I’m adding my small contribution to the reopening celebration by posting this travel journal from India, made in January 2024.
We’re 4 friends (2 couples), and we did a 3-week loop in Rajasthan, stopping by Delhi and Agra (which, as everyone knows, aren’t in Rajasthan 😛).
Delhi - Agra - Jaipur - Bundi - Udaipur - Jodhpur - Jaisalmer - Delhi
Forty years have passed since my first trip to India, which was organized after winning first prize in a literary competition hosted by Éditions Gallimard.
A lot of water has flowed under the bridges of my life, as well as those of the Ganges and the Indus.
This time, we’re traveling as a group of four—two couples—and we’ve organized our journey ourselves in what you might call a semi-adventurous way, since an Indian driver will handle our transportation for three-quarters of the trip. It’s a setup that leaves less room for the unexpected, but it saves us time by sparing us the hassles of public transport.
Day 1. Arrival in Delhi
We hesitated for a long time about including Delhi in our trip. So many negative preconceptions: dirty, polluted, noisy. But it’s the capital of India, and we finally decided to spend two nights there.
We arrived at Indira Gandhi Airport two hours late due to a technical issue with our British Airways flight out of London. But it didn’t stress us out too much. It was only 10 a.m., and we had the whole day ahead of us.
Kate and Nathalie firmly negotiated the taxi fare to the city center, where our accommodation was located in a quiet neighborhood near Humayun’s Tomb. 1,800 rupees instead of the 2,500 quoted. Great job! Three weeks later, we’d pay 650 rupees for a roughly similar trip. That’s how the learning begins. Negotiating well in India still means getting taken advantage of—just less than expected.
The first surprise came after stepping outside. The airport exit looked like any other in the world—neat rows of taxis waiting for customers in a standardized urban setting.
After settling into a charming guesthouse with a warm welcome (Eleven Bed & Breakfast), we decided to visit Humayun’s Tomb, the 16th-century Mughal emperor’s resting place.
Our first encounter with a driver of those famous “Tuk-Tuks.” After negotiating, Bruno and I hopped into one, while Nathalie and Kate took another. That was the only time we were cautious. Later, we’d squeeze all four of us into vehicles meant for three—three in the back and one up front next to the driver.
At the ticket counter, we were surprised by the price difference: 40 rupees for Indians, 600 for “foreigners.” No outrage there—it’s only fair that we contribute to the upkeep of local heritage and that Indians enjoy reduced rates. It was a Sunday, and the park was packed with families, likely locals from Delhi as well as Indian tourists, with few Westerners in sight. The vast park was dotted with red-stone funerary monuments, but the most stunning was Humayun’s Tomb, appearing to float, immense, in the hazy sky under Delhi’s veiled sun.
The cool, damp evening settled over the city. After exchanging money at Khan Market, we decided to have our first Indian meal at a fairly upscale—and thus not very budget-friendly—restaurant. The food was pretty good but “very spicy.” More fiery than subtly spiced, really. The start of an intense hazing period for our Western intestines.
Day 2. Delhi: Chandni Chowk - Jama Masjid - Lodi Garden.
This morning, the metro—which has an excellent reputation—will take us to Old Delhi to visit the Chandni Chowk neighborhood and the massive Jama Masjid mosque.
Clean, colorful, spacious, and easy to navigate, Delhi’s metro is a really practical way to get around the city over long distances. Nathalie and I feel right at home in this underground world. Like kids on a scavenger hunt, we carefully spot the different lines with their colors and the connections that will take us to our destination. We’re in control. Perfect before diving into the chaotic universe of "Old Delhi."
Chandni Chowk! And it’s a shock…
Here we are in the heart of popular and bustling India—poorer but not truly miserable, with a few exceptions. Chandni Chowk is a city within a city, a city-market. A massive bazaar where everything is bought and sold, everything is made and repaired. A tangle of streets and alleys packed with stalls, small workshops, vendors, customers, tuk-tuks, cows, dogs, beggars, mopeds, bewildered tourists—everyone sharing the same space as best they can.
We walk in single file, afraid of getting separated. We’re amazed, and also dizzy from the honking, the crowd’s noise, the riot of colors, the mix of smells—some refined, others downright foul. Amazed, but not stressed or worried. The general vibe is pretty relaxed. Everyone’s going about their business. There’s pushing, shoving, shouting, honking, but no real aggression or tension.
A barefoot, dirty street kid tries to get our attention with acrobatics. One look, and he’s won—though we’ve lost. He sticks with us for nearly fifteen minutes.
We head toward the massive mosque that dominates the urban landscape with its bulk. Red sandstone and white marble. The 17th-century structure is stunning, with its large courtyard, two minarets, and three bulbous domes.
As we leave, two rickshaw drivers (the bike-powered kind) pester us for a while, insistently offering a full tour of the huge neighborhood. We half-heartedly refuse, hesitate, then accept. Deep down, it’s a great idea because we’re not really sure how to tackle this detailed visit of Chandni Chowk. And off we go for an hour and a half of sightseeing, punctuated by stops in the heart of the city-market. The route is pleasant as we explore the different sections of the market, organized by product type: spices, fabrics, jewelry… We also discover some beautiful houses that are now abandoned or run-down. Here, as elsewhere, the middle class eventually left the city centers for the more comfortable and better-equipped outskirts. Our guide is friendly, and we chat in English. Still, I feel a little uneasy seeing this fairly young man struggling to pedal while carrying two well-fed tourists—about 130 kg in total.
In the afternoon, we decide to take a more relaxing break at Lodi Garden. It’s a large park developed by the British in the 18th century, but it contains many monuments (mostly mausoleums) from the Lodhi dynasty, Muslim rulers during the Delhi Sultanate. We enjoy the peaceful atmosphere, far from the hustle and bustle of Chandni Chowk.
