Hazaribagh
I’ve got a meet-up with Adam Iman, a guide and painter. He picks me up from the hotel at 10 AM. Another traveler from Bangalore is supposed to join us, but while we wait for him to arrive, Adam takes me to see the paintings his mother and sister created at Hazaribagh station.
The town became famous thanks to these murals, which can also be found in several surrounding villages. This art form has earned recognition and is now protected, a sign of its cultural importance.
Once the visit is over, we go to pick up the other traveler and then head to our first village: Belwara, where Sohrai art is practiced. At the entrance, a sign proudly announces that we’re entering an artists’ village, where this art is created by women organized into micro-enterprises. Some even offer workshops for those who’d like to learn this tradition.
Sohrai art is tied to the harvest season, from October to mid-November. The motifs, in natural colors, celebrate fertility and abundance. The artists use pigments from the earth: red oxides, ochre, white kaolin, and black manganese. On the walls, you’ll see animals, fish, birds—all symbols of life and prosperity.
As I look closer at the murals, I start to realize that each motif tells a story. Large animals like cows or bulls often take center stage. Their bodies are filled with intricate, almost hypnotic patterns. They symbolize wealth and prosperity for the household, as well as the deep respect for cattle, which are essential to daily life. On some facades, elephants stand out—massive and decorated with the same precision. They evoke quiet strength and protection.
But it’s when I stop in front of one of the houses that I really take the time to look. The wall, a soft ochre, is entirely covered in murals. Two large animals stretch out on either side of the door, their elongated bodies fitting the length of the wall. Their silhouettes are filled with geometric patterns and incredibly fine curved lines, as if every space was patiently filled. Around them, stylized plants, flowers, and small decorative elements fill every gap. The door, dark and worn, becomes almost the silent center of the composition, framed by these living, protective forms. To the right, a more colorful motif catches the eye—a flower or a stylized lamp—like a touch of light on the earth. The whole thing gives an impression of perfect balance, between the rigor of the patterns and the freedom of the gesture.
Elsewhere, birds and freer forms bring movement. Peacocks, recognizable by their stylized silhouettes, embody beauty and vitality, while fish symbolize water, fertility, and the continuity of life.
On some paintings, the scenes become almost narrative: you can make out figures, everyday gestures, like a memory of the village inscribed in the walls. The decorative frames around the doors aren’t left to chance either—they symbolically protect the house, like a boundary between the inside and the outside world.
During the Sohrai festival, cattle are led into the jungle in the morning. Meanwhile, the women finish the *aripans*—these floor paintings—and continue the wall murals. Around noon, the animals return to the village, and the bulls’ horns are anointed with oil and vermilion in a gesture of gratitude, amid the vibrant colors adorning the houses.
We visit several artists, including Parvat Devi, a well-known woman who has received many awards. Her arms are adorned with intriguing tattoos, which I’ll talk about in more detail later.
On another wall, the style changes completely. Here, no massive animals—just birds occupying the space, light and graceful, as if caught in mid-movement. Two silhouettes face each other, their long necks arched almost like mirrors, while their outstretched wings seem to vibrate with the patterns that compose them.
The design is more graphic, almost airy. The lines are smoother, more fluid, as if drawn in one confident stroke. The birds’ bodies aren’t solid—they’re filled with repetitive motifs like scales, stylized feathers, and spirals, giving a sense of continuous movement. Around them, everything comes to life: flowers burst open, arabesques swirl, and even the simplest shapes seem alive.
What strikes me here is the sense of lightness. Where the large animals evoked stability and grounding, these birds bring something freer, almost joyful. They seem to embody movement, the circulation of life, like a breath flowing through the village.
The colors remain the same—deep reds, intense blacks, and chalky white—but the rhythm is different. Faster, more spontaneous. As if each wall had its own personality, while still speaking the same language.
That’s probably why I’m so moved. I’d heard about these paintings from my friend Raja, and last year, I saw an exhibition in a village near my home. That first encounter made me want to come here. But seeing them in person is a whole different experience.
These paintings are unique. This ancient art is passed down from mother to daughter, or mother-in-law to daughter-in-law, in a quiet, deeply living continuity. At first glance, it might seem almost childlike in its simplicity and pared-down forms. And yet, everything is thought out, balanced, mastered. Nothing is left to chance.
That apparent simplicity, combined with such rich symbolism, touches me deeply. There’s something sincere and essential in these walls—and that’s what moves me.
Qui a l'habitude de voyager sait qu'il vient toujours un moment où il faut partir...
Paulo Coelho
We're returning to Hazaribagh, and Adam takes us to his home. No sooner have we arrived than we're greeted by about twenty women who, with warm smiles, immediately start dancing to welcome us.
Even before entering, my eyes are drawn to the outer buildings of the house. Their walls are entirely covered in Sohrai paintings. On the facades, stylized animals—buffaloes, birds, felines—stand alongside human silhouettes and plant motifs. The shapes are both simple and powerful, the natural colors—ochres, blacks, and whites—giving the whole a striking harmony. These paintings seem to tell the story of life, nature, and beliefs in an ancestral language.
In another open room, the walls are also decorated, but with more geometric and floral patterns. The space, with its earthen benches and central hearth, exudes an atmosphere that’s both understated and deeply artistic. Even everyday places here become canvases for expression.
They spent the whole morning preparing a real feast of Jharkhand specialties. A large buffet is set up with a multitude of dishes in different colors and flavors. We’re invited to taste everything, and each discovery is a delightful surprise.
After this first tasting, Adam shows us the family museum adjoining the house. We enter a huge room, almost surprising in its size. The walls are covered with paintings and documents, and the space is filled with objects, souvenirs, and testimonies. We discover the legacy of his grandfather, who discovered the region’s rock caves, as well as that of his father, who dedicated his life to preserving this art. This place tells more than just a family story: it embodies a deep commitment to passing on and safeguarding a fragile heritage.
Then the meal continues with lunch. The women proudly present the large pots in which they cooked, and once again, we’re invited to taste everything. The dishes are numerous, flavorful, and incredibly generous. It’s a real treat, even if it becomes hard to do justice to all these preparations.
While we eat, the cooks sit a little apart to have their own meal, in a simple and peaceful atmosphere.
After this almost gargantuan meal, it’s time to discover their paintings. They show us their works, all magnificent, with their traditional motifs and great artistic richness. Most, however, are very large, making them difficult to transport and frame once back in France.
Before we leave, the women start dancing again. This time, I join them. The moment is joyful, spontaneous, and full of emotion. I wish this moment of sharing could have lasted much longer.
On the way back to the hotel, I then explore the neighborhood, still carried by this encounter and the beauty of these paintings that seem to extend life onto the walls.
Qui a l'habitude de voyager sait qu'il vient toujours un moment où il faut partir...
Paulo Coelho
Thanks for this beautiful account, these images, these words—I’ll come back to look at them and read them again, more slowly. Those women, those murals, this invitation to travel, to meet, to share...!!! It makes me want to be there too, to soak it all in, and it reminds me of the mural paintings created by the women of Oualata in Mauritania.
I’ve decided to stop flying, but it’s hard to resist the longing you’ve inspired!
(I’ve decided to stop flying, but it’s hard to resist the urge you inspire)
Hi Christine,
I hope this travel journal gives you the urge to go back and visit this area.
I don’t know if you read the first part, but I passed through two villages earlier—Amtoudi and Chirudih.
Thanks for following along!
Qui a l'habitude de voyager sait qu'il vient toujours un moment où il faut partir...
Paulo Coelho
Hi Marie Jo,
who knows, I might return to India one day.
I spent 4 months volunteering in JAIPUR, JAISALMER, and traveled as far as Rishikesh and Manali.
It’s true, you’re making me want to go back.
You mentioned the village of Amtoudi—I know one in MOROCCO!
I’ll keep reading your posts.
Have a lovely day,
Christine
Thursday, April 2
Today, we set off to discover Khovar art, a monochrome art form deeply rooted in ancient traditions. These paintings are closely linked to the rock art of the Isko and Satpahar ranges and symbolize fertility, prosperity, and divine blessings.
Khovar marks the start of the wedding season, which runs from January until the monsoon arrives in June. The word itself is evocative: “kho” locally means chamber or cave, and “var” refers to a married couple. These paintings once adorned nuptial chambers.
Historical sources on the origin of Khovar are scarce, but historians draw a strong connection to the rock art of the Hazaribagh region, particularly at the Isko and Satpahar sites in the New Karanpura valley. Discovered in the 1990s, these rock shelters contain paintings dating back to the Mesochalcolithic period (around 7000 to 4000 BCE). The similarities between the motifs—geometric shapes, animal figures—and today’s murals reveal a striking continuity. These shelters, also called *khovar*, are considered ancient bridal chambers.
The technique used is fascinating. A manganese-rich clay, almost black, is first applied to a prepared wall. Once dry, a layer of lighter clay—white kaolin (*charak maati*), cream-colored earth (*dhudhi maati*), or yellow ochre (*pila maati*)—is spread on top. While this layer is still wet, women scratch it with combs or their fingers to reveal the designs. Though this technique also exists in Sohrai art, Khovar stands out for its more limited palette and themes: forests, abstract shapes, local wildlife, and geometric patterns. Among the Kurmi, you’ll also find representations of female animals carrying their young and scenes of confrontation between humans and animals.
