skirt the rocky massifs and get closer, photo stops become more and more frequent.
The reason, of course, is the very unique geology found in this national park, which has been a UNESCO World Heritage Site since 2003. The international organization even provides this somewhat technical description on its website:
Purnululu National Park covers an area of almost 2,400 km² and contains the highly dissected Bungle Bungle Range, composed of Devonian quartz sandstone eroded over 20 million years into a landscape of exceptional beauty and geological value. It features outstanding examples of sandstone cone karst rising up to 250 meters above a semi-arid savanna. The extraordinary orange and black bands of these formations were created through unique deposition and erosion processes, biologically influenced by cyanobacteria (single-celled photosynthetic organisms) that stabilize and protect these ancient sandstone structures.
The park’s main scenic attraction is the extraordinary range of beehive-shaped conical towers clustered in the Bungle Bungle massif. These strikingly sculpted structures, unmatched in scale, extent, and diversity of form anywhere in the world, undergo remarkable seasonal changes in appearance, including dramatic color shifts after rain and varying sunlight angles. The labyrinth of towers is accentuated by narrow, winding gorges with steep slopes, lined with majestic Livistona fan palms.
The sandstone karst of Purnululu National Park is of great scientific importance as it clearly demonstrates the process of cone karst formation in sandstone—a phenomenon only recently recognized by geomorphologists and still not fully understood.
At last, we’ve reached the end of the track, right at the foot of this extraordinary ‘beehive’ massif. We don’t know where to look first and can’t wait to explore the different paths winding into this truly incredible landscape.
The sun is beating down hard. Hatted, slathered in sunscreen, and with our water bottles in hand, we start with the shortest walk—the one looping around the nearest and most accessible domes. We follow the zigzags of the sandy, marked trail through dense vegetation, gradually discovering the different domes with their rough walls decorated in horizontal colored bands, all in an eerie silence.
A huge relief to see that a good part of the trail is now in the shade—we’re also surprised to realize how much the rock color changes depending on whether it’s exposed to the sun and how intense the rays are. The path ends in a dead end, inside a cave where the temperature is refreshingly cool. The walls are covered in what looks like relief frescoes, but are actually the result of water infiltration and rock erosion.
We’re finishing the loop that takes us through some mysterious nooks. A few birds make a brief appearance before disappearing into the vegetation. Defying the laws of gravity, we also notice the presence of surprising termite mounds clinging—almost miraculously—to the upper sides of several rock formations. We’re back in the open again, but this time the heat is far less oppressive. We’re tempted to keep exploring, but that would risk not making it back before nightfall—a definite no-no in the bush in general (risk of hitting animals) and on this terrible track in particular.
We almost envy the couple who just arrived and are starting to set up the tent on their vehicle’s roof. They’ll have the place all to themselves and, most importantly, get to watch the rock formations light up as the sun begins its descent.
Next time, we promise—we’ll camp here too!
For now, we’re back to our session of jolts or vigorous massage.
At the park entrance, a sign points to Kungkalanayi Lookout, a scenic viewpoint just a kilometer away. Okay then, might as well check it out. And sure enough, we’re not disappointed—the view is stunning, especially as the rock turns increasingly red and the light plays beautifully on the vegetation.
But this time, we *have* to go—it’s nearly 4:30 PM, and in less than an hour, it’ll be dark.
And we’re off again. The difference this time is I know what to expect and remember the trickiest sections. I even throw in a few (brief) bursts of speed. What I *didn’t* plan for, though, was the setting sun in my eyes or the two 4x4s ahead of us kicking up clouds of dust, forcing me to slow down—or even stop—so they’d put some distance between us.
After a few kilometers, I finally lose patience and take a deep breath (literally). Taking advantage of a slowdown as we approach a climb, I flash my headlights and overtake them, squeezing my eyes shut and saying a quick prayer—which, thankfully, is answered.
Night has fallen now, and I’m even more on edge. But I also discover one advantage of the dark: in the headlights, the bumps and potholes in the track are much harder to spot!
A few lights finally appear—it’s the campsite. We’ve made it—safe and sound, and the car survived. I’d better not forget that candle for St. Christopher!
For now, we head to reception to buy a couple of beers, which we’ll enjoy on our ‘terrace,’ gazing at the Milky Way in all its glory—while massaging my right shoulder!!!
After a great meal of delicious sandwiches, we burrow under the thick blankets—it’s only 6°C tonight!
Monday. 5:30 AM. It's as freezing inside as it is outside, where the first light of day is appearing on the horizon. The thermos filled with boiling water at reception last night isn’t very effective anymore, so we have to make do with lukewarm tea to dunk our biscuits.
Less than half an hour later, we’re back on the bumps and potholes of the hellish track. The campsite manager told us yesterday that the road has never been repaired or improved and that its condition gets worse every season—but it’s also a good way to limit the number of visitors?! In fact, this only access to the national park crosses the land of a pastoral station, and the owners have other priorities.
The low-angle light illuminates the dew-covered vegetation—it’s amazing how a landscape can look so different depending on the sun’s brightness and the shadows of the terrain. While yesterday we only spotted a few birds, this morning they’re everywhere and in large numbers (the park is home to nearly 150 different species). But this isn’t the time to lose focus. Even though I feel more at ease, driving is still tough, especially since my shoulder pain is flaring up again and, once more, I’m blinded by the sun rising over the hills.
Well, we’ve beaten yesterday’s record: 1 hour 20 minutes from the campsite to the Visitor Centre. This time, we turn left toward Echidna Chasm, the northernmost part of the Bungle Bungles range. This nineteen-kilometer stretch is much more manageable, running along a valley lined with a series of rocky massifs—very different from yesterday’s ‘beehives’—and covered in a carpet of golden spinifex dotted with spaced-out eucalyptus trees, a few baobabs, and, surprisingly, some palm trees.
The track ends at the foot of large red rocks, and once again, we’re alone.
The temperature is perfect for a walk. The first trail climbs gently to a small promontory offering a panoramic view of the Osmond Range, famous for its series of long, sloping plateaus.
The second trail follows the bed of a river that winds into an increasingly narrow gorge, eerily reminiscent of Petra’s Siq (minus the smells!). On the steep red walls, magnificent fan palms grow—what a striking contrast of colors, especially since the rock shifts from red to black.
The path narrows to the point where only one person can pass at a time. Beyond that, we discover a large, roughly circular chamber and another passage cluttered with massive fallen boulders that we have to climb over. Further on, we squeeze under other rocks wedged between the walls. Soon, we reach the end of the trail, which finishes in a smaller, darker chamber. In these rocky depths, the tiny patch of blue sky we see when looking up feels oddly reassuring.
On the way back, we spot several skittish lizards but only one pair of lovebirds… well, they seemed to be!
Happy to be back in the sunlight, less thrilled about the bite of its rays. It’s breakfast time: cereal, fruit, yogurt—all washed down with cold coffee. But what a stunning setting, and it’s Monday! On vacation, Monday has always been my favorite day!
Our next stop is a few kilometers down the road at a place called The Bloodwoods, where three trails start, allowing you to explore different parts of this massive range. We choose the longest one: The Homestead Valley, just because I like the name.
It starts with a gentle slope through the bush and around a huge rock with tilted strata and curious scars. The trail then heads toward a set of red cliffs. It’s only ten in the morning, but the sun is already beating down, and there’s no shade in sight—luckily, we’ve brought several bottles of water. The place is impressive and eerily quiet.
Signs indicate that we now need to follow the stony bed of a completely dry river leading into a small canyon where many acacias are in bloom. The blue of the sky, the reds of the rock, the greens of the vegetation, the yellows of the flowers, and the white of the stones—what a beautiful three-dimensional painting. Walking on these large rocks is tough, but our frequent stops let us watch the multitude of small birds busy feeding on the flowers. Oddly, despite being in Australia, no insects bother us here—not even a fly!
One branch of the trail is blocked—it leads to a sacred Aboriginal site that’s off-limits to visitors (there are over 80 such sites scattered throughout the national park). The local Aboriginal people (the Karjaganujaru peoples) have been the traditional custodians of these lands for over 20,000 years. Their stories, traditions, and some of their resources are tied to this place, and for many, this connection continues today. In fact, the park is managed jointly by government agencies and the local Aboriginal community.
We take the other branch, which climbs to a small natural platform offering a panoramic view of the little valley and the natural amphitheater just ahead.
As for the origin of the name ‘Homestead Valley’ (the valley of the homestead, farm, or family property…), a sign explains that it dates back to 1880, when the first colonial explorers were searching for agricultural land. One of them, Alexander Forrest, thought this spot was ideal for establishing a homestead. Fortunately, his idea wasn’t pursued, but the name stuck.
The return under the scorching sun is tougher than expected, and once we’re back at the car, we decide to save the other two hikes for… another visit! Once again, the car’s air conditioning quickly revives us, and we stop at… Stonehedge feeling almost back to normal.
It’s not some prehistoric formation but just a trail through the bush and along the banks of a small (obviously dry) river, explaining how Aboriginal people used different trees, shrubs, and grasses. From a distance, all eucalyptus and spinifex look alike, but up close, they’re incredibly diverse. Some have edible fruit, others have leaves that can anesthetize prey, or branches for making hunting tools or baskets, bark for producing glue, or medicines to cure all sorts of ailments… etc. The walk is very informative and gives you an appreciation for the vast knowledge of the bush that Aboriginal people have (or had). Despite this lesson, I hope I never get lost in the bush—I wouldn’t survive long!
And so ends our visit to the northern part of the park. It’s time to ‘race’ toward Piccaninny Creek, where we were twenty-four hours earlier.
We arrived at the worst possible time. The temperature shot from 6°C to 36°C in just a few hours!
Yesterday’s campers had been replaced by a young couple and their three little kids finishing up their picnic.
Luckily, the first hike we took was mostly in the shade, deep in a gorge. Still, we had to endure a stretch in the open sun, walking near and then on scorching hot rocks before reaching the sandy path leading to Cathedral Gorge. A light breeze brought some welcome coolness as we made our way deeper into the gorge. The upper parts of the cliffs, lit by the sun, took on strange orange and golden hues.
Apart from the sound of sand crunching under our feet, the silence was total—almost eerie. One last turn and a slight climb before discovering a vast semi-open cave with its massive half-dome ceiling. On the ground, white sand and, in the middle, a small pool of water reflecting the cave’s colorful walls.
But the most surprising (and most welcome) part was the coolness inside. We greeted another young couple and their little girl building a sandcastle—a somewhat surreal scene.
After exploring every corner of the cave, we lay down on the cool sand for a long while, trying to imagine this same spot during the rainy season, when the cave turns into a waterfall and the sand disappears underwater. There’s little chance we’ll ever see it, though, since the park becomes inaccessible and remains closed to the public.
Time to head back—more hiking awaits!
The next one took us a few kilometers farther to the Piccaninny Creek Lookout. Unfortunately, this stretch was in full sun, following the riverbed between the rock towers. The deep erosion marks on the rocks hinted at the sheer force of the water here during certain times of the year. Hard to imagine so much water flowing through this place!
Phew, the lookout was in the shade! The perfect spot for a long moment of contemplation.
Ry’s bright red face told me the rest of the hikes would have to wait for another time. Better to head back to the car. We’d seen the main sights anyway—we hadn’t even planned to do the full circuit, which takes two days!!!
The drive back to the campsite was more relaxed, even if that blasted track was still just as rough.
This time, we arrived before nightfall and could enjoy the sunset from our terrace, sipping beers and munching on handfuls of peanuts… which would have to do as dinner tonight.
Thanks Xavier for this walk that was as refreshing as it was enjoyable...
I think of Arthur Upfield
I think of Kim Mahood
I think of Tim Winton
I think of Catherine Rey
Over time and through my readings, I’ve become passionate about this country with its many extraordinary facets, and today I’m loving following your adventures!
And then I think of my friends Lyn & David, who have been patiently waiting for so long to show me their country—"your" country...
See you soon, then, to drive between hills and ravines, to walk trails until we’re sweltering, to marvel at the colors and scents, to navigate a map we can never fold right, and to discover and savor it all over and over again...
Dolma
un chemin et la caresse du vent, alors je pars en voyage...
... some passionate readings about this country with its many extraordinary facets
Hi Dolma, you can add to your reading list Albert Facey (*A Fortunate Life*), Sally Morgan (*My Place*), Xavier Herbert (*Capricornia*), and even D.H. Lawrence (*Kangaroo*), Mary Durack (*Kings in Grass Castles*)... etc. However, I’m not sure if all these books are available in French.
I was recently recommended *The White Savage* by François Garde... I’m looking for it!!!
And then I think of my friends Lyn & David, who have been patiently waiting for so long to show me their country...
They’ll need a little more patience, but I hope you’ll surprise them!
Tuesday. 6:30 AM. Parrots are holding a conference in the trees surrounding our tent, and their shrill cries make for an excellent alarm clock. Time to pack up and leave the still-sleepy campsite.
We’re thrilled to be back on the smooth asphalt of the Great Northern Highway, but also a little worried—yesterday on the way back, I noticed the fuel gauge had dipped into the critical zone. Is there enough gas to make it to Warnum, about sixty kilometers away?
My dilemma: should I speed up to get there faster or drive slower to save the precious fuel? Plus, this stretch is all ups and downs!
The landscape rarely felt so slow, even with bursts up to 110 km/h—the max speed allowed in WA. Another 20 km, another 10 km, another 5 km… just 1 km left!
Yes, we made it… just!
The roadhouse is buzzing this morning. It also doubles as a grocery store, and many Aboriginal locals are stocking up.
Problem: the pump won’t start. New anxiety—are the tanks full? When does the fuel truck come to fill them?
Inside, the guy explains that you can only pay with a credit card—just insert it into the machine outside, select the pump number, fuel type, and desired amount.
Not exactly easy to fill up under these conditions?!