For the evening, we decide to buy food and eat in our guesthouse. A quick detour to Khan Market to order some pizzas.
On our way back, we run into the tuk-tuk driver we’d used the night before. He recognizes us and rushes ahead of his colleagues to take us. We start chatting, and he seems eager to learn more about us. Small vehicle, three of us in the back, me up front next to the driver. And off we go! Full speed ahead, in the cold, after dark. He drives fast but with great skill. Behind me, Nathalie and Kate are laughing hysterically. It’s like being on a roller coaster. The crisp air is exhilarating, and we barely notice the danger—we trust him. Do we have a choice? Our driver seems to be having fun too; he’s laughing with us. "Do you want to drive?" He puts my hands on the handlebars and the throttle. It reminds me of my old moped. I can’t believe it—I’m driving a tuk-tuk! We’re all like kids, the five of us. Finally, we arrive at our guesthouse. Handshake, thanks. He asks if we have any euro coins for his foreign currency collection. Nathalie gives him 2 €. He looks at the coin with emotion, touched by what he sees as a gift. He thanks us again and wishes us good luck.
This fleeting encounter, this little moment of shared fun with this Indian man, touched all four of us. It’ll be one of the rare times we have that kind of connection—an honest exchange, not spoiled by a purely mercantile perspective.
Off to bed. Tomorrow, the train, Agra, the Taj…
Hi Kate!
What an original travel journal for two! 😊
I’m even more excited to join in since I discovered Rajasthan last March—but not the same cities as you, except for Jaipur, Bundi, and Udaipur.
We loved it so much that we’re definitely planning to go back, especially for Jodhpur and Jaisalmer (we’d already visited Agra a few years ago).
Looking forward to the next part, then!
Le monde est comme un miroir, si tu lui souris, il te sourit aussi!
Hi Kate,
Always interesting to hear the impressions of my fellow countrymen, especially since after two trips to this part of the world in 2011 and 2019, I still can’t decide if I like it or not... 🤪
So I’m tagging along with Richard! !
"Le véritable voyage de découverte ne consiste pas à chercher de nouveaux paysages, mais à avoir de nouveaux yeux."
Marcel Proust
I couldn’t have handled the heat of a Rajasthan summer, but we were surprised by the cold. It was 5 to 10°C cooler than usual. We bought some Damars and Doudounes (puffer jackets) on the spot 🤪
In Jaisalmer, the guesthouse didn’t even have a space heater—I can still picture us huddled under the blankets after trying to shower in a freezing bathroom 🏴☠️
me, after two trips to this part of the world in 2011 and 2019, still haven’t decided if I love it or not...
I get you.
Often I’ve been jostled, shaken up, pushed to my limits, taken to the edge of letting go... That’s the point of travel, isn’t it?
A few days after returning, I asked my friends if they’d be up for going back to India! I thought of a metaphor: when I was little, I was scared of those wild rides, yet I couldn’t stop going back to scream and laugh at the same time. It was stronger than me!
We booked a train to get to Agra from the secondary Nizzamudin station. The place is huge, and the platforms are packed—it’s not easy to find your way around. The wait is long, and as expected, the train to Agra is late. The crowd on the platforms is very mixed, people from all walks of life, but few foreign tourists.
Young beggars approach us several times, shouting, "Rupees! Rupees!" Bruno, the soft-hearted one, can’t help but feel sorry for them and hands out his small change while Kate tries to snap a few candid portraits. I see a young man literally dragging himself past me, his legs completely twisted and lifeless, pulling himself along with his arms. Polio, obviously. I think about that shattered life, all because of lack of access to healthcare. Anger rises in me against the "anti-vaxxers" back home…
The train finally arrives. It’s an Intercity, modern, clean, and comfortable. The journey is pleasant, but we’re a little disappointed—we’d really fantasized about a 19th-century-style Indian train ride. Through the windows, we watch the long stretches of slums on the urban outskirts roll by. An India we’ll never set foot in, just like the middle and upper classes here never do.
We arrive in Agra as night falls and meet Ajay, our driver who came to pick us up. First impression is good, but we need to build trust quickly with the person who’ll be accompanying us for 15 days through Rajasthan.
The accommodation, a 500-meter walk from the Taj, is charming and well-kept (The Coral House Homestay).
For dinner, we find a small, popular restaurant that’s completely empty. The waiters rush to please us, trying to explain the dishes on the menu in English. With the help of a few photos, we manage to make our choices, but the names of the dishes and their contents remain a mystery to us: naan, biryanis, dal, kofta… It’ll take time before they become a little more familiar.
For the Taj Mahal visit, we’d planned to wake up really early to beat the crowds. But the hosts at the guesthouse advised against such an early start because of the thick, persistent fog that’s been blanketing the area for days.
We set off around 9 a.m., and luckily, the sky was relatively clear. Once we passed through the red sandstone gate, the white marble Taj, veiled in a light mist, appeared in all its majesty—almost suspended in the air. For a moment, I felt the same emotional impact I’d experienced seeing Michelangelo’s Pietà at the Vatican. The crowd wasn’t too dense, and I noticed most of the tourists were Indian. Everyone had their phones out, snapping away at the monument. Kate, though, took her time—I knew her photos would be technically flawless and full of depth and meaning.
The closer we got to the mausoleum, the more substantial it became. The dreamlike moment passed, and I could admire the stunning proportions of the structure, the elegance of the minarets, and the beauty of the calligraphic decorations formed by the flowing lines of the Arabic script. It’s strange to think that in a country that’s 80% Hindu and increasingly nationalistic, the Taj—a Muslim monument—is, for much of the world, the very image of India.