But this art is now under threat. With traditional mud houses gradually being replaced by cement, the very medium of Khovar is disappearing. Communities also face pressure from large industrial projects. To preserve this heritage, some artists are adapting their techniques to paper and canvas. In 2019, Khovar and Sohrai paintings received the Geographical Indication label from the Indian government, an important recognition.
Along the way, we pass a massive coal mining operation. As far as the eye can see, installations transport the black material to a gigantic enterprise. Mountains of coal rise before us—a striking sight that leaves little doubt about the country’s energy future.
We continue toward the Isko caves. The site is surrounded by sal forests, and at the entrance, women are drying mahua flowers on the rocks. They’ll be used to make alcohol sold in markets, as well as for cooking and cosmetics.
The Isko site, identified in the 1980s, only really caught researchers’ attention in the 1990s. Jesuit priest Tony Herbert was one of the first to highlight its importance, followed by studies from the Archaeological Survey of India. In 1991, ecologist Bulu Imam, Adam’s grandfather, helped bring these shelters to a wider audience.
Analyses reveal several phases of human occupation. The oldest paintings, attributed to the Mesolithic period (8000–4000 BCE), depict simple geometric shapes and animals, reflecting the lifestyle of hunter-gatherers. Discoveries of stone and copper tools confirm continuous human presence. Yet the site isn’t protected, and the paintings are slowly fading away.
We then head to a village with painted houses before returning to Malo Devi’s home for lunch. I notice her tattooed arms again, covered in symbols. Some motifs immediately remind me of those I saw in the caves. The connection strikes me.
Adam explains their meaning. In the Isko rocks, these motifs—zigzags, circles, triangles, solar shapes—aren’t just decorative. They reflect an understanding of the world based on the elements: water, earth, fire, and ether. It’s a true visual cosmology, a way of mapping life, fertility, and the balance of the world.
What’s remarkable here is the continuity of this language. You find it in Sohrai and Khovar paintings, passed down from mother to daughter. This memory isn’t written—it’s transmitted through gesture and repetition.
It’s also inscribed on the body. *Godna*, the art of tattooing, repeats these same motifs. The body becomes a living memory. These tattoos mark important life stages, like puberty or marriage. They accompany the individual into the afterlife, according to some beliefs.
So, from rocks to walls to skin, the same vocabulary endures. Women are its guardians, artists, and keepers of this tradition.
As we leave the school, children come running toward us in cheerful excitement.
Malo Devi’s granddaughter plays with her brother, pushing him in a wheelbarrow. Her smile contrasts with a certain gravity in her gaze. She’s already learning to paint from her grandmother.
Lunch, made up of local specialties, is delicious. Some dishes remind me of yesterday’s meal.
Before leaving, Adam asks them to sign their drawings to guarantee authenticity. They don’t know how to read or write; instead, each presses her fingerprint onto the paper as a silent but deeply personal signature. The gesture is simple, almost solemn, and repeated on every piece. Adam makes sure all the women we meet today leave their mark—a tangible trace of their work and identity.
Qui a l'habitude de voyager sait qu'il vient toujours un moment où il faut partir...
Paulo Coelho
Before leaving, Malo Devi and her daughter-in-law give us a demonstration. On a wall, they wet the surface, apply a fresh layer of clay, then, without waiting for it to dry, start drawing with a comb. They work side by side, without consulting each other, yet the pattern takes shape with natural harmony. Little by little, a peacock appears: head, body, tail. Their movements cross without ever getting in each other’s way. Malo draws a second one, with astonishing precision. I realize once again how lucky I am to witness these moments.
We then visit another village.
An artist shows us her works on paper; I pick one that’s easy to slip into my bag.
Another woman presents her embroideries, featuring the same motifs.
Back in Hazaribagh, I stroll through the hotel neighborhood. The cooks at the dhabas are already busy: parathas, samosas, pakoras… everything looks delicious, but it’s still too early to give in to temptation. I’ll come back tomorrow morning to buy some puris for my breakfast.
Qui a l'habitude de voyager sait qu'il vient toujours un moment où il faut partir...
Paulo Coelho
Friday, April 3 and Saturday, April 4
As we visit and listen to the explanations, the patterns painted on the walls are no longer just decorations. They tell a story, a world of beliefs where every shape has meaning, where every line extends an ancient memory.
At first, I catch myself looking at these circles and spirals differently—what I had found so decorative. Adam explains that they’re among the first figures drawn by humans. The spiral, in particular, carries strong symbolism: it evokes the movement of life, its eternal renewal, evolution, and procreation. The concentric circles, meanwhile, form something like a labyrinth, depicting the journey of the fetus from conception to birth.
Little by little, the walls become a language. The betel leaf, often paired with lotus stems and flowers, creates a powerful erotic metaphor. In the bridal chambers, its roots stretch out, discreet but present, like a reminder of the link between union and fertility.
Birds appear everywhere, painted with a freedom and variety that reflect the richness of the surrounding nature. They symbolize love, but so much more. A legend tells that the first man and woman were born from two bird eggs laid on grass planted by a god. Listening to this story, I realize the bird isn’t just a motif: it’s tied to the very birth of humanity, just as the tortoise is to the birth of the earth.
The peacock, in particular, stands out brilliantly. A symbol of fertility, it’s omnipresent. I’m told its eggs are said to contain reptiles, proof of its mysterious power. In spring, before the monsoon, when villagers repair their mud houses, women paint peacocks to call for good harvests. The same bird also appears during funeral ceremonies, reminding us of the special link between the dead and the fertility of the fields.
The lotus, which I recognize immediately, belongs to the sacred realm. In the Adivasi imagination, it embodies the feminine principle, the cradle of creation. Some even say the world was created from a lotus leaf. Everywhere on the walls, its presence responds to that of bamboo, its masculine counterpart, in a silent balance.
Some motifs, however, remain surprisingly pragmatic. The fish, always depicted vertically, as if standing on its tail, often appears near doors or hearths, sometimes accompanied by a kitchen ladle. Bulu Imam, Adam’s grandfather, found that it wasn’t painted for any particular symbolism but simply for its nutritional value—a familiar, almost everyday presence.
Other figures, though, clearly belong to the sacred and protective. The tiger, powerful and silent, is a guardian deity of the village. The elephant, which we instinctively associate with Ganesh, carries a different story here. Adam tells me about Queen Rani, who rode an elephant from Badam Fort to the Isko River to bathe and drowned there. Since then, she’s often depicted riding her mount, as if the memory of that tragedy still lives on the walls.
I also notice zebus and cattle, already present in rock paintings but then depicted as wild. Today, they’re domesticated and celebrated during the Sohrai festival, at harvest time, as a tribute to fertility and abundance.
Finally, the horse appears, often ridden by a male figure. Alongside the bull, it embodies vital energy, strength, and the prosperity of the home. It’s linked to Pashupati, the lord of animals, and symbolizes the sacred union of spouses.
Taking the time to listen and observe, I realize these paintings aren’t just beautiful. They’re alive. They speak of birth, desire, death, protection, and cycles. In their own way, they tell everything that connects humans to the earth and to time.
Qui a l'habitude de voyager sait qu'il vient toujours un moment où il faut partir...
Paulo Coelho
We’ll visit eight villages over the course of the day. From the very first stop, I realize each place has its own identity, its own way of telling the world’s story.
This first village specializes in Sohrai art. The wall panels immediately catch the eye: symmetrical, curvilinear patterns painted in white on a deep red ochre background. These abstract shapes, elegant and refined, evoke stylized lotus flowers or intertwined lifelines. Behind their graphic beauty, they carry a strong meaning: protection of the home, prosperity, and fertility of the household. In front of one of these murals, a woman artist stands, discreet but proud, like a guardian of this knowledge passed down from generation to generation.
A little further on, another wall pays homage to wildlife and livestock. You can make out a large bird, perhaps a crane or a peacock, with rounded shapes, its body filled with dotted patterns, and beside it, a mammal resembling a feline. The bird, a central motif in Sohrai art, is depicted here with great simplicity: a black heart on its side, sturdy legs. It symbolizes both the connection to the natural world, freedom, and abundance. It’s said to be a messenger of rain, bringing good harvests to come.
Stepping back a bit, the entire house appears as a work of art. A continuous frieze runs along the walls, alternating stylized animals—cows, bulls, guard dogs—and floral and geometric patterns. It’s a true open-air art gallery, alive and inhabited.
Then, as we move from village to village, I discover another universe: Santhal art. The contrast is striking. Here, colors dominate, shapes multiply, and scenes tell stories. Where Khovar is monochrome and nuptial, where Sohrai celebrates the earth and harvests, Santhal art is narrative, exuberant, and deeply rooted in daily life.
The walls become stories: scenes of dance, hunting, representations of the clan and nature. Some images particularly stand out, like these symbolic unions between fish and birds, or these animal couples sharing the same head. Strange and fascinating images that reflect a cosmic harmony, a worldview where everything is connected.
Santhal art goes beyond the walls of houses: it also extends to painted scrolls that recount myths, the afterlife, and festivals. Here, painting isn’t just decorative—it’s memory, transmission, and speech.
Themes repeat, but always with infinite variations. Union and fertility appear through entwined human or animal couples, symbols of the clan’s continuity. The forest, ever-present, unfolds into trees, birds, and fish, embodying ancestral wisdom and respect for natural forces.
I linger over certain motifs.
