The Bridge
We only stayed in Mandalay for the day to see what there was to see. Around 11 PM, we got back in the car for another nighttime drive to Bagan, which shouldn’t take more than 5-6 hours if we don’t break down (I’m hopeful). That’d get us there nice and early. Just enough time to drop our bags at a guesthouse, freshen up, and we’d be at the pagodas first thing—perfect morning light for great photos. By then, we’d be on our second night in a row without sleeping in a bed, and after rushing through Mandalay and its surroundings, we’re exhausted. The "room" setup was the same as always: one girl (the same one) up front, two girls on the back benches, and the two guys and the fourth girl on the floor between them. Despite the discomfort—thanks to the road conditions—we fell asleep easily.
The engine noise and bumps stopping woke me up: we weren’t moving. I stayed still, waiting to see what happened next. Straining my ears, I heard Sonny talking to unfamiliar voices. I sat up and looked: the cops. Their conversation dragged on, which wasn’t a good sign. I got out, head spinning, to find out what was going on. Before I even spoke, I caught a glimpse of the problem: we had a bridge to cross, but its access was blocked by a barrier the officers seemed to be guarding. Annoying, because in the police (like in the military), they never assign this kind of job to the brightest. Sonny told me the barrier wouldn’t open until 6 AM. I checked my watch: it was 1 AM... I tried striking up a conversation with the one who seemed to be in charge, but his response was to ask for my passport. Could he read anything other than Burmese? I doubted it. Meanwhile, my passengers had woken up and were all visible. I expected him to ask what a group of six tourists was doing out this late in a vehicle that wasn’t even officially authorized for this—he probably already guessed the answer, and it spelled trouble for us, especially Sonny and me.
But no, he handed my passport back. Okay...
Still, we were stuck there, and that wasn’t good for me—first, because he wasn’t saying anything about us waiting five hours in the middle of nowhere with sketchy company, and second, because it’d make us arrive in Bagan much later, at the worst time of day. And there were other photographers in the group.
Conclusion: I had to try psychology, my way...
I went to the car and quietly took a pack of cigarettes from my bag, opening it and emptying three-quarters of its contents. It was the brand with the cowboy—one pack costs a Burmese the equivalent of about four days’ salary at the official exchange rate.
In front of everyone, I offered a cigarette to Sonny, the driver, and each of my passengers.
"No, thanks, I don’t smoke," the first one declined.
"Yes, today you’re all smoking! Take one, light it, and look relaxed."
But since I’d made sure there were only five cigarettes left in the pack, there weren’t enough.
"Oh darn, I’m out," I said, faking disappointment as I showed the empty pack to everyone—including the cops, who were watching the whole scene. But since "they were on duty," I hadn’t offered them any...
I went back to my bag, took it out of the car, and reached in, pulling out—oops—two packs by accident. One was extra, so I offered it to Sonny like I was being generous rather than bothering to put the pack back. I finished handing them out to the passengers who hadn’t gotten one yet. I watched, amused, as they pretended to smoke—it was funny.
Then I gestured to the driver.
"You want a pack too?"
Of course he did—he’d smoke it or sell it. I reached into my bag again, this time pulling out the whole carton in full view of everyone, took one pack out, and gave it to him.
We kept smoking casually, chatting among ourselves and showing no impatience. The cops watched. After a while, I gestured:
"Want one?"
The chief said yes, and the others followed. I handed them out, saying,
"I really like this brand—do you?"
Sonny translated; the answer was positive.
"I got them for a good price at Bangkok Airport. They’re expensive here, right?" (I was being diabolical...)
The answer was *very* positive this time.