After two and a half hours, it was time for us to turn our backs on the Taj. At the exit, we plunged into the scrum of souvenir vendors—something we tried to avoid as best we could. Dodging, sidestepping, quick turns left and right, slowing down, then speeding up. But the game was lost from the start. “Where are you from?” “French?” “La vie est belle!” “Come in my shop, just look!” This time, we got off pretty lightly—just the cost of a few magnets.
We headed back to the hotel to catch our breath and enjoy our new favorite treat, a masala chai.
Kate, eager to immerse herself in the “real” India for her photos, asked Ajay, our driver, to drop us off at a local market square. It was a produce market. Part of it spilled into the streets, while another section was inside a dilapidated building—more like an open-air enclosure. Depending on the vendor, goods were displayed on stalls, carts, or even directly on the ground. The noise was deafening: blaring music from an ancient sound system, the usual relentless honking. We wandered through this exotic world, weaving between cows, dogs, and tuk-tuks, careful to avoid the cow patties. But the explosion of colors was incredible—all those fruits and vegetables, often beautifully arranged, and the vibrant saris of the women.
In the afternoon, we visited the Red Fort, an impressive 17th-century Mughal fortress. The morning fog had lifted, the air was mild, and we enjoyed exploring the palace’s various halls and gardens without paying much attention to the historical details. The Guide du Routard stayed in the bag.
We pulled it out again in the early evening to pick a small restaurant in the old town: “Joney’s Place.” The ride there was in a tuk-tuk, always at full speed, with Rachid—a very young guy in his twenties. During the ride, I shouted over the engine noise to ask if the vehicle was his. “I rent it. 2000 rupees a day.” The math was quick: if we assume 150–200 rupees per ride (tourist price), he’d need to do at least ten trips just to start making a little money.
The restaurant was tiny—just six tables—but the welcome was warm. The owner, a young man, spoke remarkable French. He was eager to chat with us and proud to show off his deep knowledge of French literature. He talked about Camus and recited Baudelaire’s “L’Invitation au Voyage” in full. We were stunned. But not for long—our mouths were soon busy. Kate and I savored the best malai kofta we’d had in India, and Bruno and I finished with a delicious banana lassi for dessert.
Tomorrow, we’ve got our first long drive to Jaipur, with a stop in Fatehpur Sikri.
Here I am, jumping into this travel journal too, though just for a few words. I wanted to react and compare emotions and feelings with each of Richard’s posts. But, as you know from our private exchanges, my troubles since returning home to India still aren’t resolved (I don’t even know if "troubles" is the right word—do troubles have a solution?). No phone, which is a huge handicap when you "live" in India and a risk of running into issues with the authorities if they decide to call me for a check. Internet access that keeps cutting out... And on top of that, today at lunch, I sliced a piece of my finger with my mandoline while cutting a cucumber. No details here about the state of my finger or the "care" I received—two great topics to kick off the journal I promised elsewhere.
Just wanted to say I’m in a lot of pain and it’s not exactly practical for writing long posts. But as soon as I’m feeling better, I’ll be back to join this journal and share. And hopefully with a "real" connection, not the one I’ve cobbled together with a borrowed SIM card just to get minimal internet access.
Hi everyone!
In Jodhpur, I loved getting lost in the neighborhood of the blue houses. Around the stepwell, the area is nice, but it wasn’t my favorite—I definitely prefer Udaipur without any hesitation.
I really loved Shekhawati, which I explored from Nawalgarh to Choru, passing through Ramgarh Shekhawati ❤️❤️❤️❤️.
Off-the-beaten-path Narnaul is a cool and very interesting town. I don’t have time to repost this travel journal, but you might have followed it on the other forums.
Marijo
Qui a l'habitude de voyager sait qu'il vient toujours un moment où il faut partir...
Paulo Coelho
I couldn’t have handled the summer heat in Rajasthan
The worst isn’t even summer—it’s just before the monsoon.
I don’t remember it being unbearable. Less so than in Puglia or even Clermont on a scorching day.
In Jaisalmer, the guesthouse didn’t even have a space heater. I can still picture us huddled under the blankets after trying to shower in an ice-cold bathroom
Now you’re ready for the Altiplano!
La rue comme gagne-pain : concours de photos amical de septembre 2026
Rubrique Jeux Voyages
C'est le moment de poster vos meilleurs clichés !
This was my fourth time in Jodhpur this summer, and it turned out to be one of the highlights of the trip, even though Udaipur is exceptional. I also took away from this trip that you can have a different perception of places you’ve already visited depending on the context, the events, the people you’re traveling with, and a bunch of other factors. In other words, the experience is different every time, and you can feel like you’re rediscovering a place in a completely new light.
I’m totally biased about Udaipur 😊 and I was happy to visit Jodhpur—I loved wandering around there.
I’ll definitely follow your travel journal with pleasure.
Qui a l'habitude de voyager sait qu'il vient toujours un moment où il faut partir...
Paulo Coelho
Clearly, our driver is an excellent chauffeur. Careful, skilled at weaving his vehicle between the most diverse obstacles, unflappable, and using the horn sparingly, he quickly puts us at ease. Completely reassured, we let ourselves doze off while Ajay drives with full headlights through thick fog.
Here we are in Fatehpur, the short-lived capital of the Mughal Empire built in the 16th century in just over 10 years. The site is impressive: 6 km of ramparts enclose the red sandstone palace-city. Very few people and the silence combined with the mist clinging to the elegant facades give the whole place a ghostly feel.
On our way back to the car, a souvenir vendor I had chatted with at the entrance calls out to me. "Do you remember me?". Here I am, a few rupees lighter and weighed down by yet another set of magnets. Maybe I need to change my strategy.