Long flowering vines—the lata—snake across the walls. Large stylized flowers, close to the lotus or hibiscus, bloom there, connected by continuous waves. The vine symbolizes the continuity of life, growth, and the bonds between generations. The flowers, meanwhile, evoke joy, purity, and welcome.
Further on, inverted motifs and repeated semicircles create a sort of visual barrier, almost protective. The downward-pointing tips evoke the earth and feminine fertility, while the undulations recall the movement of water. At the center, the outdoor kitchen—the chulha—fits naturally into the composition. Here, art doesn’t separate from life: it frames daily gestures and essential activities.
Another motif catches my attention: a textured cross shape with four branches, evoking a wheel. They tell me it’s the chakra, the wheel of time and seasons. It symbolizes the eternal cycle of nature—sowing, harvests, monsoons—while above, wavy lines represent the sacred rivers, essential to life.
Finally, some newer elements appear, signs of a subtle but real evolution. The art continues to live and adapt without ever breaking from its roots.
As we move from village to village, I realize these walls tell much more than artistic traditions. They speak of the deep connection between the inhabitants, nature, the seasons, and their ancestors. They turn every house into a story, every facade into a living memory.
We take narrow paths to reach these villages lost in the middle of sal and blooming palash forests. The journey itself is already an immersion. The light filters through the foliage, and little by little, I understand that these trees aren’t just scenery—they’re an essential presence.
For Adivasi communities, the tree is much more than a landscape element: it’s an ancestor, a provider of life, a sacred symbol. The sal tree, in particular, holds a special place. It’s the most sacred tree. While the mahua nourishes the body and the palash awakens the senses, the sal shelters the spirit. It embodies spirituality, cultural identity, and the tribe’s endurance. It’s said to symbolize moral uprightness, resilience, and the strength of the soul.
Beside it, the mahua and palash trees rhythm daily, ritual, and artistic life. Mahua flowers, carefully gathered and dried in inner courtyards, are a symbol of abundance and resilience. They evoke nature’s generosity and the tribe’s ability to live in harmony with it, despite hardships.
The palash, meanwhile, doesn’t go unnoticed. Its orange-red color literally sets the forest ablaze this season. It’s called the flame of the forest. The official flower of Jharkhand, it heralds spring, renewal, and the triumph of life over death. Where the mahua evokes grounding and protection of the home, the palash brings light, passion, and a joyful energy that permeates all of nature.
I think back to the paintings we’ve seen. When a Santhal woman paints her wall, nothing is left to chance: the mahua represents food, stability, and the memory of ancestors; the palash, meanwhile, infuses color, life, and the energy of natural cycles.
The landscape becomes hilly, and in the distance, the first houses appear. They’re remarkably clean, as are the surroundings. Here, closeness to nature isn’t just a concept—it’s lived daily, with a strong awareness of the need to respect it.
But I also notice a change. Since the first day, I’ve seen it from village to village: brick houses are gradually replacing earthen ones. And with them, the painted walls slowly disappear. Fewer surfaces to decorate, fewer visible traditions. An inevitable evolution, no doubt, but one that leaves a slight melancholy.
Qui a l'habitude de voyager sait qu'il vient toujours un moment où il faut partir...
Paulo Coelho
We’re stopping for lunch at a small restaurant—a simple break in the middle of this packed day—before hitting the road again toward other villages—villages even Adam hasn’t visited yet. I love that idea: moving toward the unknown, even for him.
As soon as we arrive, I notice something different right away. The walls tell a different story. The friezes have changed. They don’t look like the ones we’ve seen so far.
I stop in front of a first house, bathed in soft light. The wall, a warm ochre, is structured by wide painted bands that frame the facade carefully. Inside these bands, stylized flowers bloom, simple but expressive, with rounded, regular petals. The colors remain harmonious, without excess, as if each shade had been applied with restraint.
At the center, an old wooden door draws the eye. It’s slightly worn, marked by time, and contrasts with the freshness of the paintings around it. All around, the patterns seem to form a symbolic protection, a kind of sacred threshold between inside and outside. The whole thing gives off an impression of instinctive balance, almost silent.
A little further on, another house has a very different presence. Here, the colors are bolder, more assertive. The wall is animated by a continuous frieze made up of successive panels. Each section is distinct, like a series of small juxtaposed paintings.
You can see floral motifs, but also more pronounced geometric shapes, sometimes repetitive, creating a visual rhythm that’s almost musical. The shades—blues, greens, pinks—seem to interact with a certain boldness.
At the foot of the wall, everyday life is right there: a few objects placed directly on the ground, utensils, and especially that scooter leaning against the facade, which anchors the scene in the present. This contrast between the mural art and modern objects gives the whole thing a very lively, almost familiar dimension.
Further on, I discover a facade that intrigues me even more. The motifs here are more enigmatic, less immediately readable. They repeat with precision: structured geometric shapes, sometimes inverted, creating an almost hypnotic effect.
The lines are sharp, the contours bold. You can sense a compositional intent, a precise organization of space. These symbols seem to follow their own logic, perhaps tied to a particular tradition or a more personal interpretation.
Unlike the more spontaneous flowers on the other houses, everything here seems more codified, almost abstract. This gives the facade a different presence, more mysterious, as if it carried a language I don’t yet understand.
What strikes me as I move from house to house is this diversity within such a close territory. From one wall to the next, the styles change, the colors vary, the intentions shift. Each facade becomes a unique expression, a personal way of telling the world’s story.
I keep observing, paying attention to these details that gradually come together. Behind these new friezes, I sense influences, evolutions, maybe even a desire to experiment. And yet, despite these changes, something remains: that deep need to decorate, to protect, to tell stories.
These walls, once again, speak. And I understand they’ll never stop doing so, as long as someone takes the time to look at them.
We stop by Devi’s place again. In one room, several women are sitting on the floor, gathered in a circle, focused on their work. In front of them, large sheets of drawing paper gradually come to life with familiar shapes: animals take form under their precise movements. The lines are confident, fluid, as if each movement were guided by an ancient memory.
I linger to watch them. There’s no staging, no effort to explain—just the calm of the work, the repetition of gestures, and that silent transmission passing from one to another. Time seems suspended. We stay there a long moment, almost without speaking, simply watching these figures come to life, continuing, in their own way, the paintings on the walls.
Then it’s time to leave.
My stay in Hazaribagh ends after this packed day, filled with colors, encounters, and discoveries. An unforgettable day, one I don’t even try to hold onto entirely—I already know it’ll stay with me, intact, like a gentle imprint I now carry in my heart.
Qui a l'habitude de voyager sait qu'il vient toujours un moment où il faut partir...
Paulo Coelho
Thank you, Marie Jo, for this poetic, colorful, fragrant, joyful journey to the heart of these villages
where it seems paradise has settled—at least through your eyes, your emotions, and the smiles of these women and their warm welcome.
How could we not be marked for life?
These symbolic paintings and this cosmology remind me of the Dogon country...
Thanks, Christine, for your comments. You’re the only one who chimed in—this topic’s never been covered before, so I guess people only care about the basics on this forum these days. 🙂
Anyway, I’ll finish the travel journal; I’ll have some great memories from it. 😉
Qui a l'habitude de voyager sait qu'il vient toujours un moment où il faut partir...
Paulo Coelho
If you no longer go out to meet the world, the world will come to you.
If you ignore its hidden wonders, remote places, tucked-away corners, and preserved traditions, they’ll burst forth here in vibrant colors and a thousand astonishing details—thanks to an intrepid and tireless traveler, Indomaniaque, who always returns to the same place without ever taking the same journey twice.
From this vast country so dear to your heart, you bring back a piece of its lesser-known history each time: meticulously documented stories, anecdotes, snapshots of life that come alive through your keen eye as a delicate anthropologist, and images... small, colorful fragments that slot into the previous ones, waiting for the next.
Like the irregular pieces of a puzzle that doesn’t need to be finished to reveal the richness of its final design.
I started writing a long message yesterday to tell you how amazing your posts about the Hazaribagh region are—both the photos and your writing—but the message glitched right before sending, just as I was fixing typos!
I’ve been following your travels closely, as you can probably guess, though I don’t reply often. I’m already excited to see these wonders for myself soon. Thanks for exploring this still-undocumented state for us.
Your trip isn’t over yet, so I can’t wait for your next post...
To add to the previous message, it’s clear you were deeply moved by your stay in Hazaribagh and would’ve happily extended your trip.
Seeing those tribal houses in person—what a joy! What an emotion! I’ve admired two or three at the Bhopal museum, never imagining I’d get to wander among dozens in villages like you did. Maybe it was a completely different region of India because I think there are painted houses in many tribal areas.
In Bhopal, women from various regions come back every two or three years to the Tribal Museum (it’s a gem, but you know that...) to repaint or redo the roofing, covering the walls with "cow dung." Some were there during one of my visits. I admired their skill without realizing the stories behind the designs.
Hi Marie Jo,
The VF members have woken up, and we all unanimously agree—your travel journal is STUNNING and takes us far from the ordinary, even if, in their own way, these worlds are extraordinary.
Thank you for being the messenger of so much beauty and warmth...
Hello Marie Jo,
the VF members have woken up, and we’re all unanimous—
your travel journal is STUNNING and takes us far from the ordinary, even though, in their own way, these worlds are anything but ordinary.
Thank you for being the messenger of so much warmth.