Given the price—$1.82 per liter (it was $1.09 in Kununurra)—I decide to put in just $50, hoping it’ll be enough to reach Kununurra!
We take the opportunity to grab breakfast and a big hot coffee. Sensitive souls and delicate stomachs, beware—between the over-fried eggs, bacon slices dripping with grease, and toast covered in melted margarine… my heart skips a beat!
The coffee’s piping hot but not scalding—no complaints there!
Digestion is a struggle as we gaze at the vast landscapes and wave (just lift a finger without taking your hand off the wheel) at the few vehicles we pass.
Halfway there, near the Durham River, we find a rest area to make coffee (smart move—we’d asked the lovely waitress to fill our thermoses with hot water). We spot a massive caravan parked in the shade and a 4x4 with its hood up. The driver comes over to ask if we have any coolant for his overheated radiator. Unfortunately, the car rental didn’t provide any!
I offer to take him to the Doon-Doon gas station, but he’d rather wait for the tow truck he called a couple of hours ago. Then he launches into a long list of mishaps that have plagued his trip since leaving Perth… six months ago! We conclude that the life of a Grey Nomad isn’t all smooth sailing.
Before reaching Kununurra, we have two tourist spots to visit: Valentine Spring, three kilometers north of the main road, and Black Rock Pool, about ten kilometers further up.
Let’s go—especially since the track is perfect and dead straight.
Valentine Spring turns out to be just a small, partly shaded pond, the remnants of a once-turbulent river. We scare off a family of cattle soaking their hooves near barely adolescent baobabs.
I stretch my legs by hopping across the smooth, slippery rocks forming the riverbed—no doubt a lovely waterfall in the right season. Here and there, a few puddles remain, and even more surprisingly, some are home to fish. How do they survive in so little water, and warm at that?
To reach Black Rock Pool, you take a narrow track leading to a cliff hidden by vegetation along the Livistona Range. At the end of the track, a path scattered with pebbles and roots leads to a wooded area littered with rocks you have to climb before discovering a water basin at the base of a fifty-meter-high cliff. Its black color (hence the name!) contrasts with the red and ochre hues of the surrounding rock and the green vegetation hanging from the top. Water seeps from the rock even during the dry season, constantly feeding the pool.
But the most unexpected (and extraordinary) sight is the hundreds of butterflies (Euploea core), all identical, fluttering everywhere. Their sheer numbers are due to the host plants for their caterpillars never lacking water here—and more importantly, making them toxic, so they have no predators.
This beautiful spot, also called Ngamoowalem by the Miriwoong traditional custodians, is a local favorite—the waterfall that appears at the start of the rainy season is the first in the area, and the pool is one of the deepest.
Happy we made the detour, we head back toward Kununurra and cross the Ord River. We arrive just in time for a late lunch. We take the opportunity to visit the Tourist Office and the supermarket before heading to Lake Argyle Village—which, as the name suggests, is a village on the shores of the lake of the same name.
After a quick detour to see the border between Western Australia and the Northern Territory (I can’t resist!), we arrive at the Lake Argyle campsite in the late afternoon to check into our bungalow and, of course, take a dip in the famous infinity pool overlooking the lake. Wow—the water’s cold, but the view is stunning.
Ry even finds time to organize a boat tour for tomorrow morning—no easy feat, since most tour operators have temporarily shut down due to a lack of tourists.
All that’s left is to head to the viewpoint on the hill next to the dam to see the lake—or at least a tiny part of it. It’s so massive! Some years, its surface area is as big as Singapore! How can such a small dam hold back so much water?
We won’t be seeing the sunset tonight—the west is blocked by a series of hills—but the show unfolds right in front of our bungalow as the rocky slopes keep turning red… before fading into the night. Then the spectacle moves up into the sky.
But first, intermission—we’ve been warned the restaurant closes at 7 PM. !!!
Reading you is a double torment.
First, these borderless spaces—or so distant—while we’re not safe from seeing our horizon shrink back to a single kilometer.
And then, those bumps you complain about, which I miss so much (and here, everyone’s crying chaos).
Thanks anyway for the escape (I’m a masochist 😉).
P.S. Do you happen to have any photos of the Top West End towns, just for the vibe?
As my partner says: «We’re gonna miss the bistros!»...
... some passionate reading about this country with its many extraordinary facets
Hello Dolma, you can add to your reading list Albert Facey (*A Fortunate Life*), Sally Morgan (*My Place*), Xavier Herbert (*Capricornia*), and even D.H. Lawrence (*Kangaroo*), Mary Durack (*Kings in Grass Castles*)... etc. However, I’m not sure if all these books are available in French.
I was recently recommended *The White Savage* by François Garde... I’m looking for it!!!
And then I think of my friends Lyn & David, who have been patiently waiting for so long to show me their country...
They’ll need a little more patience, but I hope you’ll surprise them!
...on a map that just won’t fold back properly
Oh, absolutely not! !
Hi Xavier,
I’ll add Kenneth Cook to the list of authors with his book *The Killer Koala*, published in French as *Le Koala Tueur et autres histoires du bush* (Autrement editions). These short stories are funnier than the last, inspired by his adventures across Australia.
Thanks for this travel journal—I really enjoyed it. Guaranteed change of scenery! 😊
Wednesday. 6:00 AM. We’ve definitely settled into the Top West End rhythm!
Not really my choice, but we’ve got a meet-up with Tim at the dock in half an hour. Breakfast downed, face slathered in sunscreen, camera in my pocket, and hat on my head—I’m ready, same for Ry.
No trouble finding the meet-up spot—there’s only one access point to the lake: this tiny gravel beach at the bottom of a pretty steep descent. Tim, our young skipper, gets us on board a boat that can hold about thirty passengers, but since no one else showed up for this morning cruise, we’ve got our pick—port, starboard, bow, stern?! Right in the middle under the canopy works perfectly.
As we cruise along the exposed shores, Tim shares some stats about this vast body of water and then tells the story of the lake, which began in 1972—the year the dam was inaugurated—and why it was built.
First, the numbers: the dam (335 meters long and 98 meters high) holds back about 5,800 gigaliters but could hold up to 35,000! As for the lake’s surface, it’s usually around 1,000 km² but could be more than double that. Right now, the lake stretches about 70–75 km long and 30–35 km wide, though its size fluctuates quickly depending on the number and intensity of cyclones. The same goes for the number of islands in the lake—some appear or disappear depending on the water level. Normally, there are about 70 islands, varying in size and appearance: sandy or pebbly beaches, covered in vegetation or barren, swampy or rocky, etc.
Finally, the population of freshwater crocodiles (so they’re friendly) is estimated at 22,000, with 26 species of fish and 270 species of birds (full list here).
The story begins around 1880 with the arrival of the first pastoralists searching for new grazing lands. They came from Queensland, leading massive herds after a journey of over two years. They started by building small wooden and earthen dams mainly for livestock but also with the idea of developing tropical agriculture.
After the drought that hit between 1935 and 1942, the first irrigation experiments were attempted, and a tropical agricultural research center was created. The initial plan was to grow rice, cotton, and sugar for export to Asia! While the local government was quickly convinced of the project’s feasibility and viability, they still needed to secure additional funding from the federal government.
In 1959, the Ord River Irrigation Scheme was launched, and its first phase began with the construction of the Diversion Dam on the Ord River (inaugurated in 1963). The old natural waterhole (Carlton Reach) disappeared under the new artificial lake, named Kununurra Lake.
In 1960, the town of Kununurra was established to support the farmers settling in and the surrounding Aboriginal communities. By 1966, there were about thirty farms, most growing cotton. However, despite the excessive use of pesticides, pests drastically reduced expected yields, and with falling prices, cotton farming was quickly abandoned. The same happened with rice—this time, the problem was birds eating the seeds before they could grow! Fortunately, sugarcane farming didn’t face the same issues.
The second phase of the project began in 1969 with the construction of the Main Dam, the one holding back the lake we’re cruising on. The dam was inaugurated three years later, and thanks to a couple of particularly rainy seasons, the lake reached its maximum level in less than three years.
Today, over 117 km² are irrigated, and the area is expected to reach 400 km² in the near future. There are now more than 60 different crops, but the most profitable seems to be Indian sandalwood, used in perfumes and cosmetics.
Since 1995, a small hydroelectric plant has supplied electricity to the region and some nearby mines.
We approach the shore, where Tim spots a rock wallaby among the boulders—a small kangaroo species particularly adapted to rocky habitats. Unfortunately, it’s endangered (mainly because of feral cats!). Tim turns off the engine and lets the boat drift toward the bank. We scan the pile of rocks carefully but don’t see anything at first. Finally, after a long while, we spot a small animal hopping around before freezing to watch us for several minutes. Its long tail and slender profile set it apart from its cousins. Soon, it’s joined by its companion (or mate), which descends the small cliff with astonishing ease and agility.
We circle several islands surrounded by tree trunks emerging from the water—after such a long time submerged, their wood has become petrified. On the branches, birds spot fish they’re about to catch.
Further on, we see the first ‘freshies’ (freshwater crocodiles, endemic to Australia) basking in the sun. Much smaller (2–3 meters max!) than saltwater crocs, these are harmless because their long, narrow snouts can’t open as wide as their ‘salties’ cousins. Still, I’d rather not dangle my hand in the water.
We leave the peaceful little bays and pick up speed to reach the other side of the lake, where a string of islands covered in vegetation lies. According to Tim, this is also the best spot to catch the biggest fish. Fishing seems easy—he just waves a slice of bread over the water, and hundreds of fish swarm around the boat. Absolutely incredible. He also tells us that in a corner of the central part of the lake, there are experimental fish farming projects.
Speaking of farming, he also mentions a more or less recent attempt to farm… spiders! American researchers noticed that some local spiders wove webs with such strong silk that it could be used to make bulletproof vests. They started breeding spiders but eventually had to abandon the idea after realizing the females had a habit of eating the males after mating! Colleagues later found a ‘better’ solution: genetically modifying goat milk!?—see the video.
At our skipper’s insistence, we approach a cluster of submerged trees whose branches are covered in those famous spider webs. Hmm, I’d rather explore one of these little islands and play Robinson Crusoe for a bit.
On the way back, we spot some beautiful migratory birds, but the most interesting ones are apparently in the far south of the lake, near the mangroves and marshes. Another reason to come back another time—and for longer!
After this all-too-brief but fascinating excursion, we’re back on solid ground.
We spend the rest of the morning on the other side of the dam, in a shady spot by the river at the foot of the imposing wall. Though access to the river is closed (for safety reasons!), we discover that the shaded area is perfect for birdwatching. A real ‘miraculous catch’ for those with the right gear! Unfortunately, we’re not equipped… Maybe something to ask Santa for!
No luck—the historical museum at Argyle Homestead is closed. Moved and rebuilt stone by stone on the heights just before the dam was built, it tells the story of the Durack family, one of the first to settle here.
Strangely, no effort was made to preserve the many Aboriginal sites that disappeared underwater. In fact, Aboriginal people were never consulted about the Ord River Irrigation Scheme. Until 1966, their status was practically the same as flora and fauna.
After a quick stop at Deadhorse Creek, hoping to see more birds around a permanent rockhole, and a short walk through the tall grass (not a great idea) followed by a quick scramble over rocks for one last glimpse of the lake, we hit the road back to Kununurra.
Total lack of imagination since we’re spending our last night of this admittedly too-short getaway at the same motel. We’re going to picnic at Celebrity Tree Park on the shores of Lake Kununurra.
This pretty park gets its name from the fact that many trees were planted by celebrities passing through Kununurra. Among all the commemorative plaques, the most famous (to me anyway!) is Nicole Kidman’s, who came here in 2007 during the filming of the movie 'Australia' Australia.
Despite the heat, a group of young women starts an intense aerobics session under the gazebo, on the dock further away, a grandmother launches her kayak, in the parking lot, two electricians (it’s written on their van) wolf down their sandwiches, and near the kids’ playground, a young couple is sweetly canoodling. In the background, the sound of a lawnmower—watching this gardener circle the trees and flower beds, he must already feel like he’s in Monaco as Daniel Ricciardo, another celebrity (wait, I don’t think he has a plaque here, does he!?).
But all this activity doesn’t seem to bother the many birds present, both in the treetops and on the water. I even get a private show from a little eagle that doesn’t hesitate to strike a series of poses: shy, annoyed, fierce, indifferent, haughty, even cheeky.
It’s incredible to think that 60 years ago, this town didn’t even exist. In fact, they even had to come up with a name! Kununurra is said to come from the English adaptation of the word Goonoonoorrang, which in the Mirriwoong language refers to a spot on the Ord River. The word Cununurra was first used in the 1940s by geologists classifying the different clays near the river.
History doesn’t say why this name was proposed. However, it does explain why the C was replaced with a K: the post office representative felt that Cununurra was too similar to Cunnamulla (a town in Queensland) and, to avoid postal confusion, suggested changing the first letter. So, with a K, the ‘birth’ of the new town was published in the official gazette on February 10, 1961.
Over the years, Kununurra has become the most important town in the Kimberley. At the last census, the town had 5,308 residents, or just over 7,000 including nearby farms and communities. During tourist season and harvest time, the population can easily reach 10,000.
Now that the worst of the heat has passed (well, almost), we decide to visit Mirima National Park, located three kilometers from the town center. The entrance is right across from the cemetery!
Called the mini Bungle Bungles, it features some 350-million-year-old sandstone formations that you can explore by following three short marked trails through Hidden Valley before climbing up to Derbde-gerring Banan, the highest point of the small range, offering a panoramic view of the Ord Valley and the town. For once, we’re here at the best time, when the rock takes on red hues.
Even better, today we arrive at the Pump House well before sunset. We celebrate our last tropical evening on the terrace overlooking the calm waters of the lake, sipping a delicious mandarin mojito!
Dinner at the Kimberley Grande, another pub in town, is less glorious, but the fish & chips does the trick just fine.
