I’m not really a regular contributor to VoyageForum, but every time Kate and I travel, she encourages me to write a travel journal and publish it. And I must admit, it’s a very enjoyable intellectual exercise, though not always easy. As a VF contributor whose journals I’ve read once said, this retrospective work not only helps preserve memories but also provides a fruitful moment of introspection by bringing back emotions and feelings.
Kate and I spent a week in Istanbul. For her, who had already visited, it was a return; for me, it was a discovery.
As we’ve now made a habit of, I write the texts, and she posts her photos. We hope this illustrated story, crafted together, will revive beautiful sensations for those who know the city and inspire others to discover it.
Here we go!
I hate arriving in a big foreign city at night. The fading light—what the French call "between dog and wolf"—always triggers a kind of anxiety in me. The long ride from the airport in the back of a taxi with a usually silent driver whose face you barely glimpse, the endless concrete outskirts of the metropolis, the city center itself bustling with life but completely indifferent to our presence, separated from the world by the sealed windows of the vehicle—all of it can create a sort of psychological discomfort. We’re moving through a city we don’t understand at all.
During the day, at least the light makes everything feel more accessible, friendlier, and I always tell myself that if we have trouble finding our accommodation, time isn’t an issue, and solutions will appear in the daylight.
But our nighttime arrival in Istanbul was more than chaotic due to an unbelievable string of small mishaps that piled up and eventually made our stomachs clench...
After quickly exiting the airport, we waited for the taxi the apartment owner was supposed to send. Ten, twenty minutes... Kate calls. "Really sorry, I forgot to tell the driver, but just take another taxi—there are plenty." Queue... A driver picks us up. "Galata Mandirasi Sk 2,? Ok."
Fifty minutes later, we finally arrive. The driver drops us off—thank you. The narrow, sloping street is poorly lit: number 1, number 3, no number 2. I have a doubt and check the street name, which is Mandir, not Mandirasi. Panic—we’re actually north of Taksim Square, 40 minutes from our accommodation in a neighborhood that seems very local, where a tourist probably hasn’t set foot in ages... The driver got it wrong.
Google Maps to the rescue—right, no, left, down, up—the little arrow on the app seems as lost as we are. A family sitting on their doorstep notices our confusion and calls out to us. Mixing a bit of English and Google Translate, we manage to explain the situation. When the man realizes we’re planning to walk to the Beyoğlu district, his eyes widen in shock—he looks almost alarmed, even worried. "No, no, no good, taxi, taxi!" I’m not sure if he’s warning us against walking because of the distance or safety, but we decide to take his advice. I mumble a rough teşekkür ederim and we start looking for a taxi in a neighborhood where there aren’t any.
A yellow car! Galata, Beyoğlu? OK. Just as we get in, the car is stopped by heavy traffic. No possible, get out of the car please...
The search continues, and we emerge onto a livelier, better-lit avenue.
Taxi, taxi! We hop into the car and show the driver the route. No, no, get out of the car please. What’s going on? Why does everyone keep saying that? I get the feeling our accommodation is on a small street, and the taxis don’t want to go there.
A young man approaches us, and we explain the situation. He flags down a taxi and seems to give precise directions. Great, the driver agrees.
We finally arrive at our apartment after a two-hour ordeal. The fare seems very reasonable—no scam.
Conclusion: Istanbul taxi drivers are honest, but not very competent...
Our adorable lodging is located in the lower part of the Galata district (administratively Beyoğlu), in a lively area. Without looking too hard, we settle onto the terrace of a small restaurant offering kebabs, wraps, dürüm, pide, lahmacun...
We can finally relax... The weather is pleasant, and the street atmosphere is nice. First encounter with the true locals of the city: Istanbul’s cats. Friendly, affectionate, elegant, and well-fed, they’re the recipients of attentive care from the locals and always delight tourists. Purr, purr, meow, meow—a little scuffle—around our table, they put on a charming show for us.
Time to head back—we’re exhausted. As I drift off to sleep, the last sound I hear in the depths of the night isn’t what I expected—the plaintive, modulated call of a muezzin—but the deep, nostalgic horn of a boat gliding on the waters of the Bosphorus...
The grand monuments of Sultanahmet can wait a few days—we decide to first make ourselves at home in the neighborhood where we’re staying. First steps... Like children learning to walk, we feel a bit clumsy, slightly disoriented, stumbling both literally and figuratively on the streets of this part of the city. Paper map and phone in hand, we try to get our bearings. Istanbul still eludes us; we need to be patient, open to the city, and wait for it to reveal itself to us.
Administratively, we’re in Beyoglu, so on the left bank of the Golden Horn, but the area actually includes several neighborhoods: Galata near the tower, Independence Avenue (İstiklal), the antique dealers’ district, Taksim Square, Karaköy... These are all the places we want to take the time to explore throughout the day.
The Galata Tower looms above a very, very steep street. The sturdy, pot-bellied Genoese tower from the 14th century dominates the entire area. Not too many people around at this hour. Should we go up? Kate isn’t thrilled—35 euros to climb the monument? We’ll get plenty of stunning views of the city elsewhere. A cute bar on the square catches our eye. Off we go for our first Turkish coffee: 500 TL (over 10 euros) for two drinks! Outrageous—we feel like we’re in Montmartre! No big deal, though; we’ve learned our lesson and will find equally charming spots at more reasonable prices later.
We keep climbing and arrive at Tünel Square, where the starting or ending point of the underground funicular connects the top of Galata to the bridge down below on the Golden Horn... But our eyes are immediately drawn to a small cherry-red tram with a Belle Époque vibe. It’s the famous T2 line, the oldest in the city, which takes you to Taksim Square in just a few minutes while following Independence Avenue. And here we are on Istanbul’s famous “Champs-Élysées,” this long, almost straight pedestrian avenue leading to Taksim. This is where Istanbul’s youth—both local and foreign—gather at night to party. The avenue itself is lined with luxury shops, clothing stores, jewelry boutiques, fine confectioners, offices, banks, hotels, European embassies... The often 19th-century facades, spruced up and neatly aligned, reflect real prosperity. Numerous perpendicular passages lead to elegant little streets with decorated facades, at the foot of which you’ll find an abundance of restaurants, bars, and art galleries.
The walk is pleasant and full of interest, but I can tell Kate seems a bit off this morning, listless, as if she’s struggling to get into the trip. As for me, I’m a little thrown off—I expected to find a piece of the Orient, and instead, I’m smack in the middle of the West, even if it has the nostalgic scent of the “Orient Express” era. But really, what’s more normal? We’re in the old Pera, the Levantine quarter (Genoese, Venetian, Greek...) from the time when Constantinople/Istanbul was already a global city trading with the entire known world, and later in the 19th century when the Ottoman Empire had complex but intense relations with Europeans. So why should Istanbul be only Asian and exotic?
As for nostalgia, it suddenly takes shape in front of the entrance to the Pera Palace, the mythical hotel of the Compagnie des Wagons-Lits for Orient Express travelers. The facade is nothing special, but the interior... Luxury, calm, and pleasure, along with all those famous names resurfacing from the past: Agatha Christie, Greta Garbo, Josephine Baker, Mata Hari, Atatürk himself.
We take a little detour into the quieter antique dealers’ district for a çay (tea), then head back up toward the massive Taksim Square, at the center of which stands a monument commemorating the Turkish War of Independence. The city’s nerve center, a place for gatherings but also sometimes for protests and demonstrations. It’s kind of like their Place de la République.
Heading slightly east, we enter a more working-class neighborhood that fits better with what we imagined Istanbul to be, and we have lunch in a charming sloping alley under the protective shade of a small neighborhood mosque. The welcome is simple but warm, and we each enjoy an assortment of mezze. I start trying out some basic Turkish: Merhaba, teşekkür ederim—oops, no, sorry—te-şek-kür ederim, teşekkür ederim, there we go, I’ve got it.
The afternoon is well underway, and we decide to go breathe in the sea air around Karaköy and Tophane, where the Golden Horn opens up. In Tophane, we step into our first mosque, the 16th-century Kılıç Ali Pasha Mosque. Visiting mosques will be, for me—and I think for Kate too—one of the highlights of our trip; I’ll come back to that later. But oddly enough, I have no memory of this one. And I think I understand why.
The fatigue from the journey, the events of the day before, this first day that’s left us a bit dizzy. Along with that feeling—not unpleasant, actually—when you start a long trip, of floating slightly above reality. Like a light intoxication. And then there are the preconceptions, even the well-meaning ones. Veil or no veil? Photo or no photo? Silence or not? A kind of awkwardness, shyness, excessive respect. Though I’m an atheist, I come from a Christian culture, and churches are familiar places for me. Mosques, obviously, are not. What should I look at? How should I look? What does it mean to visit a place of worship that’s both historical and still active when it’s not part of your own culture? I had a similar feeling in India with Hindu temples, but the spiritual proximity there was so distant that I felt more at ease, more detached. With my head full of these thoughts, I saw the mosque without really seeing it...
The rest of our stay in Istanbul will give me a chance to get better acquainted with this somewhat distant cousin and fully appreciate the beauty and spirituality it has to offer in later visits.
Come on, one last little walk to Galata Port to breathe in the sea air of the Bosphorus... or the Golden Horn? Kate and I are still getting our bearings, so let’s just say somewhere in between.
The place has been completely renovated. The old warehouses have been transformed into a huge shopping gallery—very nice, actually—with boutiques, bar-restaurants, and a promenade along the docks, catering to the clientele of the massive cruise ships that dock here. The area is a bit sanitized, though.
Time to head back...
As I mentally recap this full but contrasting day, I realize how much the qualities of a true traveler are open-mindedness and patience. Like in a romantic relationship, you have to give it time, let the desire build. Istanbul isn’t ours yet...
The quality travel journals keep coming, and let’s bet this one won’t be an exception. It’s a bit like the release of a novel by an author you love—except here, you also get the photos.
Last year, another journal mentioned the staggering, jaw-dropping, mind-blowing entry prices for the Pamukkale site, and if I understand correctly, this has become the norm for the country. I didn’t pay an entrance fee for either Pamukkale or the Galata Tower, but then again, that was another century. Turkey has become much wealthier and modernized—so much so that prices seem to have gone Western. Well, for a capital city, it’s not that surprising.
To think that in the late 80s, there were only one or two streets with any semblance of modernity and just one shop selling toilets that weren’t squat-style.
By the way, could you confirm that the local gastronomy is still as good?
« Tout le monde s'interroge sur comment laisser une meilleure planète à nos enfants, mais on devrait plutôt penser à laisser de meilleurs enfants pour notre planète. » Clint Eastwood
I hadn’t paid entry for either Pamukkale or the Galata Tower, but that was another century ago.
No need to go back to Greek calendars—on my first trip in 2019, climbing the stairs cost 25 TL!
By the way, could you confirm that the local gastronomy is still as good?
Good, but not exceptional 😕
I was expecting to find lots of *mezzé*, but few restaurants offered it, or it was really expensive. Or maybe we just didn’t find the right spots!
The same options kept coming up: pizzas, kebabs, wraps, burgers—of course, Turkish-style, but still just mainstream.
Sometimes there were nice surprises—Richard will tell you more.
Thanks so much, Richard, for this travel journal—always a pleasure to read you.
Kate, I see you’re still growing your feline collection 😺
Istanbul’s still on my destination list but never seems to happen.
"Voyager est un triple plaisir : l'attente, l'éblouissement et le souvenir." Ilka Chase
14/09. On the other side, in old Istanbul: the Egyptian Bazaar, the Rüstem Pasha and Süleymaniye Mosques, Küçükpazar.
Kate’s grumbling because we still haven’t bought the famous "Istanbul kart" for public transport (really handy, I’ll find out a bit later). But from our accommodation, I want to cross the Golden Horn on foot via the Galata Bridge to get to the other side, what’s called old Istanbul.
The bridge is packed with fishermen, squeezed in like sardines. I smile, thinking of Sète, my hometown. They seem a bit calmer than back home!
In front of us, the old Mediterranean city sprawls in tiers from the hills down to the sea...
Against the sky’s deep blue, facing the sun, I lose myself in the sight of those plump-domed mosques, their sharp minarets punctuating the urban landscape like exclamation points...
So, what now? Kate, who always takes the lead on our trips—handling transport, accommodation, all the paperwork (money, passports)—lets me plan the discoveries. I know she could do it without me, but that’s how we work; she trusts me. Plus, she has zero sense of direction—none at all! And she’s too busy worrying about the photos she’ll take with her precious, heavy Nikon. Okay, but I’ll have to step up anyway.
Yesterday’s first mosque visit left me frustrated. I’m in a Muslim country, in a civilization capable of creating magnificent places of worship, and I don’t want to miss out.
From the Eminönü tram station, we head toward the Rüstem Pasha Mosque, right in the heart of the maze of shopping streets next to the Egyptian Bazaar. Still overly cautious, I ask, "Can we enter the mosque?" Of course, I hadn’t yet realized that in Turkey, at least in Istanbul, mosques are freely accessible except during prayer times. We climb a steep staircase to reach a terrace. The information signs are clear, with English text and drawings: appropriate attire (headscarves for women, no shorts for men), don’t enter the prayer area. The 16th-century mosque’s interior is stunning, clad in blue with Iznik tiles, its gentle rise toward the domes, the carpet so soft under bare feet. No worshippers at this hour, just groups of tourists awestruck and respectful of the beauty around them.
Diving into the "Egyptian Bazaar." Misnamed, really, since it was actually run by Ottoman merchants in the 17th century, who preceded the Venetians and Genoese. The beautifully restored building forms a covered quadrilateral, supported by broken vaults on bicolored arches. Originally dedicated to selling spices, perfumes, and medicinal plants, it’s now essentially a market for tourists—both Turkish and foreign. You’ll find everything: spices, sweets, scarves, "made in China" souvenirs. The artificial light from the ceiling, the vibrant colors of the spices, Turkish delight, and fabrics give the place a magical, exotic feel—though it’s not exactly authentic, since I don’t think many Istanbul locals shop here.
You can see it from far away on the Galata Bridge. The Süleymaniye Mosque, perched atop the hill, dominates the urban landscape. Süleyman— Suleiman the Magnificent, the powerful sultan of the Ottoman Empire during what was the Renaissance in Europe.
Istanbul’s streets are steep, and the climb is tough. You’ve got to earn your way to the sky! We arrive at a vast esplanade offering a splendid view of the Golden Horn and the Bosphorus, the hills of Galata, and the Asian lands on the other side. From here, you really grasp the geography of this exceptional site.
While the exterior of the monument leans toward gray-blue, inside it’s mostly red that dominates—the carpets and the voussoirs of the arched windows. The space is immense, flooded with light. No benches like in churches; the space is open, and nothing stops your gaze from naturally rising upward. And of course, like in all mosques worldwide, no images—just calligraphic or floral motifs as decoration.
After spending a good while enjoying the tranquility of the place, we head toward a cemetery reserved for dignitaries, where the mausoleum of Süleyman, all blue and rounded, stands prominently.
A quiet lunch near the mosque along a row of small restaurants. A tout catches us. Normally, I hate that kind of behavior, but this guy is friendly and courteous, and his oddly empty terrace invites relaxation. We give in. I order kuru fasulye, a delicious stew made with white beans, a bit of meat, and tomato.
After the meal, we cross the Küçükpazar area, which slopes steeply from the foot of the mosque down to the Golden Horn. What a strange feeling. The upper part of the neighborhood is heavily run-down, pockmarked with vacant lots and crumbling houses, roamed by scrawny cats. Here and there, at the turn of a narrow street, a few colorful wooden buildings that must have been beautiful in their time. On a dusty square littered with trash, we spot a family looking destitute. The woman is crouched down, seemingly preparing soup cooking on a brazier. She’s not begging but puts her hand to her mouth to signal she’s hungry. Kate approaches and hands her a bill. The woman thanks her.