I’m sending a group message to thank you, Kola, Calaf, Chris70, and Partirester.
I feel less alone😎
This place is so extraordinary and fascinating that I thought it was a shame—and sad—that no one seemed interested. Given how much time I spend devoted to it, it wasn’t exactly encouraging. Now I’m reassured—I can keep describing my discoveries.
Qui a l'habitude de voyager sait qu'il vient toujours un moment où il faut partir...
Paulo Coelho
Thanks, Marie Jo!
Yes, keep making us dream...
Especially since these women, whom you speak of so movingly, represent just a tiny part of what seems to bring them such unique serenity. You’ve really shone a light on them here—thank you so much!
Sunday, April 5
The night was exhausting. Like the night before, construction work started around 9 PM, but this time it went on all night. Impossible to get any sleep. The noise was infernal: circular saws, dull thuds... a continuous chaos. This time, I wasn’t going to let it slide. I needed to sleep.
The reception was deserted, but I’d spotted where the receptionist was staying. I went and knocked loudly on his door. He assured me, in a not very convincing tone, that it would only last another half hour. Skeptical, I went back to my room. But the noise only got worse. I went back down. This time, he seemed to take the situation more seriously and made a call—probably to the hotel owner, who arrived quickly. He explained that the work was happening on the floor below and that he wasn’t responsible for it.
Two hours later, the racket was still going. At the end of my rope, I went back to see them: I wanted a solution. Finally, they agreed to intervene and asked for the work to stop. Silence returned at last. I went back to my room and could finally fall asleep.
At 6 AM, I left the hotel. Shashi, the driver, was already there to take me to the bus. He’s an excellent driver, both discreet and attentive. He’d been curiously interested in all the visits from the previous days. With Adam, they made a great team—complicit and efficient. While Adam explained the paintings and chatted with the women artists, Shashi took care of photographing and filming our visits. I really had a wonderful stay with them, and I hope to inspire other travelers to meet them.
The day was dedicated to the trip to Santiniketan. Several buses were needed: a first change in Asansol, then in Durgapur, before arriving in Bolpur. From there, I took an auto-rickshaw to the homestay, located near the university.
When I arrived, the owner seemed surprised: my reservation, made several months earlier, had been forgotten. Despite that, the welcome was warm. The room was simple but pleasant. I even had an entire floor to myself: a kitchen with a hot plate, a fridge, dishes, a living room, and a dining area. The house was very clean, comfortable, and at a very reasonable price.
Monday, April 6
Breakfast was included. The lady of the house brought me oil-soaked toast with an omelet. I couldn’t eat that. Seeing my hesitation, she kindly agreed to prepare a hard-boiled egg with toast, which was much more suited to my habits. Tea and coffee sachets were available, as well as filtered water.
The house offered bikes for rent, and I rented one for the day. Before leaving, I had to test it in the driveway, then watch a very thorough demonstration of the lock. I even had to prove I understood how it worked before being allowed to leave.
I rode along the university campus and passed by the Brahmamandir, an elegant and peaceful building.
A little further on, another circular building caught my eye: a coconut tree grew in its center, piercing through the roof—a surprising and poetic sight.
I continued on this road for about three kilometers to reach the Sonajhuri haat. The vendors were just setting up. Activity was still calm, but I knew it would pick up in the late afternoon, and I planned to come back. The market stretched along the road, in the heart of a sal forest. They sold saris, bags, clothes, decorative items... and you could also watch songs and dances by the Baul tribe.
I carried on to Surul, on a quiet and pleasant road. I was pedaling peacefully when a motorcycle stopped beside me. A young couple called out to me curiously: where was I from, how old was I, where was I going... A few questions exchanged with smiles, then they thanked me warmly and left, clearly delighted by this brief encounter. It’s in these simple moments that I realize how unique this country can be.
The Rajbari was easy to find. The building was immense and majestic, built by the Sakar family, wealthy merchants.
For a few rupees, you could enter and discover the inner courtyard, the Thakur Dalan, where Durga Puja celebrations take place. The courtyard, surrounded by pillars and arches, was bathed in bluish tones that gave it a soft and elegant atmosphere.
Outside the Rajbari, there were two temples. The Lakshmi Janarshan temple, with its five spires, immediately caught the eye. Its terracotta ornaments depicted scenes from the Ramayana. It had recently been restored by Muslim artists from Murshidabad, a beautiful example of artistic collaboration beyond religious traditions.
Nearby were the Shiva temples of Jora.
Above the arch, a terracotta panel caught my eye. The sculpted scenes unfolded like a living story: musicians, dancers, divine figures... In the center, two birds faced each other, framing a floral motif, a symbol of harmony. In these intricate reliefs, mythology and everyday life blended together, as if the sacred and the human world were one.
Qui a l'habitude de voyager sait qu'il vient toujours un moment où il faut partir...
Paulo Coelho
(continued)
Then, as I ventured down a narrow alley, I discovered the temples of Pachim Para.
The Deul temple is particularly remarkable.
On one of the first panels, a central couple is surrounded by musicians and dancers in a lively scene that oscillates between mythological narrative and everyday life representation. The details are abundant, the gestures delicate, but the deities remain difficult to identify with certainty.
Further on, the walls are covered with more fragmented motifs: small figures, animals, faces, and floral ornaments follow one another like a meticulous patchwork. Each element seems to tell its own story, nestled within the architecture, bearing witness to patient craftsmanship and a remarkable sense of detail.
Other panels illustrate daily life and mythological figures.
A vertical frieze catches my attention: the mrityulata, the “vine of death.” It consists of a succession of human and animal figures, each seeming ready to attack the one below. This motif, repeated along the entire height of the temple, creates a simultaneously fascinating and unsettling impression.
Next to it is the Aatchala temple, recognizable by its three-arched entrance. The central panel is adorned with floral and geometric motifs, more understated but just as elegant.
I continue my visits and cycle to Supur.
Upon arriving, I discover the Hattala temples, peacefully nestled in this quiet village.
I then head to the Shiva Jora temples, located on the main street.
One of them, octagonal in shape, particularly catches my eye. Its eight facades are richly decorated: musicians, dancers, and soldiers unfold amidst floral and geometric designs. As is often the case here, every centimeter tells a story.
It’s time to head back. The market is about ten kilometers away.
Halfway there, a sharp noise suddenly rings out, like a firecracker: the rear tire has just burst. I’m forced to push the bike under the scorching heat. I walk like this for nearly a kilometer, asking for directions several times. Each time, I’m told to keep going straight.
I finally come across a small house. At first glance, there’s no one around, but a woman appears and calls someone. A man arrives and immediately gets to work.
The diagnosis is clear: the inner tube has a huge hole. He offers to replace it but eventually agrees to repair it. It already bears several “bandages,” evidence of previous fixes. While examining the tire, he discovers it’s also seriously torn.
I start to worry, but he remains perfectly calm. He cuts a large piece of inner tube and slips it inside the tire, then pulls out a large needle and thread and begins sewing the tire. I’d never seen anything like it.
The repair costs me 100 rupees. I set off again, torn between admiration and concern, hoping this makeshift fix will hold until I get back. The tire is in very bad shape, and another puncture is still possible.
In the end, I reach the market without incident. The atmosphere is now lively. I make a few purchases, including kanthas in the shape of scarves.
Back at the house, the owners are away. I leave the bike: the repair held.
Qui a l'habitude de voyager sait qu'il vient toujours un moment où il faut partir...
Paulo Coelho
Tuesday, April 7th
After breakfast, I go downstairs and see that the bike is back in the entrance. The owners didn’t notice anything unusual and didn’t say anything to me. Though, to be fair, the tire—already quite worn from so many ruts—probably needs replacing.
I take an autorickshaw to Bolpur, then a bus toward Nanoor. There, I visit the Chandidas Bhita temple complex: there are about fifteen temples within the grounds, but unfortunately, they’re in very poor condition. I quickly walk around them.
Right across from the temples, there’s a tailor’s shop—perfect, since I brought my khantas. I ask him to turn them into pie carriers: they’ll make great gifts when I get back.
A man approaches us and takes me to a woman who also sews khantas. She shows me a few designs, but I don’t find what I’m looking for.
I head back to the bus station. While waiting for the bus to Bolpur, I enjoy a delicious yogurt.
Back in Santiniketan, I walk to the market. I find the khanta sellers and show them my creations. They think they’re so well done that they take photos—maybe they’ll offer them for sale in the future.
I’m still on the lookout for saris to turn into curtains for my niece, and here, the selection is endless. I leave with two saris and two more khantas.
As soon as I get home, a storm breaks out. Later, I go out to buy two eggs, which I’ll cook tomorrow morning before I leave.
Qui a l'habitude de voyager sait qu'il vient toujours un moment où il faut partir...
Paulo Coelho
Wednesday, April 8
I take the bus at 11 AM to Burhanpur, then an auto to Murshidabad, where I arrive around 4 PM.
I booked a room at the Mahfil-e-Motijheel. The hotel is new, the room is large and very comfortable. For 22 € including breakfast, it’s a real little luxury that feels great after several more basic stops. The staff is particularly helpful and friendly, which adds to the pleasure of the place.
The restaurant is in a pretty building in the heart of the hotel’s park. I have a very decent dinner there: tomato soup, eggplant, and ice cream. A simple but pleasant evening in a peaceful setting.