Thursday. 7:00 AM. Last day already!
Heading to the airport, it’s the pilot himself who comes to pick us up at the motel to drive us there and then fly the Cessna we’re taking this morning to soar over Lake Argyle and the Bungle Bungles National Park for a couple of hours—places we explored a few days earlier. We’re flying with two other couples, just as excited as we are.
I’m in charge of locking the door—once my mission’s done, full speed ahead!
The plane accelerates and takes off (phew!) and flies over vast mango and sandalwood plantations before turning toward the lake. We discover landscapes stretching to the horizon that we hadn’t imagined from the road—so vast and varied. We also fly over numerous Aboriginal communities scattered across the bush.
We follow the Ord River and quickly reach Lake Argyle. The dam looks tiny compared to the lake’s grandeur. We immediately recognize the bays and islands we visited yesterday morning and discover many more.
In some places, the meeting of water and land forms remarkable patterns in strange, unexpected colors. Further on, it’s the combination of vegetation, topography, and geology that creates surprises.
Mountain ranges, plateaus, the bush stretching to the horizon—from the sky, these landscapes take on an unsuspected grandeur. Lucky birds... or helicopter and small plane pilots!
But the highlight is definitely flying over the Bungle Bungles and that extraordinary maze of mineral towers and gorges we hiked a few days earlier. It’s incredible to think this strange rock formation was ‘rediscovered’ by chance in 1982 by a film crew shooting a documentary about the Fitzroy River, about a hundred kilometers to the south!
One lap, two laps, and it’s already time to head back, flying over the Argyle mine, famous for its pink diamonds, and then over isolated pastoral stations as vast as French departments. Here, shepherds round up their herds not on horseback, or even by motorcycle or quad bike, but by helicopter.
After a final flyover of Kununurra’s plantations and the Diversion Dam, we land, still dazzled by the magnificent spectacle.
The rest of the day is spent visiting various Aboriginal art galleries and a couple of workshops. Oddly enough, all the paintings I like are also the most expensive!
Before returning the car at the airport (after covering over 1,500 kilometers), we have one last thing to do: taste the local specialty—a huge mango smoothie under the mango trees, of course!
A few hours later, the pilot announces:
« Welcome to Perth, the temperature outside is 12°C »
Why did we have to come back?
The End
What if The End of this travel journal was just the beginning of a few more about your adopted country? Now that’s an idea I’d love!
You must’ve "dunked your croissant in a bowl of coffee" (oh, those French 😉) in other parts of Australia, right? So...
It’s been an absolute pleasure reading you, and I’d love to keep discovering this vast part of the world through your words and pictures.
Dolma
un chemin et la caresse du vent, alors je pars en voyage...
It was such a real pleasure reading you, and I’d love to keep discovering this huge part of the world through your words and images.
Thank you!
If you look closely, you might have found this account of an old train journey and then another one a bit more recent.
As for the Australia photos, you’ll find them here
Just finished reading this travel journal that blends discovery and the history of the places. I especially remember the prison tree. Clever and unusual 😮. Thanks for this escape.
A huge thank you, Xavier, for this travel journal—I just discovered it and read it with great pleasure.
Well done on the writing and the photos!
It’s a fascinating and exotic journal for me, as despite my desire to explore Australia, I hesitate because of the distance. With age, I’m enjoying flying less and less 🙁.
That’s also why your journal is so welcome 😎 !
Hi Xavier,
A fantastic travel journal I just stumbled upon completely by chance after the photo contest on the theme of fish. https://voyageforum.com/forum/poisson-theme-concours-photos-mois-avril-2025-d10703608-3/
I felt like reading your posts and getting to know you.
I had immense pleasure reading everything in one go and traveling with you, completely changing my perspective. Thanks for the length of the text and the details in your story. The photos are stunning.
Thanks!
Ah, I see we have something in common... January 26th !
Yes, but in India, there are actually three national holidays of equal importance—none is more of a national holiday than the others.
- Republic Day: January 26th
- Independence Day: August 15th
- Gandhi Jayanti: October 2nd
Carnets de voyage › Australie / Nouvelle-Zélande · 12 replies
L’Australie est le second voyage que j’ai préparé en pouvant compter sur les conseils avisés et la gentille bienveillance de certains forumeurs et, juste…
Vous trouverez ci-dessous le récit de notre voyage de cinq semaines en Australie (30 mai au 5 juillet 2010)... de Darwin à Perth, en passant par les parcs…
Après plusieurs voyages aux States (voir mes comptes rendus précédents), cette année nous décidons d’aller voir les kangourous... CHEZ EUX!!! Comme à chaque…
Dimanche 1er octobre 2023 Mulhouse-Londres On a refilé nos poubelles chez nos voisins. On s’est étreints, gorgés d’émotion. Puis Léa des Taxis S a débarqué.…
Mardi 5 décembre 2023 Melbourne – Lorne On récupère la voiture à 500 mètres de là, dans un parking de Chinatown avec qui l’hôtel a un accord, puis c’est parti…
If I close my eyes and think of the Sultanate of Oman, I first smell a light scent of incense, feel the warmth of a sunbeam on my skin, before sand slips through my fingers. I taste the sweetness of a date, a real candy, then the flavor of coffee with a hint of cardamom and rosewater... I hear the desert wind whistling in my ears, the distant call of a muezzin, then the murmur of water. I open my eyes to see smiles, welcoming gestures, a turquoise sea, rocks ranging from ochre to purple, deep wadis where torrents burst forth, orange dunes, white sandy beaches where tiny crabs scurry at full speed. I see incredible oases emerging between arid mountains. I see abandoned villages that I’d dream were full of life, imposing fortresses overlooking valleys, and lively souks where offers are delicate and negotiation is a mutual courtesy.
All that, and so much more.
This is what I tried to capture in my illustrated travel journal, which I’ll fill in here and there with photos.
I drew this journal “cold,” after my return (actually, I made it this summer, while our trip was last winter). It’s a pretty special format—I bought it in Japan without really knowing what I’d do with it. Well, it found its purpose! Below is a photo of this accordion-style journal: here, it’s only partially open, because when fully unfolded, it’s 5 meters long!
For drawing enthusiasts: The accordion format is both a constraint (each sheet is 9 cm x 27 cm) and a freedom (you can create a fresco). The paper is also a bit special: it doesn’t allow for fine lines, but it takes ink well (liner pen). However, everything has to be done almost in one go (with a very light pencil sketch) because it erases poorly. It absorbs too much water for coloring with markers or watercolors (unless you avoid soaking it), but it works well with oil pastels and their use with a brush and solvent. Since it’s yellowish, it allowed me to create contrasts even with white pastel.
On the right, the "welcome marker"—those dates offered everywhere as a sign of hospitality. On the left, a tribute to those stunning doors worn by time, admired all over the old quarters, including the abandoned ones.
Oman is one of the world’s largest producers of frankincense resin. Incense burners are everywhere, from the simplest clay ones to the most precious handcrafted silver ones...
Hospitality will often lead you to accept a small coffee, an "Omani coffee," very light, subtly flavored with cardamom, maybe a touch of saffron, and occasionally rosewater.
Here, I’ve depicted a man in the common everyday attire of Omanis: the dishdasha, mostly white (during the week and daytime; colors are more common in the evening or on Fridays and Saturdays). While you’ll see some men dressed in Western clothes, they’re very few. The white dishdasha is truly the shared attire of all men. The dishdasha, which has no hood, is distinguished by a small pom-pom attached to the collar, the furakha, which is soaked in perfume. And believe me, Omanis go overboard with it! "It smells like the pom-pom" is an expression that’s now part of our shared language, my husband and I.
Another must of men’s attire is the kuma, a small round head covering, usually white with brightly colored patterns. The keffiyeh is also worn (but without the cord called an agal in Arab countries), and it’s mostly worn by those with roots in the desert, from what I understood.
And what about the women, you might ask? Some are veiled, some in full black (but not a burka—more like a chador + abaya), due to the influence of Saudi Arabia and the United Arab Emirates, whereas the traditional outfit used to be a layering of very colorful dresses. Most of the women we saw wore neutral clothing, a plain veil over their hair, but with their faces uncovered. We also saw many saris and colorful veils—don’t forget that 40% of the population consists of Indian, Nepalese, and Bangladeshi immigrants, who work a lot in tourism, hospitality, restaurants, services, and construction.
Just to clarify, as a tourist, there’s no pressure to wear a veil, and never any disapproving looks. Of course, you’ll save the mini shorts, plunging necklines, bare shoulders, and midriffs for the hotel terrace—but I’d say that’s the same for men and women, and with the sun being strong, it’s better for your skin too.
Here’s the introduction! In the next post, I’ll tell you about my itinerary, and we can dive in!
I’m sharing a little recap of this new 4-week trip to China—nothing fancy, just my experience.
We’re taking advantage of the extended visa exemption to return to China for the 4th time. I loved last summer’s trip so much that I’m a bit worried about being disappointed this year. Plus, I’ve had a few hiccups before this departure: my WeChat account got blocked, and I couldn’t recover it (luckily, Alipay still works fine); I couldn’t verify my 12306 account for weeks; Trip.com failed to book our second train; and I’ve got an injury that’ll slow me down during the trip... Ugh, I hate starting a trip with these kinds of issues. Then, oh surprise! Just before leaving, my 12306 account got verified! Super easy to use from that point on—I could book a few train tickets without fees.
We’re sticking with Free’s e-SIMs, which work great in China.
August 2–3
Anyway, on the morning of August 2nd, we took the RER to CDG. As usual, we couldn’t check in online. It’s always a bit frustrating, especially since we didn’t have any checked luggage. We flew with Air China. We arrived at the check-in counter at 9:50 AM, 2 hours and 40 minutes before the flight. The line for our check-in stretched 300 meters across the airport in both directions. What a joke!! We spent 1 hour and 45 minutes in that line just to reach the counter and get our boarding passes. By then, it was 11:35 AM, and boarding had already started at 11:20 AM. The screens showed a 25-minute walk to our gate—on the other side of the airport, of course—plus we had to go through passport control and security... Long story short, the plane didn’t leave without us 🙂 We boarded among the last passengers, and we took off at 12:30 PM. We’d flown Air China four times before, but this time, it felt *really* low-cost. The check-in chaos, the cramped seats (12 seats per row), no music by artists known outside China, mediocre food, and a boarding area at Beijing Airport with only 10 seats—worthy of Ryanair or EasyJet. And yet, the price was sky-high. Again, D.’s vacation requests were denied outside of July and August, so we’re traveling from August 2nd to 30th. We couldn’t have picked a worse time for inflated prices, and with the situation in Iran, we got hit with a 390 € fuel surcharge. I’ve never paid so much for flights—I felt like I’d bought business class, but nope, far from it!!
We landed in Beijing around 4:15 AM. It was 28°C with thick fog. We drove and drove and drove for 20 minutes, as usual in Beijing. Then we went through a first check, a second check, a third check, and waited for our connecting flight at 6:40 AM. A small Airbus A320, but way more space than in the Boeing 777 from the first flight. We landed in Kunming, Yunnan, around 10:15 AM in the rain.
We headed to the subway. You can’t pay at the machines with Alipay here either, so we set up the transport QR code directly in Alipay to scan at the subway gates. The process is a bit long the first time if you haven’t entered your info before, but once it’s done, it’s *so* much easier! We took Line 6 to the terminus for 6 yuan each.
We’d booked a hotel nearby, on the 16th floor. It’s actually studios on different floors of a huge residential building. The view’s pretty nice from here. We settled in quickly—back to those wooden beds, or rather, mattresses as hard as wood, which we *hadn’t* missed...
Then we went out for our first bowl of noodles of the trip and wandered through the shopping streets of the old town.
It was crowded, and the weather was cool—around 19–20°C. We tried a local specialty: milk skin, thick, dried, then grilled with rose jam. Yeah... we won’t be having that again. The taste and texture of the milk skin... no thanks.
We saw a lot of wild mushroom hotpot too. It’s on our list for later. We also passed through the Jinma and Biji gates, where I played with reflections in puddles. I *love* doing that 🙂
At the end of the day, we headed to a temple advertised as open 24/7 on Amap. Of course, when we got there, it was closed. We’ll go back tomorrow. That was the first of many disappointments with Amap this trip—I hadn’t had that issue on previous visits.
We were exhausted after that sleepless flight. Night was falling, and we decided to grab a quick bite without much appetite. We shared a delicious vegetable fried rice for 12 yuan—we even left half of it. The portions are *huge*.
After a couple of small purchases, we headed back at 9 PM, wiped out, after walking 17 km between the airports and these first steps in Kunming. I expected to see quite a few Western travelers here, but we didn’t spot a single one. Instead, we met lots of curious Chinese people, many of them super friendly and helpful—almost *too* eager, like when they’d run to serve us as fast as possible. It’s a bit much, but it’s great to be back!
The latest travel journal about Turkmenistan dates back to 2019. Here’s a quick update on this vast desert country, which is now a bit easier to visit than before.
This is my first travel journal. If you have any questions, don’t hesitate to ask. The country is slowly opening up, but it’s still possible to visit sites where you’ll be completely alone. In five days, I saw two Hongkongers, a few Germans, and a Chilean at the crater, ten Chinese people in a capital bazaar, and that’s it!
It’s possible to visit Turkmenistan from Uzbekistan. The easiest and most economical way is to take a taxi to the border from Bukhara. The trip takes a little over an hour.
Crossing the border takes quite a while because many Turkmen bring back items bought in Uzbekistan to resell in Turkmenistan. For example, diapers, baby products, or beauty products.
It took me over 2.5 hours to cross the border. To visit Turkmenistan, it’s mandatory to have a guide and go through a travel agency. British agencies often offer three-, five-, or seven-day trips for over 1,500 or 2,000 €.