I don’t understand. The neighborhood seems abandoned—maybe it’s being redeveloped, as urban planners would say? A woman leans out her window and greets us in Arabic: "Salam Aleikoum." Kate asks if she can take her photo; she smiles and agrees. From the bottom of the street, I look at her—she must have been beautiful in her time too.
As we descend, the poverty gradually fades, and at the bottom, we cross a lively working-class neighborhood. Lots of men in the cafés. We decide to sit down for some çay to soak in the atmosphere.
I love Turkish tea—their ruby color, their slightly astringent taste (I drink it without sugar), the way it’s served in translucent, flared glasses.
The day ends in the good-natured frenzy of the shopping district around the Egyptian Bazaar and the New Mosque.
Before heading back, we finally buy the famous "Istanbul kart" at the Eminönü station. A quick stop at the supermarket—tonight, we’re dining in. Tomorrow, Sultanahmet and its sumptuous monuments. Tomorrow, it’s Byzantium...
It’s such a pleasure to read your posts and follow along on your Istanbul adventure. So far, your photos look just like the ones I took about ten years ago. It was during an election period, and some parties were holding rallies with singing and mixed dancing (women weren’t veiled). And Hagia Sophia was still a museum where I saw a beautiful calligraphy exhibit.
I’m worried that with Erdogan’s iron grip, a lot of that might have disappeared... Looking forward to seeing what else you share in your travel journal!
I’ll definitely touch on some issues related to Erdoğan’s presidency later in the travel journal (though I won’t turn my story into a political manifesto 😉)
Hello.
Of course I’m following your trip—still so well written, documented, and illustrated—in this city I only brushed through during a city break in autumn 2017.
"Le véritable voyage de découverte ne consiste pas à chercher de nouveaux paysages, mais à avoir de nouveaux yeux."
Marcel Proust
Thanks for being here 😉
I’d read your travel journal back in 2017. I actually took another look at it before heading back to Istanbul.
The city hasn’t changed fundamentally—just a bit more or a bit less of a lot of things.
A few more tourists, a few more Chinese shops, a few more standardized restaurants, a few more hijabs, and—finally—a lot more expensive!
But nothing that would really put us off. We adapt and work around it, like in so many places these days.
@richardXI
Whether Kate is multitasking or just has no sense of direction, I can’t say.
But we’ll need to keep an eye on her mental health because she’s talking about a travel journal that never existed 🤪. One she "leaned over again before leaving" 😮.
Or maybe she’s referring to the DMs we exchanged while planning your trip...
Or maybe I’m just overthinking it 😄
"Le véritable voyage de découverte ne consiste pas à chercher de nouveaux paysages, mais à avoir de nouveaux yeux."
Marcel Proust
15/09. Ottoman Splendors in Sultanahmet (I): Topkapi, the Blue Mosque...
Sultanahmet... the district that tourists want to visit above all else. We come to Istanbul primarily for this—to discover the Byzantine and Ottoman splendors. The Topkapi Palace, Hagia Sophia, the Blue Mosque, the Basilica Cistern—so many heritage treasures gathered in one place, so many chapters of a brilliant, centuries-old history.... Three little backpacks from the *Routard*, three stars in the *Green Michelin Guide*, the must-sees from *Cartoville* (which, by the way, is really well done—I recommend it). The place is unanimously loved.
So how do we approach it all without being too bothered by the crowds? How do we find the right balance between a quick visit and an in-depth exploration? How do we avoid missing out, as sometimes happens in these situations? And most importantly—what on earth am I going to write in our travel journal without just copying and pasting from guidebooks?
Not too many people on the main square at this hour—it’s still early, visits start at 9 AM. We decided not to see everything at once to avoid feeling overwhelmed. Topkapi and the Blue Mosque for today, Hagia Sophia and the Basilica Cistern for our last half-day before departure.
I’ll visit the palace alone—Kate’s already seen it on a previous trip. We agreed to meet up in two and a half hours. I booked the visit online from France: a Harem/Palace ticket with skip-the-line access and an audio guide—69 € all the same! I have to go to a meeting point where a palace employee is waiting to let us bypass the line. There are about forty of us in front of the guide, who explains—in ultra-fast English—how he’ll lead the tour. I don’t catch everything, but I’ll follow the herd and its leader, who’s waving a purple umbrella like a banner.
We go through security and enter the palace gardens. I don’t lose sight of the purple umbrella glinting in the bright autumn sun of Istanbul. We cut ahead of everyone. Great! The guide takes us to the entrance of the harem and tells us the visit is now self-guided. We’re on our own—the palace is mine.
Two and a half hours exploring this sultan’s palace, continuously occupied from the 16th to the 19th century. I take my time, paper guide in hand, having ditched the audio guide to feel less dependent on technology. I’m guiding myself, sometimes walking ahead of the big groups or letting them pass to carve out moments of relative solitude. The visit enchants me—I dive into a history I actually know very little about, but I’m not trying to grasp everything. I let my gaze wander from room to room, courtyard to courtyard. The decor is sumptuous, often Baroque and Rococo in style. I try to imagine what daily life was like in this palace-city, especially in the harem, where all those women—wives, concubines, favorites—lived, served and closely watched by eunuchs.
Leaving the harem, I stroll through the palace’s four large courtyards, landscaped gardens dotted with pavilions and kiosks, each with a specific function—political, religious, scholarly, or recreational. From the vast terraces, I lose myself in the view below: the Bosphorus, the Sea of Marmara...
Crrr, crrr, a WhatsApp: “I’m at the café on the square.” Oops, it’s 12:30—I lost track of time. Kate’s waiting...
A pleasant lunch at a slightly out-of-the-way restaurant recommended by the *Routard*: *Palatium*. We’re comfortably settled on low banquettes in a lovely terrace surrounded by galleries, in the shade. The welcome was a bit stiff, but after my repeated teşekkür ederim, the waiter relaxed and even started smiling. We order a single dish—a very Mediterranean spread with şakşuka, hummus, yogurt sauce with herbs, grated beets, and stuffed vine leaves.
Before heading to the Blue Mosque, we wander around the main square, and Kate takes some lovely photos of Hagia Sophia, the magnificent Christian basilica built by Justinian, later turned into a mosque, then a museum, and now a mosque again by Erdogan’s decision. But as we’d planned, *Sophie’s Choice* will have to wait for another day.
Now we’re heading to Sultanahmet Camii, also known as the Blue Mosque, built in the early 17th century by Sultan Ahmed I to rival Hagia Sophia across the way. You’ve got 4 minarets, Sophia? Bam! I’ll put up six! The audacity of man...
We enter the large ablution courtyard in front of the sanctuary. The mosque emerges into view. It’s a shock—an aesthetic emotion that stirs the whole body. I remember feeling something similar when discovering a work of art: Michelangelo’s Pietà in the Vatican, the view of the Grand Canal in Venice from the train station, the Taj Mahal in Agra...
The mosque, with its gigantic yet harmonious proportions, all curves and power, seems to both overwhelm and envelop us. We stand there, mouths agape, floating between dream and reality, deaf to the constant buzz of the courtyard.
But reality quickly reasserts itself. Kate gets annoyed because some “old guy”—her words—planted himself right in front of her Nikon’s lens! Judging by appearances, he’s about our age...
We now enter the place of worship. The space is immense, and despite the crowds, it’s easy to move around. The domes and semi-domes perforating the ceiling, all in a delicate pink, seem to swirl in a kind of mystical dance.
The visit comes to an end...
Kate exits through the entrance (the mosque *is* vast, but still...). I call her back and gently steer her in the right direction.
I spotted in the guide a Byzantine church also turned into a mosque, which the Turks call “Little Hagia Sophia.” Before heading there, we take a stroll through the bazaar next to the main esplanade. Lots of souvenir shops, but also some luxury jewelry stores and artisan boutiques. I step into one of the latter to buy a small metal statuette of a whirling dervish, seemingly handcrafted by an artist. It’ll be for my son—he likes gifts with meaning...
One last effort—fatigue is starting to set in. Near the church/mosque, we spot a lovely shaded garden flanked by old buildings. It’s the former madrasa of the mosque, now a craft center and café. We sit down for tea and enjoy the tranquility of the place, far from the hustle and bustle of Sultanahmet.
The little Byzantine church has kept its original octagonal layout, though the mosaics are gone. The atmosphere is soothing in this place, which *Cartoville* describes as having “discreet beauty.”
The day was more than packed—quite a few visits, I know, and Kate prefers immersing herself in street life. But it was a must, and I don’t regret a thing.
We’re tempted to dive into the youthful energy of upper Galata in the evening, but the “old folks”—much like the gentleman at the Blue Mosque, I suppose—are exhausted.
A blue that lights up stars in Istanbul’s seven nights and one. One that doesn’t return from the harem until you WhatsApp it. A cat-hunting huntress who evades the Grey Wolves (though I don’t want to start a political debate 😉).
Like two parallel stories that merge into one. Two different ways of seeing and experiencing a place that are really just one.
Brilliant!
(Since we’re talking colors: did you notice that for its first birthday, the new VF dressed up in baby green?)
Back in 2017, during a 3-week trip to Turkey, I spent almost a full week in Istanbul, and even in just four days of my travel journal, I had way too much to say...
First, let’s talk about the present. We’re heading to Turkey in 3 weeks (a future travel journal?). Our initial plan was Istanbul—a sprawling, stunning city, one of my favorites in the world. But while doing some initial prep, I noticed that the economic crisis the country is going through, along with the latest devaluation of the Turkish lira, has led to skyrocketing inflation, which is even worse in Istanbul than elsewhere. I’ve seen the outrageous prices (even in Paris, they wouldn’t dare charge a third of that!) for visiting the "must-sees" (and there are *so* many). Bottom line, it’s a crazy budget if you want to do the city justice. Even in Norway, they wouldn’t dare charge those prices!
Back in 2017, I remember a city where you could still eat well for 2 or 3 €, and where monument entry fees, though already pricey for Turkey, were still affordable. I think Istanbul has now decided to make tourists pay for its crisis. But let’s not forget that Turks are the ones hit hardest. I’ve read on forums that Turks say prices will drop and return to normal in 5 to 10 years, before another devaluation. It’s cyclical...
So we boycotted and chose Ankara and Cappadocia instead, where inflation hasn’t been used to fleece visitors as much.
Anyway, I recognized your description of the dock where you see the Bosphorus and the Golden Horn. Your words captured the exact feeling I had in 2017 in that same spot. To me, that’s the place that symbolizes Istanbul.
I *love* kuru fasulye—it was my "go-to" dish throughout my Turkish trip. I immediately perked up when you mentioned it.
And please, stop with your "téchékoudérim" 😂 It’s phonetically "téchékûr édérim"!!
Anyway, I really relate to this style of storytelling—it’s totally my thing—so I’ll keep following with enthusiasm!
(Since we're talking about colors: did you notice that for its first anniversary, the new VF got dressed in baby blue?)
Yeah, and it’s even a bit shocking, isn’t it?
Let’s let this travel journal unfold without interfering, please
« Tout le monde s'interroge sur comment laisser une meilleure planète à nos enfants, mais on devrait plutôt penser à laisser de meilleurs enfants pour notre planète. » Clint Eastwood
Do you see it as baby blue?
To me, it's blue.
That said, the green/blue distinction isn’t the same in Turkish as it is in French—and doesn’t even exist in Breton, for example.
But you're right, let’s not make it a debate, even if *gök* and *mavi* are key to Turkey’s national imagery.
“If I had but one glance to cast upon the world, it would be upon Istanbul.”
A travel journal immersed in this gaze of passing travelers/tourists, eyes wide open to every moment of a short week.
Neither pretentious, nor moralizing, nor naively candid, the account captures the colors, the alignments, the winding alleys, the street delicacies, the delicacy of the tiles, the finesse of the calligraphy... And the people! And the cats! with a lightness that surprises coming from something that weighs so heavy around the neck. No doubt the know-how of a well-made head sitting atop that neck.
Around these luminous images, the precise and erudite prose weaves like a silken ribbon, unfolding the dazzlement of first impressions while recounting this Orient that wavers between the West and a Thousand and One Nights... sketching feelings, brushing past tiny annoyances, highlighting the complicity—touches of humanity that give the story a soul and distance it from mere vacation memories.
You did good buying new kicks! Don’t you wanna take the Nikon? My neck hurts. But I’m telling you it’s to the right! You go up alone, I’m out of breath.
I know Bruno... but who the heck is this Vazyvite again?!!
Getting lost, understanding each other, disagreeing, finding each other again, sharing...
The two of us is a lovely mix, a charming alchemy, a beautiful novel, a beautiful story...
Every gal in Constantinople
Lives in Istanbul, not Constantinople
So if you've got a date in Constantinople
She'll be waiting in Istanbul
You did the right thing buying new kicks! Don’t wanna take the Nikon, my neck’s killing me. But I’m telling you, it’s to the right! You go up alone, I’m out of breath.
Bruno I know... but who the heck is this Vazyvite again?!!
That’s so spot on! Feels like you know us well...
Alright, I’ll let Richard take the floor—he’s busy crafting his answers. Nothing’s left to chance, just like his exams—20 minutes for a high school senior paper! And here, we’re way above high school level
Thanks to both of you for your relevant and kind posts. I won’t say it in Turkish, since reading you, Pagal, I realize I’ve basically been linguistically lisping the whole trip without noticing. How embarrassing! 🤪
So I’ll continue my story in "blue that lights up stars"—borrowing your lovely phrase, Voyajou.
16/09. Between bell towers and minarets: A stroll through the neighborhoods of Fener, Balat, and Fatih
Ding, dong! Ding, dong! From the shores of the Golden Horn, as I step off the tram, I hear the ringing of church bells. A sound that might seem almost incongruous. We’re in Fener, the former Greek Orthodox quarter of Istanbul. The community has dwindled to just a few hundred people today, but it’s in Fener that you’ll find the seat of the Ecumenical Patriarchate of Constantinople, a major religious institution for Orthodox Christians worldwide. In practice, it takes the form of a religious complex, with a place of worship, administrative buildings, and gardens. A mini-Vatican, if you will. We’re curious to explore it.
While checking the map, we spot a crowd of visitors lining up. I ask, « Church? » « Yes, yes, mosque, mosque... » A bit skeptical, I then ask a young Turkish couple who seem better informed. Yes, this is the place. I sigh, thinking that this group of tourists on a guided tour doesn’t even know what they’re about to visit. The entrance to the site is paid but inexpensive. We step into a shaded courtyard surrounded by buildings. To our left, the Church of St. George is packed—we’ve arrived in the middle of a service. Oh well, at least it’s a chance to observe the Orthodox ritual up close.
After leaving the church, we decide to grab a coffee on a terrace in this sunny, flower-filled neighborhood. Then, a brain glitch—probably triggered by the identity of the previous place—I confidently order in English: « Two Greek coffees please! » ??? Are we heading for a diplomatic incident? My face flushes, and I laugh nervously. The young waitress gives a mischievous smile. Phew, no need to call the French embassy.
To stay on theme, I suggest to Kate that we visit the former Byzantine church of Pammakaristos, now a mosque, and its remarkable 13th-century mosaics. And as is often the case in Istanbul, we have to climb. We’re on the heights of Fatih. Gradually, the atmosphere changes, as does the sociology of the area. We’re in a fairly working-class neighborhood, much less gentrified than down below. But that’s not what strikes us. More and more black-clad figures are walking the steep streets of the district. Elderly women, but also many much younger ones. All are wearing the niqab, the full-face veil, some even have their faces completely covered. This is not at all a traditional Turkish Islamic garment, unlike the headscarf, the hijab. It’s the attire of ultra-conservative or very radical Islam, imported from Saudi Arabia or Syria. The emblematic dress of Salafism. We’re in a very religious neighborhood; the men wear beards, often very thick. The atmosphere isn’t exactly oppressive, but we don’t feel entirely at ease. It feels like an episode of *The Bureau*. And I’m struck by the stark contrasts in this Istanbul society, where the dark ghosts of Fatih coexist with the lip-injected bimbos of Galata.