Thursday, April 9
Murshidabad is nicknamed the "Land of the Nawabs." A quote from Robert Clive after the Battle of Plassey perfectly illustrates the city’s importance at the time:
"The city of Murshidabad is as extensive, populous, and rich as London, with this difference: some individuals in the former possess infinitely greater wealth than those in the latter. If the inhabitants had wanted to annihilate the Europeans, they could have done so with sticks and stones."
Breakfast, included in the room price, is hearty and served à la carte: omelet, toast, butter, honey, yogurt, and fruit. Just what I needed to start the day before exploring the city.
Yesterday, I had asked to rent a bike. After waiting until 10 AM, a kid shows up with a bicycle without brakes and with a bar in the middle… I decide to skip it and head out on foot.
I start with the Katra Masjid, which has free entry.
The mosque is magnificent, built with red baked bricks. Erected by Nawab Nazim Murshid Quli Khan between 1723 and 1734, it served as a mosque, mausoleum, and one of the largest caravanserais on the Indian subcontinent. Inspired by the Kaaba in Mecca, it stands on a vast square pedestal 54 meters wide, surrounded by rows of domed cells on two levels. These cells could accommodate about 700 Quran readers, while nearly 2,000 worshippers could pray within the enclosure.
Some Indian tourists suddenly call out to me and rush over for a photo. We exchange a few smiles and take a bunch of selfies. Delighted, they quickly head off to continue their visit, leaving me with this spontaneous and joyful little moment—so common when traveling in India.
From the Katra, I take a small road lined with a vast mango plantation leading to the Fauti Mosque. It’s now in ruins, and it’s no longer possible to get close. I turn back.
I then head to the Hazarduari Palace. Since it’s quite a distance, I take an auto.
This palace is famous for its thousand doors: 900 are real, and the other 100 were added to deceive potential enemies. Entry costs 300 rupees.
Photos are forbidden inside, where weapons, spears, tableware, and especially a huge chandelier in pink, yellow, and blue—absolutely stunning—are on display. It’s considered the second-largest in the world after the one in Buckingham Palace.
The gardens within the grounds are very well maintained. Facing the palace stands the impressive Nizamat Imambara, whose monumental façade isn’t open for visits.
On one side is the Mosque of Medina, and a little further away, an enormous cannon weighing 7,657 kg. Legend has it that during a test firing, the supersonic boom was heard within a 16-kilometer radius, even causing premature births among some pregnant women.
On the other side stands the clock tower.
As for the Yellow Mosque, it’s on the other side of the road: you have to leave the grounds and go around to get close.
Qui a l'habitude de voyager sait qu'il vient toujours un moment où il faut partir...
Paulo Coelho
Isn’t this the town founded by Rabindranath Tagore, my favorite poet?
Did you find the lyrical offering within while biking around, or any of his poems scattered along the paths?
Oh wow, this trip is making me so jealous… (Plus, there’s nothing lying around on the ground—is this really India, or did they clean everything up before you arrived?)
Thanks, Marie Jo, for these beautiful photos…
Isn’t this the town founded by Rabindranath Tagore, my favorite poet?
Yes, it’s in Santiniketan that you’ll find Visva-Bharati University, created by Rabindranath Tagore. It has over 11,000 students. You can visit part of it, but I thought the price was excessive—I’d already been there 10 years ago and had visited it then.
I haven’t read his poems.
Santiniketan and the villages around Hazaribagh are indeed very clean.
The cities in Jharkhand are very polluted—I wore a mask in the street.
Qui a l'habitude de voyager sait qu'il vient toujours un moment où il faut partir...
Paulo Coelho
About 300 meters away stands another palace, the Wasif Manzil, also known as the New Palace. Its façade is elegant, almost refined, and its architecture—inspired by European neoclassical style—reflects the British colonial influence on the region at the time. The nawabs adopted this style to display their modernity and closeness to British power. However, the interior shows its age.
The large main hall, on the other hand, still holds an unexpected beauty. The walls, painted in water-green tones, contrast with the yellow and white moldings, and the finely decorated ceiling immediately draws the eye. Tall white columns structure the space and emphasize its verticality. Despite these refined elements, the room feels almost empty: a few display cases, dark furniture arranged along the walls, and bright light streaming in through the large door at the back, leaving part of the hall in semi-darkness. This light accentuates the sense of vast, almost abandoned space, where the past grandeur seems to have gently faded away.
I continue to the tomb of Azimunissa Begum, of which only a door remains today. She is said to have been buried under a staircase, like her father. A local legend claims she was a cruel woman and that her husband had her buried alive. But it seems this is just a popular tale with no verified historical basis.
A little further on is the Jafarganj cemetery, enclosed by high walls, where the last Nawabs of Bengal rest. The atmosphere is peaceful, almost timeless. The eye is drawn to a striking contrast: the small, well-maintained white tombs appear better preserved than the larger ones, now in ruins, whose dilapidated state reinforces the sense of abandonment.
On the way back, I pass through Jiaganj, where a monumental gate catches my eye.
Massive and worn by time, it still stands, made of red bricks blackened and eroded. The stacked arches reveal a passage now sealed off, while vegetation creeps into the cracks, as if reclaiming the place. The walled-up openings and faded reliefs evoke a once-imposing structure, of which only this silent fragment remains. There’s something melancholic about this ruin, but also a great beauty.
I continue along a road under construction.
Here, the asphalt is still made using traditional methods. Two men work around a rudimentary machine, from which thick smoke billows. One lifts a heavy load of burning mixture while the other monitors the cooking process. Around them, piles of sand, drums, and stacked wood fuel the fire. The ground is covered in dust and gravel. The smell of hot tar mixes with the ambient heat, making the atmosphere almost stifling. Their movements are precise and repetitive, reflecting an empirical know-how. The scene is raw, almost archaic, yet perfectly mastered.
The contrast is striking: just steps away from the remnants of a prestigious past, life goes on with simple, almost timeless techniques.
Qui a l'habitude de voyager sait qu'il vient toujours un moment où il faut partir...
Paulo Coelho
Photos are officially banned there, but I take advantage of the guards' absence to snap a few discreetly.
Inside, the place is still furnished, but nothing is truly showcased: everything seems frozen in time, covered in a thick layer of dust that looks almost original. The large hall I walk through is the perfect example: a long table covered with a red cloth, surrounded by wooden chairs, sits in the center, as if ready to welcome guests who will never come. Around it, the furniture is scattered without order—a dark vanity, a dresser, a few display cases—while old portraits, some crooked, remain hung on the yellowed walls.
The eye is drawn to a mirrored cabinet, quite unique, allowing you to see yourself from different angles, like a game of reflections from another era.
Above, the hanging chandeliers and bare bulbs further accentuate this strange atmosphere, somewhere between abandonment and survival. The cracked walls bear the marks of time, and even the signs asking not to take photos seem forgotten, like everything else.
The palace somewhat resembles Wasif Manzil, but the rooms here are less spectacular and much more dilapidated. This sense of abandonment is striking, and you can’t help but regret the lack of upkeep for these historically rich places.
Outside, a large open hall borders the courtyard: an elegant gallery of arches and columns, likely intended for receptions.
The arches, weathered by time with their yellow-orange hues, support a structure topped by a small temple whose whitewashed sacred part contrasts with the darkened domes crowned with red flags.
The whole ensemble, both majestic and weary, exudes a particular charm, somewhere between past beauty and slow decay.
Qui a l'habitude de voyager sait qu'il vient toujours un moment où il faut partir...
Paulo Coelho
Next door is the Jagat Seth House museum, whose name means "banker to the world." Photos are, once again, forbidden inside, but I manage to take a few discreetly.
The rooms are richly decorated and display a wide variety of objects, reflecting the prosperity and refinement of this influential family.
Among them, Comtoise-style clocks, surprisingly present here, catch my eye: an unexpected detail that speaks to the exchanges and influences from Europe.
A secret tunnel, quite surprising, runs through the building; it once allowed its owner to stay protected or move around out of sight.
Outside, a basin with a fountain adds a touch of serenity.
A cannon is displayed near the building, imposing with its tier, a reminder of the power and prestige of the place.
Qui a l'habitude de voyager sait qu'il vient toujours un moment où il faut partir...
Paulo Coelho
I continue on to Kathgola Palace, walking along a long avenue lined with magnificent trees. In Murshidabad, palaces are plentiful but often far apart from each other. Since I love exploring on foot, the day promises to be intense—I’ll probably break my walking record.
As soon as you arrive, the tone is set: the monumental gate to the park is already grand, almost like a palace in its own right. It’s adorned with Corinthian columns and delicate floral stucco motifs, reflecting a strong European influence and a taste for refined ornamentation. It hints at the opulence and significance of the place even before you step inside.
A large basin faces the palace, its elegant façade reflected in the water, adding even more majesty to the site.
Built in the 19th century by a wealthy Jain merchant family, Kathgola Palace is a testament to Murshidabad’s commercial prosperity at the time, when it was still a major financial hub in Bengal. Its name, "Kathgola," means "wooden house," referring to the wood warehouses that contributed to its owners' wealth, along with the mention of a rose garden that once surrounded the estate.
The four-story building features European-inspired architecture, blending neoclassical influences with local tastes. By the late 19th century, French architects contributed to its renovation, adding an even more Western touch, including lion statues that enhance the palace’s majestic appearance.