But if your budget is more limited, you can contact a few Turkmen agencies directly by email, and they’ll make you an offer between 700 and 1,300 € for three to seven days. I took a five-day trip from Turkmenabat in the northeast of the country to Dashoguz in the north. The goal was to visit the main UNESCO-listed sites, including Merv, and archaeological sites like Nisa or Gonur Tepe.
Your guide will also be your driver. They’ll pick you up at the border. The formalities are very long because customs officers have to stamp multiple documents, and obtaining the visa you previously requested from your travel agency requires several checks. But the process goes relatively smoothly, even if each step takes a while.
Once on the other side, the first surprise is the brand-new highway all the way to Turkmenabat. A very long line of trucks stretches for several kilometers on the Turkmen side to cross the border into Uzbekistan. According to my guide, Turkmen trucks transport gas and cotton (though not this season, since the harvest is in September), but they mainly fill up their tanks because fuel is much cheaper in Turkmenistan. A full tank for a car costs about 3 €, which is unbeatable.
From the Farap border post, the goal is to reach the city of Mary, which is home to the UNESCO-listed site of Merv in its suburbs, about thirty kilometers away. This city is known as a foundation by Alexander the Great in the 4th century BC under the name Alexandria of Margiana. Several fortresses are visible.
After more than three hours on the road, we have lunch at a Turkish restaurant called Aladdin. Several quotes from the president are visible along the highway, but the road is in good condition, and we move along easily. This will be by far the best road in the country—things will get much worse later.
Roundabouts are particularly interesting because they feature emblems of Turkmen culture, like the dog, a carpet, the Ahal Teke horse, or Muslim symbols, even though the presence of Islamic artifacts is quite limited.
Hi everyone, we're back from a DIY USA road trip we organized from July 31, 2026, to August 26, 2026.
The destination: The Southwest USA, including Texas, Arizona, and New Mexico. Roughly 7,000 kilometers covered.
The car: A Chevrolet Equinox for two, rented through BSP Auto and Avis. Inside, we had 2 suitcases, a travel bag, two carry-on bags, a Walmart cooler, photo gear, and water bottles (a 40-pack).
The route: Dallas DFW, Fort Worth, Houston, Austin, San Antonio, Alpine, El Paso, Tucson, Sedona, Albuquerque, Amarillo, and back to Dallas to finish with a departure from DFW.
The travelers: Two seniors well advanced in years (73 and 75) but still active (nothing too physically demanding—to stay alive and fund our trips), fully independent physically, though a bit less so mentally. Big USA fans, a country where anything is possible. More walkers than hikers, preferring 3-star hotels over roadside motels, Italian restaurants over US food, frequent stops for photos, museums over nothing, naps over forced marches. Not too whiny, just enough to stay French in the land of the "great Satan," as they say.
Not great with languages—street English (but handy), and my Spanish is non-existent except for: "Hola! Una cerveza por favor!" That’s about it. My wife understands everything but refuses to speak.
The cost of the road trip: Around 12,000 €, including AF flights, the car, gas, gifts, visits, and everything else. Well managed, since we’d budgeted 13,500 € initially.
The positive side: A delight, with those endless open roads. Museums to discover. The realization of the Hispanic presence and its important history in this part of America. Lovely locals. Tourists who were more or less friendly. A terrible Texan accent that was hard to understand. Gas stations that were like real stores, with prepared food, alcohol sold in Arizona and New Mexico, and employees who were always up for a laugh!
The negative side: The heat throughout the trip... 43°C in Dallas at the end. Impossible to walk the streets. Lots of homeless people in downtown Dallas. Hotel breakfasts that were always the same. You get used to it.
So, it was positive overall, but the concept is starting to wear us out. We might rethink the DIY road trip model for next time. If the man upstairs grants us more time.
Next up, we’ll wait for the first batch of sorted photos to go through the wringer.
"So, my little wanderers, back at the decks? What’s this mystery destination you’ve got in store for us at the start of the year?"
Yes, the schoolyard bell’s ringing again! We’re hitting the road... or rather, the skies! At first glance, our destination might surprise more than a few. First off, simply because I was here exactly twenty years ago, and I don’t usually like retracing my own footsteps. Secondly, because the name of this place screams mass tourism—basically the opposite of what Flo and I look for.
Despite that, in this land of backsheesh, I’d promised myself I’d come back one day to experience it my way. And since Flo told me, during our wanderer chats, that this destination straddling Africa and the Middle East was in her top 2 travel dreams, the stars aligned for this roots-style trip to quickly make it onto our pharaonic festivities program! Unless you’re totally clueless in general knowledge, you’ve probably guessed by now—we’re off to Egypt! Of course, a few classics will be on our itinerary, but above all, we want to soak up a culture that can’t be appreciated in four-star resorts or on a Nile cruise boat. And let’s be clear, these next two weeks won’t be a walk in the park—neither for our two daughters who are joining us, nor for our bodies!
And that’s clear from the get-go: after our first flight, eight hours of trying (and failing) to sleep on Milan airport’s metal seats, our second flight, landing, passport stamps, our Uber ride, and our first Cairo kilometers, we finally drop our exhaustion at the little guesthouse we booked in Giza. Doesn’t all that energy deserve a little reward?
Oh, absolutely! And here it is: a full-on slap in the face for everyone! But just look at this view from our hotel terrace? For 20 € a night for four, even with this incredible view, I figured the room must be pretty shabby, right? Nope... Is the staff rude, then? Nope... Okay, so what’s the catch? You’re gonna tell me breakfast is included too? Well, yes! Honestly, this Egypt trip is off to a great start.
And the rest of the afternoon, spent rubbing shoulders with locals, only confirmed this vibe. After digesting our pyramid view, we dove into the hustle and bustle of our neighborhood with the goal of exchanging money, eating at street stalls, and testing the hospitality of the locals. Ten out of ten!
Eight little sun breads with baba ganoush and falafel? 80 pounds, or 1.5 €. A dozen Middle Eastern pastries? Same! 80 pounds! Two hawawshis, those little pita breads stuffed with meat and spices? 10 pounds each, or about twenty cents! Not to mention all those smiles and free "welcomes" left and right!!!
What a welcome! We end this first day with a sunset over the three sisters of Giza—where we’ll obviously be gawking tomorrow...
My buddy Christian and I (Patrick) are off for 28 days in Argentina in March.
We’ve already shared several trips as a duo (Bolivia Peru, Namibia, Laos, Costa Rica).
Since we’re starting from the idea that at our age (65) we won’t be coming back here—there are just too many other corners of the world to discover—we did the "grand tour" of Argentina, with 6 domestic flights to make the most of our 28 days.
Here are our stops:
1) Departure from Brussels to Buenos Aires via Madrid
2) Arrival and first contact with Buenos Aires
3) Early morning flight to Ushuaia. Boat trip on the Beagle Channel
4) Ushuaia: hikes in Tierra del Fuego National Park
5) Ushuaia: last hike and flight to El Calafate
6) El Calafate to El Chaltén by bus. First hike
7) El Chaltén: hike
8) El Chaltén: hike
9) El Chaltén: hike and bus back to El Calafate
10) El Calafate: Perito Moreno Glacier
11) Flight to Bariloche. Car rental and surrounding areas
12) Seven Lakes Region
13) Nahuel Huapi National Park region
14) Flight to Salta. Car rental
15) To Tilcara
16) To Humahuaca
17) To Purmamarca
18) To Jujuy via the salt flats
19) To Cafayate
20) Around Cafayate
21) To Cachi
22) Back to Salta
23) Flight to Iguazu
24) Waterfalls on the Argentine side
25) Waterfalls on the Brazilian side and flight to Buenos Aires
26) Buenos Aires
27) Return flight
28) Morning arrival
Happy reading!..
After as many weeks as I have fingers on my right hand, we're hitting the road again, fully recovered from our pharaonic adventure. Back in France to drop off our daughters (sorry, girls!), this time it's just the two of us, ready to be welcomed by a new destination. They say it offers one of the richest cultural heritages in the world for those willing to put in the effort. It's the land of the ancient Silk Road, where we'll follow a journey steeped in history and discoveries straight out of *One Thousand and One Nights*. A former Soviet bloc region independent only since 1991, we'll be walking in the footsteps of Genghis Khan, Tamerlane, Alexander the Great, Marco Polo...
Another fun fact about this country: it's strictly forbidden to import porn on your phone. True story. The same goes for painkillers! Unless it's about sodomy—though the two don’t seem connected, that’s just how it is. Don’t ask me why! Anyway, I’m getting off track. Here’s the big question: Where do you think we’ve just landed?... To give you a hint, the locals are known for being incredibly welcoming. No sooner said than done—our first taxi driver, proud to transport French travelers, refused to let us pay for the ride. Great vibes for these two weeks ahead. So, any guesses?
Uzbekistan!!!
"How about a Christmas market this year, huh? A little romantic weekend getaway...
- Yes! That’d be cool! Strasbourg? Colmar?
- Feels a bit déjà vu, doesn’t it? Plus, slim chance of snow there... And I’d love something a bit more exotic with a touch of originality..."
"Okay, Google, give me the list of the five most beautiful Christmas markets in Europe.
- In fifth place, the Christmas market in Vilnius, the capital of Lithuania.
- Save your breath! Lithuania, here we come!"
We wanted cold, and cold is exactly what we got the moment we set foot in this new, unknown land. As for landscapes, forests and lakes stretch as far as the eye can see across this vast plain, its vegetation scorched by the frost of a winter that’s clearly already well underway here.
Lakes, in fact, set the scene for our first visit to Trakai Castle, whose brick-red towers and walls rise proudly against the azure sky of our first day. Lakes, because this castle was built on an island and is only accessible on foot via a series of walkways spanning half-frozen lake offshoots. I couldn’t have picked a better spot to build my castle! Translation: We’re totally sold! Proof is we spend two hours hiking around the area, alternating between forests, reeds, and cozy houses tastefully decorated for Christmas.
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
This time, I landed in Monastir on a direct flight from Nice, again with Tunisair. We left about ten minutes late, and the flight lasted around 1 hour 30 minutes. A meal was served on board (cucumber salad with Edam-like cheese, carrots, and two small portions of dishes I couldn’t identify—semolina with peppers, olives, and parsley, two small rolls, a square of processed cheese, and a chocolate cake). It’s worth noting because it’s not common on flights this short.
In February, France and Tunisia were in the same time zone, but now Tunisia is one hour behind. This time difference and the flight duration work perfectly for a short 15-day trip since it takes me a few days to adjust to jet lag.
Luckily, I’d asked my hotel about the taxi fare from the airport because the drivers (there were several around me) didn’t hesitate to quote outrageous prices. The actual fare is 20 dinars, but one asked for 120 dinars. I refused, and another offered 60 dinars. I replied, "That’s too expensive—I’ll take the metro!" (Having tried the Tunis metro, I had no desire to repeat the experience in Monastir with a suitcase!). I started walking toward the metro, and one of the drivers caught up with me, saying, "20 dinars is fine!" I’ll skip the details, but the negotiation took a little while.
When I arrived at the hotel, I told the receptionist someone had asked for 120 dinars. He put his hands to his head and said, "They’re awful!" He remembered our phone call two days earlier when I’d booked (he’s the one who told me I could take the metro).
The Mezri Hotel isn’t expensive. I got a sea-view room for 75 dinars (22 €). (I’d booked a balcony room for 90 dinars but wouldn’t have had time to enjoy it.) It’s well-located but noisy because there’s no double glazing.
The receptionist is a very kind older gentleman. He called a friend whose wife is from Tozeur to find out if I should take a bus or a *louage* tomorrow and what time.
I arrived at the hotel around 7:00 PM and had time to stroll along the corniche to the ribat. Despite some run-down buildings, the seaside seemed livelier and cheerier than Sousse’s.
Monastir is the hometown of former president Bourguiba. I passed his mausoleum by taxi. There are Tunisian flags along the avenue by the sea because every year on April 6—the anniversary of Habib Bourguiba’s death—the president of the Republic visits the Bourguiba Mausoleum in Monastir to pay respects.
The taxi driver mentioned other Tunisian presidents. He complained about rising prices and insecurity, blaming President Kaïs Saïed (I’d already heard that security was better under Ben Ali).
At the end of my stay, I’ll take time to explore Monastir, but tomorrow morning, I’m off to Tozeur—a long bus ride awaits me.
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.
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.
My partner and I traveled from Sunday, July 5, 2026, to Wednesday, July 22, 2026.
We spent a long time debating whether to rent a car or use public transportation. In the end, after reading so many posts about travelers getting scammed by police or rental companies—even those recommended by blogs and reviews—we decided to stick with public transport. It worked out really well. Sure, we had a little less freedom to go where we wanted, but it was way less stressful for us.
Sunday, July 5:
Arrived at Cancun Airport. Withdrew cash from the ATM in the terminal just before exiting. The ADO bus counter (they pronounce it "A-Jee-O") is right behind you when you're facing the ATM. Bus to downtown Cancun cost 145 pesos per person.
Stayed at "Rose 5," booked on Booking. The studio was super clean and perfect for one night. The owner’s instructions for accessing the place were very precise, with photos included. Check-in was self-service with a code. The ADO bus terminal isn’t far, and there are shops and restaurants nearby. We really appreciated that the AC was already on when we arrived. By the way, I’d recommend always booking places with AC—it’s *really* hot in Mexico.
Monday, July 6:
Bought a SIM card with data from a TELCEL store. My partner, who’s on Free Mobile, was able to use her regular plan. Just so you know, I found the network pretty unstable. As soon as we left the cities, neither of us—me with TELCEL or her with Free—had any signal.
Another thing to watch out for: roaming charges. I had to turn my SIM back on for less than 30 seconds to get a bank SMS code, and my phone apparently connected to the internet—resulting in an 8-euro roaming fee.