Turkey is a secular country, even if the principle is applied a bit differently than in France, and its Sunni Islam of the Hanafi tradition is inherently very tolerant. But Erdogan’s rise to power has led to a re-Islamization of society, imbued with more conservative values. Sure, Turkey remains a republic based on civil law, but President Erdogan has gradually chipped away at the principles of secularism by, for example, allowing the wearing of headscarves in schools and the civil service—previously banned—by restoring Hagia Sophia and Chora Church to their original function as mosques. And regarding the niqab, there’s no explicit ban, unlike in France...
We reach a plateau—the former church/mosque is closed. Disappointment. Oh well, no mosaics for us.
We head back down toward the Balat neighborhood, an extension of Fener. This was once the Jewish and Armenian quarter, but those communities, once deeply rooted here, have almost disappeared. Balat was first a fairly upscale commercial district in the 18th century, then it gradually became impoverished during the 20th century with the arrival of Anatolian populations. Now, it’s undergoing gentrification: renovated facades, designer workshops, bars and restaurants with flower-filled storefronts, and plenty of tourists. A fairly classic evolution for the historic centers of major cities.
From the small terrace where we’ve settled to enjoy an excellent fresh orange juice, I admire the colorful row of beautiful overhanging houses, typical of 18th-century Ottoman architecture, called « Cumbalı evler » in Turkish. They belonged to the wealthy merchant families I just mentioned.
As we move deeper into the neighborhood, we pass through more working-class, less touristy areas, including a huge open-air market stretching its fragrant and colorful stalls along a narrow but seemingly endless straight street. The street is shaded by a clever system of canopies attached to pillars along the edges of the houses.
Just before lunch, a quick cat-stroking break during the call to prayer in front of a pretty little wooden mosque.
In the afternoon, Kate got it into her head to photograph the many "street art" pieces covering the neighborhood’s facades. We set off on the hunt.
Settings, resets, presets. "It’s fine! No, it’s not fine! This camera’s useless, I’m not inspired!"
Traveling as a couple also means practicing the art of patience and compromise. And I can be just as annoying with my Byzantine mosaics, my mihrâb, and my overhanging houses. So I wait, I "compromise."
Especially since I’ve got my heart set on visiting the stunning former Byzantine church of Saint-Sauveur-in-Chora, which became a museum and has recently been turned back into a mosque by Erdogan’s decision. I’ll have to sell the idea to Kate because the afternoon is stretching on, and the site is a 20-minute walk up a hillside. Gorgeous mosaics and frescoes, a UNESCO World Heritage site, a place steeped in tranquility. It’s all good—she’ll "compromise" too.
As we climb the steep slope, we pass a young woman in a niqab, her face uncovered, who seems lost. She calls out to us and asks for directions to a mosque in English. I pull up Google Maps to locate the place. While I try to get my bearings, Kate chats with the woman and learns she’s Kurdish. Maybe she’s looking for accommodation, but our communication is too limited to find out more. I find the address and point her in the right direction. She thanks us warmly.
We arrive at Saint-Sauveur. The spot, nestled on a tree- and flower-covered hillside, is indeed peaceful and soothing. Entry isn’t cheap—20 €.
The brick-clad church/mosque is medium-sized and beautifully proportioned. We enter through the narthex. Absolutely stunning frescoes and mosaics depict scenes from the life of Jesus. I haven’t seen anything this beautiful since my trip to Greece ages ago. On the ceiling and walls, we’re in a world of imagery. A guide seems to be explaining the significance of these iconographic representations to a small group of Turkish tourists—each one a story to tell. As I wander around, head tilted up, I step into a large, well-lit room. This is the mosque’s prayer hall. A man is prostrating alone in front of the mihrâb. I notice two enormous mosaics on the side walls—one of Christ and, if I remember correctly, one of Mary—with a curtain system at the top, though they’re not drawn at this hour. I understand: during official prayer times, the curtains cover the images so worshippers aren’t distracted. Two religions, two ways of connecting with the divine—so close, yet so far apart.
Back to our cozy nest in Galata, now feeling like home. Tomorrow, we set sail—tomorrow, we’ll breathe in the sea air of the Bosphorus.
Thanks for these photos—they take me back a few years to Fener, where I used to stay. Fener and Balat are among my favorite neighborhoods in Istanbul, and they’re definitely quite conservative.
And the Chora Church (Saint Savior in Chora) is one of the most beautiful monuments in the city.
Fener and Balat are among my favorite neighborhoods in Istanbul
Me too! In fact, next time I might choose our accommodation there.
I love its cobblestone streets, its little colorful cafés, its street art, its second-hand shops, its street life... It all has such charm.
Traveling as a couple is also about practicing the art of patience and compromise. And I can be just as annoying with my Byzantine mosaics, my mihrâb, my overhanging houses...
I’ll keep it simple so your genius has room to shine ;)
Traveling as a couple also means practicing the art of patience and compromise. And hey, I can be annoying too with my Byzantine mosaics, my mihrâb, my corbelled houses...
I keep it simple so your genius has room to shine ;)
I NEED to know where we can score these kinds of plushies!! :p
"Le véritable voyage de découverte ne consiste pas à chercher de nouveaux paysages, mais à avoir de nouveaux yeux."
Marcel Proust
I love the atmosphere of great maritime cities, their unique identities: Marseille, Venice, New York, Istanbul... They always take me back to the childhood memories of my hometown, Sète. The mingled scents of iodine and salt, the gentle breeze coming from the open sea, the horizon lines, the embrace of sky and sea, the mixed aromas of fish and diesel, the deep echo of boat sirens, the seagulls’ cries...
For this reunion with the sea, we take the public ferry with our Istanbul kart. The idea is to do a bit of coastal hopping along the Bosphorus shores, on the European side toward the neighborhoods of Beşiktaş and Ortaköy, though we’re skipping the visit to Dolmabahçe Palace.
Before boarding, I watch the bustling parade of boats crowding the docks. While these ferries are certainly useful for tourists, they’re first and foremost a convenient way for Istanbulites to get around, easily reaching workplaces and homes spread along the Golden Horn, the Bosphorus, or on the Asian side.
The ferry-bus is on time, and we step aboard. Kate settles into the passenger cabin to quietly adjust her settings. The weather is perfect: blue skies, sunshine, a light sea breeze. Encouraged by these ideal conditions, I take my place at the bow. The wind briskly but gently caresses my face and fills my chest. I go into "Jack Dawson" mode. I’m the master of the...!
I smile—I may have exaggerated a little, of course—but the feeling is so pleasant, as if life itself is flowing into me.
Docking at Beşiktaş. On the large esplanade along the quay near the naval museum stands a colossal bronze statue of Barbarossa, flanked by two fierce-looking warriors. A feared corsair who later became an admiral of the Ottoman fleet in the 16th century, he’s one of the legendary figures of Turkish history. In general, I get the sense that Turks are proud of their past, as well as their flag, which you see displayed at every street corner on the facades of both public and private buildings.
We enter the neighborhood. The walk is lovely on this mild late morning, winding through the maze of tidy little streets with renovated facades. The area doesn’t seem very touristy, but the abundance of bars and terrace restaurants catches my attention. Turkish students? White-collar workers? It doesn’t appear to be a specifically working-class zone, but given the number of people carrying shopping bags, I can still sense a lively local life. We arrive just in front of a modern-looking hall housing a fish market with beautifully arranged stalls.
A charming little terrace beckons us. I order çay for myself and Türk kahvesi for Kate. I’d practiced the translation and must have mispronounced it because the server asks me to repeat. Okay, "Turkish coffee" then...
But time is ticking, and it’s time to continue our coastal hopping. Back to the dock, now heading to Ortaköy.
Nothing remains of the old fishing port. Ortaköy has become a fairly touristy spot, also popular with Istanbulites for their Sunday strolls. A few pretty terraces line the waterfront, offering views of the beautiful white mosque and the Asian side connected to Europe by the monumental Bogaziçi Bridge spanning the Bosphorus. Bars, restaurants, art and souvenir shops—everything is packed into a small perimeter along the quays. Not too crowded since it’s a weekday and the end of the season, but I can easily imagine the hustle and bustle of a Sunday in the heart of summer.
There’s a curious smell of baked potatoes in the air. Nothing unusual, really, since the neighborhood is famous for its Kumpir, a local specialty of baked potatoes stuffed with all sorts of ingredients (sauces, raw vegetables, olives, mushrooms, beans...) and eaten with a small spoon. One street leading up from the quay is lined with little stalls selling Kumpir to take away or enjoy on the spot. To try them, we prefer to sit down and choose a restaurant that doesn’t seem too touristy. The culinary experience is interesting, if not unforgettable...
Perched on the water, Ortaköy’s little white mosque had caught my eye as soon as we got off the ferry. From a distance, if not for the elegant minarets surrounding it, you might mistake it for one of those Venetian churches on the lagoon. Baroque in style—actually neo-Baroque, since it dates from the 19th century—it has a graceful form. The interior doesn’t have the Oriental feel I’ve seen in other Istanbul mosques; it feels more like a Renaissance building. But what struck me most was the soft, white light filtering through the large windows. A place of tranquility, of rest.
Comfortably stretched out on the carpet, a young man—jeans, white t-shirt, neatly trimmed beard—rests his temple on his forearm, his chest pressed against his bag, seemingly sleeping peacefully. Outside the mosque, on the other side of the window, a cat is doing the same.
In the quiet of this early afternoon, a few worshippers come to pray. I discreetly observe the precise, harmonious movements of their hands, the way they bow in silence—first kneeling, then prostrating themselves face down on the floor.
In front of the beautifully decorated but image-free mihrab, I reflect on Muslims’ ability to pray before an abstract divine principle, not embodied in any form.
No value judgment on my part, no stance, nor any form of adherence to anything. But I remain sensitive, in churches as in mosques, to these restrained, unostentatious devotions imbued with spirituality...
Back to Galata. The ferry drops us off at Eminönü station, packed as usual. While Kate lingers near the bazaar, I sit on the steps of the New Mosque, on the large esplanade, to soak in the street scene. Here, everyone crosses paths in the bustling energy of a great metropolis. The day is ending, and I feel good in this city, which I’m slowly starting to make my own. I’m not naive, of course—I know how fleeting and somewhat superficial a tourist’s encounter with a city or country can be. But this trip to Istanbul was my gift, my birthday cake, and I intend to savor every last bite.
The culinary experience turned out to be interesting without being unforgettable...
I went to pick the ingredients myself since I didn’t understand the menu. I ended up with a nice colorful potato (okay, the mandatory corn in there 🤪).
You didn’t want to move and just ordered randomly (yes, randomly because you don’t understand a word of Turkish) and got a disgusting mishmash 😈
LOL!
The joys of a shared travel journal—we quickly put the mosque (in this case) right back at the center of the village!
I really like his kumpir, though ;)
"Le véritable voyage de découverte ne consiste pas à chercher de nouveaux paysages, mais à avoir de nouveaux yeux."
Marcel Proust
18/09. On the vapur across the Sea of Marmara, heading to Kadiköy
Off to Asia today—well, the Asian side of Istanbul, to be exact. Our original plan was to take a long ferry ride across the Sea of Marmara to the Princes’ Islands, but the gloomy weather put us off. Instead, we decided to explore the Kadiköy district, one of the Routard’s favorites.
We board the vapur (the ferry) at Eminönü station, and off we go for a 20-minute crossing.
On the starboard side, we first pass the hill of Sultanahmet, crowned by the two mosques of Ayasophya and Sultanahmet Camii, the orange and the blue, facing each other. A little further on, the skyline of the city’s main business district comes into view. Yes, many people don’t realize it, but Istanbul is also a major global metropolis, ranked in the top 10 of "global cities."
As we approach the Asian shore, I observe the industrial port facilities of Haydarpaça and the imposing silhouette of Istanbul’s old main train station with the interest of a geography teacher.
We arrive in Kadiköy. No specific plans for today—just wandering through the steep, cobbled streets of the neighborhood. Kate and her Nikon are on the hunt again, looking for beautiful images or street scenes to capture—snap?—on the fly.
Around a corner, we stumble upon a small group of men sitting at a café terrace, deeply focused on manipulating what look like colorful, numbered dominoes. Some are placed on wooden stands, others scattered in the middle of the table. We ask if we can watch, and they nod without looking up from their game. I think there’s nothing more serious in the world than a man or woman playing a game! We stay for several minutes, watching them, while they remain completely indifferent to our presence. I would’ve been annoyed if someone loitered behind me like that—not them, though.
Turns out it’s a board game hugely popular in Turkey, Okey, often played in cafés for hours. It’s a bit like what belote was for us socially. I looked up the rules online but didn’t understand much—numbers and I don’t really get along.
We say a quiet goodbye to the players, still absorbed in their game, and step into a charming alley decorated with colorful umbrellas hanging above our heads. A welcome omen. Moments later, a brief but heavy downpour forces us to find shelter.
The weather’s really gloomy today, and by early afternoon, we’re hesitating about what to do next. Personally, I’d love to visit the working-class district of Usküdar by the Bosphorus, but Kate would rather dive back into the livelier atmosphere of Galata—and especially revisit the famous Camondo stairs, made iconic by Cartier-Bresson’s photos.
Rock-paper-scissors… It’ll be Galata, then.
Before reboarding the vapur, we pause on the esplanade by the dock to listen to a young guitarist singing a beautiful melody with Eastern influences. I think it’s his own composition. I love traditional Eastern music, as well as blends with modern influences like Oriental jazz or pop. It’s one of my few regrets about this trip to Istanbul—not having sought out or found places to listen to that kind of music.
Back on the slopes of Galata, we arrive at the foot of the stairs. It’s wedding day, apparently! Several couples, in suits and white dresses, rush up the steps to capture their union in photos. With her big Nikon around her neck, Kate is mistaken for a professional photographer. Immediately, there’s a flood of requests: “Can you take a picture of us? We will give you our WhatsApp.”
Click-click, click-click—the photos keep coming. Her partner waits patiently at the bottom of the stairs. The session lasts a good twenty minutes. Time to go enjoy a çay in a quiet little street away from the crowd...
For our last evening in Istanbul, we decide to soak up the festive atmosphere up in Galata. The streets leading to Istiklal Avenue are packed. Thanks to the Cartoville, we found a little place that’s more like a canteen. The concept is simple: you go to the counter and assemble your own plate. The vibe is relaxed, the crowd very young. We have a great time, then wisely decide to head back to our little apartment.
We can feel the trip coming to an end. It’s always a bittersweet moment—satisfaction at having made the most of the stay, not missing out, but also the nostalgia that comes with saying goodbye to a place you’ve loved and may never see again.
Tomorrow, though, we’ll have a full morning before heading to the airport.
Tomorrow, we have a date with Sophya, Ayasophya...
As we approach the Asian shore, I observe with the curiosity of a geography teacher the industrial facilities of the Port of Haydarpaşa and the imposing silhouette of Istanbul’s old main train station.
We’re pretty much the only ones lingering over these industrial-port landscapes, these semi-abandoned suburban neighborhoods, these highway ramps under construction, and these borders between spaces 😊
Old habits die hard, my fellow traveler. And it's true—a history/geography teacher on the road can be *dangerously* thorough! 😏
Okay, I'm posting my last update today, then I'll head back to your (all too familiar) Rajasthan.
Sophie stood me up! I spent part of the morning running after her, with no luck. And I’m really angry.