Then I looked at the lowered barrier, clearly annoyed, then at the carton of cigarettes, then at them.
"Want a pack?"
The question was unnecessary. I dug into my bag, found the second carton, and gave them two packs each.
The chief signaled to one of his guys, the barrier lifted, we got back in the car, and we were off.
After a first trip in 2009 (already!) where we basically did a circuit passing through Hazyview, a private reserve in Sabi Sands, Santa Lucia and iSimangaliso, Hluhluwe, and the South African part of Kgalagadi Transfrontier Park, then a quick stop in 2013 to go to Lesotho, we wanted to come back to this country.
Why not the Cape Town region this time, but there was no way we’d return to this part of the world without going on a safari. Mountain Zebra or the Karoo seem more about landscapes than animals, and Addo doesn’t excite me much either... So it’ll be Kruger.
Flight prices, schedules, and durations led us to a Paris-Cape Town trip, returning from Johannesburg to Paris with British Airways, so via Heathrow.
Now we just have to figure out how to fit in a lot of things without driving too many kilometers or changing accommodations every day, at least in the Cape Town region. Here’s what we ended up with:
Arrival in Cape Town on Saturday, October 10 at 11 AM
2 nights in Hermanus
1 night in Franschhoek
2 nights in Mountceder in the Cederberg
3 nights in Hout Bay
Sunday: transition day—flight to Johannesburg, drive toward Kruger, night in Lydenburg.
Kruger: 1 night in Letaba, 2 in Satara, 1 in Lower Sabie.
Last night in Mbombela (formerly Nelspruit) before heading back to the airport for an evening return flight.
Friday, October 9
Pretty stressful departure.
First, I woke up in the middle of the night, convinced I’d swapped my first and last names during check-in 🤪... Couldn’t fall back asleep, even though I knew British Airways wouldn’t answer before 9 AM.
Well, for them, everything was fine... but then they started talking about ETA... an ETA for England 😮? ?? Yes, it’s recent. Apparently, you don’t need one for an air-to-air transit... but you never know, it’s better to have it just in case. No one could clearly tell me it wasn’t necessary. In the end, we didn’t get it... and we didn’t need it.
But then, our flight ended up leaving Paris 45 minutes late (10 minutes due to a schedule change and 35 minutes of actual delay), so our 2-hour layover shrank to 1 hour and 15 minutes. That should be enough, right? The board showed our flight at Gate B: great, it’s right next door! But at Gate B, three employees were just there to tell everyone who showed up that security had to be done at Gate A... and off we went running through the corridors, endless escalators going up and down, a little shuttle ride, security at Gate A (“You’re going to be cutting it close!” Oh really? 😠), then pretty much the same route back to end up just a few dozen meters from our starting point! 😠
Boarding was already well underway, and after all that running, we were hot and thirsty, but phew! We made it onto the plane!
Saturday, October 10 On the other hand, nothing to complain about on this London-Cape Town flight—it arrived early!
I booked a (small) Suzuki S-Presso because it seemed to have a higher ground clearance than its competitors. Unfortunately, we ended up with a Tata Tiago (yes, it exists), which is lower (and also smaller and with an even more sluggish engine... yes, we were able to compare because in Johannesburg, we *did* get an S-Presso). Somehow, we managed to fit everything in the trunk (“Above all, don’t leave anything visible!”), and off we went to our first accommodation in Hermanus, under glorious sunshine.
Nikki welcomed us warmly, explained what there was to see in the area, and advised us to book a restaurant for that evening.
After dropping off our bags, we headed to the “cliff path,” just 3 minutes from our lodging. This part of the coast is famous for southern right whales from June to November. Let’s cut to the chase: there *are* whales, but they’re very far away and seem to be sleeping 😕. At best, we saw (photos taken at 600mm): A few ripples or a faint spout,