Left on an ADO bus to Chiquila for 278 pesos per person. During our trip, ADO buses were always on time, comfortable, and clean. The AC is *cranked* though, so bring something to cover up with—it gets cold. Some routes were fully booked even in the low season, so try to reserve 1 or 2 days in advance either via the app (when it works) or at the counter.
When we arrived at the ADO terminal in Chiquila, the ferry company counters were right next to it. Ferries leave every 30 minutes, alternating between companies, so no need to book ahead. Just take whichever one is leaving next (330 pesos per person).
When we got to Holbox (pronounced "Hol-bosh"), we’d booked a place via Booking called "Casa de Nana." It was a huge studio with a fridge, cooking plate, and utensils. The best part? The *location*. It was 100 meters from the beach and 200 meters from a Chedraui supermarket. They provided bath towels and beach towels, and the AC worked perfectly. There’s a key box so you can leave your keys inside when you go out. The only downside was that no one was there to let us in when we arrived, so we had to wait a while. The Wi-Fi was good, which was lucky because during our 4-day stay in Holbox, the phone network *never* worked. According to locals, that’s pretty common in Holbox, along with water outages.
Luckily, I’d had the good idea to download an offline map, which helped us find our way back to the place more easily. You can walk there from the dock.
The restaurant next to our place (La Barracuda) was great if you like seafood—I’d recommend their octopus dishes.
Tuesday, July 7:
We did a kayak tour in Holbox’s mangroves at 6 AM. We were looking for a sunrise kayak tour with a French-speaking guide. That’s exactly what we got with "Kayaking Holbox," where Diego, the owner, speaks English and French. He was joined by Gustavo, another guide.
We’d booked for a group tour, but we were the only ones. Diego still went ahead with it instead of canceling due to lack of participants, so we got a private tour at the group rate—really professional of him. They showed us this amazing ecosystem for over 3 hours. We saw all kinds of birds: pink flamingos, pelicans, egrets, frigatebirds... rays, a horseshoe crab, and a little crocodile that was *so* well hidden. Diego and Gustavo have a real eye for spotting animals—I could’ve passed by the crocodile 100 times and never seen it, it blended in so well. Their explanations about the flora and fauna were super interesting. We also got a little break where we tasted mangoes and bananas that taste *nothing* like the ones in France. A real treat—those little Mexican yellow mangoes! I’d definitely recommend Diego and his agency for a French-language kayak tour (1000 pesos per person).
In the evening, we walked to Punta Coco to see the bioluminescence. No need for a guided tour—if you really don’t want to walk, you can take a taxi. At Punta Coco, you have to pass the beach bar/restaurant and then go left into a kind of inlet that forms a lagoon. You have to wiggle your feet or move your hands in the water to create movement, which makes the light appear. Just don’t expect the kind of photos you’ve seen online—they’re all edited! It’s fun to see, but you won’t be dazzled by the light...
Wednesday, July 8:
Whale shark tour with "My Holbox Tours." Why recommend this agency over others for swimming with whale sharks? Simply because Valérie surrounds herself with top professionals to make your experience unforgettable. We were with Captain Fernando, who does everything to position the boat perfectly and make your swim easier. In the water, we were with Humberto, who also goes above and beyond to make sure you have an incredible time. He doesn’t just "supervise" like some guides from other companies who leave you on your own. No, Humberto reads the whale shark’s trajectory and guides you—all you have to do is follow him. He really puts in the effort, even holding your hand to guide you through this quick but intense encounter. Humberto also films the moment and will offer to show you the videos and sell them to you. His footage is really high quality.
Fernando and Humberto also prepared food for us. Special mention for their guacamole! Valérie is there to make sure everything goes smoothly on the boat and to answer your questions in French, English, or Spanish about these animals. If you choose My Holbox Tours, you can be sure you’ll get a top-notch experience.
About the tour itself: before you go, you should know that the sharks can be *really* far away. The day we went, it took 3.5 hours by boat to reach them. The boats are small, and let me tell you—on the way there, when we weren’t going with the waves, it was *rough*. Out of 9 passengers, 4 got seasick. But once you’re face-to-face with the shark, you forget all about that. Even if swimming with a whale shark isn’t exactly a walk in the park—they swim pretty fast, so you need some endurance to keep up. You’ll usually get 2 turns. Our first swim lasted a little over 4 minutes, and the second about 2 minutes because the shark was moving fast and we were still tired from the first swim. It might seem short, but when you’re swimming, it feels *long*. Either way, it’s an experience you *have* to do—but choose your company wisely. On the way back, there’s a stop at Cabo Catoche. Honestly, the snorkeling is pretty disappointing if you’ve done it elsewhere in the world. But the lunch stop at Cabo Catoche is really nice for relaxing (white sand and hammocks).
Thursday, July 9:
Short morning walk to Punta Mosquito at 6 AM. Really nice.
Ferry to Chiquila (330 pesos per person) + ADO bus to Valladolid (300 pesos per person).
In Valladolid, we booked "Casa Lucia" via Booking. The hotel is gorgeous, with a colonial style, and very close to the ADO bus terminal and downtown. It’s super quiet and clean. There’s a shared kitchen you can use with a fridge, microwave, and water dispenser, plus a big table by the pool and a nice indoor terrace. Breakfast was simple but included. The only small downsides were the tiny room and bathroom, no mirror in the room, and a noisy fan.
Friday, July 10:
Not far from the ADO bus terminal is the colectivo station for Chichen Itza. They offer a round-trip to Chichen Itza with an option to stop at Ik Kil cenote on the way back and then drop you off in Valladolid for 370 pesos per person (Ik Kil entrance included).
For the Chichen Itza visit, we’d booked a tour with a guide often mentioned in groups—his name is Juan Pat. He’s a Maya who lives near the site and speaks excellent French. He reserves spots in advance for you and queues up to be the first on-site. It cost 500 pesos per person + entrance fees. His tour lasts 2 hours and focuses mainly on the main pyramid and the ball court. He’s passionate and fascinating, even if some of his claims, as a Maya, might be a little biased. I think it’s *really* important to have a guide—otherwise, you’ll miss so much. You can contact Juan Pat on WhatsApp at +52 985 121 2381.
Afterward, we went to Ik Kil cenote (showers and life jackets mandatory, lockers available). It’s *very* crowded, but still really beautiful with its lush vegetation.
Saturday, July 11:
Since we didn’t have a car but still wanted to visit other cenotes that seemed hard to reach by public transport, we decided to book a taxi for the day. We agreed on 1200 pesos to take us to 3 different cenotes and wait for us at each one. (To find taxis, just look where they park near the ADO bus station.)
He picked us up at Zaci cenote, which we’d walked to. We got there at opening time and were the first ones there—had the place to ourselves for a while! 150 pesos per person. A pretty cenote in the city center with lush vegetation. It’s a bit like Ik Kil but without the deep cylindrical effect.
Cenote Xcanahaltun: the most beautiful cenote we visited. Entry 250 pesos per person. It’s a closed cenote with a hole that lets light in—a cave-like setting. You can kayak inside. There are little fish at the edge that nibble dead skin off your feet. Since it’s closed, the water is *freezing*!
Cenote Palomitas: entry 250 pesos per person. Another stunning closed cenote, even more enclosed than Xcanahaltun. The hole in the ceiling is smaller, so it was pretty dark when we arrived—kind of an eerie vibe. But when the staff turned on the lights, it looked like a "Gothic cathedral" full of bright stalactites.
Cenote Sac Aua: entry 290 pesos per person. The ticket includes a guided cave tour (tip-based). This cenote is really unique with its central island and way less crowded than Suytun. Just so you know, the water is *really* cold in cenotes. In these three, in July, we had the place to ourselves for a while and never saw more than 2 families at once—so peaceful!
Sunday, July 12:
ADO bus to Bacalar (536 pesos per person).
In Bacalar, we stayed via Airbnb with a host named Luli, who offers several rooms with shared bathroom and kitchen.
The room is nicely decorated in a pleasant setting. It’s ideally located near the lagoon and downtown. The shared kitchen is handy. The mosquito net over the bed is useful because there are *a lot* of mosquitoes in Bacalar. Luli provides a water jug, which is really nice. The only big downside is the lack of water pressure in the shower—we had to rinse off by filling a bucket. Also, there’s no real door separating the room from the bathroom. We never met Luli in person, but she was very responsive via messages. The terrace in the middle of the vegetation is lovely.
From the ADO terminal to the place, we took a taxi for 40 pesos. Since this driver was honest about the price (we’d checked beforehand), we decided to use him every time we needed a taxi in Bacalar. Here’s his WhatsApp: +52 983 184 3585.
Monday, July 13:
We did a boat tour on the lagoon with "Bacalar Francophone Activities." Since we were just the two of us, it cost 3500 pesos. If we’d managed to be 4 people, it would’ve been 1000 pesos per person.
We had a private 4-hour tour on the lagoon with Steeve and his very comfortable boat. He’s from Quebec, so his French is perfect. During those 4 hours, Steeve showed us the lagoon’s iconic spots *and* places other boats don’t go. He told us about the lagoon’s history and gave great tips on where to go and where to eat. As a little bonus, he gave us a video taken with his drone during our swimming break.
Tuesday, July 14:
We went to Los Rapidos by taxi (400 pesos round trip) and entry was 225 pesos per person. It’s *very* touristy but really beautiful. You can eat there (expensive), relax, and go down the "rapids" as many times as you want. It’s worth it if you spend a few hours there. You can’t bring in food or drinks—you leave them at the entrance and pick them up on the way out.
Wednesday, July 15:
On Wednesdays, navigation is banned on Bacalar Lagoon, so we’d planned another excursion.
Visit to Calakmul from Bacalar with ABCtours (WhatsApp +52 983 319 8359).
This agency organized a trip from Bacalar to Calakmul with a French-speaking guide. Communication beforehand via WhatsApp was smooth. Mr. Checo, the driver, and Fernando, the guide (who spoke great French), picked us up on the day. Mr. Checo drove very carefully on the long road and always made sure we were comfortable. Fernando is passionate about flora and fauna—he’s a biologist with a degree in ornithology, so he knows *everything* about animals. The slightest sound or song, and he knows what it is. He’s got an eye for spotting them, from the biggest to the smallest.
During the trip, we stopped at km 27 for a short forest walk, then went to see the two main pyramids on the site. On the way back, we stopped at the bat cave for the magical spectacle of millions of bats flying out at dusk. In the end, we saw or glimpsed (some briefly) spider monkeys, howler monkeys, a toucan, 2 tapirs, turkeys, 2 deer, and lots of birds. If, like us, you’re more into flora and fauna than archaeology, I’d *highly* recommend this agency and tour with Fernando.
It’s not cheap, but the road between Bacalar and the site is *long* (3.5 hours). Price: 3900 pesos per person for 2 (3500 for 3, 3200 for 4).
Thursday, July 16:
ADO bus to Playa del Carmen (614 pesos per person).
In Playa del Carmen, we stayed in an Airbnb. The building is on the town hall square, next to the casino.
The best thing about this place is the *location*—super close to Fifth Avenue (La Quinta). The kitchen is pretty basic, but the fridge works well. There are supermarkets nearby. The rooftop pool is really nice. The two big downsides, though, are the soundproofing (you can *hear* the neighbor’s alarm and all the events on the square) and the *total* lack of water pressure in the shower. We had to fill a trash can with water to pour over ourselves. When we told the owner, he said it wasn’t normal and someone would come fix it, but we never heard back. Based on previous reviews, this seems to be a known issue that never gets resolved.
Playa del Carmen is *very* touristy on Fifth Avenue, but in a fun, musical vibe—we never felt unsafe. There are *tons* of little souvenir shops for tourists on this street. There’s a beautiful monumental sculpture on the beach (the two figures meeting in the air), next to which you can see the Voladores show (men climbing a pole, tying themselves with ropes, and descending headfirst while "flying" around the pole). The show is tip-based and happens several times a day. In our opinion, Calle 38 is prettier than Fifth Avenue—it’s lush, green, and quieter, with the sea at the end. Great for an early evening stroll. We had really good meals at great prices at "El Tio Noy" tacos, just a few meters from Fifth Avenue in a side street.
For souvenirs, we’d recommend going to Walmart instead of Fifth Avenue—you’ll find skulls, tequila, mezcal, keychains, mugs, glasses... at good, fixed prices.
Friday, July 17:
We did the excursion to Isla Contoy. Isla Contoy is an uninhabited, highly protected island. Only 200 people are allowed to land per day on a rotating basis, so only a few companies have permission to dock there. Most agencies subcontract the day to a third-party company.
We booked through VRM (Viviendo Riviera Maya), but it was Ocean Tours Mexico that handled the tour. Contoy is a little paradise. We were accompanied by multilingual guides, including French speakers, throughout the day. Steffy gave us info about the island during a short walk on the marked trails, and Leño Tlatemoa kept the mood up on the boat rides with music and dancing. Isla Contoy is *truly* stunning, and the lunch was delicious: grilled fish and chicken, guacamole and tortilla chips, rice, fruit, drinks (everything is brought and taken back by the guides). The snorkeling part was pretty disappointing if you’ve done it in Cozumel, though. The stop at Isla Mujeres isn’t very interesting either—it’s too short to explore, and the island is *extremely* touristy. Still, the excursion was very well organized, and we had a great day (2970 pesos per person).
Saturday, July 18:
We wanted to go snorkeling in Cozumel but thought the prices from French-speaking agencies were too high. Plus, for snorkeling, we figured we didn’t *need* a French-speaking guide.
So we found a much cheaper solution by taking the ferry from Playa del Carmen ourselves and choosing an agency in Playa. The round-trip ferry cost 663.50 pesos per person. Then we took a taxi to the snorkeling boat (100 pesos). The agency we chose is called Mystic Snorkel—they don’t have a physical office. The tour cost 1400 pesos per person. It was a small boat, but that day we were the only ones, so we got a private tour at the group rate. We stopped at 4 different sites, all very different and beautiful. We saw all kinds of fish, corals, a nurse shark, and turtles. El Cielo, with its huge starfish, is *exceptional*. If you’re going snorkeling in the Yucatan Peninsula, this is *the* tour to do—the other sites are pretty "poor" in comparison.