Just like for the visit to Topkapi, I had bought a skip-the-line ticket online from the same site and under the same organizational conditions. Meet-up place and time (10 AM), welcome by a guide to get us through the checks and skip the line, self-guided visit.
Everything should have gone smoothly. But obstacles kept piling up. First, it took me ages to find the meet-up point, which had changed from the previous time. Illogically, it was inside the palace gardens, after the security checks, near a ticket booth. I finally arrived on time. No one there. From the counter employee’s explanations, I understood I had to go back to the first meet-up spot. I ran through the palace gardens because time was ticking, and I risked missing the group. So I arrived at a second ticket booth on the square, explained the situation, and showed my QR code. The employee told me it wasn’t the same company that issued my ticket and therefore couldn’t tell me where my group was. But he advised me to queue in front of Hagia Sophia and go in alone with my QR code. Okay, I quickly headed toward the visitors' line. Luckily, it was early, and it wasn’t too crowded yet. I felt a bit reassured—I’d be able to get in. Security check before entering the basilica. Perfect. Then the automatic barriers. I scanned my QR code, “Beep!” I tried again, “Beep! Beep!” Couldn’t get through. I explained the situation to the welcome agent, arguing that they could at least let me in since I had paid for the entry ticket. No luck, “I am not authorized,” blah blah blah…
For a moment, I thought about calling a higher-up, but I was holding up the line, and my English wasn’t good enough to clarify the problem. So I turned around, head down, completely disappointed and furious. I told Kate, who had come to join me, “Sophie stood me up.”
What to do now? I would’ve liked to visit the Basilica Cistern, but the line in front of the monument was endless. It was already past noon, and the countdown to our return had started. We were afraid we’d run out of time. We gave up. I felt so frustrated. This last morning in Istanbul was all about missed meet-ups.
At lunchtime, we fortunately ended on a more positive note. The *Guide du Routard* pointed us to a place that seemed perfect. At the end of a small alley, very close to Hagia Sophia but away from the tourist crowds, we entered a lovely courtyard surrounded by vaulted galleries. We were at Caferaga Medresi. It’s a former 16th-century madrasa, now transformed into a cultural and tourist center with a restaurant, exhibition spaces, and art workshops. The place was charming and peaceful. In the background, oriental music added to the gentle tranquility. We had a quiet lunch…
Back to Galata by tram to pick up our things and get ready to head to the airport.
The “Turkish Blue Waltz” is coming to an end… It was a beautiful dance, a lovely pas de deux.
And in the harem of my favorite cities, I think I’ll make Istanbul my top pick.
Sophie stood me up! I spent part of the morning chasing after her, with no luck. And I’m really pissed off.
No rabbit for me—I visited the basilica back in 2019 and decided to skip it this time, especially with the 35 € price tag sealing the deal.
Here are some budget ideas for those interested:
Round-trip flight Montpellier/Istanbul with Transavia: 116 € per person
Apartment: one week (for 2): 346 €
Visits (Topkapi, Hagia Sophia, Chora Church): 120 € per person
Street restaurants: 6 € per person. Others are close to "French" prices
Public transport (bus, tram, boat) with the Istanbulkart: max 10 € per person
Taxi transfer airport/center (Galata): 30 €
Coffee or tea: around 1.50 € (5.50 € per person for coffee in Galata 🏴☠️)
Ice cream scam in the street: 9 €
Groceries are pretty cheap.
A la fois lointaine et proche, objet de mes nombreuses lectures et si riche en vestiges historiques, la Turquie* est, sauf erreur, le seul pays qui soit situé…
31/05: Ingwiller/Ancone (Italie)/en mer 1 heure du matin l'autocar de la Sté Mugler, basée à Ingwiller (67), est là. Mickael est notre chauffeur jusqu'à…
Faisant suite à notre semaine Cappadoce, nous allons passer 6 nuits à Istanbul avant de rentrer sur Bordeaux. Ce sera notre 4ème séjour dans cette ville dont…
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA... HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH... HHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!... FREEDOM!!!!!!!!!!!!... Un cri de guerre comme une délivrance! Un cri de joie soulignant…
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.
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.
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!
"So, my little wanderers, back at the decks? What’s this mystery destination you’ve got in store for us at the start of the year?"
Yes, the schoolyard bell’s ringing again! We’re hitting the road... or rather, the skies! At first glance, our destination might surprise more than a few. First off, simply because I was here exactly twenty years ago, and I don’t usually like retracing my own footsteps. Secondly, because the name of this place screams mass tourism—basically the opposite of what Flo and I look for.
Despite that, in this land of backsheesh, I’d promised myself I’d come back one day to experience it my way. And since Flo told me, during our wanderer chats, that this destination straddling Africa and the Middle East was in her top 2 travel dreams, the stars aligned for this roots-style trip to quickly make it onto our pharaonic festivities program! Unless you’re totally clueless in general knowledge, you’ve probably guessed by now—we’re off to Egypt! Of course, a few classics will be on our itinerary, but above all, we want to soak up a culture that can’t be appreciated in four-star resorts or on a Nile cruise boat. And let’s be clear, these next two weeks won’t be a walk in the park—neither for our two daughters who are joining us, nor for our bodies!
And that’s clear from the get-go: after our first flight, eight hours of trying (and failing) to sleep on Milan airport’s metal seats, our second flight, landing, passport stamps, our Uber ride, and our first Cairo kilometers, we finally drop our exhaustion at the little guesthouse we booked in Giza. Doesn’t all that energy deserve a little reward?
Oh, absolutely! And here it is: a full-on slap in the face for everyone! But just look at this view from our hotel terrace? For 20 € a night for four, even with this incredible view, I figured the room must be pretty shabby, right? Nope... Is the staff rude, then? Nope... Okay, so what’s the catch? You’re gonna tell me breakfast is included too? Well, yes! Honestly, this Egypt trip is off to a great start.
And the rest of the afternoon, spent rubbing shoulders with locals, only confirmed this vibe. After digesting our pyramid view, we dove into the hustle and bustle of our neighborhood with the goal of exchanging money, eating at street stalls, and testing the hospitality of the locals. Ten out of ten!
Eight little sun breads with baba ganoush and falafel? 80 pounds, or 1.5 €. A dozen Middle Eastern pastries? Same! 80 pounds! Two hawawshis, those little pita breads stuffed with meat and spices? 10 pounds each, or about twenty cents! Not to mention all those smiles and free "welcomes" left and right!!!
What a welcome! We end this first day with a sunset over the three sisters of Giza—where we’ll obviously be gawking tomorrow...
My buddy Christian and I (Patrick) are off for 28 days in Argentina in March.
We’ve already shared several trips as a duo (Bolivia Peru, Namibia, Laos, Costa Rica).
Since we’re starting from the idea that at our age (65) we won’t be coming back here—there are just too many other corners of the world to discover—we did the "grand tour" of Argentina, with 6 domestic flights to make the most of our 28 days.
Here are our stops:
1) Departure from Brussels to Buenos Aires via Madrid
2) Arrival and first contact with Buenos Aires
3) Early morning flight to Ushuaia. Boat trip on the Beagle Channel
4) Ushuaia: hikes in Tierra del Fuego National Park
5) Ushuaia: last hike and flight to El Calafate
6) El Calafate to El Chaltén by bus. First hike
7) El Chaltén: hike
8) El Chaltén: hike
9) El Chaltén: hike and bus back to El Calafate
10) El Calafate: Perito Moreno Glacier
11) Flight to Bariloche. Car rental and surrounding areas
12) Seven Lakes Region
13) Nahuel Huapi National Park region
14) Flight to Salta. Car rental
15) To Tilcara
16) To Humahuaca
17) To Purmamarca
18) To Jujuy via the salt flats
19) To Cafayate
20) Around Cafayate
21) To Cachi
22) Back to Salta
23) Flight to Iguazu
24) Waterfalls on the Argentine side
25) Waterfalls on the Brazilian side and flight to Buenos Aires
26) Buenos Aires
27) Return flight
28) Morning arrival
Happy reading!..
After as many weeks as I have fingers on my right hand, we're hitting the road again, fully recovered from our pharaonic adventure. Back in France to drop off our daughters (sorry, girls!), this time it's just the two of us, ready to be welcomed by a new destination. They say it offers one of the richest cultural heritages in the world for those willing to put in the effort. It's the land of the ancient Silk Road, where we'll follow a journey steeped in history and discoveries straight out of *One Thousand and One Nights*. A former Soviet bloc region independent only since 1991, we'll be walking in the footsteps of Genghis Khan, Tamerlane, Alexander the Great, Marco Polo...
Another fun fact about this country: it's strictly forbidden to import porn on your phone. True story. The same goes for painkillers! Unless it's about sodomy—though the two don’t seem connected, that’s just how it is. Don’t ask me why! Anyway, I’m getting off track. Here’s the big question: Where do you think we’ve just landed?... To give you a hint, the locals are known for being incredibly welcoming. No sooner said than done—our first taxi driver, proud to transport French travelers, refused to let us pay for the ride. Great vibes for these two weeks ahead. So, any guesses?
Uzbekistan!!!
"How about a Christmas market this year, huh? A little romantic weekend getaway...
- Yes! That’d be cool! Strasbourg? Colmar?
- Feels a bit déjà vu, doesn’t it? Plus, slim chance of snow there... And I’d love something a bit more exotic with a touch of originality..."
"Okay, Google, give me the list of the five most beautiful Christmas markets in Europe.
- In fifth place, the Christmas market in Vilnius, the capital of Lithuania.
- Save your breath! Lithuania, here we come!"
We wanted cold, and cold is exactly what we got the moment we set foot in this new, unknown land. As for landscapes, forests and lakes stretch as far as the eye can see across this vast plain, its vegetation scorched by the frost of a winter that’s clearly already well underway here.
Lakes, in fact, set the scene for our first visit to Trakai Castle, whose brick-red towers and walls rise proudly against the azure sky of our first day. Lakes, because this castle was built on an island and is only accessible on foot via a series of walkways spanning half-frozen lake offshoots. I couldn’t have picked a better spot to build my castle! Translation: We’re totally sold! Proof is we spend two hours hiking around the area, alternating between forests, reeds, and cozy houses tastefully decorated for Christmas.
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.
With my girlfriend Christelle, we’ve chosen South Africa for our first trip to Southern Africa, focusing on safaris—after a long debate with a Cape Town/Kruger combo.
But that would’ve meant cutting out St Lucia, which would’ve been harder to fit into another trip.
And St Lucia—thanks to Michel and all those travel journals—we really wanted to go there.
So our 11-night itinerary ended up like this, mostly shaped by school holidays:
- 3 nights in St Lucia
- 1 night in Hluhluwe
- 1 night at Mkhaya Game Reserve (Eswatini)
- 1 night at Hlane Royal National Park (Eswatini)
- 3 nights in Kruger (Berg en Dal / Satara / Tamboti)
- 1 night at Shindzela Tented Camp in the Timbavati private reserve
- 1 final night in Kruger at Lower Sabie
All of this in the off-season and rainy season, just a month after catastrophic floods that killed over 150 people and seriously damaged Kruger’s infrastructure.
I’ll jump straight to St Lucia and skip the loooong journey to get there (with a layover in Frankfurt, landing in Johannesburg, a domestic flight to Durban, and the rest by rental SUV—First Car Rental, perfect, no complaints).
To motivate readers—especially some familiar faces here—I’ll drop in a first photo.
Here we go!!!
I left home at 4 AM on October 31st and headed to Barcelona. Driving through Barcelona on the ring road stresses me out a bit, but at 6 AM the traffic is smooth, and I arrive at the airport without any issues. I call the valet, who quickly comes to pick up my car. He takes photos of it from all angles before letting me go.
Baggage check-in hasn’t started yet, and there are already several of us waiting.
Once free, everything happens very quickly. The flight to Abu Dhabi is on time and goes smoothly. I’ve never had any problems with this airline, which I’ve been using for several years.
The flight to Bangkok arrives at 7 AM as scheduled. This is my first time in Thailand and Bangkok. I’m used to traveling in India, and I notice that everything here is well organized—the customs process is quick, and the luggage is already on the carousel.
I booked a taxi on Booking. All I have to do is find the right exit and door based on the agency’s instructions. A large sign with the names of people who booked is posted on a wall. A hostess greets me and calls the taxi, which arrives 5 minutes later. I booked one night at the Lost Inn BKK hotel in the Phra Nakhon district, and we arrive at 9 AM. The welcome isn’t warm, and I have to wait until noon, sitting on a chair, before I can check into my room. I’m exhausted, and sleeping sitting up isn’t ideal. Noon finally arrives—the room is small but clean, which is fine for one night. I quickly take a shower to wake up because I plan to spend the afternoon visiting the Grand Palace. First, I need to exchange some money, and the banks are all close together on the same street, which is very convenient. When I enter one, a hostess gives me a ticket and invites me to sit down. There are about twenty counters, and I wait quietly until my number is called. The exchange is quick, so I can head out to find the Royal Palace. It’s actually very easy, and the walk is pleasant.
Entry to the Royal Palace (500 baht).
It’s magnificent and grand, and there are quite a few of us visiting. The sky is gray, it’s very humid, and a shower interrupts the visit. It’s a vast complex of temples and palaces. The buildings are colorful and sparkling, with a great sense of serenity (without the tourists, of course). I quietly enjoy the place and try to take photos without tourists, which isn’t easy.
Very close to the Grand Palace is Wat Pho, one of the oldest Buddhist temples in the capital.
It’s very famous for its 46-meter-long reclining Buddha statue.
Walking around the temple, you can see different representations of Buddha, all covered in gold leaf.
Inside the temple, on one side, monks recite their prayers, while the other side is reserved for tourists who come to meditate in silence.
Before returning to the hotel, I have dinner at an Indian restaurant. I go to bed early because tomorrow’s wake-up call will be very early again.
Saturday, November 2nd
Wake-up at 4 AM, departure from the hotel at 4:30 AM. The taxi I booked via Booking is waiting for me and takes me to the airport. The trip is fairly quick—he takes small roads, and at this hour, there’s no traffic.
The flight to Phnom Penh is on time. Before boarding, I realize I left my fleece jacket on the carousel, but it’s too late to go back for it.
The flight goes well, and customs is quick.
At the exit, I take a tuk-tuk to Julieka’s GH near the museum. The welcome is friendly. I won’t be able to check into my room until noon, so I take the opportunity to exchange some euros on the market street. The street is lined with restaurants, and I’ll have my first meal there.
The museum is right across the street, so I don’t waste any time visiting it.
The representations of Hindu deities are very different from those in India, and I don’t recognize them. Many beautiful Buddhas are on display.
The museum is very pleasant, and there aren’t too many people, which is a plus.
At the exit, I return to the GH, settle into my room—which is decent and clean.
The Royal Palace is 1 km away. I walk along a garden, and at the end of the street is the Tonlé Sap, but I turn right. I arrive at a large esplanade and see the buildings with tiered roofs and glazed tiles. The entrance to the palace is a little further away.
At the entrance, I notice there isn’t the same crowd as at the one in BKK.
Khmer architecture is magnificent. The complex consists of gardens, palaces, pagodas with golden roofs, and slender spires.
The Silver Pagoda houses the small Emerald Buddha, which is actually made of jade. The silver flooring is covered with carpets. Photos are not allowed.
The walls surrounding the pagoda are covered with frescoes depicting scenes from the Ramayana.
My partner and I traveled from Sunday, July 5, 2026, to Wednesday, July 22, 2026.
We spent a long time debating whether to rent a car or use public transportation. In the end, after reading so many posts about travelers getting scammed by police or rental companies—even those recommended by blogs and reviews—we decided to stick with public transport. It worked out really well. Sure, we had a little less freedom to go where we wanted, but it was way less stressful for us.
Sunday, July 5:
Arrived at Cancun Airport. Withdrew cash from the ATM in the terminal just before exiting. The ADO bus counter (they pronounce it "A-Jee-O") is right behind you when you're facing the ATM. Bus to downtown Cancun cost 145 pesos per person.