The drive to Jaipur is quite long, about 4 hours. It’s a chance for us to learn a bit more about the rules—or rather, the driving customs—on India’s main roads and highways.
You can overtake on the right or left, it doesn’t matter, as long as you give a long honk first. The road isn’t just for vehicles—many animals, like cows, camels, and dogs, wander on the shoulders or even in the middle. That’s probably why cars rarely exceed 80 km/h. You also have to watch out for pedestrians, often farmers carrying bundles or sacks. And be careful of mopeds and tuk-tuks that might be driving the wrong way on the sides. I don’t think Indians are particularly reckless, but they have a different approach to driving—less rule-bound, more about anticipation.
We finally arrive in Jaipur, stuck in traffic. Night falls quickly, and we’re all feeling a bit tired. The hotel we chose is gorgeous, and the welcome, once again, is very warm (All Seasons Homestay).
We decide to dine in.
After a hearty Indian breakfast, we set off by car to Amber Fort, the residence of the Rajput maharajas and their families for centuries. As always in Rajasthan, the palace-fortress is built on a hilltop overlooking the valley. There was no way we were climbing the steep slope on elephant back. Even though they’re beautifully decorated and seem to be in good health from what I saw, numerous investigations by animal protection groups regularly denounce the mistreatment they often endure. Here we are, in the heart of maharaja India. Order and beauty, luxury and pleasure, born here as elsewhere from the labor and suffering of "those below." But these philosophical and moral considerations are quickly swept away by Nathalie’s infectious enthusiasm, who punctuates the long visit with a series of "so beautiful!" at every new room or courtyard we discover.
Leaving the site turned out to be an epic ordeal, just as we feared. We were swarmed by a crowd of vendors of all kinds, literally blocking our way. Chin up, jaw clenched, I managed to push through for several dozen meters. Bruno, on the other hand, didn’t fare as well. One, then two, then three, four vendors clustered around him. From a distance, I saw him buying a bit of everything: pens, figurines, keychains. It was like Tintin in *The Cigars of the Pharaoh* facing Señor Oliveira, the man who sells everything! The scene was really funny, especially when Nathalie, worried about her man, stormed back grumbling to try and rescue him from this tight spot! Finally, Ajay’s car parked on the esplanade. Saved—we could make our escape!
Back in Jaipur, we settled on the rooftop of a small restaurant right across from the Palace of Winds. The pink sandstone façade, with its dozens of delicately crafted niches, was actually the back of the women’s palace, where they could observe the street without being seen. A true visual enchantment.
The afternoon was dedicated to shopping, as Jaipur is renowned for the quality of its colorful textiles—cotton fabrics, cashmere, pashmina. I wasn’t exactly thrilled by the idea of hitting the shops, but I went along with the group’s decision. We let ourselves be lured by a tout, and suddenly we were inside a small store at the back of a narrow alley off the main street. Two hours of haggling with friendly, slightly cheeky shopkeepers. Kate negotiated fiercely, and we left with a whole batch of shirts and scarves, thinking we’d gotten a good deal. The experience of the following days would teach us we’d probably paid double the going rate. But in the end, it didn’t really matter.
At the end of the day, we wandered through Johari Bazar (the jewelers’ bazaar), an endless string of shops selling jewelry, textiles, and sweets. We elbowed our way through the narrow, bustling sidewalks, in an incredible hubbub of touts’ shouts and deafening honks. Crossing the massive Bari Chaupar intersection was a real challenge—the pedestrian crossings were purely for urban decoration.
The day ended at an Ayurvedic massage institute Ajay had recommended. A chance to rest body and mind.
Day 7. From Jaipur to Bundi
Personally, I'm not sorry to leave Jaipur—a city where I felt a bit too "touristy." Bundi is less crowded, a bit off the main tourist trails. Plus, we'll have more time since we've booked three nights. I think all four of us are eager to step out of "tour operator" mode, which we've been in since Agra, and connect—even superficially—with the Indian people.
Our relationship with Ajay is starting to take shape. The beginning was a bit rough. His reserve, his poor English, and ours—only slightly better—didn’t make conversation easy. We decided to invite him to lunch every time we travel from one city to another. I think he appreciates the gesture; he seems more relaxed, and our ears, like his, are gradually getting used to this "Globish" we use as our common language.
We arrive in Bundi in the early afternoon. We're staying in a family-run guesthouse (Bundi Castel View Homestay) at the top of the town, run by a young man and his brother. The view from the rooftop, just below the fortress, is absolutely stunning. Staying inside the city walls, we feel like we're in a village.
While the cows—still as laid-back as ever—clog the streets of the small neighborhood, the relationships between the monkeys (I think they're macaques) and the dogs don’t seem all that friendly.
As we hoped, Bundi’s vibe is very different from Jaipur’s. We walk down to the lower town to visit a big market without being bothered at all. Just a few "Namasté," "Where are you from?" "First time in India?" to start brief conversations or sometimes a sales pitch, but with no pressure. Kate seems more and more comfortable with her camera; I’m impressed by how quickly she builds a connection to get the portraits she wants. A glance, a small gesture, a few words. She sometimes faces refusals or requests for money, but overall, Indians love being photographed. They often ask for selfies with us. "Selfie, selfie?" Yep, we’re always the exotic ones to someone else.
The market is huge but somewhat away from the main traffic flow, so we can wander around pretty peacefully.
A slightly cheeky cow munching shamelessly on vegetables from a stall gets a stern scolding from a man with a stick—probably a market security guard. Further on, a vegetable vendor who sees us taking photos offers us a glass of tea. We accept politely; the tea is deliciously sweet, but what’s he going to ask for? Well, nothing, actually. Just a simple gesture of hospitality, a welcome to Bundi.