Sunday, July 19:
Morning dive with Triton Diving. I chose the Cozumel dive option. Great experience.
Booking via WhatsApp was easy. On the day of the dive, Selene, who speaks French, was our guide. She’s *very* attentive to the group’s safety. The briefings are clear and precise. In Cozumel, we did 2 very different sites: the first was a drift dive with lots of life—beautiful corals and fish. The second was a wreck, the C53, a 56-meter boat you can enter. Not much marine life, but a beautiful wreck intentionally sunk for divers—still in great condition. An unforgettable moment. Selene even took videos during the dive, which the club sends you for free afterward. I’d *highly* recommend this club.
Just so you know, in Playa del Carmen, the beaches were full of sargassum during our stay, despite barriers and daily cleanup. Locals told us the problem is getting worse and the sargassum is arriving earlier in the season. Tourism has taken a *big* hit this summer, and they’re wondering if tourism can even survive the sargassum season anymore. A lot of tourists are heading to the islands—Isla Mujeres and Cozumel—to enjoy the beaches, as the west side of those islands is sargassum-free.
Monday, July 20:
Colectivo to Puerto Morelos. First, a colectivo toward Cancun that drops you off between Puerto Morelos town and Puerto Morelos beach (40 pesos per person), then another from that junction to the beach (10 pesos per person).
In Puerto Morelos, we’d booked a room via Airbnb at "Piedra del Caribe." *Best* place we stayed in Mexico. It’s an aparthotel. Our room was ready before check-in, so they let us in early. The place matched the description—spacious, with a comfortable king-size bed. The shower had *great* pressure, which isn’t a given in Mexico. The staff was super friendly and welcoming. They let us use the pool, restrooms, and rooftop shower after check-out while we waited for our ride to Cancun Airport. They even kept our luggage. I *highly* recommend this place.
In Puerto Morelos, there was *way* less sargassum than in Playa del Carmen—it was actually swimmable.
We did the snorkeling tour with the fishermen’s cooperative for 450 pesos per person for 2 hours. The reef is close to the beach (you’re not allowed to swim there), so the boat ride is short. It’s not as pretty as Cozumel, but it’s nice and affordable. On Puerto Morelos’s page, you can also access a small, not-very-well-preserved reef. There’s also a cenote in the sea where fresh water mixes with saltwater—the water is murky there. We had a great dinner and excellent cocktails at "La Choza del Puerto."
Tuesday, July 21:
Wandered around Puerto Morelos (check out the church and read everything—it’s entertaining!), relaxed by the hotel pool, and left for Cancun Airport by taxi (400 pesos) booked via InDrive to head back to France.
Our highlights:
- Holbox
- The whale shark tour
- The cenotes
- The local flora and fauna (so present!)
- Isla Contoy
- Cabo Catoche (except for the snorkeling)
What we liked least:
- The bioluminescence (barely visible despite good conditions)
- The food—we found it not very diverse in taquerias
- The constant tipping
- The lack of water pressure in showers (fixed, wall-mounted, no hose or showerhead)
Don’t hesitate to ask if you have any questions while it’s still fresh in our minds.
Traveling with just one spare pair of underwear, considering a hot shower a miracle, never staying in the same place too long by sleeping wherever night catches us, taking whatever local, improbable, and rickety transport we can find—this is the DNA of us wanderers. Except this time, the script for our movie is going to be a whole different genre. On paper, the destination doesn’t exactly scream epic adventure: Réunion! And what’s more... we won’t be two, or four, or even ten. We’ll be a solid thirty. All from the same family. Yes, thirty. At this point, it’s not just a trip—it’s a summer camp on the move! Why inflict this on such a peaceful island? Because my brother decided to get married there with his lovely bride. A great idea, you might say... especially when it involves relocating the equivalent of a small Ardennes village 10,000 kilometers from home for three weeks! So who’s stepping up to be the guide and wave the little flag?
So, for an exceptional trip, exceptional stories! Don’t worry, the debates at the supermarket over whether to choose plain chips or roast chicken chips, the beach picnics washed down with ti’ punch, and other rougail sausages to digest by the pool will only make it into the family archives. Here, I’ll stick to the tales of our beautiful escapes, the ones where we explore the wild corners of this little volcanic rock planted in the middle of the Indian Ocean. So where exactly are we headed?
For the first week—the subject of this first installment—we’re taking it easy. We’ll start by rediscovering the coastline, from the Souffleur in Saint-Leu to the Hermitage lagoon, before a little trip to the Cirque de Cilaos and its legendary road with 400 turns, just to get our legs warmed up.
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 three years at most in Thailand, and I’m not a big expert on the country.
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 piece together a puzzle, mainly for those who want to get an idea of the country here and for those who miss 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 guards 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 property, be careful at night, and be careful when they’re in packs.
It sometimes crosses our minds that Thailand isn’t really 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, are 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 broken for years.
You’ll often see dogs sleeping on the side of the road, sometimes right on the road. When you arrive, they move aside nonchalantly—or not at all. It’s less funny when they suddenly appear from thick vegetation, which reminds 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. Seeing a small pack roaming freely in the countryside, you might think it’s best not to cross paths with them at the edge of a field.
A darker side of this is that euthanasia isn’t often practiced. Twice, we saw dogs at temples on the brink of death, enduring terrible suffering. No one did anything about it. The image (and the smell) of one of them, dying and emitting 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 well-fed animal quickly became a happy, 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 in them 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 a gimmick—it’s just that 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.
It was winter, a winter with beautiful weather,
A season that only exists in the southwest of America,
I remember very well what I told you that morning
A month ago... A century ago, an eternity ago...
We’ll go... wherever you want, whenever you want...
Well, yeah, back from our adventure in our enchanting American West just a month ago, we’re already taking a bite out of one of its lesser-known competitors. "Flo, if you had to pick just one reason to justify your love for the U.S., what would it be?" The greasy, dripping burgers? No, I don’t think I’m going out on a limb by saying it’d be the wide-open spaces... And that’s exactly what our new quest is taking us to—a land on the other side of the globe where the horizon also seems endless, where silence tastes like salty wind and sand, where freedom is measured in kilometers of desert tracks, where the GPS is mostly there to confirm you’re lost in the middle of nowhere... Add to that magic formula the fact that you’ll see more zebras, giraffes, wildebeest, and elephants than people per square kilometer, and you can imagine us setting foot in Southern Africa for the first time, more precisely at the small airport in Windhoek, capital of... of...? Brush up on your geography, damn it! We’re landing in Namibia!!!
To be honest, Namibian landscapes have been flirting with me for ages. So how did I resist this island of temptation for so long? First, the budget. Let’s just say that for the same amount of effort (and kidneys), the bank lets you choose two other adventures almost anywhere else on the planet. Then there were my girls. Yeah, back then, they were too little to dose up on Malarone, the only malaria remedy at the time... Long story short, ten years later, all the planets have aligned. First, I won the Euromillions! Well, almost... Let’s just say my girls are now old enough... not to take Malarone, but to stop following me on all my adventures! Jackpot! "Flo, how about a little two-person caprice, just the two of us, tackling the Namibian tracks?"
As we landed on the runway, first wow effect: The horizon is immense. It’s flat as can be, incredibly flat... So much flat space! Did I mention it was flat?... Looking into the distance, it feels like your gaze could circle the Earth without hitting a single obstacle—until you end up staring at your own backside. "Oh, what a nice view!" Well, it’s the first time I’ve seen my butt from this angle! Touching moment... Sorry, I’m rambling—must be the exhaustion from the three-flight marathon we just powered through via Ethiopia and South Africa... And yet, no time to philosophize about my anatomy. As usual, we want to rack up our first kilometers to be front and center at dawn tomorrow. After wrapping up the tedious Namibian immigration formalities and meeting the 4x4 that’ll be our companion day and night for the next fifteen days, we’re off! We’re not exactly fresh, but we’re ready to tackle the next five hundred kilometers in night mode, cruise control set due south! Just outside Windhoek, the local wildlife—a jackal—welcomes us with a smile: "Welcome to Namibia!" That’s what it said! Honest... Okay, first endless straight road, first flaming sunset, first corrugated dirt track, first Milky Way with zero light pollution... You get it—it’s definitely the day of firsts... First night camping, too, in the big trunk of our Toyota Fortuner parked by the side of the track... The real adventure, the kind that smells under the arms, can finally begin...
Here we go—finally, the big day has arrived! A trip the whole family (my two kids, my husband, and me) had been looking forward to for so long.
To keep it short, we left from Nice, arrived in Namibia on June 25, 2025, and left again on the 21st—four weeks later.
We used an agency for all the camping reservations, activities, and the car rental. At least that side of things was taken care of. Michaël was our contact throughout the planning and the trip itself.
We spent our first night at Londiningi BB. A bit out of the city center but very quiet. The rooms were spacious and clean, and we could eat on-site that evening. Perfect for recovering from the flight.
This travel journal is our second on VoyageForum, following last year’s where we recounted our four weeks in Vietnam.
The goal remains the same: since some members on this site share tips, experiences, and great deals that help us prepare for our trips, we do the same after returning—both to give back a little and in the hope that our experiences might be useful to others in some way.
Our route was as follows: Bangkok, Siem Reap, Krabi, Suratthani, Koh Phangan, Koh Tao, Chumphon, Bang Saphan, Prachuab Khiri Khan, Sam Roi Yod, Hua Hin, Phetchaburi, Bangkok.
Beyond rediscovering Bangkok, our objectives were the long-held dream of seeing Angkor and exploring southern Thailand, much of which isn’t overly touristy.
A quick big thank-you to Barbot, who took the time to answer several of our questions.
12/07/2013
The cheapest flight we found earlier this year was a Paris-Bangkok route with a layover in Moscow for 1440 €, total for two people.
So, this time we tried Aeroflot. Airbus A318 for the first leg, A330 for the second. Nothing particularly annoying to report—the passengers were very calm, the cabin temperature was comfortable, and we had enough legroom.
That said, the quality of the meal trays was pretty mediocre, and the flight attendants weren’t exactly comedians.
We’d like to remind everyone that it’s best to exchange as little money as possible at the airport upon arrival, since the rate is about 5% worse than at city banks.
Of course, we made sure to take the airport exit where you can catch official taxis to avoid getting scammed. So, we queued up, a little lady gave us the ticket, and off we went with the driver.
Generally, this system works well because these drivers are registered, know their duties, and the risks they face if they break the rules. Except that day, right off the bat, we got the scammer of the day. His first move was to snatch the ticket from my wife’s hands—the one you’re supposed to keep in case of a complaint. My husband saw it, but after a full day of travel, we were a bit out of it, and honestly, there was no reason to be suspicious. But once we started driving, the guy refused to turn on the meter. We insisted more and more firmly, but nothing. So, I used the famous method of opening the door and starting to step out of the car. At 40 km/h, that scares the driver more than the passenger. He finally turned on the meter, but that didn’t calm him down—quite the opposite. For the next half-hour, he ruined the ride by demanding extra fees here and there. Having dealt with several scam attempts last year in Vietnam, this wasn’t exactly new, and we were proud of ourselves for staying pretty zen. Still, this guy was a little scary—he was completely wired and aggressive. Honestly, it was hard not to think he was on something. He’d be perfect for a *Scarface* remake. When we finally arrived at the hotel, he followed us to the entrance. We paid the two tolls (25 and 45 baht), gave him the usual 100 baht extra for the ride, and stayed polite but firm. So, meter: 245 baht + 100 baht + 25 and 45 baht for tolls—we paid the exact amount, no way we were tipping this guy. He left furious, but he was already like that before picking us up... Anyway, avoid Mr. Chartree Chidchen, number 089 826 7308, car E2663!
We were so relieved to finally settle in at Feung Nakorn Balcony hotel in the temple district. 42 € per night, great reception, all the staff is friendly. The AC works fine, the bed seemed hard at first but turned out to be comfortable. The hotel is quiet, away from the nightlife, but at this time of year, many places are less crowded than in high season. Even with a nice fish pond and outdoor breakfast area, it’s a decent hotel, though we felt we could’ve found something better.
After a night on the plane, the first afternoon is always a bit of a slog. We napped for a few hours, and when we woke up—guess what—we were starving. We visited a temple across from the hotel (nothing special) and then decided to take the Chao Phraya Express, the river shuttle that serves many piers along the river. It was a really enjoyable experience. The steel gangway wobbles when you board and disembark, the boat sits low in the water, and sometimes you get splashed. During peak times, you’re packed in like sardines, but most of all, there’s that exotic urban landscape passing by, especially the temple rooftops.
At that exact moment, the boat was packed. We didn’t see a ticket booth at the pier, and we tried in vain to pay the few baht for the ride. The cashier on the boat was too busy, and another employee we called didn’t have time to help us. Oh well, we weren’t going to force the issue. Still, this mode of transport is super practical for avoiding traffic, and at the piers, the lines with station names are clearly marked, with colors matching the flags on the boats. Combined with a map like the *Routard* guide, it’s easy to navigate.
We easily made it to the restaurant *Harmonique*, located near one of these piers. It’s a unanimous favorite on this forum, and let us tell you—it’s well-deserved. What a wonderful experience that evening! We only saw the outdoor gazebo because there was no way we were dining inside. It’s not flashy, so those looking for a luxurious setting should look elsewhere.
That night, the staff was a bit slow, and we had to track them down several times to move things along. But oh, my friends—what a feast on the plate! Start with the appetizer platter for two at 250 baht, featuring four specialties, each more tempting than the last, followed by their famous crab curry for 200 baht. There’s *so much* crab in there! The dish is so delicious and rich that when you finish, you feel—how to put it—like it was almost *too* good, to the point where you’re almost put off eating for days. And also, oh yes, we *will* be back. Their satay chicken is just as amazing, and it would be a crime not to mention their generous dessert with ice cream, warm banana, and chocolate, plus their *excellent* almond milkshake.