Stayed at "Rose 5," booked on Booking. The studio was super clean and perfect for one night. The owner’s instructions for accessing the place were very precise, with photos included. Check-in was self-service with a code. The ADO bus terminal isn’t far, and there are shops and restaurants nearby. We really appreciated that the AC was already on when we arrived. By the way, I’d recommend always booking places with AC—it’s *really* hot in Mexico.
Monday, July 6:
Bought a SIM card with data from a TELCEL store. My partner, who’s on Free Mobile, was able to use her regular plan. Just so you know, I found the network pretty unstable. As soon as we left the cities, neither of us—me with TELCEL or her with Free—had any signal.
Another thing to watch out for: roaming charges. I had to turn my SIM back on for less than 30 seconds to get a bank SMS code, and my phone apparently connected to the internet—resulting in an 8-euro roaming fee.
Left on an ADO bus to Chiquila for 278 pesos per person. During our trip, ADO buses were always on time, comfortable, and clean. The AC is *cranked* though, so bring something to cover up with—it gets cold. Some routes were fully booked even in the low season, so try to reserve 1 or 2 days in advance either via the app (when it works) or at the counter.
When we arrived at the ADO terminal in Chiquila, the ferry company counters were right next to it. Ferries leave every 30 minutes, alternating between companies, so no need to book ahead. Just take whichever one is leaving next (330 pesos per person).
When we got to Holbox (pronounced "Hol-bosh"), we’d booked a place via Booking called "Casa de Nana." It was a huge studio with a fridge, cooking plate, and utensils. The best part? The *location*. It was 100 meters from the beach and 200 meters from a Chedraui supermarket. They provided bath towels and beach towels, and the AC worked perfectly. There’s a key box so you can leave your keys inside when you go out. The only downside was that no one was there to let us in when we arrived, so we had to wait a while. The Wi-Fi was good, which was lucky because during our 4-day stay in Holbox, the phone network *never* worked. According to locals, that’s pretty common in Holbox, along with water outages.
Luckily, I’d had the good idea to download an offline map, which helped us find our way back to the place more easily. You can walk there from the dock.
The restaurant next to our place (La Barracuda) was great if you like seafood—I’d recommend their octopus dishes.
Tuesday, July 7:
We did a kayak tour in Holbox’s mangroves at 6 AM. We were looking for a sunrise kayak tour with a French-speaking guide. That’s exactly what we got with "Kayaking Holbox," where Diego, the owner, speaks English and French. He was joined by Gustavo, another guide.
We’d booked for a group tour, but we were the only ones. Diego still went ahead with it instead of canceling due to lack of participants, so we got a private tour at the group rate—really professional of him. They showed us this amazing ecosystem for over 3 hours. We saw all kinds of birds: pink flamingos, pelicans, egrets, frigatebirds... rays, a horseshoe crab, and a little crocodile that was *so* well hidden. Diego and Gustavo have a real eye for spotting animals—I could’ve passed by the crocodile 100 times and never seen it, it blended in so well. Their explanations about the flora and fauna were super interesting. We also got a little break where we tasted mangoes and bananas that taste *nothing* like the ones in France. A real treat—those little Mexican yellow mangoes! I’d definitely recommend Diego and his agency for a French-language kayak tour (1000 pesos per person).
In the evening, we walked to Punta Coco to see the bioluminescence. No need for a guided tour—if you really don’t want to walk, you can take a taxi. At Punta Coco, you have to pass the beach bar/restaurant and then go left into a kind of inlet that forms a lagoon. You have to wiggle your feet or move your hands in the water to create movement, which makes the light appear. Just don’t expect the kind of photos you’ve seen online—they’re all edited! It’s fun to see, but you won’t be dazzled by the light...
Wednesday, July 8:
Whale shark tour with "My Holbox Tours." Why recommend this agency over others for swimming with whale sharks? Simply because Valérie surrounds herself with top professionals to make your experience unforgettable. We were with Captain Fernando, who does everything to position the boat perfectly and make your swim easier. In the water, we were with Humberto, who also goes above and beyond to make sure you have an incredible time. He doesn’t just "supervise" like some guides from other companies who leave you on your own. No, Humberto reads the whale shark’s trajectory and guides you—all you have to do is follow him. He really puts in the effort, even holding your hand to guide you through this quick but intense encounter. Humberto also films the moment and will offer to show you the videos and sell them to you. His footage is really high quality.
Fernando and Humberto also prepared food for us. Special mention for their guacamole! Valérie is there to make sure everything goes smoothly on the boat and to answer your questions in French, English, or Spanish about these animals. If you choose My Holbox Tours, you can be sure you’ll get a top-notch experience.
About the tour itself: before you go, you should know that the sharks can be *really* far away. The day we went, it took 3.5 hours by boat to reach them. The boats are small, and let me tell you—on the way there, when we weren’t going with the waves, it was *rough*. Out of 9 passengers, 4 got seasick. But once you’re face-to-face with the shark, you forget all about that. Even if swimming with a whale shark isn’t exactly a walk in the park—they swim pretty fast, so you need some endurance to keep up. You’ll usually get 2 turns. Our first swim lasted a little over 4 minutes, and the second about 2 minutes because the shark was moving fast and we were still tired from the first swim. It might seem short, but when you’re swimming, it feels *long*. Either way, it’s an experience you *have* to do—but choose your company wisely. On the way back, there’s a stop at Cabo Catoche. Honestly, the snorkeling is pretty disappointing if you’ve done it elsewhere in the world. But the lunch stop at Cabo Catoche is really nice for relaxing (white sand and hammocks).
Thursday, July 9:
Short morning walk to Punta Mosquito at 6 AM. Really nice.
Ferry to Chiquila (330 pesos per person) + ADO bus to Valladolid (300 pesos per person).
In Valladolid, we booked "Casa Lucia" via Booking. The hotel is gorgeous, with a colonial style, and very close to the ADO bus terminal and downtown. It’s super quiet and clean. There’s a shared kitchen you can use with a fridge, microwave, and water dispenser, plus a big table by the pool and a nice indoor terrace. Breakfast was simple but included. The only small downsides were the tiny room and bathroom, no mirror in the room, and a noisy fan.
Friday, July 10:
Not far from the ADO bus terminal is the colectivo station for Chichen Itza. They offer a round-trip to Chichen Itza with an option to stop at Ik Kil cenote on the way back and then drop you off in Valladolid for 370 pesos per person (Ik Kil entrance included).
For the Chichen Itza visit, we’d booked a tour with a guide often mentioned in groups—his name is Juan Pat. He’s a Maya who lives near the site and speaks excellent French. He reserves spots in advance for you and queues up to be the first on-site. It cost 500 pesos per person + entrance fees. His tour lasts 2 hours and focuses mainly on the main pyramid and the ball court. He’s passionate and fascinating, even if some of his claims, as a Maya, might be a little biased. I think it’s *really* important to have a guide—otherwise, you’ll miss so much. You can contact Juan Pat on WhatsApp at +52 985 121 2381.
Afterward, we went to Ik Kil cenote (showers and life jackets mandatory, lockers available). It’s *very* crowded, but still really beautiful with its lush vegetation.
Saturday, July 11:
Since we didn’t have a car but still wanted to visit other cenotes that seemed hard to reach by public transport, we decided to book a taxi for the day. We agreed on 1200 pesos to take us to 3 different cenotes and wait for us at each one. (To find taxis, just look where they park near the ADO bus station.)
He picked us up at Zaci cenote, which we’d walked to. We got there at opening time and were the first ones there—had the place to ourselves for a while! 150 pesos per person. A pretty cenote in the city center with lush vegetation. It’s a bit like Ik Kil but without the deep cylindrical effect.
Cenote Xcanahaltun: the most beautiful cenote we visited. Entry 250 pesos per person. It’s a closed cenote with a hole that lets light in—a cave-like setting. You can kayak inside. There are little fish at the edge that nibble dead skin off your feet. Since it’s closed, the water is *freezing*!
Cenote Palomitas: entry 250 pesos per person. Another stunning closed cenote, even more enclosed than Xcanahaltun. The hole in the ceiling is smaller, so it was pretty dark when we arrived—kind of an eerie vibe. But when the staff turned on the lights, it looked like a "Gothic cathedral" full of bright stalactites.
Cenote Sac Aua: entry 290 pesos per person. The ticket includes a guided cave tour (tip-based). This cenote is really unique with its central island and way less crowded than Suytun. Just so you know, the water is *really* cold in cenotes. In these three, in July, we had the place to ourselves for a while and never saw more than 2 families at once—so peaceful!
Sunday, July 12:
ADO bus to Bacalar (536 pesos per person).
In Bacalar, we stayed via Airbnb with a host named Luli, who offers several rooms with shared bathroom and kitchen.
The room is nicely decorated in a pleasant setting. It’s ideally located near the lagoon and downtown. The shared kitchen is handy. The mosquito net over the bed is useful because there are *a lot* of mosquitoes in Bacalar. Luli provides a water jug, which is really nice. The only big downside is the lack of water pressure in the shower—we had to rinse off by filling a bucket. Also, there’s no real door separating the room from the bathroom. We never met Luli in person, but she was very responsive via messages. The terrace in the middle of the vegetation is lovely.
From the ADO terminal to the place, we took a taxi for 40 pesos. Since this driver was honest about the price (we’d checked beforehand), we decided to use him every time we needed a taxi in Bacalar. Here’s his WhatsApp: +52 983 184 3585.
Monday, July 13:
We did a boat tour on the lagoon with "Bacalar Francophone Activities." Since we were just the two of us, it cost 3500 pesos. If we’d managed to be 4 people, it would’ve been 1000 pesos per person.
We had a private 4-hour tour on the lagoon with Steeve and his very comfortable boat. He’s from Quebec, so his French is perfect. During those 4 hours, Steeve showed us the lagoon’s iconic spots *and* places other boats don’t go. He told us about the lagoon’s history and gave great tips on where to go and where to eat. As a little bonus, he gave us a video taken with his drone during our swimming break.
Tuesday, July 14:
We went to Los Rapidos by taxi (400 pesos round trip) and entry was 225 pesos per person. It’s *very* touristy but really beautiful. You can eat there (expensive), relax, and go down the "rapids" as many times as you want. It’s worth it if you spend a few hours there. You can’t bring in food or drinks—you leave them at the entrance and pick them up on the way out.
Wednesday, July 15:
On Wednesdays, navigation is banned on Bacalar Lagoon, so we’d planned another excursion.
Visit to Calakmul from Bacalar with ABCtours (WhatsApp +52 983 319 8359).
This agency organized a trip from Bacalar to Calakmul with a French-speaking guide. Communication beforehand via WhatsApp was smooth. Mr. Checo, the driver, and Fernando, the guide (who spoke great French), picked us up on the day. Mr. Checo drove very carefully on the long road and always made sure we were comfortable. Fernando is passionate about flora and fauna—he’s a biologist with a degree in ornithology, so he knows *everything* about animals. The slightest sound or song, and he knows what it is. He’s got an eye for spotting them, from the biggest to the smallest.
During the trip, we stopped at km 27 for a short forest walk, then went to see the two main pyramids on the site. On the way back, we stopped at the bat cave for the magical spectacle of millions of bats flying out at dusk. In the end, we saw or glimpsed (some briefly) spider monkeys, howler monkeys, a toucan, 2 tapirs, turkeys, 2 deer, and lots of birds. If, like us, you’re more into flora and fauna than archaeology, I’d *highly* recommend this agency and tour with Fernando.
It’s not cheap, but the road between Bacalar and the site is *long* (3.5 hours). Price: 3900 pesos per person for 2 (3500 for 3, 3200 for 4).
Thursday, July 16:
ADO bus to Playa del Carmen (614 pesos per person).
In Playa del Carmen, we stayed in an Airbnb. The building is on the town hall square, next to the casino.
The best thing about this place is the *location*—super close to Fifth Avenue (La Quinta). The kitchen is pretty basic, but the fridge works well. There are supermarkets nearby. The rooftop pool is really nice. The two big downsides, though, are the soundproofing (you can *hear* the neighbor’s alarm and all the events on the square) and the *total* lack of water pressure in the shower. We had to fill a trash can with water to pour over ourselves. When we told the owner, he said it wasn’t normal and someone would come fix it, but we never heard back. Based on previous reviews, this seems to be a known issue that never gets resolved.
Playa del Carmen is *very* touristy on Fifth Avenue, but in a fun, musical vibe—we never felt unsafe. There are *tons* of little souvenir shops for tourists on this street. There’s a beautiful monumental sculpture on the beach (the two figures meeting in the air), next to which you can see the Voladores show (men climbing a pole, tying themselves with ropes, and descending headfirst while "flying" around the pole). The show is tip-based and happens several times a day. In our opinion, Calle 38 is prettier than Fifth Avenue—it’s lush, green, and quieter, with the sea at the end. Great for an early evening stroll. We had really good meals at great prices at "El Tio Noy" tacos, just a few meters from Fifth Avenue in a side street.
For souvenirs, we’d recommend going to Walmart instead of Fifth Avenue—you’ll find skulls, tequila, mezcal, keychains, mugs, glasses... at good, fixed prices.
Friday, July 17:
We did the excursion to Isla Contoy. Isla Contoy is an uninhabited, highly protected island. Only 200 people are allowed to land per day on a rotating basis, so only a few companies have permission to dock there. Most agencies subcontract the day to a third-party company.
We booked through VRM (Viviendo Riviera Maya), but it was Ocean Tours Mexico that handled the tour. Contoy is a little paradise. We were accompanied by multilingual guides, including French speakers, throughout the day. Steffy gave us info about the island during a short walk on the marked trails, and Leño Tlatemoa kept the mood up on the boat rides with music and dancing. Isla Contoy is *truly* stunning, and the lunch was delicious: grilled fish and chicken, guacamole and tortilla chips, rice, fruit, drinks (everything is brought and taken back by the guides). The snorkeling part was pretty disappointing if you’ve done it in Cozumel, though. The stop at Isla Mujeres isn’t very interesting either—it’s too short to explore, and the island is *extremely* touristy. Still, the excursion was very well organized, and we had a great day (2970 pesos per person).
Saturday, July 18:
We wanted to go snorkeling in Cozumel but thought the prices from French-speaking agencies were too high. Plus, for snorkeling, we figured we didn’t *need* a French-speaking guide.
So we found a much cheaper solution by taking the ferry from Playa del Carmen ourselves and choosing an agency in Playa. The round-trip ferry cost 663.50 pesos per person. Then we took a taxi to the snorkeling boat (100 pesos). The agency we chose is called Mystic Snorkel—they don’t have a physical office. The tour cost 1400 pesos per person. It was a small boat, but that day we were the only ones, so we got a private tour at the group rate. We stopped at 4 different sites, all very different and beautiful. We saw all kinds of fish, corals, a nurse shark, and turtles. El Cielo, with its huge starfish, is *exceptional*. If you’re going snorkeling in the Yucatan Peninsula, this is *the* tour to do—the other sites are pretty "poor" in comparison.
Sunday, July 19:
Morning dive with Triton Diving. I chose the Cozumel dive option. Great experience.
Booking via WhatsApp was easy. On the day of the dive, Selene, who speaks French, was our guide. She’s *very* attentive to the group’s safety. The briefings are clear and precise. In Cozumel, we did 2 very different sites: the first was a drift dive with lots of life—beautiful corals and fish. The second was a wreck, the C53, a 56-meter boat you can enter. Not much marine life, but a beautiful wreck intentionally sunk for divers—still in great condition. An unforgettable moment. Selene even took videos during the dive, which the club sends you for free afterward. I’d *highly* recommend this club.