Night falls quickly at these lower latitudes than in France, and we head back to our accommodation at dusk. But we’re literally stuck in a narrow street by an unbelievable traffic jam of motorcycles, scooters, tuk-tuks, and cows. A symphony of horns and other honking devices. Indians love noise.
Day 8 / Day 9. Two days in Bundi. The "Kite Festival"
Woke up to a lively start early this morning. From the rooftop terraces in the neighborhood, speakers were blasting popular Indian music. We asked our host what was going on. "Kite festival for two days." The kite festival. It’s a big, popular celebration in North India (Utarayan), half-religious, half-secular, marking the end of winter and the start of the harvest season. Two days of festivities with music, fireworks, where kids and adults alike launch hundreds of kites as high as possible into the sky. Our hope for a quieter stay in Bundi vanished. India is definitely a stimulating country, but not exactly restful.
No point in sulking, though. We’re on vacation, and this is their home. Might as well enjoy the joyful energy buzzing through the city.
Still, we decided to play it safe and spend the morning visiting the palace/fortress, away from the city’s noise. It’s definitely one of my favorite spots in Rajasthan. Probably because, aside from the beauty of the place, there was almost no one around—except for the monkeys who rule the site. No crowds of tourists, no touts. The place is half-maintained, half-abandoned, steeped in a splendor that’s now asleep. Another testament to the power and generosity of the Rajput rulers. The architecture is Indo-Persian-inspired, with broken and slightly horseshoe-shaped polylobed arches, a succession of inner courtyards, walkways, and rooms in vibrant colors. One of the few staff members opened a few rooms for us to admire magnificent 17th/18th-century murals. Hunting scenes, battles, and courtly love (gods or men?) in shades dominated by emerald green and turquoise blue.
We took a little break on one of the palace terraces. We were watching the many striped-back squirrels always on the lookout for food when a group of monkeys arrived, looking calm but determined. The kind that say, "This is our turf!" Better be careful.
A beautiful morning in this timeless place. In the sky, the kites continued their festive dance...
The afternoon was a bit disappointing. We’d hoped to join in, even discreetly, on the Utarayan festivities. But there didn’t seem to be any public gathering—or maybe we just didn’t find it. No Bastille Day-style street party, at least. It felt like a foreign celebration we couldn’t quite penetrate, except through the many nylon strings of defeated kites littering the ground and tripping us up.
Luckily, Bruno saved the evening. I’ve only known him a short time, but I’ve figured out how he operates when traveling. He’s not big on logistics, but he’s open to any encounter. The day before, he’d struck up a conversation with Jay, a forty-something Indian with a big smile whose guesthouse is strategically located at the intersection of the street leading down from the palace. A prime spot he uses to sell sticks to tourists for warding off the sometimes overly bold monkeys that occupy the site. Jay managed to stop Bruno to show him his "guestbook," proving the quality of his hospitality and meals. So, we had plans for the evening. Jay and his sister served us a delicious Indian meal—I’ve unfortunately forgotten the names of the dishes. A lovely moment.
Last day in Bundi. In the morning, we headed back to the market to visit the "Raniji-ki-Baori," the queen’s stepwell (17th century). An astonishing 45-meter-deep structure designed to collect rainwater and runoff during the monsoon. A utilitarian and community monument, but also with a religious function, its walls covered in bas-reliefs depicting the countless gods of the Indian pantheon. Water, such a precious resource yesterday and today in this arid Rajasthan.
Ajay gave us a quick ride in the late afternoon to see the cenotaph with 84 pillars. An elegant monument built in the 17th century by King Rao Raja Anirudh to honor the memory of his wet nurse.
Final strolls through the old town, with time for a masala chai.
Dinner on the rooftop terrace of our guesthouse. The neighborhood kids were competing with their sound systems, and fireworks were bursting from all corners of the city. In the sky, glowing kites finished enchanting the night.
Aaah Bundi 🤗!
We also spent 3 nights there a few weeks after you and met Jay too—the local with the fastest talking speed I’ve seen in 7 trips to India 😂.
I have such fond memories of the peacefulness of that town and the evening meals on rooftop terraces at the foot of the illuminated fortress!
Have a great evening
Le monde est comme un miroir, si tu lui souris, il te sourit aussi!
No hordes of tourists, no touts in this place—half-maintained, half-abandoned
If it’s that kind of atmosphere you’re looking for on your next trip to India, don’t head to South India—go to Madhya Pradesh (Bhopal) and Gujarat instead. (Didn’t see a single tourist in that state and very few in the other, even though there’s so much to see there…)😮
And from there, finish up in Goa…😇
I also really liked Bundi.😛
La rue comme gagne-pain : concours de photos amical de septembre 2026
Rubrique Jeux Voyages
C'est le moment de poster vos meilleurs clichés !
Solene, that’s such a funny encounter! What a character, Jay! We actually ate really well at his place (despite him being a bit clingy )
Attila, we’re guessing the south (at least Tamil Nadu) will be less touristy than Rajasthan—well, that’s what we’re hoping, anyway. Either way, we’re excited to discover a side of India that’s totally different from the north (trip planned for January 2025) 🙂
Hi Kate and Richard,
I just came across this lovely travel journal written by four hands that reminds me of our trips to India.
We visited Bundi in 2015 and also toured the palace where an old gentleman opened rooms for us with magnificent frescoes. We were the only tourists that day.
It seems no restoration has been done since then.
It’s really sad to wonder how much longer we’ll be able to admire these wonders...
I’m curious to hear about the rest of your trip!
Have a great evening,
Gabriele
It depends, Richard: Mahabalipuram and Pondy are way more touristy than Karauli or Ajmer in Rajasthan—it all comes down to the stops you choose and the timing too.