Later, we took a taxi to Kao San Road, mainly to book a Ko Tao-Chumphon trip for 600 baht per person at the Lomprayah counter. In hindsight, we should’ve booked all three of our trips there right away.
Kao San Road is *ultra*-touristy—better for younger crowds, but it’s still worth seeing. There’s rock ‘n’ roll, hippies, and crowds everywhere.
We walked back to the hotel, and when we got a little lost near a canal, a really nice older Thai man spontaneously appeared out of the night to kindly point us in the right direction.
Finally, a real long night of sleep ahead—we cranked up the AC. Sweet, the vacation has begun!
Hi there,
I just got back from a trip to Sri Lanka from December 18th to January 1st with 2 adults and 2 kids (12 years old).
If it helps, here’s my itinerary.
We left on December 18th from Madrid with Qatar Airways. No complaints. I booked my tickets back in March for 800 € per person. (I flew from Madrid because I live near the Spanish border and was too worried about strikes in France.)
We arrived on December 19th at 4 PM (local time). Before leaving France, I’d booked a taxi through MyTransfer for 59 € to Sigiriya. A van was waiting for us at the airport exit.
A never-ending 3-hour drive to Sigiriya. We stayed at Samana Guesthouse—very simple, clean, with a pool and an excellent Sri Lankan breakfast. Shower and straight to bed.
Friday, December 20th: Beautiful weather, but very humid and hot. We visited Lion Rock (36 € for adults) and then Pidurangala.
I loved both sites—they’re a must-do in my opinion.
Spent the late afternoon by the pool.
Saturday, December 21st: Another gorgeous day. The guesthouse manager offered us a free 2-hour tuk-tuk tour. We first visited a lake, rice fields, the temple, and the Sigiriya market, plus the usual tourist trap—the botanical garden (no pressure to buy anything at the end).
Then we took a tuk-tuk to Dambulla Temple, the Golden Buddha, and the wholesale market.
Sunday, December 22nd: Still beautiful weather. I’d booked a taxi for 8 AM. We did all the long trips by taxi to save time. I’d ask for prices from 2 or 3 WhatsApp taxi agencies 2 days or the day before—super responsive, always got replies within 5 minutes. We headed to Ella (4-hour drive) for 22,000 LKR.
Arrived in the afternoon at Rest Full Homestay—a small, family-run guesthouse. Clean, cozy, and an amazing Sri Lankan breakfast.
In the afternoon, we went to Nine Arches Bridge. It was a Sunday, a Sri Lankan holiday, so it was *packed*—mostly locals and very few white tourists! Even though it was crowded, it was cool because it was all Sri Lankans. We waited an hour for the train. It’s worth seeing, but honestly, I didn’t think it was that amazing.
Then we headed to the station to check if we needed to book tickets for the train to Haputale—turns out, no.
Monday, December 23rd: Beautiful weather. We hiked Ella Rock—a gorgeous trek. The final stretch is steep but shaded, so it wasn’t as tough as I’d read. The whole hike is stunning from start to finish. We saw the train pass twice (one blue, one red) and lots of women picking tea.
After that, we did Little Adam’s Peak. It’s not hard, but it was *packed* with tourists—meh. Luckily, at the top, you can walk a bit farther (down one side and back up) to get some space to yourself.
What I *didn’t* like was the commercial vibe at the big café/restaurant with a pool at the entrance of Little Adam’s Peak. Loud music, all that money being made right next to little souvenir stands run by Sri Lankans or tea-picking women. Felt off.
Ended the day buying souvenirs at one of the few shops we found during the trip.
Tuesday, December 24th: Beautiful weather. Took the train to Haputale. We got to the station 30 minutes before the 9:30 AM train. We could’ve taken 2nd or 3rd class—I went with 2nd (160 LKR per person).
It was crowded, but we managed to get seats—first 2, then 3. Only a 1-hour ride, but I *loved* it—windows and doors open the whole time.
Arrived in Haputale around 11 AM, and the mist was already rolling in.
We walked to our guesthouse, The Mist Holiday Bungalow. Simple but clean, with a great view of the tea plantations. The owner’s wife is Vietnamese and used to work for French tour operators, so her French is still pretty good—helpful for us since our English is terrible. They booked us a tuk-tuk for 4:45 AM the next day (2,000 LKR) to Lipton’s Seat.
Spent the afternoon wandering around Haputale. Not much charm, but there’s a nice fruit and veggie market and a short walk through the tea plantations.
Wednesday, December 25th: Beautiful weather. The tuk-tuk was on time to take us to Lipton’s Seat. We were the first ones there—the sky was just starting to turn pink. In the end, only about ten of us watched the sunrise. The guesthouse had packed us breakfast, and we walked back down (half on the road, half through the plantations). Didn’t see any tea picking since it was Christmas, but the walk was still incredible. We took detours through villages full of kids.
After that, we visited the tea factory. The tour was really interesting, and we took the bus back down to Haputale. Such a great moment—whole families were heading to mass, dressed up and made up. All so beautiful.
At noon, we left for Udawalawe National Park. Taxi for 14,000 LKR. Stayed at River Inn Safari Cottage. *Warning*: It’s the same place as Eagle Safari Cottage. I don’t recommend it. We’d always stayed with families before, but here it was just staff—totally different vibe. The pool was nice but not very clean (water was murky). The bungalow was big and fine, but it was brand new—so new the asphalt floor wasn’t fully dry. It’s in the middle of nowhere, so we had to eat on-site. Couldn’t leave a review on Booking because they never confirmed we’d stayed, and they canceled our reservation the next day.
Thursday, December 26th: Beautiful weather. I’d booked a safari through the hotel for 5:30–10 AM for 54 USD. Honestly, yes, there are a lot of jeeps, but it was great. The kids loved it—we saw everything there was to see.
Left by taxi at 11:30 AM for Welligama (12,000 LKR).
We didn’t stay in Welligama city but at Coconut Beach, between Welligama and Midigama. *Total crush* on the guesthouse: Sky Mountain Café with View. Such a lovely family. The mom makes amazing meals at reasonable prices. The view from the hill over the sea is unreal.
Spent the afternoon walking along the beach.
Friday, December 27th: Beautiful weather. My kids are surfers. Unfortunately, there weren’t any boards their size to rent at Coconut, so we took a tuk-tuk to Welligama Bay (1,000 LKR). They surfed from 8 AM to 5 PM—rental was 5,000 LKR for the day. Meanwhile, we walked the beach and swam. Water was 29°C.
Saturday, December 28th: Beautiful weather, rain from 4 PM until midnight. Same surf day. They were so well-behaved the whole trip, so this was their reward.
Sunday, December 29th: Beautiful weather. Beach day at Coconut. *Warning*: It’s a reef break. For surfers, there are three spots (Coconut Left, Middle, and Right). The boys bodysurfed (with fins) all morning, and at 1 PM, we took the bus to Hikkaduwa.
Stayed at Hotel Universal Beach. Nothing special—right on the water, but the rooms were dark even though they were clean. The manager was super nice, but the rest was meh, and breakfast was mediocre compared to what we’d had before (2 eggs and 3 slices of toast). Plus, it was late—8 AM.
First impression of Hikkaduwa wasn’t great—way too many Russians for our taste.
Monday, December 30th: Beautiful weather. Spent the whole day exploring. Turtle Beach, then the other side of the beach (toward Galle) near the fishing port. The beach there is much wider, with scattered hotels and super quiet. It’s beautiful—I should’ve booked somewhere in that area. Ended up having a great day away from the crowds.
Tuesday, December 31st: Overcast, then beautiful, rain at 4 PM. Had to end the year (and the trip) with some surf. Rented boards for the kids (3,000 LKR per board for the day). Bad luck—the waves were on a reef break but small. Not great for them, but no big deal. They still got out of the water by 2 PM. Walked the beach (which is gorgeous), had a juice, and went for a swim. Then back to surfing in the rain at 4 PM.
Wednesday, January 1st: Left by taxi at 5 AM (18,000 LKR). Flight at 10 AM. Arrived in Madrid at 8 PM.
I could have titled my travel journal like Carmen: "Some trips are born twice." Indeed, we had considered this destination back in February 2020. However, an honest tour operator advised us against traveling at that time due to the climate. So, we gave up and opted for Guatemala instead (see "On the Mayan Lands" on this site).
So, why this title? When I was in primary school, over 65 years ago, the illustrations in my history books (Machu Picchu) and geography books (Lake Titicaca) made me dream, and those images stayed in my mind. It took until 2026 to finally make this dream come true!
We prepared our trip with Tout Pérou, a French-speaking "agency." Everything was handled via email and WhatsApp exchanges with our contact: Laurent, who was both competent, friendly, and full of good advice.
For 200 €, Tout Pérou provided us with drivers and guides whenever we wanted, helped us buy our domestic flights (cheaper when purchased in Peru), booked shuttles between airports and hotels, and got us a discount on the train ride to Aguas Calientes, as well as on the buses between Chivay and Puno and between Puno and Cusco. In short, Laurent took care of all the logistics and the Machu Picchu tickets. It was up to us to book our hotels. Tout Pérou provided a list, but we weren’t obliged to follow it. Another advantage of the package: we didn’t have to pay in advance; we paid the service providers directly day by day.
We didn’t meet Laurent in person because he was on vacation in Europe. Before his departure, he gave us a briefing, provided a summary table with the entire program, the service providers, their phone numbers, their fees, the schedules, and gave us plenty of advice (money, exchange, safety, etc.). After returning at the end of our stay, he kept checking in on us.
Lastly, we had also gathered information from Arnaud Lagadec, who runs a hotel in Cusco and offers tours of the region. He gave us a lot of useful information. Another contact: Thomas Montaigne, very friendly, who runs an agency in Arequipa (Agence Pérou Exclusif).
Day 1 – Paris to Lima
Foreword
I’ll share our trip without any pretension—I don’t have the talent of some contributors on this forum—and I’ll illustrate it with a few photos (taken with an ordinary smartphone). My comments are personal and only reflect my own views. So, please be kind! Feel free to comment on my story as you like, but let’s avoid pointless debates.
Even though we live in the south of the Paris region, true to our habits when the flight is in the morning, we chose to spend the night before our departure in a hotel near CDG and parked our car in a parking lot in Garches. This way, we avoid the stress that often comes with traveling around Paris (accidents, roadworks, traffic jams, etc.).
Check-in and border control went smoothly on that Sunday morning. Our Air France flight was uneventful. In Lima, border control took a particularly long time, and for the first time, we didn’t get an entry visa stamped in our passports.
As planned, a driver took us to the Miraflores district, where our hotel was located. We were surprised by the numerous signs about possible tsunamis, having forgotten that Peru is prone to such events and regularly experiences earthquakes. We’d see the consequences of these during our journey.
Exhausted from the early wake-up, the 13-hour flight, and the 7-hour time difference, we had dinner at the hotel before a restful night.
Note that this day was Peru’s presidential election day. As a result, we weren’t served beer—the sale of alcohol was banned that Sunday.
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.
When we started looking for a summer destination a few months ago, our first criterion was to avoid extreme heat and heatwaves. We had already been to Norway two years ago and are considering going back in the future for other occasions. So, we had some fun asking ChatGPT which destinations enjoyed a mild climate during the summer without going too far. Among the list provided by the AI were the Canary Islands... The idea of a place we wouldn’t have thought of first, both not too far away and exotic enough, appealed to us: “Hmm, why not?”
This destination had never really attracted me, though Magali was a bit more interested. Five years earlier, COVID had caused a short break in my professional activity, and I had planned a trip because the flight price was attractive, and I was looking for a destination different from what usually appeals to me, more than out of deep interest. From a distance and with a social judgment I acknowledge (it’s not great, but it’s not completely wrong), I had the image of a destination for party-goers enjoying the sun without the slightest interest in local culture, with concrete coastlines and denatured landscapes—everything I detest the most. Still, I had done some quick research on the different islands and spotted Lanzarote for its beautiful volcanic landscapes, hiking trails, beaches, and the impression of a good balance between activity and fewer crowds than Tenerife or Gran Canaria. Then I dropped the idea of going, without ever reconsidering traveling to the Canaries...
Until now! Because we started researching the different islands of the archipelago to see which ones might appeal to us the most. It was La Gomera, the third smallest island of the archipelago, more praised for its hiking trails and preserved nature than for its beaches, away from mass tourism (fifty times fewer tourists than Tenerife) but still a bit more developed than its wild neighbor El Hierro, that caught our attention. Contrary to what might be suggested later, I’m not at all addicted to AI, but I use it from time to time to synthesize quick research or simply for experimentation. Since ChatGPT had started anticipating my tastes lately as if it had become my buddy (often successfully, sometimes off the mark), I asked which Canary Island would suit me best for a trip with my family. The tool answered first with... La Gomera. So, I tested it and teased it a bit to see if this suggestion was well-founded, as the method sometimes makes it contradict itself. But no luck: “You’d appreciate the wild nature of El Hierro, but with family, you’ll find little activity for the kids. You won’t like the touristy vibe of the big islands like Tenerife, Gran Canaria, Lanzarote, and Fuerteventura. You could consider La Palma, but it’s really La Gomera that will suit you best, based on your interests and the criteria given.” So, we dug deeper into our research and were convinced without a shadow of a doubt that this island was the one waiting for us.