Photos are prohibited inside, except in the grand hall on the upper floor, which is absolutely remarkable. This vast, richly decorated room reflects the refinement and luxury in which the owners lived. The monumental staircase, finely crafted, is also stunning and adds to the sense of grandeur.
On the top floor, a large terrace offers a view of the entire estate. From here, you can take in the gardens, the basin, and the surroundings, providing a beautiful perspective on the harmony of the site.
In the gardens, an elegant kiosk evokes the lifestyle of the era, when these spaces were used for strolls, gatherings, and moments of relaxation.
Under this kiosk, a few young people now rest while checking their phones, adding a contemporary touch to this historic place. From here, you can enjoy a view of the gardens, a fountain, and, in the distance, the Adinatha Temple, which stands out with its dazzling whiteness.
This Jain temple, dedicated to the first Tirthankara, reflects the religious affiliation of the palace’s patrons and the importance of this merchant community in Murshidabad’s history.
Finally, a *baori*—an ancient stepwell typical of Indian architecture—completes the estate. The one at Kathgola Palace has a special story: it’s said to have filled with water after a flood from the Bhagirathi River, located on the opposite bank.
Beside the well, a statue carved from Italian marble adds another refined detail, illustrating once again the blend of Indian and European influences that characterize the estate.
Victorian-style lions, fountains, and numerous decorative elements also reflect the British influence that shaped Murshidabad’s architecture in the 19th century.
Kathgola Palace thus reflects an era when wealthy Jain merchant families displayed their success by combining Indian traditions, local craftsmanship, and Western architectural trends that were very much in vogue at the time.
I’m really savoring this moment because I’ve fallen in love with this place. After all these discoveries, I take the time to wander around the estate a little longer, extending my visit until sunset. The light that envelops the gardens, the palace, and the basin creates a special atmosphere, almost timeless.
But after such a long day of walking and exploring, I have to think about heading back. I’ll eventually take an auto to return to my hotel, which is quite far from the center.
Qui a l'habitude de voyager sait qu'il vient toujours un moment où il faut partir...
Paulo Coelho
Friday, April 10.
The temples of Baranagar
Today, I set off to explore the temples of Baranagar, located on the other side of the Bhagirathi River, just a few kilometers from Murshidabad. I walk to the ferry landing. Along the way, a motorcyclist slows down beside me, curious to know which country I’m from and where I’m headed. When I explain my plan, he spontaneously offers to take me there. Once again, the kindness of the locals makes my travels easier.
The river crossing is quick.
On the other side, several auto-rickshaws are waiting for travelers. I don’t have to wait long and quickly hop in to reach the temple complex.
The village of Baranagar, near Azimganj, is home to a remarkable collection of terracotta temples built in the 18th century by Rani Bhabani, a wealthy zamindar (landowner) from Bengal and a great patron of religious architecture. The terracotta panels covering their facades depict both episodes from sacred texts and scenes from daily life at the time.
At the entrance to the site, the guard asks me to sign a register. He then accompanies me on the visit and tells me the history of these temples. Afterward, he leaves me to welcome an Indian couple. I can take my time, observe the details, and photograph the facades in peace. I also check out the explanations I found on a blog to better understand the scenes depicted.
On one terracotta panel, I discover a depiction of Rama confronting Ravana, the ten-headed demon king, a famous episode from the Ramayana.
Other panels show scenes from daily life: people at work, musicians, animals, and even battle scenes. These small sculptures are true archives of 18th-century Bengali society.
A little further on is the hexagonal Bhabanisar Shiva temple, located by the roadside. Unfortunately, the gates are locked, and I can’t go inside.
I try to walk around it anyway and end up in the courtyard of a neighboring house, where a woman is sitting on the ground grinding ginger. A simple scene of everyday life that contrasts with the ancient monuments I’ve just been admiring.
I head back to my auto-rickshaw, and we continue through the countryside in search of another temple: the Gangeshwar Jor Bangla. Isolated in a rural setting, it gives the impression of being made up of two adjoining sanctuaries, a characteristic architecture of the jor bangla style ("two joined houses").
Here too, the facades are adorned with numerous terracotta panels depicting various aspects of daily life, people, animals, and decorative motifs.
I end this visit with the feeling of having discovered a discreet but exceptional heritage. Far from the grand palaces of Murshidabad, these small village temples tell another story of Bengal—one of beliefs, craftsmen, and daily life etched in clay.
Qui a l'habitude de voyager sait qu'il vient toujours un moment où il faut partir...
Paulo Coelho
We return to Azimganj, where I make a final stop at the Jain temple Sambhavnathji, just before it closes.
The place is peaceful, and I take these last moments to explore the sanctuary before the doors close.
From there, I set off on foot in search of the old *havelis* that still bear witness to the past wealth of the Jain merchant families in the region.
My walk ends in front of a charming house, the Bari Hotel. From the outside, the place doesn’t look like much, and I even wonder if I’ve arrived at the right spot.
I gather my courage and push the door open to ask if I can visit. A waitress invites me in and to sit down in a lounge.
A few moments later, another person brings me a cold drink. A man then comes to greet me and explains that a visit is possible—on the condition that I have lunch there, for 1500 rupees. I’m not hungry, and the price is too high for me, so I decline. Eventually, he kindly agrees to let me see just the ground floor.
And what a surprise! Behind this unassuming façade lies an absolutely stunning place. The rooms are elegant, decorated with refinement, and you can sense the prestigious past of this residence.
I didn’t dare ask about the price of the rooms—probably beyond my budget—but this visit will remain a wonderful unexpected discovery.
Back in Murshidabad, I set off in search of a tailor for a few jobs. I end up spending a long time with him, explaining how to make curtains and pie bags. Communication isn’t always easy, but with a few gestures and a lot of goodwill, we manage to understand each other. He offers me *chai*, then a man and a woman join us to chat for a while.
When it’s time to pay, he asks for a very modest amount. I decide to give him double, a gesture that touches him deeply. His friend seems to approve, and the three of us share a simple but warm moment. These small everyday exchanges are often the most beautiful memories of a trip.
I then head back to the hotel. Elections are supposed to take place at the end of the month, and several people are already preparing flags. As I walk by, some insist on giving me one. I refuse sometimes, but their enthusiasm and eagerness to share this local moment with me make me smile.
A little further on, I pass a house decorated for a wedding. People are sitting outside and spontaneously invite me to join them. Quickly, curiosity gives way to friendliness: I’m invited inside, introduced to the future bride and groom, and offered pastries.
I can’t eat them all on the spot, so I ask if I can take a few with me. The woman then returns with an entire box full of cakes. Now I have dessert for several days!
Once again, this day ends with an unexpected encounter, just like India knows how to offer so well. Beyond palaces and temples, it’s these moments of sharing, these smiles, and this spontaneous generosity that make travel so rich.
Qui a l'habitude de voyager sait qu'il vient toujours un moment où il faut partir...
Paulo Coelho
Saturday, April 11
Last day in Murshidabad.
The hotel is located outside the city, on the road leading to Cossimbazar. I set off on foot along this quiet, almost deserted little road. At the end, I pass by a chicken farm: the chicks are piled on top of each other, a sight that really doesn’t make me want to eat any.
I look for a car, but as often happens, it’s a motorcyclist who stops. He offers to take me. I have to ride sidesaddle on the bike; at first, I’m not very reassured, but I eventually find the position quite comfortable. He drops me off two kilometers further on, at a crossroads, and flags down a driver who agrees to take me to the Roy Rajbari in Cossimbazar, now transformed into a charming hotel with a museum.
Part of this family home still belongs to the Roy family, who undertook its restoration themselves to create the Cossimbazar Palace. The white building is impressive, and the museum occupies the former residence.
The visit feels like a stroll through time: inner courtyards, ballrooms, long corridors… all the way to the temples of Durga and Chandi.
The rooms are furnished with Victorian furniture, the walls adorned with trophies, and heavy Belgian glass chandeliers hang from the ceiling. All the furniture is covered with clear plastic sheets, giving the whole place a strange, almost frozen atmosphere.
After the visit, I head to the hotel where I’m shown the inner courtyard and a room—71 € per night. Still, I’m a bit disappointed: I’d much preferred the visit the day before at the Bari Hotel, where the welcome had been much warmer. Here, since I was just passing through, I had to insist to get a quick look around.
On the way back, I stop in front of a cemetery. A sign at the entrance reads: DUTCH CEMETERY.
This cemetery is located on the site of the former Dutch trading post. According to François Bernier, a French physician and traveler who arrived in India in 1658 and served the Mughal prince Dara Shikoh, the site already existed in 1666 and employed between 700 and 800 men. It now houses 47 tombs, the oldest of which is that of Daniel Van Der Miyl, who died in 1721.
Qui a l'habitude de voyager sait qu'il vient toujours un moment où il faut partir...
Paulo Coelho
Back in Murshidabad, I set off one last time in search of the old city gates.
The road here is also under repair: the asphalt is spread by hand, using simple rakes. What a job... A scene that feels almost timeless, giving me the impression of leaving a world where time flows differently.
Before reaching the Tripolia Gate, I pass through the Chawk Bazaar Gate, an old fortified gate that still blends harmoniously into the urban landscape. It seems to bridge the past and present life, unobtrusive yet ever-present.
I then head toward the Tripolia Gate, formerly called Chawk Gate, a Mughal-style entrance that once led to the Kila Nizamat complex.