During our 3 weeks in Rajasthan at the end of March, we ran into very, very few Western tourists. On one hand, I got tons of great tips from Aleph/Marie Jo, and it was starting to get too hot for travel agencies, I guess 😅
Le monde est comme un miroir, si tu lui souris, il te sourit aussi!
We stopped in Bundi in 2015 and also visited the palace where an elderly gentleman opened rooms with magnificent frescoes for us. We were the only tourists that day.
Day 10. The road from Bundi to Udaipur. The Jain temple of Ranakpur
A long leg today between Bundi and Udaipur—nearly 5 hours on the road. But the first part of the journey, which takes us to the temple of Ranakpur, is really pleasant. For the first time, we’re taking back roads that let us explore the Rajasthan countryside and villages more closely. The landscape is greener than usual—we’re probably following a major river.
We spot gibbons by the side of the road, almost waving at us to stop! They’re adorable with their fluffy black heads and long arms. But it’s best to keep the windows up. A little further on, Kate asks Ajay to pull over so she can photograph women in saris washing clothes by the river. Even further along, I spot a bull up on the hillside, accompanied by three kids who are making the animal walk in circles to turn a large wooden wheel. It’s a *noria*—an irrigation tool that’s been around for thousands of years. The sun shines over this lush, lively valley where people are hard at work. The Rajasthan countryside is unfolding before us.
We stop at the Jain temple of Ranakpur. Jainism is a religion that emerged in the 6th century BCE, branching off from Hinduism. From what I’ve read, its followers are few (around 8 million) but well-represented in economic and political circles. Gandhi’s mother was Jain, and their cultural influence is more readily accepted in India than Islam. The Ranakpur temple is one of the main holy sites of Jainism.
The temple is imposing from the outside, and inside, it’s supported by a veritable forest of marble pillars, slightly amber in hue, all intricately carved with floral, geometric, or figurative motifs—animals and humans alike. Little figures are often seated cross-legged or dancing, a faint smile on their lips. Each hall is topped with massive domes, so delicately worked that the stone looks like lace. Inside the temple, where devotees and tourists mingle, it’s hard for us to feel the spirituality of the place—partly because of the crowds, and also because we don’t understand the meaning of the devotional rituals unfolding before our eyes as observers.
I'm back in Bundi...
I really loved this stop, but I have a little reservation 😛
It was the festival for the Kite Festival (January 13–15). Since Bundi is a pretty small town, we were right in the middle of all the excitement. A mix of music—well, cacophony at full blast—firecrackers of all kinds, and an infernal noise from 5 AM to 11 PM, even later some nights.
I lost it 🤪
Udaipur, our next stop in Rajasthan. Ajay drops us off at the entrance of the walled city. This time, we’re staying in a beautifully restored haveli. Havelis are grand, princely-style bourgeois mansions built by wealthy merchants from the 17th century onward, serving as both residences and places of business. They’re an exceptional architectural heritage across northeast Rajasthan, but abandoned long ago by their owners, they’re deteriorating rapidly.
Ours was bought by a Frenchman who undertook a major and delicate renovation to turn it into a hotel. (Madri Haveli)
After settling in and marveling at the beauty of the place, we head down to the old city to get our bearings and soak up the atmosphere. We notice right away that Udaipur feels different from the other cities we’ve visited so far. Cleaner, more orderly, more polished—almost more bourgeois, if that word means anything in India (or anywhere else). Travel guides, with their ridiculous euphemisms, call it “the Venice of India.”
As the evening cools, we stroll along the quays lining the famous Lake Pichola and linger on a pretty little square crowded with pigeons and tourists snapping photos of the sunset.
Today was a big day of sightseeing with a tour operator: City Palace, the Hindu temple of Jagdish, and a boat ride on Lake Pichola.
The City Palace, built starting in the 16th century, looks like something out of *Arabian Nights* and is still home to the royal family of the Mewar maharanas. The current sovereign, Arvind Singh, is the 76th of his name. He holds no political power but wields real economic, social, and cultural influence through his many charitable and religious foundations, which have an international reach. While visiting the grand temple dedicated to Vishnu, we stumble upon a religious ceremony. Men and women chant prayers fervently—we obviously don’t understand the meaning, though I catch a few “Hare Krishna”s that make me smile.
In the afternoon, a short boat ride on the lake gives us a different perspective of the city and the palace.
Dinner by the brazier on the rooftop terrace of our haveli. Evenings have been pretty chilly since we arrived in India. From the depths of the night, the call to prayer of the muezzin rises. Islam has its place in the land of the Mewar maharana.
The next day, we drive to Nagda, 20 km from Udaipur, to visit the Sahasra Bahu temple. The site is completely deserted. The two abandoned temples are partly in ruins, and seeing their half-destroyed towers reminds me of King Louie’s domain in Disney’s *The Jungle Book*. But here, it’s the realm of the god Virabhadra, born, according to legend, from Shiva’s wrath—and the atmosphere is perfectly peaceful.
Back in Udaipur, we stroll along the other side of the shore in a quiet neighborhood along the ghats. In the end, the guides aren’t entirely wrong. With its alleys, bridges, quays, squares, and palaces, the city *does* have a bit of a Venetian vibe.
J.13 / 14 /15. Stay in the village of Salawas. Visit to Jodhpur
During our trip planning, we decided to take a break from big cities to get closer to rural Indian life. A wise choice that allowed us to experience a completely different atmosphere.
We arrived at dusk after following a rather dusty track. The guesthouse is a little outside the village. The owner, who welcomed us with a big smile, is named Chotaram Prajapat. A truly beautiful Indian name that flows smoothly and broadly, like the waters of the Ganges. His home is organized around a large courtyard where we had all our meals on mats on the floor. The accommodations consist of round mud huts built in the traditional style of this region of Rajasthan.