Without knowing it, we had Canarians in our circle who revealed their origins when they heard about our travel plans. One from Tenerife insisted we’d be better off choosing Tenerife (obviously...) because it also has preserved spots and that La Gomera, “you can explore it in two or three days, you’ll get bored quickly...” The other, a colleague from Gran Canaria who had never visited La Gomera, still recommended it without hesitation because it turned out her parents had just gone there on vacation: they loved it and had encountered few tourists. She also tended to think this destination was usually the subject of short stays, but according to what her parents told her, taking your time there was also a great idea. However, in our research, the idea that La Gomera is an island you can explore in three or four days max kept coming up. So, we considered combining its visit with La Palma or El Hierro, the other two that caught our eye. But hopping between islands by ferry represents a significant budget for non-Canarians, even more so for a family of four. Then, scrutinizing Google Maps, it seemed obvious that two weeks were too short to discover two islands as they deserve, and that there seemed to be plenty to see in La Gomera, given its very unique culture. After all, we read that some people spend several months a year there, others never even leave... Finally, these landscapes and this atmosphere, which seemed to us a mix of Europe, North Africa, and Latin America, tempted us. So, it would be two weeks in La Gomera, deal!
La Gomera is therefore the second... well, the third smallest island of the Canaries since La Graciosa was recently recognized as a fully inhabited island. It has the shape of a rough circle about 20 to 25 kilometers in diameter and has just over 20,000 inhabitants, half of them in its capital, San Sebastián de la Gomera, the only real town. Like its Canarian sisters, La Gomera is a volcanic formation that rose about 10 million years ago. The island is very mountainous and rugged, covered with red and black rocky landscapes. Geological activity has shaped, between the sprawling massifs that end in steep cliffs in the ocean, six coastal valleys with tropical vegetation that have favored human settlement. They divide the island like slices of a cake; from the north clockwise: the agricultural Vallehermoso, the rustic Agulo, the green, humid, and fertile Hermigua, the sunny capital San Sebastián de la Gomera, the southern and isolated Alajeró-Santiago, and the seaside Valle Gran Rey. They constitute the six municipalities (more like cantons to our French understanding) of the territory.
The large solidified magma massifs that shape the heart of the island have created a large depression more protected from the sun at its center, allowing the growth of a vast laurel forest, today grouped within the Garajonay National Park, La Gomera’s green lung, which has earned it the status of a World Biosphere Reserve. Its completely European appearance contrasts sharply with the rocky and tropical landscapes of the rest of the island. Thus, the climate varies greatly from one point to another on the island: in summer, you can quickly go from a dry and sunny valley at 35°C to a humid forest area at altitude at 18°C.
La Gomera was populated late. As with the rest of the Canaries, human presence is thought to have begun about 2,000 years ago. Groups of animist Berbers, probably fleeing persecution, gradually populated the archipelago, especially the western islands and La Gomera, becoming its small aboriginal population: the Guanches (or later Gomeros). The animist and pastoral civilization of the Guanches thrived until the Spanish takeover in the 15th century, which, after a short period of harmony and mixing with the indigenous people, suddenly ended in bloodshed... La Gomera later became the “Columbus Island” after Christopher Columbus’s stopover, increasing the blending of populations. In the 20th century, many Gomeros emigrated to Cuba and other Latin American countries in search of a better life, bringing back a mix of cultures and traits quite palpable in today’s Gomeran culture. It is, however, in La Gomera that the vestiges of Guanche culture seem to have left the most traces, in the language, gastronomy, social practices... Moreover, most Gomeros, especially in remote villages, have a particular identifiable type and proudly claim their ancestral roots, even making La Gomera a bit exotic in the eyes of other Canarians.
Perhaps that’s why it has never really wanted to develop its tourist infrastructure too much. If we set aside the tourists who visit for the day by bus or boat from Tenerife on a marked itinerary (and whom we ultimately rarely encounter), La Gomera has remained a hidden gem, a destination focused on nature discovery that attracts hikers, nature-loving divers, and scientists for its fauna and flora, and to a lesser extent, beachgoers who don’t seek overly developed coastlines. Tourist activity is therefore limited. Roughly speaking, you’ll find a majority of Spaniards, including a substantial number of residents from other Canary Islands, many Germans who have a particular fondness for La Gomera and spend long stays there or own second homes, to the point that the German cultural footprint is clearly noticeable in some places (it’s said to be Angela Merkel’s favorite holiday spot), and still quite a few French. The presence of other nationalities seemed negligible to us. Most travelers come mainly for hiking, but it’s also a prime spot for whale watching. Additionally, the seaside resorts of La Gomera—San Sebastián, Santiago, and especially Valle Gran Rey—are well-known destinations for hippies, especially German ones, ranging from chic boho hippies to old-school hippies who’ve been there for decades, quite similar to those you’d meet in India in Goa, Rishikesh, or Paharganj. Thus, practices like naturism, vegetarianism, and local organic production are quite well established in some areas.
Some practical info:
- The round-trip flight from Paris to Tenerife cost us 365 € per person (outbound with Transavia, return with EasyJet), including checked luggage and three seats reserved side by side.
- We chose two bases to explore the island: one week in Valle Gran Rey, reputed to be the most pleasant of the three seaside resorts, and one week in Hermigua, more mountainous and close to the natural park. We booked two houses with balconies and views: the first at 120 € per night, the second at 99 €.
- The round-trip ferry between Tenerife and La Gomera cost us 270 € with the company Baleària Canarias, including discounts for children aged 4 and 12, but I don’t have the exact details. It was a bit cheaper than with the other company, Fred Olsen.
- Finally, we rented a car through the agency Cicar for 360 € for 16 days, which comes to 22.50 € per day.
- Apart from that, we didn’t plan anything and decided the day before or even the morning of what we wanted to do. We didn’t invest in any paper guide on the Canaries, as information on La Gomera was scarce, but we used the very comprehensive site La Gomera Travel, a travel guide published by the Canary Islands Tourism Council, a real goldmine of almost exhaustive information on the island.
Alright, off we go for 16 days of adventure discovering La Gomera!
Last October, we landed in Marrakech to spend a few days with family exploring Morocco’s roads.
Transport: a rented Dacia.
Accommodations: small guesthouses.
Our first stop was just a few kilometers from Marrakech, at a lovely house perfect for relaxing and recharging before continuing. It’s called Bleu House, a little paradise on the outskirts of Marrakech. The welcome was very warm, with a beautiful pool and a lovely garden.
Next, we headed toward the Tichka Pass. The road has really improved in recent years—it’s much easier to drive now. No more getting stuck behind trucks, and today, the construction is practically finished.
Morocco has turned green after the recent rains. It’s a joy for the herds and shepherds.
I hesitated about writing this travel journal...
This summer, we only did the classics (the 3 northern parks and Zanzibar) and let a local agency take care of everything from start to finish.
No craziness, no risks, no sleeping under the stars, no self-drive, no venturing off the beaten path, no incidents, and not even any delays in the pre-planned itinerary...
But don’t think we were disappointed!
The whole family (there were 6 of us) came back with smiles and memories of great moments spent together.
So, if you're looking for a "classic" way to discover Tanzania, this is the place to be.
Our 2-week itinerary:
- Arusha (1 night upon arrival)
- Tarangire (1 night)
- Ngorongoro (2 nights in Karatu then Irmisigiyo)
- Serengeti (3 nights in Robanda, Togoro Plains, and Seronera)
- Zanzibar Stone Town (1 night)
- Zanzibar Matemwe (3 nights)
- Zanzibar Jambiani (3 nights)
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
It’s an ancient city that breathes, a living spring.
Here, no kitschy signs like “I miss you in Fengyu,” nor mass-produced fake antiques.
The century-old houses still bear the marks of wind and rain; in the morning, you hear roosters crowing, and at dusk, smoke gently rises from the kitchens.
This city doesn’t try to please anyone—like the spring water flowing through it, it simply keeps living at its own pace.
Located in Eryuan County, in the Dali Prefecture of Yunnan, the ancient town of Fengyu is a nationally designated historical and cultural city. It’s nicknamed the “land of scholars and ink”—during the Qing Dynasty, the Fengxiang Academy produced four *jinshi* and eleven *juren* in the imperial examinations. The Bai families made studying and farming a true legacy. Even on market days, you’ll find stalls of calligraphy and paintings, while lintels and screen walls are covered with family mottos.
Fengyu was also an important stop on the ancient Tea Horse Road. It preserves the second-largest Bai architectural complex in China, just after Xizhou. The famous traveler Xu Xiake spent seven days here and compared it to the “peach blossom paradise.”
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:
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
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!
It often happens that we're asked what to visit in Belgium.
And the answers usually point to Bruges, Ghent, Antwerp, and Brussels—and rightly so, as these cities are well worth visiting ;).
However, Belgium, though small, isn’t just limited to these four cities.
I live in one of them (Brussels), enjoy spending time in the other three, but I’d like to highlight some lesser-known spots that could add to the trip for those who want to see a bit more or something different.
Between trips, I like exploring one or two corners of the country where I live.
Hence the idea for a travel journal of walks.
Most of the places I’ll talk about can be visited as a day trip from Brussels, whether by public transport or car.
In chronological order of the topics covered:
- The Gileppe Dam (Liège province) - message 2, page 1
- The Domaine de La Hulpe (Walloon Brabant) - message 3, page 1
- Mechelen (Antwerp province) - message 4, page 1
- The coast - message 5, page 1
- The Westhoek, from De Panne - message 6, page 1
- The Zwin, from Knokke - message 7, page 1
- Lier (between Mechelen and Antwerp) - message 8, page 1
- Mons (Hainaut) - message 9, page 1
- The Florenville region - message 12, page 1
- The East Cantons - message 13, page 1
- Dinant - message 18, page 1
- The Japanese garden in Hasselt - message 24, page 2
- Leuven - message 29, page 2
- Louvain-la-Neuve - message 32, page 2
- Ostend - message 42 (page 3) and message 166 (page 9)
- The floralies of Groot-Bijgaarden - message 43, page 3
- Halle Forest - message 44, page 3
- Pralines - message 54, page 3
- Charleroi - message 68, page 4
- Namur - message 92, page 5
- Le Bois du Cazier (Marcinelle) - message 95, page 5
- Couques and gosettes - message 96, page 5
- Liège - message 99, page 5
- Tournai - message 115, page 6
- Oudenaarde - message 121, page 7
- Meise Botanical Garden - message 124, page 7
- Tongeren - message 125, page 7
- Beersel Castle (Flemish Brabant) - message 126, page 7
- Brussels in lockdown (messages 150 and 154, page 8)
- Notre-Dame à la Rose Hospital in Lessines (messages 161 and 162, page 9)
- Westende (message 167, page 9)
I’ll keep updating this list as the journal progresses...
The second trail follows the bed of a river that winds into an increasingly narrow gorge, eerily reminiscent of Petra’s Siq (minus the smells!). On the steep red walls, magnificent fan palms grow—what a striking contrast of colors, especially since the rock shifts from red to black.
On the way back, we spot some beautiful migratory birds, but the most interesting ones are apparently in the far south of the lake, near the mangroves and marshes. Another reason to come back another time—and for longer!
After this all-too-brief but fascinating excursion, we’re back on solid ground.
On the right, the "welcome marker"—those dates offered everywhere as a sign of hospitality. On the left, a tribute to those stunning doors worn by time, admired all over the old quarters, including the abandoned ones.
Hospitality will often lead you to accept a small coffee, an "Omani coffee," very light, subtly flavored with cardamom, maybe a touch of saffron, and occasionally rosewater.
Here, I’ve depicted a man in the common everyday attire of Omanis: the dishdasha, mostly white (during the week and daytime; colors are more common in the evening or on Fridays and Saturdays). While you’ll see some men dressed in Western clothes, they’re very few. The white dishdasha is truly the shared attire of all men. The dishdasha, which has no hood, is distinguished by a small pom-pom attached to the collar, the furakha, which is soaked in perfume. And believe me, Omanis go overboard with it! "It smells like the pom-pom" is an expression that’s now part of our shared language, my husband and I.
Another must of men’s attire is the kuma, a small round head covering, usually white with brightly colored patterns. The keffiyeh is also worn (but without the cord called an agal in Arab countries), and it’s mostly worn by those with roots in the desert, from what I understood.
And what about the women, you might ask? Some are veiled, some in full black (but not a burka—more like a chador + abaya), due to the influence of Saudi Arabia and the United Arab Emirates, whereas the traditional outfit used to be a layering of very colorful dresses. Most of the women we saw wore neutral clothing, a plain veil over their hair, but with their faces uncovered. We also saw many saris and colorful veils—don’t forget that 40% of the population consists of Indian, Nepalese, and Bangladeshi immigrants, who work a lot in tourism, hospitality, restaurants, services, and construction.
Just to clarify, as a tourist, there’s no pressure to wear a veil, and never any disapproving looks. Of course, you’ll save the mini shorts, plunging necklines, bare shoulders, and midriffs for the hotel terrace—but I’d say that’s the same for men and women, and with the sun being strong, it’s better for your skin too.
Here’s the introduction! In the next post, I’ll tell you about my itinerary, and we can dive in!
Roundabouts are particularly interesting because they feature emblems of Turkmen culture, like the dog, a carpet, the Ahal Teke horse, or Muslim symbols, even though the presence of Islamic artifacts is quite limited.
The large solidified magma massifs that shape the heart of the island have created a large depression more protected from the sun at its center, allowing the growth of a vast laurel forest, today grouped within the Garajonay National Park, La Gomera’s green lung, which has earned it the status of a World Biosphere Reserve. Its completely European appearance contrasts sharply with the rocky and tropical landscapes of the rest of the island. Thus, the climate varies greatly from one point to another on the island: in summer, you can quickly go from a dry and sunny valley at 35°C to a humid forest area at altitude at 18°C.
Last October, we landed in Marrakech to spend a few days with family exploring Morocco’s roads.
Transport: a rented Dacia.
Accommodations: small guesthouses.
Come along, I'm taking you to this country where it's so nice to wander and slow down...
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.
And in Kyoto, Nishiki Market:
A little sneak peek?