Nearby stands a large white mosque.
I pass by the Wasif Manzil again, with its beautiful European-inspired architecture. I can’t resist photographing it one last time, as if to preserve a clearer memory before leaving.
I continue to the southern gate, the Dakshin Darwaza, an imposing two-story brick structure. Up there, in the past, musicians in the Nahabat Khana would announce the arrival of visitors and troops. Today, the place seems silent, almost frozen, as if the echo of that music had faded with time.
Nearby, by the riverside, a small white mosque, quite dilapidated, stands discreetly.
Across from it, the Ghanta Ghar of Kila Nizamat, an old clock tower, also evokes a bygone era when life was marked by the chime of the hours.
Everything seems to bear the mark of the past, as if Murshidabad were gently closing behind me.
On my way back, I make one last detour through Motijheel Park, near the hotel. The shaded paths form a horseshoe around the lake, children play, and a few families stroll. I walk slowly, soaking in this peaceful atmosphere, aware that these are my final moments here.
The day gently comes to an end, and with it, my stay in Murshidabad.
Qui a l'habitude de voyager sait qu'il vient toujours un moment où il faut partir...
Paulo Coelho
What a joy to follow this trip off the beaten track, discovering this timeless India. We’ve traveled to India several times in recent years, but rarely like this. I’ll be eagerly following your travel journal.
Didier
I don’t have time to comment, but I’m following this travel journal just like the previous ones with great pleasure. It’s fascinating—I also admire the research effort that went into preparing such an off-the-beaten-path trip, as well as the narrator’s curious and kind-hearted mindset. 🙂
Sunday, April 12 and Monday, April 13Ambica Kalna, the temple town of Bengal
I leave this hotel where I had a great stay. As soon as the restaurant opens, I have breakfast and then take an auto-rickshaw to Baharampur. From there, I catch a bus to Kalna.
Upon arrival, near the bus parking, I spot a guesthouse. Since I hadn’t booked anything, I decide to stop there. The receptionist isn’t very friendly, the place is noisy, and not very inviting. Across the road is the hotel where I stayed ten years ago. They’ve since opened a restaurant there. I negotiate the room price; it’s very basic, but options are limited here, so I’ll make do.
Once settled, I head out to stretch my legs in the neighborhood. Revisiting this town after so many years already brings back some memories.
The next morning, after breakfast, I set off on foot to explore the temples located about three kilometers from the hotel. The walk lets me stroll through the town, observe daily life, and reach one of Bengal’s most beautiful religious sites at my own pace.
The Nava Kailash Temples
The Nava Kailash temples are exceptional. They consist of a circle of 108 shrines dedicated to Shiva, built in 1809. Their decorative panels depict scenes from the Ramayana and the Mahabharata, true stories carved in terracotta.
The complex is organized into two concentric circles: 34 temples on the inside and 74 on the outside. Their architecture is intentionally simple, but each shrine houses a Shiva lingam, black or white, arranged alternately in a symbolic pattern.
The number 108 holds sacred significance in several religions, including Hinduism, Buddhism, and Jainism. It represents deep spiritual symbolism:
the 1 stands for unity;
the 0 evokes emptiness, the stilling of thought, a pure and perfectly clear mind;
the 8 symbolizes infinity.
Thus, 108 represents the culmination of the spiritual journey: ecstasy, liberation, enlightenment, like the end of an inner voyage.
The Rajbari Complex of Kalna
Facing the 108 Shiv Mandir is the Rajbari complex of Kalna. As I cross the entrance, I’m once again amazed to discover this beautiful ensemble of temples surrounded by a well-maintained garden.
This is my second time here, but the emotion is the same as ten years ago. The place is still just as magnificent, peaceful, and harmonious.
The first temple on the left is the Pratapeshwar.
It features sculptures on all four sides and false doors on three sides, richly decorated.
A few steps away is the Rasmancha, circular in shape, with its many openings. Its roof is now gone, revealing an elegant structure open to the sky.
Next, you pass through a gate to reach the Lalji Temple, the oldest in the complex. It has 25 pinnacles spread across three levels. Its second floor, octagonal in shape, features a pinnacle at each of its eight corners.
A little further on, the Giri Gobardhan Temple catches the eye with its sculptures of animals and human figures on its roof. It has four sloping roofs and once served as a gathering place for devotees.
Passing back through the gate on the right, I discover a flat-roofed temple
as well as the Pancharatna, a group of five small temples of varying sizes.
Qui a l'habitude de voyager sait qu'il vient toujours un moment où il faut partir...
Paulo Coelho
The path then winds around these buildings and leads to the majestic Krishnachandra temple. Its rich decorations, 25 spires, and three-arched entrances on each side make it one of the complex’s jewels. The main façade, particularly elaborate, reflects the refinement of the era.
Behind this temple stands a more discreet building, the Vijaya Vidyanath, whose façade is also adorned with beautiful decorations.
Outside the complex, other temples still exist, but I don’t linger there. After so many discoveries, I’d rather extend this moment in this peaceful garden where history still seems present.
Qui a l'habitude de voyager sait qu'il vient toujours un moment où il faut partir...
Paulo Coelho
A day between Santipur and Guptipara
After leaving the complex, I now need to find an auto to continue my explorations. Several drivers are waiting for customers, but none want to take me. So, I head toward the Nrisinghapur Ferry Ghat dock, and soon enough, an auto finally stops and agrees to drive me there.
The river crossing is quick. These small ferries, numerous and regular, make it easy to reach the other bank and are part of the locals' daily life.
From there, I take another auto to Santipur, a town famous for its sari market. The driver drops me off at the entrance of the town, near a market, but it’s not the one I’m looking for. I search for a long time for that famous building until a woman finally agrees to help me. She points out the place but tells me the market isn’t happening today.
I’m disappointed, but you have to accept the unexpected when traveling. These little setbacks are part of the adventure too.
I then take a tuk-tuk toward Guptipara. Along the way, we pass a sari shop, and I ask the driver to stop. We spend a good half-hour there, picking out two very affordable saris.
The driver then drops me off at another dock. A quick crossing takes me near Guptipara. The boats are frequent and regular. A new auto is waiting for me on the other side and takes me to the Brindavan Chandra Math complex.
I’m alone visiting this place, which I had already discovered ten years ago and really loved. Seeing it again today gives me a special feeling: that of rediscovering a familiar place with a new perspective.
The complex consists of four temples.
The Ramchandra Temple has magnificent sculptures on its façade, showcasing the richness of Bengal’s terracotta art.
The Brindavan Chandra Temple dominates the complex. Its exterior façade is relatively simple, but its charm lies mainly in the interior of the temple.
It’s always a wonder to step inside. The inner veranda and sanctuary are entirely adorned with frescoes, from the walls to the ceiling, featuring intricate floral patterns and mythological scenes.
The Chaitanya Temple is the smallest in the complex.
The Krishna Chandra Temple is decorated mainly around its three-arched entrance.
I also take the time to admire the elegant and imposing entrance gate of the complex.
On the way back to the village, I pass by a large mansion surrounded by a well-kept park: the Sen Bari. The entrance gate is slightly open. I slip inside, looking for someone who might allow me to visit, but it’s a private property, and unfortunately, visits aren’t possible.
Right across the street is another temple where many devotees are gathered. I approach it. Inside, pujas are being performed in a serene atmosphere. Outside, at the foot of a tree, small statues have been placed as silent offerings.
I then return to Kalna by train.
Qui a l'habitude de voyager sait qu'il vient toujours un moment où il faut partir...
Paulo Coelho
Back to Kalna
The day isn’t over yet, though. I head back to the Rajbari complex to see the temples lit up at night.
Night completely transforms the place. The lights highlight the reliefs on the facades, the delicate sculptures, and the temple silhouettes that seem to emerge differently in the darkness. After admiring them in daylight, seeing them illuminated like this offers a nearly magical experience.
I savor this moment for a long time. It’s the perfect way to end this leg of the journey—and, in a way, this long trip through Jharkhand and West Bengal.
Over the past few weeks, I’ve traveled through regions with very different identities: the tribal villages of Jharkhand, their ancestral traditions, the art of Sohrai and Khovar, and then West Bengal with its terracotta temples, forgotten palaces, artisans, and markets.
Even though I’d already visited this region ten years ago, this new trip allowed me to discover it differently—with more time, more encounters, and a fresh perspective. Revisiting familiar places like Kalna or Guptipara gives them a special flavor: that of reunions, but also of rediscovery.
Without having imagined it when I arrived, the 108 Shiva temples take on a special resonance. Their symbolism of fulfillment, liberation, and enlightenment seems to gently accompany the end of my journey.
Tomorrow, I’ll leave Kalna for Kolkata, the final stop before heading home. But tonight, in front of these illuminated temples, I feel like I’m closing a beautiful travel chapter.
Qui a l'habitude de voyager sait qu'il vient toujours un moment où il faut partir...
Paulo Coelho
Thanks Didier, this travel journal is coming to an end, but did you read the first part, "New Discoveries from Perpignan to Ranchi," which is also interesting?
Qui a l'habitude de voyager sait qu'il vient toujours un moment où il faut partir...
Paulo Coelho
Thanks Noëlle, I know you follow all my travel journals.