Sitting cross-legged around a welcome tea, we listened to Chotaram explain the village’s organization and the possibilities of discovering the "Bishnoi country" with him. Very talkative, with a playful look in his eyes, he spoke in excellent English. Jokingly, he shared a saying that tourism professionals must repeat among themselves: "The French are like bananas—everywhere, all year round."
We were tempted to spend two full days in the village and its surroundings to break away from the cycle of forts, palaces, temples, and markets, but Jodhpur was only 15 km away, so we decided to visit it the next day.
Special mention for Chhotaram Prajapat Home Stay
This morning, we headed to Jodhpur, "the Blue City." In India, there’s a complex symbolism around colors and their use based on caste affiliation or life events. Blue is often associated with deities like Shiva, Krishna, and Vishnu, but—paradoxically—Brahmins don’t wear it because indigo dyeing is considered an impure task.
We started the day by visiting the imposing fortress overlooking the city. The museum inside the palace is extraordinarily rich. The mild weather today encouraged us to linger on the large square surrounded by the ramparts.
We descended into the lower city to explore a spice shop. The owner taught us how to recognize them by shape and smell, explaining their culinary, medicinal, and cosmetic uses. The visit was interesting, but the prices were high in this shop, which Kate found too touristy.
In the afternoon, we strolled through the narrow alleys of the old city, all blue. The houses were quite run-down, the streets stained with sewage mud. The neighborhood was quiet, rather gloomy, and seemed asleep. We ended our walk at the clock tower square in the center of Sadar Market, the city’s main bazaar, where an indescribable crowd reigned. After Nathalie and Bruno treated themselves to a final "banana lassi," we asked Ajay to take us back to the village. The day had been interesting, but none of us seemed truly enthusiastic. Fatigue? Maybe we missed something.
Back at the village, the atmosphere was buzzing. The streets were full of people, and shops and homes were covered in orange flags. Another festival?
At dinner, Chotaram explained that it was to celebrate the inauguration of a massive temple dedicated to the god Rama in the city of Ayodhya the next day. Apparently, all of India was involved in the event. After the meal, Chotaram offered to take us on a jeep ride the next day to explore "Bishnoi country."
The tourista has claimed a new victim. Kate is feeling really rough this morning and prefers to stay in bed. So the three of us set off in the jeep, without our photographer, to visit "Bishnoi country." Chotaram explains that the Bishnoi are a religious community founded in the 15th century, whose beliefs are based on absolute respect for all forms of life, including plants. They’re the only Hindus who bury their dead instead of cremating them, to avoid using living trees for the fire. Spread across a few villages, they live mainly from subsistence farming and livestock. The women wear bright colors—orange or red—while the men dress in white. We’re not visiting a proper village, but we do come across a shepherd with his flock of goats around a watering hole. A little further on, a large group of women forms a huge splash of color against the light-gray ground. What are they doing? Chotaram doesn’t say, but he asks us to be very discreet when taking photos.
The little safari continues. We spot gazelles of different species several times—they’re considered sacred animals here. It’s a lovely morning, this jeep ride with the gentle wind whipping our faces, especially when Chotaram, like a kid, floors it on some stretches of the track. Still, I’d have liked to see more, to learn more about this unusual Bishnoi community. But I tell myself that observing them from a distance is probably more authentic than visiting some touristy village set up for visitors.
On the way back, Chotaram seems absorbed by a video he keeps rewatching on his phone. He notices my curiosity and shows it to me. It’s a fight that broke out yesterday in the village between a group of Muslims from outside and the locals. "Why?" I ask. He explains that the inauguration of the Rama temple has upset Muslims because the religious building was constructed on the site of a 15th-century mosque destroyed during interreligious clashes in 1992. My English isn’t good enough to dig deeper, but I later learned that Prime Minister Narendra Modi was behind the temple’s construction—he who claims that "to be Indian is to be Hindu."
In the afternoon, since Kate still isn’t feeling better, the three of us head down to the village center. People look at us with curiosity but smile, and the kids shake our hands. "Hello! Ram-Ram! Selfie, selfie?" We’re real stars! The central square is lively and colorful, decked out with saffron flags in honor of the god Rama. A group of men gathers around a truck blasting deafening music from its sound system, then leaves almost as quickly as it arrived. Honestly, I don’t understand how popular festivals are organized in India. The three of us are desperately searching for a place to get a "chai" when Bruno spots a shop that looks like a café. We head over. We push aside black curtains to enter, and the blaring music assaults our ears. Are we in a nightclub? But as soon as he sees us, the young man at the entrance turns off the sound and greets us warmly. The atmosphere changes completely. The place seems pretty out of place in this small village—it’s exactly what we’d call a bar. Armchairs, low tables, a counter, posters on the walls. When it’s time to pay, the server brings us the bill with a little smiling emoji and a phrase written in French: "merci beaucoup pour votre visite." We appreciate the thoughtful gesture and chat with him about his establishment, the ongoing festival, and the presence of tourists in the village.
End of the day. I go with Bruno, who wants to smoke a cigarette, and we sit on a low wall in front of the guesthouse. A girl of about ten and her little sister come up to us. With a few words of English, she tries to start a conversation. "From where?" Bruno shows her photos on his phone—his dog, his house. Then he gets it into his head to give her a geography lesson so she can locate France in relation to India. She seems only moderately interested, all while repeating the same word: "Candy, Candy." We don’t understand what she wants. I check Google Translate. Sweets, candy, of course! "Ah, okay, but not today, tomorrow, tomorrow." "No, just here!" She points to a little stall right next to the house. "Okay, come!"