Just so you know, in Playa del Carmen, the beaches were full of sargassum during our stay, despite barriers and daily cleanup. Locals told us the problem is getting worse and the sargassum is arriving earlier in the season. Tourism has taken a *big* hit this summer, and they’re wondering if tourism can even survive the sargassum season anymore. A lot of tourists are heading to the islands—Isla Mujeres and Cozumel—to enjoy the beaches, as the west side of those islands is sargassum-free.
Monday, July 20:
Colectivo to Puerto Morelos. First, a colectivo toward Cancun that drops you off between Puerto Morelos town and Puerto Morelos beach (40 pesos per person), then another from that junction to the beach (10 pesos per person).
In Puerto Morelos, we’d booked a room via Airbnb at "Piedra del Caribe." *Best* place we stayed in Mexico. It’s an aparthotel. Our room was ready before check-in, so they let us in early. The place matched the description—spacious, with a comfortable king-size bed. The shower had *great* pressure, which isn’t a given in Mexico. The staff was super friendly and welcoming. They let us use the pool, restrooms, and rooftop shower after check-out while we waited for our ride to Cancun Airport. They even kept our luggage. I *highly* recommend this place.
In Puerto Morelos, there was *way* less sargassum than in Playa del Carmen—it was actually swimmable.
We did the snorkeling tour with the fishermen’s cooperative for 450 pesos per person for 2 hours. The reef is close to the beach (you’re not allowed to swim there), so the boat ride is short. It’s not as pretty as Cozumel, but it’s nice and affordable. On Puerto Morelos’s page, you can also access a small, not-very-well-preserved reef. There’s also a cenote in the sea where fresh water mixes with saltwater—the water is murky there. We had a great dinner and excellent cocktails at "La Choza del Puerto."
Tuesday, July 21:
Wandered around Puerto Morelos (check out the church and read everything—it’s entertaining!), relaxed by the hotel pool, and left for Cancun Airport by taxi (400 pesos) booked via InDrive to head back to France.
Our highlights:
- Holbox
- The whale shark tour
- The cenotes
- The local flora and fauna (so present!)
- Isla Contoy
- Cabo Catoche (except for the snorkeling)
What we liked least:
- The bioluminescence (barely visible despite good conditions)
- The food—we found it not very diverse in taquerias
- The constant tipping
- The lack of water pressure in showers (fixed, wall-mounted, no hose or showerhead)
Don’t hesitate to ask if you have any questions while it’s still fresh in our minds.
Traveling with just one spare pair of underwear, considering a hot shower a miracle, never staying in the same place too long by sleeping wherever night catches us, taking whatever local, improbable, and rickety transport we can find—this is the DNA of us wanderers. Except this time, the script for our movie is going to be a whole different genre. On paper, the destination doesn’t exactly scream epic adventure: Réunion! And what’s more... we won’t be two, or four, or even ten. We’ll be a solid thirty. All from the same family. Yes, thirty. At this point, it’s not just a trip—it’s a summer camp on the move! Why inflict this on such a peaceful island? Because my brother decided to get married there with his lovely bride. A great idea, you might say... especially when it involves relocating the equivalent of a small Ardennes village 10,000 kilometers from home for three weeks! So who’s stepping up to be the guide and wave the little flag?
So, for an exceptional trip, exceptional stories! Don’t worry, the debates at the supermarket over whether to choose plain chips or roast chicken chips, the beach picnics washed down with ti’ punch, and other rougail sausages to digest by the pool will only make it into the family archives. Here, I’ll stick to the tales of our beautiful escapes, the ones where we explore the wild corners of this little volcanic rock planted in the middle of the Indian Ocean. So where exactly are we headed?
For the first week—the subject of this first installment—we’re taking it easy. We’ll start by rediscovering the coastline, from the Souffleur in Saint-Leu to the Hermitage lagoon, before a little trip to the Cirque de Cilaos and its legendary road with 400 turns, just to get our legs warmed up.
This travel journal is therefore intended solely for my photos, to present a consistent style.
All the shots were taken with a simple Samsung Galaxy smartphone and with whatever was at hand.
All stays combined, I’ve spent the equivalent of three years at most in Thailand, and I’m not a big expert on the country.
However, after many trips, lots of reading on VoyageForum and other sites, and conversations with many locals as well as expats, my view of the country is becoming clearer, though it’s constantly evolving. You never stop discovering and learning.
I guess I wanted to piece together a puzzle, mainly for those who want to get an idea of the country here and for those who miss it.
I don’t know if this minimalist sharing will interest anyone, but it’ll do me good to put it together. After so many months without traveling and then these other long months with VF closed, there’s plenty of material available.
There’ll be a mix of places, periods, and subjects, but it might well be intentional.
I suspect many Thais have dogs because they make excellent guards for the home. Nothing better to deter burglars or to signal the presence of a snake. You’ll often see Thais tapping the top of their dog’s head, but don’t be fooled: it’s a sign of affection from them. Judging by the dogs’ reactions, they’re used to it.
Thailand is one of the countries on the planet where rabies is still present, so keep that in mind. It’s not just bites that can be dangerous, so don’t let just any dog lick you. Especially on a wound, of course.
Even though dogs often fear humans—this dangerous and unpredictable predator—we still need to stay cautious.
Be careful when walking into alleys because the dog will defend its master’s big property, be careful at night, and be careful when they’re in packs.
It sometimes crosses our minds that Thailand isn’t really made for walking around, and dogs are one of the reasons.
That said, it’s not uncommon to see them chasing bikes or scooters. Cars, though, are much rarer—they’re too big.
It seems Thais prefer to give their dogs freedom by not locking them behind gates. Though sometimes the gate is closed, the little side door is wide open. Oh, and sometimes there’s no gate in front of the property, or it’s been broken for years.
You’ll often see dogs sleeping on the side of the road, sometimes right on the road. When you arrive, they move aside nonchalantly—or not at all. It’s less funny when they suddenly appear from thick vegetation, which reminds visitors not to drive too fast. As a result, you’ll notice that dogs with injuries or missing legs aren’t that rare.
Since they believe in reincarnation and respect for all forms of life, they don’t chase dog packs away too much, and they don’t sterilize them enough. Seeing a small pack roaming freely in the countryside, you might think it’s best not to cross paths with them at the edge of a field.
A darker side of this is that euthanasia isn’t often practiced. Twice, we saw dogs at temples on the brink of death, enduring terrible suffering. No one did anything about it. The image (and the smell) of one of them, dying and emitting the stench of death, still comes back to me sometimes.
Some of you may have seen the YouTube vlog of a French woman living in Phuket who was given a little pig by her Thai friends. The well-fed animal quickly became a happy, enormous beast with its own garden. Yet, it didn’t take long for it to fall seriously ill and become incurable. In her video, the French woman described how difficult it was to find a vet willing to perform euthanasia.
You’ll often see bowls by the side of the road. Thais leave food and water in them for stray cats and dogs. Overall, they have a big heart for animals.
If you ever pop into a shopping mall, you might see people pushing their small dogs in strollers. It’s not a gimmick—it’s just that these strollers are provided for customers to put their pets in, otherwise you can’t bring them inside. It looks a bit odd when you expect to see a baby.
It was winter, a winter with beautiful weather,
A season that only exists in the southwest of America,
I remember very well what I told you that morning
A month ago... A century ago, an eternity ago...
We’ll go... wherever you want, whenever you want...
Well, yeah, back from our adventure in our enchanting American West just a month ago, we’re already taking a bite out of one of its lesser-known competitors. "Flo, if you had to pick just one reason to justify your love for the U.S., what would it be?" The greasy, dripping burgers? No, I don’t think I’m going out on a limb by saying it’d be the wide-open spaces... And that’s exactly what our new quest is taking us to—a land on the other side of the globe where the horizon also seems endless, where silence tastes like salty wind and sand, where freedom is measured in kilometers of desert tracks, where the GPS is mostly there to confirm you’re lost in the middle of nowhere... Add to that magic formula the fact that you’ll see more zebras, giraffes, wildebeest, and elephants than people per square kilometer, and you can imagine us setting foot in Southern Africa for the first time, more precisely at the small airport in Windhoek, capital of... of...? Brush up on your geography, damn it! We’re landing in Namibia!!!
To be honest, Namibian landscapes have been flirting with me for ages. So how did I resist this island of temptation for so long? First, the budget. Let’s just say that for the same amount of effort (and kidneys), the bank lets you choose two other adventures almost anywhere else on the planet. Then there were my girls. Yeah, back then, they were too little to dose up on Malarone, the only malaria remedy at the time... Long story short, ten years later, all the planets have aligned. First, I won the Euromillions! Well, almost... Let’s just say my girls are now old enough... not to take Malarone, but to stop following me on all my adventures! Jackpot! "Flo, how about a little two-person caprice, just the two of us, tackling the Namibian tracks?"
As we landed on the runway, first wow effect: The horizon is immense. It’s flat as can be, incredibly flat... So much flat space! Did I mention it was flat?... Looking into the distance, it feels like your gaze could circle the Earth without hitting a single obstacle—until you end up staring at your own backside. "Oh, what a nice view!" Well, it’s the first time I’ve seen my butt from this angle! Touching moment... Sorry, I’m rambling—must be the exhaustion from the three-flight marathon we just powered through via Ethiopia and South Africa... And yet, no time to philosophize about my anatomy. As usual, we want to rack up our first kilometers to be front and center at dawn tomorrow. After wrapping up the tedious Namibian immigration formalities and meeting the 4x4 that’ll be our companion day and night for the next fifteen days, we’re off! We’re not exactly fresh, but we’re ready to tackle the next five hundred kilometers in night mode, cruise control set due south! Just outside Windhoek, the local wildlife—a jackal—welcomes us with a smile: "Welcome to Namibia!" That’s what it said! Honest... Okay, first endless straight road, first flaming sunset, first corrugated dirt track, first Milky Way with zero light pollution... You get it—it’s definitely the day of firsts... First night camping, too, in the big trunk of our Toyota Fortuner parked by the side of the track... The real adventure, the kind that smells under the arms, can finally begin...
Here we go—finally, the big day has arrived! A trip the whole family (my two kids, my husband, and me) had been looking forward to for so long.
To keep it short, we left from Nice, arrived in Namibia on June 25, 2025, and left again on the 21st—four weeks later.
We used an agency for all the camping reservations, activities, and the car rental. At least that side of things was taken care of. Michaël was our contact throughout the planning and the trip itself.
We spent our first night at Londiningi BB. A bit out of the city center but very quiet. The rooms were spacious and clean, and we could eat on-site that evening. Perfect for recovering from the flight.
This travel journal is our second on VoyageForum, following last year’s where we recounted our four weeks in Vietnam.
The goal remains the same: since some members on this site share tips, experiences, and great deals that help us prepare for our trips, we do the same after returning—both to give back a little and in the hope that our experiences might be useful to others in some way.
Our route was as follows: Bangkok, Siem Reap, Krabi, Suratthani, Koh Phangan, Koh Tao, Chumphon, Bang Saphan, Prachuab Khiri Khan, Sam Roi Yod, Hua Hin, Phetchaburi, Bangkok.
Beyond rediscovering Bangkok, our objectives were the long-held dream of seeing Angkor and exploring southern Thailand, much of which isn’t overly touristy.
A quick big thank-you to Barbot, who took the time to answer several of our questions.
12/07/2013
The cheapest flight we found earlier this year was a Paris-Bangkok route with a layover in Moscow for 1440 €, total for two people.
So, this time we tried Aeroflot. Airbus A318 for the first leg, A330 for the second. Nothing particularly annoying to report—the passengers were very calm, the cabin temperature was comfortable, and we had enough legroom.
That said, the quality of the meal trays was pretty mediocre, and the flight attendants weren’t exactly comedians.
We’d like to remind everyone that it’s best to exchange as little money as possible at the airport upon arrival, since the rate is about 5% worse than at city banks.
Of course, we made sure to take the airport exit where you can catch official taxis to avoid getting scammed. So, we queued up, a little lady gave us the ticket, and off we went with the driver.
Generally, this system works well because these drivers are registered, know their duties, and the risks they face if they break the rules. Except that day, right off the bat, we got the scammer of the day. His first move was to snatch the ticket from my wife’s hands—the one you’re supposed to keep in case of a complaint. My husband saw it, but after a full day of travel, we were a bit out of it, and honestly, there was no reason to be suspicious. But once we started driving, the guy refused to turn on the meter. We insisted more and more firmly, but nothing. So, I used the famous method of opening the door and starting to step out of the car. At 40 km/h, that scares the driver more than the passenger. He finally turned on the meter, but that didn’t calm him down—quite the opposite. For the next half-hour, he ruined the ride by demanding extra fees here and there. Having dealt with several scam attempts last year in Vietnam, this wasn’t exactly new, and we were proud of ourselves for staying pretty zen. Still, this guy was a little scary—he was completely wired and aggressive. Honestly, it was hard not to think he was on something. He’d be perfect for a *Scarface* remake. When we finally arrived at the hotel, he followed us to the entrance. We paid the two tolls (25 and 45 baht), gave him the usual 100 baht extra for the ride, and stayed polite but firm. So, meter: 245 baht + 100 baht + 25 and 45 baht for tolls—we paid the exact amount, no way we were tipping this guy. He left furious, but he was already like that before picking us up... Anyway, avoid Mr. Chartree Chidchen, number 089 826 7308, car E2663!
We were so relieved to finally settle in at Feung Nakorn Balcony hotel in the temple district. 42 € per night, great reception, all the staff is friendly. The AC works fine, the bed seemed hard at first but turned out to be comfortable. The hotel is quiet, away from the nightlife, but at this time of year, many places are less crowded than in high season. Even with a nice fish pond and outdoor breakfast area, it’s a decent hotel, though we felt we could’ve found something better.
After a night on the plane, the first afternoon is always a bit of a slog. We napped for a few hours, and when we woke up—guess what—we were starving. We visited a temple across from the hotel (nothing special) and then decided to take the Chao Phraya Express, the river shuttle that serves many piers along the river. It was a really enjoyable experience. The steel gangway wobbles when you board and disembark, the boat sits low in the water, and sometimes you get splashed. During peak times, you’re packed in like sardines, but most of all, there’s that exotic urban landscape passing by, especially the temple rooftops.
At that exact moment, the boat was packed. We didn’t see a ticket booth at the pier, and we tried in vain to pay the few baht for the ride. The cashier on the boat was too busy, and another employee we called didn’t have time to help us. Oh well, we weren’t going to force the issue. Still, this mode of transport is super practical for avoiding traffic, and at the piers, the lines with station names are clearly marked, with colors matching the flags on the boats. Combined with a map like the *Routard* guide, it’s easy to navigate.
We easily made it to the restaurant *Harmonique*, located near one of these piers. It’s a unanimous favorite on this forum, and let us tell you—it’s well-deserved. What a wonderful experience that evening! We only saw the outdoor gazebo because there was no way we were dining inside. It’s not flashy, so those looking for a luxurious setting should look elsewhere.
That night, the staff was a bit slow, and we had to track them down several times to move things along. But oh, my friends—what a feast on the plate! Start with the appetizer platter for two at 250 baht, featuring four specialties, each more tempting than the last, followed by their famous crab curry for 200 baht. There’s *so much* crab in there! The dish is so delicious and rich that when you finish, you feel—how to put it—like it was almost *too* good, to the point where you’re almost put off eating for days. And also, oh yes, we *will* be back. Their satay chicken is just as amazing, and it would be a crime not to mention their generous dessert with ice cream, warm banana, and chocolate, plus their *excellent* almond milkshake.
Later, we took a taxi to Kao San Road, mainly to book a Ko Tao-Chumphon trip for 600 baht per person at the Lomprayah counter. In hindsight, we should’ve booked all three of our trips there right away.