a bit of tail...

...or head.

Too bad—the owner of our next accommodation told us she’d seen around thirty whales up close here in early September.
Without whales, the dassies (or rock hyraxes) are everywhere... and fun to watch.
The other local star (when there are no whales 😏)

Why not the Cape Town region this time, but there was no way we’d return to this part of the world without going on a safari. Mountain Zebra or the Karoo seem more about landscapes than animals, and Addo doesn’t excite me much either... So it’ll be Kruger.
Flight prices, schedules, and durations led us to a Paris-Cape Town trip, returning from Johannesburg to Paris with British Airways, so via Heathrow.
Now we just have to figure out how to fit in a lot of things without driving too many kilometers or changing accommodations every day, at least in the Cape Town region. Here’s what we ended up with:
Arrival in Cape Town on Saturday, October 10 at 11 AM
2 nights in Hermanus
1 night in Franschhoek
2 nights in Mountceder in the Cederberg
3 nights in Hout Bay
Sunday: transition day—flight to Johannesburg, drive toward Kruger, night in Lydenburg.
Kruger: 1 night in Letaba, 2 in Satara, 1 in Lower Sabie.
Last night in Mbombela (formerly Nelspruit) before heading back to the airport for an evening return flight.
Friday, October 9
Pretty stressful departure.
First, I woke up in the middle of the night, convinced I’d swapped my first and last names during check-in 🤪... Couldn’t fall back asleep, even though I knew British Airways wouldn’t answer before 9 AM.
Well, for them, everything was fine... but then they started talking about ETA... an ETA for England 😮? ?? Yes, it’s recent. Apparently, you don’t need one for an air-to-air transit... but you never know, it’s better to have it just in case. No one could clearly tell me it wasn’t necessary. In the end, we didn’t get it... and we didn’t need it.
But then, our flight ended up leaving Paris 45 minutes late (10 minutes due to a schedule change and 35 minutes of actual delay), so our 2-hour layover shrank to 1 hour and 15 minutes. That should be enough, right? The board showed our flight at Gate B: great, it’s right next door! But at Gate B, three employees were just there to tell everyone who showed up that security had to be done at Gate A... and off we went running through the corridors, endless escalators going up and down, a little shuttle ride, security at Gate A (“You’re going to be cutting it close!” Oh really? 😠), then pretty much the same route back to end up just a few dozen meters from our starting point! 😠
Boarding was already well underway, and after all that running, we were hot and thirsty, but phew! We made it onto the plane!
Saturday, October 10 On the other hand, nothing to complain about on this London-Cape Town flight—it arrived early!
I booked a (small) Suzuki S-Presso because it seemed to have a higher ground clearance than its competitors. Unfortunately, we ended up with a Tata Tiago (yes, it exists), which is lower (and also smaller and with an even more sluggish engine... yes, we were able to compare because in Johannesburg, we *did* get an S-Presso). Somehow, we managed to fit everything in the trunk (“Above all, don’t leave anything visible!”), and off we went to our first accommodation in Hermanus, under glorious sunshine.
Nikki welcomed us warmly, explained what there was to see in the area, and advised us to book a restaurant for that evening.
After dropping off our bags, we headed to the “cliff path,” just 3 minutes from our lodging. This part of the coast is famous for southern right whales from June to November. Let’s cut to the chase: there *are* whales, but they’re very far away and seem to be sleeping 😕. At best, we saw (photos taken at 600mm): A few ripples or a faint spout,

a bit of tail...

...or head.

Too bad—the owner of our next accommodation told us she’d seen around thirty whales up close here in early September.
Without whales, the dassies (or rock hyraxes) are everywhere... and fun to watch.
The other local star (when there are no whales 😏)


I used the fabrics to make cushions.
Ultra-thin and flexible bowl, traditional technique: frame made of thin bamboo strips, woven horsehair covered with genuine lacquer (tree resin), decorated with gold leaf.
Traditional lacquered and carved wicker lunchbox used to carry meals. And a woven ball for the popular game called *takraw* in Thailand.







































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.




Why this country?
After visiting Hungary, Slovenia, Romania, and Poland in recent years, I’ve fallen in love with Eastern European countries. I adore the Slavic soul, its Austro-Hungarian villages, the gentle landscapes, the Carpathian Mountains, and that slightly mysterious atmosphere.
Slovakia evokes a certain imagination with its deep forests, medieval castles, and cobbled villages.
After seeing photos of the High Tatras—especially Lake Štrbské Pleso and Spiš Castle—I thought, "Let’s do it! We’re going!"
So, will Slovakia live up to what I imagine?
We’ll find out together.
We decided to travel as a group of six (five adults and a six-year-old child), by car (we needed two).
Here’s the day-by-day itinerary for this family trip, which started with a 3-day stay in Vienna (see the dedicated travel journal):














When it comes to the Caribbean island of Saint-Martin, it's customary to praise its coastline and dreamy beaches—and they certainly deserve it.
But in this story, I’d like to highlight other memories, aspects, and impressions for a slightly different change of scenery.
Enjoy the read—some text and, above all, lots of photos.
« Byenveni sou zile Sen Maten! » (Welcome to the island of Saint-Martin)

























Come along, I'm taking you to this country where it's so nice to wander and slow down...











Last October, we landed in Marrakech to spend a few days with family exploring Morocco’s roads.
Transport: a rented Dacia.
Accommodations: small guesthouses.