Big mistake. Suddenly, a swarm of kids appears out of nowhere, some with their parents, rushing to the front of the shop. We’re literally surrounded, overwhelmed. It’s chaotic, like a schoolyard at recess. And 300 rupees’ worth of candy later. That’s a lot. Or is it? I stop Bruno—your geography lessons.
Hi Kate, hi Richard, and hello everyone. I’m reading this travel journal with great interest, but for now, I’m too overwhelmed to write everything I’d like to share with you.
I’ll do it as soon as I can. Promise!
Back to Bundi...
chaos at full blast, firecrackers everywhere, an infernal noise from 5 AM to 11 PM, even later some nights.
I lost it
What did that lead to? Tell us a bit, please. That kind of experience is interesting too, isn’t it?
This travel journal really interests me, especially since I’m currently in Rajasthan myself—Nawalgarh, Roopangarh, Ajmer, Jaipur, Jodhpur...—through the photos I’m posting on YouPic. So distant memories are coming back, but reading this journal, I see that many things still endure up there...
I’m back to Bundi...
chaos at full blast, firecrackers of all kinds, an infernal noise from 5 AM to 11 PM, even later some nights.
I lost it
What did that look like? Tell us a bit, please. That kind of experience is interesting too, isn’t it?
We talked about the festival at the start of the Bundi post.
But maybe you’re asking what happens when I lose it
So there we were on the terrace of our guesthouse, and the neighbors were plugging in their stereo systems on their own terraces. Music blasting from all sides, all different tracks. Not soft Indian music! No, some kind of techno cacophony punctuated by firecrackers that made us jump. And this went on until late at night while we were coming up with techniques to fall asleep. Richard told me: "You’ve got to tune into the noise" 😕
And it started again early the next morning! It lasted 2 out of the 3 days in Bundi.
This travel journal is incredibly pleasant to read because it’s free of the flaws we often encounter in this kind of writing.
Indeed, everyone’s style flows smoothly—there’s both simplicity and rich vocabulary, details without beating around the bush. You’ve definitely nailed the right tone.
Personally, I loved your choices, your rejections, your doubts, your mistakes, your exasperation, and your successes. With you, we realize that nothing beats honesty, modesty, simplicity, and expressing your happiness when it happens.
Whenever you’re ready, go for round two!
I’m replying on behalf of Richard (but he’s the one writing) because he’s:
"reached the maximum number of messages that can be posted in 24 hours. We invite you to post your next messages in 24 hours."
Personally, I loved your choices, your rejections, your doubts, your mistakes, your exasperation, your successes. With you, we realize that nothing beats honesty, modesty, simplicity, and showing your contentment when it’s warranted.
Thanks 😉
I tried to put into words the fresh perspective—sometimes a little naive but without prejudice—of a group of friends who aren’t used to big trips (except for Kate) and discovering a country with cultural codes completely different from ours.
Richard.
I’m thinking about that life shattered for lack of access to healthcare. Anger rises in me against the "anti-vaxxers" back home...
I think that recently, back home, people weren’t actually opposing a real vaccine.
A vaccine is a product that prevents you from developing a disease.
I regret having seen a German report on Arte about two years ago about all those young people who suffered severe side effects after the vaccine. Just a selected excerpt: "Pascal hopes to get an appointment with Professor Bernhard Schieffer at the University Hospital of Marburg (Hesse region, Germany), who heads the post-vaccination care unit. But he’s on a waiting list with 6,500 people suffering from post-vaccination syndromes."
To be clear, these are young people in their twenties who are completely disabled because of the vaccine, to the point that they’ll never be able to work again.
Digging deeper, you learn some eye-opening things.
From the very start of the vaccination campaign (2020 or 2021), I saw with my own eyes this clip of a meeting organized by a U.S. senator where vaccine victims were speaking. I’ll never forget the tears of that forty-year-old woman overwhelmed by serious health issues immediately after vaccination—she, too, would never be able to work again. Next to her, an 18- or 20-year-old girl in the same situation, now confined to a wheelchair for life.
I think that recently here, people weren’t opposing a real vaccine.
A vaccine is a product that prevents you from developing a disease.
This is a complicated discussion (one we could possibly have in private). But I wasn’t directly referring to the COVID vaccine. I was thinking more about those real anti-vaccination groups that oppose all forms of vaccination.
When I was young, like many others, I knew friends who had polio—we even called them "the polios." There aren’t any anymore, at least I don’t think so. Smallpox has disappeared from the face of the earth. That’s what I was thinking when I saw this young man struggling painfully along the station platform.
Richard
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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!
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.
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!
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.
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.
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!!!
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.
"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.
"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 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:
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.
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...
This trip had been on my mind for about fifteen years.
But the discomfort of overnight stays, the difficulty of communication, and the prices of the few car rental options kept making me postpone the project.
And then, everything suddenly fell into place—I told myself, it’s time!
The preparations took longer than usual; the destination is still far from mainstream.
A bit of Kazakhstan?
Not in the end.
The south or not the south?
Yes, in the end.
Pre-book or go with the flow?
Only two stops were a leap into the unknown.
To help me find the ideal route, I made great use of this forum (thanks to everyone for patiently answering my questions!), pored over travel journals and blogs (Christian, Jeff), zoomed in on Google Maps and Yandex, and bought the guide published by OunTravela about this destination (the guide has been updated since).
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You’ve got your passport, international driver’s license, bank cards, and euros?
Off we go to Lyon—just one night left before our early morning flight.
Tomorrow night, we’ll be sleeping in Bishkek!
(Steak for my partner’s mischievous nephews...)
You’ll find here a post with some practical information.
And here, the version of the travel journal without comments.
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As a supplement, the route track.
Not necessarily ultra-accurate since Google has serious gaps for this destination...