Kao San Road is *ultra*-touristy—better for younger crowds, but it’s still worth seeing. There’s rock ‘n’ roll, hippies, and crowds everywhere.
We walked back to the hotel, and when we got a little lost near a canal, a really nice older Thai man spontaneously appeared out of the night to kindly point us in the right direction.
Finally, a real long night of sleep ahead—we cranked up the AC. Sweet, the vacation has begun!
Hi there,
I just got back from a trip to Sri Lanka from December 18th to January 1st with 2 adults and 2 kids (12 years old).
If it helps, here’s my itinerary.
We left on December 18th from Madrid with Qatar Airways. No complaints. I booked my tickets back in March for 800 € per person. (I flew from Madrid because I live near the Spanish border and was too worried about strikes in France.)
We arrived on December 19th at 4 PM (local time). Before leaving France, I’d booked a taxi through MyTransfer for 59 € to Sigiriya. A van was waiting for us at the airport exit.
A never-ending 3-hour drive to Sigiriya. We stayed at Samana Guesthouse—very simple, clean, with a pool and an excellent Sri Lankan breakfast. Shower and straight to bed.
Friday, December 20th: Beautiful weather, but very humid and hot. We visited Lion Rock (36 € for adults) and then Pidurangala.
I loved both sites—they’re a must-do in my opinion.
Spent the late afternoon by the pool.
Saturday, December 21st: Another gorgeous day. The guesthouse manager offered us a free 2-hour tuk-tuk tour. We first visited a lake, rice fields, the temple, and the Sigiriya market, plus the usual tourist trap—the botanical garden (no pressure to buy anything at the end).
Then we took a tuk-tuk to Dambulla Temple, the Golden Buddha, and the wholesale market.
Sunday, December 22nd: Still beautiful weather. I’d booked a taxi for 8 AM. We did all the long trips by taxi to save time. I’d ask for prices from 2 or 3 WhatsApp taxi agencies 2 days or the day before—super responsive, always got replies within 5 minutes. We headed to Ella (4-hour drive) for 22,000 LKR.
Arrived in the afternoon at Rest Full Homestay—a small, family-run guesthouse. Clean, cozy, and an amazing Sri Lankan breakfast.
In the afternoon, we went to Nine Arches Bridge. It was a Sunday, a Sri Lankan holiday, so it was *packed*—mostly locals and very few white tourists! Even though it was crowded, it was cool because it was all Sri Lankans. We waited an hour for the train. It’s worth seeing, but honestly, I didn’t think it was that amazing.
Then we headed to the station to check if we needed to book tickets for the train to Haputale—turns out, no.
Monday, December 23rd: Beautiful weather. We hiked Ella Rock—a gorgeous trek. The final stretch is steep but shaded, so it wasn’t as tough as I’d read. The whole hike is stunning from start to finish. We saw the train pass twice (one blue, one red) and lots of women picking tea.
After that, we did Little Adam’s Peak. It’s not hard, but it was *packed* with tourists—meh. Luckily, at the top, you can walk a bit farther (down one side and back up) to get some space to yourself.
What I *didn’t* like was the commercial vibe at the big café/restaurant with a pool at the entrance of Little Adam’s Peak. Loud music, all that money being made right next to little souvenir stands run by Sri Lankans or tea-picking women. Felt off.
Ended the day buying souvenirs at one of the few shops we found during the trip.
Tuesday, December 24th: Beautiful weather. Took the train to Haputale. We got to the station 30 minutes before the 9:30 AM train. We could’ve taken 2nd or 3rd class—I went with 2nd (160 LKR per person).
It was crowded, but we managed to get seats—first 2, then 3. Only a 1-hour ride, but I *loved* it—windows and doors open the whole time.
Arrived in Haputale around 11 AM, and the mist was already rolling in.
We walked to our guesthouse, The Mist Holiday Bungalow. Simple but clean, with a great view of the tea plantations. The owner’s wife is Vietnamese and used to work for French tour operators, so her French is still pretty good—helpful for us since our English is terrible. They booked us a tuk-tuk for 4:45 AM the next day (2,000 LKR) to Lipton’s Seat.
Spent the afternoon wandering around Haputale. Not much charm, but there’s a nice fruit and veggie market and a short walk through the tea plantations.
Wednesday, December 25th: Beautiful weather. The tuk-tuk was on time to take us to Lipton’s Seat. We were the first ones there—the sky was just starting to turn pink. In the end, only about ten of us watched the sunrise. The guesthouse had packed us breakfast, and we walked back down (half on the road, half through the plantations). Didn’t see any tea picking since it was Christmas, but the walk was still incredible. We took detours through villages full of kids.
After that, we visited the tea factory. The tour was really interesting, and we took the bus back down to Haputale. Such a great moment—whole families were heading to mass, dressed up and made up. All so beautiful.
At noon, we left for Udawalawe National Park. Taxi for 14,000 LKR. Stayed at River Inn Safari Cottage. *Warning*: It’s the same place as Eagle Safari Cottage. I don’t recommend it. We’d always stayed with families before, but here it was just staff—totally different vibe. The pool was nice but not very clean (water was murky). The bungalow was big and fine, but it was brand new—so new the asphalt floor wasn’t fully dry. It’s in the middle of nowhere, so we had to eat on-site. Couldn’t leave a review on Booking because they never confirmed we’d stayed, and they canceled our reservation the next day.
Thursday, December 26th: Beautiful weather. I’d booked a safari through the hotel for 5:30–10 AM for 54 USD. Honestly, yes, there are a lot of jeeps, but it was great. The kids loved it—we saw everything there was to see.
Left by taxi at 11:30 AM for Welligama (12,000 LKR).
We didn’t stay in Welligama city but at Coconut Beach, between Welligama and Midigama. *Total crush* on the guesthouse: Sky Mountain Café with View. Such a lovely family. The mom makes amazing meals at reasonable prices. The view from the hill over the sea is unreal.
Spent the afternoon walking along the beach.
Friday, December 27th: Beautiful weather. My kids are surfers. Unfortunately, there weren’t any boards their size to rent at Coconut, so we took a tuk-tuk to Welligama Bay (1,000 LKR). They surfed from 8 AM to 5 PM—rental was 5,000 LKR for the day. Meanwhile, we walked the beach and swam. Water was 29°C.
Saturday, December 28th: Beautiful weather, rain from 4 PM until midnight. Same surf day. They were so well-behaved the whole trip, so this was their reward.
Sunday, December 29th: Beautiful weather. Beach day at Coconut. *Warning*: It’s a reef break. For surfers, there are three spots (Coconut Left, Middle, and Right). The boys bodysurfed (with fins) all morning, and at 1 PM, we took the bus to Hikkaduwa.
Stayed at Hotel Universal Beach. Nothing special—right on the water, but the rooms were dark even though they were clean. The manager was super nice, but the rest was meh, and breakfast was mediocre compared to what we’d had before (2 eggs and 3 slices of toast). Plus, it was late—8 AM.
First impression of Hikkaduwa wasn’t great—way too many Russians for our taste.
Monday, December 30th: Beautiful weather. Spent the whole day exploring. Turtle Beach, then the other side of the beach (toward Galle) near the fishing port. The beach there is much wider, with scattered hotels and super quiet. It’s beautiful—I should’ve booked somewhere in that area. Ended up having a great day away from the crowds.
Tuesday, December 31st: Overcast, then beautiful, rain at 4 PM. Had to end the year (and the trip) with some surf. Rented boards for the kids (3,000 LKR per board for the day). Bad luck—the waves were on a reef break but small. Not great for them, but no big deal. They still got out of the water by 2 PM. Walked the beach (which is gorgeous), had a juice, and went for a swim. Then back to surfing in the rain at 4 PM.
Wednesday, January 1st: Left by taxi at 5 AM (18,000 LKR). Flight at 10 AM. Arrived in Madrid at 8 PM.
I could have titled my travel journal like Carmen: "Some trips are born twice." Indeed, we had considered this destination back in February 2020. However, an honest tour operator advised us against traveling at that time due to the climate. So, we gave up and opted for Guatemala instead (see "On the Mayan Lands" on this site).
So, why this title? When I was in primary school, over 65 years ago, the illustrations in my history books (Machu Picchu) and geography books (Lake Titicaca) made me dream, and those images stayed in my mind. It took until 2026 to finally make this dream come true!
We prepared our trip with Tout Pérou, a French-speaking "agency." Everything was handled via email and WhatsApp exchanges with our contact: Laurent, who was both competent, friendly, and full of good advice.
For 200 €, Tout Pérou provided us with drivers and guides whenever we wanted, helped us buy our domestic flights (cheaper when purchased in Peru), booked shuttles between airports and hotels, and got us a discount on the train ride to Aguas Calientes, as well as on the buses between Chivay and Puno and between Puno and Cusco. In short, Laurent took care of all the logistics and the Machu Picchu tickets. It was up to us to book our hotels. Tout Pérou provided a list, but we weren’t obliged to follow it. Another advantage of the package: we didn’t have to pay in advance; we paid the service providers directly day by day.
We didn’t meet Laurent in person because he was on vacation in Europe. Before his departure, he gave us a briefing, provided a summary table with the entire program, the service providers, their phone numbers, their fees, the schedules, and gave us plenty of advice (money, exchange, safety, etc.). After returning at the end of our stay, he kept checking in on us.
Lastly, we had also gathered information from Arnaud Lagadec, who runs a hotel in Cusco and offers tours of the region. He gave us a lot of useful information. Another contact: Thomas Montaigne, very friendly, who runs an agency in Arequipa (Agence Pérou Exclusif).
Day 1 – Paris to Lima
Foreword
I’ll share our trip without any pretension—I don’t have the talent of some contributors on this forum—and I’ll illustrate it with a few photos (taken with an ordinary smartphone). My comments are personal and only reflect my own views. So, please be kind! Feel free to comment on my story as you like, but let’s avoid pointless debates.
Even though we live in the south of the Paris region, true to our habits when the flight is in the morning, we chose to spend the night before our departure in a hotel near CDG and parked our car in a parking lot in Garches. This way, we avoid the stress that often comes with traveling around Paris (accidents, roadworks, traffic jams, etc.).
Check-in and border control went smoothly on that Sunday morning. Our Air France flight was uneventful. In Lima, border control took a particularly long time, and for the first time, we didn’t get an entry visa stamped in our passports.
As planned, a driver took us to the Miraflores district, where our hotel was located. We were surprised by the numerous signs about possible tsunamis, having forgotten that Peru is prone to such events and regularly experiences earthquakes. We’d see the consequences of these during our journey.
Exhausted from the early wake-up, the 13-hour flight, and the 7-hour time difference, we had dinner at the hotel before a restful night.
Note that this day was Peru’s presidential election day. As a result, we weren’t served beer—the sale of alcohol was banned that Sunday.
We did the Langtang trek (hike) from September 10th to 17th, with the first and last days being the trip from Kathmandu and back—so 6 days of actual walking. It’s a fairly well-known trek but certainly not as famous or crowded as those in the Annapurna or Everest regions, which is why we chose it.
In theory, it’s mandatory to have a guide for this trek. In reality, it seems there are ways to bypass the regulations: we met at least two people hiking without a guide—a South Korean, a New Zealander, and possibly also a couple of English women and an American couple, though we’re not sure if they had a guide.
The agency we booked with had told us it was an affordable trek for relatively older people in good shape—which is our case (I’m 72 myself). I have to say upfront that we found it quite challenging, maybe because we didn’t have good weather—it was the end of the monsoon season. To be clear, no matter your fitness level, I’d say doing this trek in the middle of the monsoon season would be suicidal.
Day 1 – Journey from Kathmandu to Syapru Besi
On Monday, September 8th, there had been violent protests in Kathmandu against the government, which had, among other things, blocked access to social media and been accused of nepotism and corruption. There were 19 deaths. The situation was very tense on the day of our departure, Wednesday the 10th. The agency warned us that public transport was very unreliable. So, we decided to take a jeep, at an additional cost of $100 ($160 minus what was already budgeted for the bus).
We left a little before 7 a.m. and it took us a good hour just to reach the outskirts of Kathmandu. Along the way, we saw several houses and vehicles set on fire by protesters.
The road to Syapru Besi is only 120 km, but it’s frankly awful. It’s always narrow, winds through endless mountains, and the shoulders range from bad to confusing to nonexistent. Several sections are just dirt tracks. We didn’t regret opting for the jeep, as we could stop several times at our convenience—if only to let Y (my Thai partner) throw up everything she had. She’d taken her usual motion sickness medication, but the constant turns, accelerations, and braking eventually made her terribly carsick.
In Nuwakot, we stopped for breakfast at a nice little restaurant, Jimbu. It was around 8:30 a.m., and we’d barely covered 60 km. The restaurant has a lovely garden overlooking the Trishuli Ganga, the river flowing down from Syapru Besi. First photo: the river in the bottom right corner, mist and clouds over the mountain on the other side.
An hour later, my second photo: the hills along the Trishuli Ganga. You can see the different crops—lush green rice paddies in the lower right and corn, already yellowed and likely harvested, in the foreground on the left. And of course, the mist and clouds through which you can glimpse the mountain on the other side of the river.
When we started looking for a summer destination a few months ago, our first criterion was to avoid extreme heat and heatwaves. We had already been to Norway two years ago and are considering going back in the future for other occasions. So, we had some fun asking ChatGPT which destinations enjoyed a mild climate during the summer without going too far. Among the list provided by the AI were the Canary Islands... The idea of a place we wouldn’t have thought of first, both not too far away and exotic enough, appealed to us: “Hmm, why not?”
This destination had never really attracted me, though Magali was a bit more interested. Five years earlier, COVID had caused a short break in my professional activity, and I had planned a trip because the flight price was attractive, and I was looking for a destination different from what usually appeals to me, more than out of deep interest. From a distance and with a social judgment I acknowledge (it’s not great, but it’s not completely wrong), I had the image of a destination for party-goers enjoying the sun without the slightest interest in local culture, with concrete coastlines and denatured landscapes—everything I detest the most. Still, I had done some quick research on the different islands and spotted Lanzarote for its beautiful volcanic landscapes, hiking trails, beaches, and the impression of a good balance between activity and fewer crowds than Tenerife or Gran Canaria. Then I dropped the idea of going, without ever reconsidering traveling to the Canaries...
Until now! Because we started researching the different islands of the archipelago to see which ones might appeal to us the most. It was La Gomera, the third smallest island of the archipelago, more praised for its hiking trails and preserved nature than for its beaches, away from mass tourism (fifty times fewer tourists than Tenerife) but still a bit more developed than its wild neighbor El Hierro, that caught our attention. Contrary to what might be suggested later, I’m not at all addicted to AI, but I use it from time to time to synthesize quick research or simply for experimentation. Since ChatGPT had started anticipating my tastes lately as if it had become my buddy (often successfully, sometimes off the mark), I asked which Canary Island would suit me best for a trip with my family. The tool answered first with... La Gomera. So, I tested it and teased it a bit to see if this suggestion was well-founded, as the method sometimes makes it contradict itself. But no luck: “You’d appreciate the wild nature of El Hierro, but with family, you’ll find little activity for the kids. You won’t like the touristy vibe of the big islands like Tenerife, Gran Canaria, Lanzarote, and Fuerteventura. You could consider La Palma, but it’s really La Gomera that will suit you best, based on your interests and the criteria given.” So, we dug deeper into our research and were convinced without a shadow of a doubt that this island was the one waiting for us.
Without knowing it, we had Canarians in our circle who revealed their origins when they heard about our travel plans. One from Tenerife insisted we’d be better off choosing Tenerife (obviously...) because it also has preserved spots and that La Gomera, “you can explore it in two or three days, you’ll get bored quickly...” The other, a colleague from Gran Canaria who had never visited La Gomera, still recommended it without hesitation because it turned out her parents had just gone there on vacation: they loved it and had encountered few tourists. She also tended to think this destination was usually the subject of short stays, but according to what her parents told her, taking your time there was also a great idea. However, in our research, the idea that La Gomera is an island you can explore in three or four days max kept coming up. So, we considered combining its visit with La Palma or El Hierro, the other two that caught our eye. But hopping between islands by ferry represents a significant budget for non-Canarians, even more so for a family of four. Then, scrutinizing Google Maps, it seemed obvious that two weeks were too short to discover two islands as they deserve, and that there seemed to be plenty to see in La Gomera, given its very unique culture. After all, we read that some people spend several months a year there, others never even leave... Finally, these landscapes and this atmosphere, which seemed to us a mix of Europe, North Africa, and Latin America, tempted us. So, it would be two weeks in La Gomera, deal!
La Gomera is therefore the second... well, the third smallest island of the Canaries since La Graciosa was recently recognized as a fully inhabited island. It has the shape of a rough circle about 20 to 25 kilometers in diameter and has just over 20,000 inhabitants, half of them in its capital, San Sebastián de la Gomera, the only real town. Like its Canarian sisters, La Gomera is a volcanic formation that rose about 10 million years ago. The island is very mountainous and rugged, covered with red and black rocky landscapes. Geological activity has shaped, between the sprawling massifs that end in steep cliffs in the ocean, six coastal valleys with tropical vegetation that have favored human settlement. They divide the island like slices of a cake; from the north clockwise: the agricultural Vallehermoso, the rustic Agulo, the green, humid, and fertile Hermigua, the sunny capital San Sebastián de la Gomera, the southern and isolated Alajeró-Santiago, and the seaside Valle Gran Rey. They constitute the six municipalities (more like cantons to our French understanding) of the territory.
The large solidified magma massifs that shape the heart of the island have created a large depression more protected from the sun at its center, allowing the growth of a vast laurel forest, today grouped within the Garajonay National Park, La Gomera’s green lung, which has earned it the status of a World Biosphere Reserve. Its completely European appearance contrasts sharply with the rocky and tropical landscapes of the rest of the island. Thus, the climate varies greatly from one point to another on the island: in summer, you can quickly go from a dry and sunny valley at 35°C to a humid forest area at altitude at 18°C.
La Gomera was populated late. As with the rest of the Canaries, human presence is thought to have begun about 2,000 years ago. Groups of animist Berbers, probably fleeing persecution, gradually populated the archipelago, especially the western islands and La Gomera, becoming its small aboriginal population: the Guanches (or later Gomeros). The animist and pastoral civilization of the Guanches thrived until the Spanish takeover in the 15th century, which, after a short period of harmony and mixing with the indigenous people, suddenly ended in bloodshed... La Gomera later became the “Columbus Island” after Christopher Columbus’s stopover, increasing the blending of populations. In the 20th century, many Gomeros emigrated to Cuba and other Latin American countries in search of a better life, bringing back a mix of cultures and traits quite palpable in today’s Gomeran culture. It is, however, in La Gomera that the vestiges of Guanche culture seem to have left the most traces, in the language, gastronomy, social practices... Moreover, most Gomeros, especially in remote villages, have a particular identifiable type and proudly claim their ancestral roots, even making La Gomera a bit exotic in the eyes of other Canarians.
Perhaps that’s why it has never really wanted to develop its tourist infrastructure too much. If we set aside the tourists who visit for the day by bus or boat from Tenerife on a marked itinerary (and whom we ultimately rarely encounter), La Gomera has remained a hidden gem, a destination focused on nature discovery that attracts hikers, nature-loving divers, and scientists for its fauna and flora, and to a lesser extent, beachgoers who don’t seek overly developed coastlines. Tourist activity is therefore limited. Roughly speaking, you’ll find a majority of Spaniards, including a substantial number of residents from other Canary Islands, many Germans who have a particular fondness for La Gomera and spend long stays there or own second homes, to the point that the German cultural footprint is clearly noticeable in some places (it’s said to be Angela Merkel’s favorite holiday spot), and still quite a few French. The presence of other nationalities seemed negligible to us. Most travelers come mainly for hiking, but it’s also a prime spot for whale watching. Additionally, the seaside resorts of La Gomera—San Sebastián, Santiago, and especially Valle Gran Rey—are well-known destinations for hippies, especially German ones, ranging from chic boho hippies to old-school hippies who’ve been there for decades, quite similar to those you’d meet in India in Goa, Rishikesh, or Paharganj. Thus, practices like naturism, vegetarianism, and local organic production are quite well established in some areas.
Some practical info:
- The round-trip flight from Paris to Tenerife cost us 365 € per person (outbound with Transavia, return with EasyJet), including checked luggage and three seats reserved side by side.
- We chose two bases to explore the island: one week in Valle Gran Rey, reputed to be the most pleasant of the three seaside resorts, and one week in Hermigua, more mountainous and close to the natural park. We booked two houses with balconies and views: the first at 120 € per night, the second at 99 €.
- The round-trip ferry between Tenerife and La Gomera cost us 270 € with the company Baleària Canarias, including discounts for children aged 4 and 12, but I don’t have the exact details. It was a bit cheaper than with the other company, Fred Olsen.
- Finally, we rented a car through the agency Cicar for 360 € for 16 days, which comes to 22.50 € per day.
- Apart from that, we didn’t plan anything and decided the day before or even the morning of what we wanted to do. We didn’t invest in any paper guide on the Canaries, as information on La Gomera was scarce, but we used the very comprehensive site La Gomera Travel, a travel guide published by the Canary Islands Tourism Council, a real goldmine of almost exhaustive information on the island.
Alright, off we go for 16 days of adventure discovering La Gomera!
Last October, we landed in Marrakech to spend a few days with family exploring Morocco’s roads.
Transport: a rented Dacia.
Accommodations: small guesthouses.
Our first stop was just a few kilometers from Marrakech, at a lovely house perfect for relaxing and recharging before continuing. It’s called Bleu House, a little paradise on the outskirts of Marrakech. The welcome was very warm, with a beautiful pool and a lovely garden.
Next, we headed toward the Tichka Pass. The road has really improved in recent years—it’s much easier to drive now. No more getting stuck behind trucks, and today, the construction is practically finished.
Morocco has turned green after the recent rains. It’s a joy for the herds and shepherds.
I hesitated about writing this travel journal...
This summer, we only did the classics (the 3 northern parks and Zanzibar) and let a local agency take care of everything from start to finish.
No craziness, no risks, no sleeping under the stars, no self-drive, no venturing off the beaten path, no incidents, and not even any delays in the pre-planned itinerary...
But don’t think we were disappointed!
The whole family (there were 6 of us) came back with smiles and memories of great moments spent together.
So, if you're looking for a "classic" way to discover Tanzania, this is the place to be.
Our 2-week itinerary:
- Arusha (1 night upon arrival)
- Tarangire (1 night)
- Ngorongoro (2 nights in Karatu then Irmisigiyo)
- Serengeti (3 nights in Robanda, Togoro Plains, and Seronera)
- Zanzibar Stone Town (1 night)
- Zanzibar Matemwe (3 nights)
- Zanzibar Jambiani (3 nights)
Come along, I'm taking you to this country where it's so nice to wander and slow down...
This trip was in 2023, but when I wanted to write my travel journal, VF was still closed to contributions...
So, now that I've just finished my Japan travel journal here, I figured it was high time to honor this destination we came back from so enchanted.
Disclaimer 1: This is a written travel journal. There’ll be text! Too much, for some!
Disclaimer 2: This is an illustrated travel journal. There’ll be photos! Too many, for some!
I have to say, every time I try to discipline myself, to keep it shorter, to include fewer photos... I end up adding more. It feels like my dear Aunt Nicole, who exhausted us with her slide-show evenings in the 70s/80s, decided to take her revenge. The upside for you, readers, is that you can slip away anytime without offending Aunt Nicole. I won’t even notice!
Anyway, since I love maps, here’s one to give you an idea of where I’m taking you. As you can see, we only saw a tiny part of Laos (the areas circled in red); we only had 3 weeks for ourselves (my husband’s newly retired, I still work), and we prefer taking our time over rushing around like crazy.
In broad strokes, it was very classic:
First, we “settled in” at Luang Prabang (8 days), because we wanted and needed to.
From there, we took three days to venture a little further north—not far in kilometers, but as we know, distances aren’t just about km!
Then we flew south to Paksé, letting ourselves drift down to the 4,000 Islands while stopping by the pre-Angkorian archaeological sites.
We wrapped up with the Bolaven Plateau.
A few practical notes: We arrived via Bangkok, then took a Bangkok-Luang Prabang flight, having picked up our luggage in Bangkok to check it in for Luang Prabang. No issues—the Bangkok airport, which many of you know, is very well organized.
We got our visas on arrival in Luang Prabang. Quick, but to be fair, we were on a “small” plane, and the big flights had arrived earlier, so we weren’t too crowded in line!
At the end of our trip, we didn’t fly out of Paksé but from the nearby airport in Thailand, Ubon Ratchathani (a 2.5-hour drive from Paksé), then Bangkok and Paris.
You’ll notice we skipped Vientiane to stay longer in Luang Prabang. That said, there’s now a high-speed train between Vientiane and Luang Prabang—good to know—and soon the (Chinese) train will go all the way to Bangkok and even Kuala Lumpur!
With that intro out of the way, let’s dive into the heart of the matter.
To be continued: Slowing down the pace... in Luang Prabang
It’s an ancient city that breathes, a living spring.
Here, no kitschy signs like “I miss you in Fengyu,” nor mass-produced fake antiques.
The century-old houses still bear the marks of wind and rain; in the morning, you hear roosters crowing, and at dusk, smoke gently rises from the kitchens.
This city doesn’t try to please anyone—like the spring water flowing through it, it simply keeps living at its own pace.
Located in Eryuan County, in the Dali Prefecture of Yunnan, the ancient town of Fengyu is a nationally designated historical and cultural city. It’s nicknamed the “land of scholars and ink”—during the Qing Dynasty, the Fengxiang Academy produced four *jinshi* and eleven *juren* in the imperial examinations. The Bai families made studying and farming a true legacy. Even on market days, you’ll find stalls of calligraphy and paintings, while lintels and screen walls are covered with family mottos.
Fengyu was also an important stop on the ancient Tea Horse Road. It preserves the second-largest Bai architectural complex in China, just after Xizhou. The famous traveler Xu Xiake spent seven days here and compared it to the “peach blossom paradise.”
I’m inviting you on a stroll through my drawings—a completely subjective, far from exhaustive, and totally personal take, since it’s based on my own sketches. I put this travel journal together after returning in late 2024, mostly using felt-tip pens and pencils, with a few collages thrown in. I worked from our personal photos.
Let’s start with the shotengai...
Our first "wow" moment came as we stepped out of the subway in Asakusa, the Tokyo neighborhood where we’d booked our hotel for our first five nights. Exhausted after our long flight, we finally arrived and took an exit that led straight into a shotengai—one of those covered shopping streets that pop up in city centers and flourished between the 1950s and 1980s.
It was an instant aesthetic shock, like a close encounter of the third kind between the modern city, a typical Asian market with its street stalls, the vintage vibe of the arcade, the sheer abundance of goods, and the bustling crowd—a mix of tourists, pilgrims (thanks to nearby Senso-ji Temple), and locals (it’s a very working-class area).
In the end, it set the tone for a feeling we’d experience throughout the trip. Wherever we went, shotengai turned out to be fantastic spots for finding little restaurants, shops, or even fresh produce. Some are like real mazes, like in Kyoto, where we spent ages trying to relocate a restaurant we’d loved ;-)
In Kanazawa, the Omicho Market:
And in Kyoto, Nishiki Market:
Preamble:
Africa was calling to me, so a year ago, with our usual travel companions, we decided to return to the continent we love so much.
Where to go?
Uganda quickly caught our attention—wildlife we’re used to seeing, plus gorillas and the shoebill we missed in Zambia.
We got in touch with Paul, who’s been mentioned several times on the forum back in September, booked our flight tickets, secured the gorilla permits, and by early October, the most important things were done.
We still had plenty of time to hold our "prep meetings" for the final itinerary.
Three days before departure, I sprained my ankle (my weak spot, as you’ll recall from our Colombia trip).
I wasn’t in great spirits, but after a year of waiting, nothing was going to stop me.
We’d see how it goes!
Off we went for our new adventures
If you're looking for great tips and offbeat spots, if you love exploring uncharted parts of a country, if the exotic is your adrenaline, then move along!
Our 15 days in early May in this part of Turkey (a country I first discovered during a city trip to Istanbul in 2017) will only tread well-worn paths and revisit popular routes. Simply because I kept hoping until the very end that our flight to Jordan wouldn’t be canceled. Events in the Gulf proved me wrong, so we left with:
Zero preparation.
Not a single hotel booked (well, except the first one), no visits planned, just a flight ticket bought three weeks earlier. No guidebook, no app—just the desire to explore southern Turkey and Cappadocia, whose images and the chance to stretch our legs had caught my eye.
Oh, wait—I did bring along a new guide: Gemini! Yes, my friends, generative AI was my chief advisor throughout the trip for sites to visit, accommodations, routes, and even restaurants! An experiment I wanted to try to form my own opinion on using this new technology. And what better way to test it than a Turkish getaway?
The verdict? You’ll have to wait for the trip recap to find out!
The main idea of the trip is also relaxation.
So, the plan is Antalya for a few days, the Turkish Riviera for a few more, Cappadocia as the highlight, and a return via Antalya to wrap up the trip. And it was all planned by AI!
So, if you're ready, fasten your seatbelts—cabin crew, doors to automatic and cross check—boarding for Turkey now!
It often happens that we're asked what to visit in Belgium.
And the answers usually point to Bruges, Ghent, Antwerp, and Brussels—and rightly so, as these cities are well worth visiting ;).
However, Belgium, though small, isn’t just limited to these four cities.
I live in one of them (Brussels), enjoy spending time in the other three, but I’d like to highlight some lesser-known spots that could add to the trip for those who want to see a bit more or something different.
Between trips, I like exploring one or two corners of the country where I live.
Hence the idea for a travel journal of walks.
Most of the places I’ll talk about can be visited as a day trip from Brussels, whether by public transport or car.
In chronological order of the topics covered:
- The Gileppe Dam (Liège province) - message 2, page 1
- The Domaine de La Hulpe (Walloon Brabant) - message 3, page 1
- Mechelen (Antwerp province) - message 4, page 1
- The coast - message 5, page 1
- The Westhoek, from De Panne - message 6, page 1
- The Zwin, from Knokke - message 7, page 1
- Lier (between Mechelen and Antwerp) - message 8, page 1
- Mons (Hainaut) - message 9, page 1
- The Florenville region - message 12, page 1
- The East Cantons - message 13, page 1
- Dinant - message 18, page 1
- The Japanese garden in Hasselt - message 24, page 2
- Leuven - message 29, page 2
- Louvain-la-Neuve - message 32, page 2
- Ostend - message 42 (page 3) and message 166 (page 9)
- The floralies of Groot-Bijgaarden - message 43, page 3
- Halle Forest - message 44, page 3
- Pralines - message 54, page 3
- Charleroi - message 68, page 4
- Namur - message 92, page 5
- Le Bois du Cazier (Marcinelle) - message 95, page 5
- Couques and gosettes - message 96, page 5
- Liège - message 99, page 5
- Tournai - message 115, page 6
- Oudenaarde - message 121, page 7
- Meise Botanical Garden - message 124, page 7
- Tongeren - message 125, page 7
- Beersel Castle (Flemish Brabant) - message 126, page 7
- Brussels in lockdown (messages 150 and 154, page 8)
- Notre-Dame à la Rose Hospital in Lessines (messages 161 and 162, page 9)
- Westende (message 167, page 9)
I’ll keep updating this list as the journal progresses...