Preparing for this one wasn’t easy—I didn’t find a single blog about Jharkhand. I just drew inspiration from the few travel agencies that offer it. Hope this journal inspires other travelers; I already know two who are heading to Hazaribagh... not a bad start 😉
Qui a l'habitude de voyager sait qu'il vient toujours un moment où il faut partir...
Paulo Coelho
Back in Kolkata and the end of the trip
I’m back in Kolkata and settling into Ichamati Guesthouse again, just like when I arrived. More than just a hotel room, I almost feel like I’m coming home: I’m back in the same room, the same familiar spots. Tonight, I’ll go back to my favorite restaurant, Mocambo, a nice way to wrap up this trip that had its ups and downs.
Some stops in Jharkhand didn’t amaze me as much as I’d hoped, but West Bengal remains a real revelation for me. I still don’t understand why this region is so overlooked by travelers. It has incredible architectural wealth, diverse landscapes, traditions that are still very much alive, and above all, a population that’s incredibly kind, always ready to chat and welcome you.
I could come back to this part of India again and again—it’s so captivating. There are still so many places to discover, so many villages to explore.
Last day before departure
After breakfast, I check out of my room and leave my bag at the hotel entrance. I’m free until 4 PM before heading to the airport.
Inside the hotel, the coolness is pleasant, but as soon as I step into the lobby, I feel the heat immediately. Outside, it’s heavy, humid, almost stifling. A typical Kolkata heat that I’m less enthusiastic about this time.
I’m not a big fan of museums, but since this one is just a few hundred meters from the hotel, I decide to go, hoping to enjoy a bit of air conditioning and the coolness of the rooms. No luck: there’s almost no one there this morning, and the temperature isn’t much better inside.
I wander from room to room but can’t really get into it.
My mind is elsewhere. I think, without even meaning to, I’m already reflecting on these six weeks that flew by in the blink of an eye.
Images come back in waves: Bishnupur, a place where I felt something special and where I’d love to return; the warm welcome in Naya and the stunning Patachitra paintings; the many markets I passed through over the days; the houses decorated with Sohrai paintings in the villages of Jharkhand; Santiniketan and my bike rides, including that infamous flat tire I won’t soon forget; Murshidabad, with its palaces and fascinating history; and finally, Kalna, with its temples that provided such a beautiful conclusion to the trip.
These six weeks were rich, varied, sometimes surprising, sometimes more challenging, but always filled with discovery. So many encounters, landscapes, architectural gems, and unexpected moments… I almost have a tear in my eye.
I decide to leave the museum pretty quickly and head to New Market.
At least there, I find Kolkata’s lively atmosphere again. I wander through the aisles one last time, intentionally getting lost in the familiar hustle and bustle, and make my final purchases before heading back to the hotel.
I ask if it would be possible to take a shower before I leave, but all the rooms are already booked. I’ll have to make do with a quick freshen-up at the sink in the entrance restroom… That’ll be my last moment of comfort before the long journey home.
The final taxi arrives. A hotel staff member walks me to the parking lot. The last goodbyes are exchanged… This time, it’s really over—the trip is finished.
All I hope for now is a smooth journey back. The flight to Dubai is on time, but the one to Barcelona ends up being an hour late. The bus that was supposed to take me to Perpignan won’t wait for me, but luckily the next one isn’t full, and I’ll finally be able to get home without any issues.
All that’s left is to warmly thank everyone who followed these two travel journals. Your messages and encouragement accompanied me throughout this adventure.
Now, it’s time to start preparing for the next trip… and yes, India again! This country always has something new to offer, even in regions I’ve already visited. That’s undoubtedly what makes it so endearing: the feeling that you’ll never truly be done with it.
Qui a l'habitude de voyager sait qu'il vient toujours un moment où il faut partir...
Paulo Coelho
Unfortunately, I’m wrapping up this travel journal... if only you could have stayed longer!
A region unknown to me and a magnificent discovery of West Bengal... so many wonders in their simplicity. Here, no opulent architectural marble adorned with precious stones, but brick buildings with such beautiful, lively sculptures that touch the heart, move you, and are perfectly integrated into daily life.
This is an art that some might call "modest"—like the MIAM in Sète—but to me, this sophisticated art speaks across the centuries.
Thanks Alain!
No worries, there’ll be more travel journals—several trips are already planned in my head, and I’ve gotta make them happen before 😉
They’ll be different but just as interesting, well, I hope so.😎
Qui a l'habitude de voyager sait qu'il vient toujours un moment où il faut partir...
Paulo Coelho
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Me voilà depuis 3 jours dans la région Tamil Nadu, en solo et en indépendant: sac à dos (enfin petite valise cabine + petit sac à dos), transports publics,…
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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.
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!
"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.
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!!!
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.
"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...
Voyage réalisé avec ma compagne du dimanche 5 juillet 2026 au mercredi 22 juillet 2026.
Nous avons longtemps hésité avant de décider si nous louions une voiture ou si nous nous déplacerions en transport en commun. Finalement, au vu du nombre de posts que j’ai pu lire de voyageurs s’étant fait arnaquer par la police ou par les loueurs, et même ceux recommandés par tous les blogs ou commentaires, nous avons décidé de nous déplacer en transport en commun. Cela se fait très bien. Effectivement on est un peu moins libre d’aller ou on veut mais c’était pour nous beaucoup moins de stress.
Dimanche 5 juillet :
Arrivée à l’aéroport de Cancun. Retrait d’argent au distributeur dans le terminal juste avant la sortie. Le comptoir des bus ADO (qu’ils prononcent « A-Ji-O ») est situé dans votre dos quand vous êtes face au distributeur. Bus vers le centre de Cancun 145 pesos par personnes.
Logement « Rose 5 » réservé sur Booking. Studio très propre parfait pour une nuit. Les indications du proprio pour accéder au logement étaient très précises avec photos à l'appui. L'arrivée est autonome et se fait par code. Le terminal de bus Ado est située pas très loin ainsi que des commerces et restaurants. Nous avons beaucoup apprécié que la clim ait été mise avant notre arrivée. D’ailleurs je vous invite à prendre des logements avec systématiquement la clim car il fait très chaud au Mexique.
Lundi 6 juillet :
Achat d’une carte sim dans une boutique TELCEL avec de la DATA. Ma compagne qui est sur Free a pu utiliser son forfait classique. Pour information j’ai trouvé le réseau très instable. Dès que l’on sortait des villes cela ne captait jamais que soit moi avec TELCEL ou ma compagne avec Free.
Autre point de vigilance, attention au hors forfait. J’ai dû remettre ma carte sim quelques secondes (moins de 30 secondes pour recevoir un code sms pour ma banque) et mon téléphone s’est visiblement connecté à internet. 8 euros de hors forfait.
Départ en bus ADO vers Chiquila pour 278 pesos par personne. Durant notre voyage, les bus ADO ont toujours été à l’heure, confortables et propres. Par contre la clim y est poussée à fond donc prévoyez de quoi vous couvrir car il y fait froid. Certains trajets étaient complets alors que nous étions en saison basse donc prévoyez de les réserver 1 ou 2 jours avant directement sur l’appli (quand elle fonctionne) sinon au comptoir de la compagnie.
Arrivés au terminal ADO à Chiquila, les comptoirs des compagnies de ferries sont juste à côté. Il y a des départs toutes les 30 minutes en alternance, donc pas besoin de réserver à l’avance. Il vous suffit de prendre la compagnie qui a le prochain départ (330 pesos par personnes).
Arrivés à Holbox (à prononcer « Holboch »), nous avions réservé un logement via booking à la « casa de nana ». Le logement était un très grand studio avec frigo, plaque pour cuisiner et ustensiles. Le gros plus de ce logement est L'emplacement. Il est situé à 100 mètres de la plage et 200 mètres d’un supermarché Chedraoui. Ils fournissent des serviettes de bain et des serviettes de plage. La climatisation fonctionnait parfaitement. Il y a une boîte à clé pour pouvoir les laisser dedans quand on sort. Par contre personne n’était là à notre arrivée pour nous ouvrir la chambre, nous avons dû attendre un moment. Le wi-fi était bon et heureusement car durant les 4 jours de notre séjour à Holbox, le réseau de téléphone n’a
jamais fonctionné. Au dire des locaux cela est assez fréquent à Holbox, comme les coupures d’eau.
Heureusement j’avais eu la bonne idée de télécharger une carte sur maps pour qu’elle soit disponible hors connexion, ce qui nous a permis de retrouver plus facilement notre logement. Le logement est accessible à pied depuis l’embarcadère.
Le restaurant à côté de notre logement (La Barracuda) est très bon si vous aimez les fruits de mer et je vous conseille leurs différentes recettes de poulpes.
Mardi 7 juillet :
Nous avons fait une sortie kayak dans la mangrove de Holbox le matin à 6h. Nous cherchions une sortie kayak au lever du soleil dans la mangrove avec un guide francophone. C’est le cas dans l’agence « kayaking Holbox » où Diego, le boss parle anglais et français. Il était accompagné de Gustavo, un collègue guide .
Nous avions réservé pour une sortie collective mais nous n’étions que 2. Diego a quand même maintenu la sortie là ou d’autres l'auraient annulée faute de participants. Nous avons donc eu droit à une sortie privée au tarif groupe ce qui est très professionnel de sa part.. Ils nous ont fait découvrir cet écosystème merveilleux pendant plus de 3h. Nous avons vu toutes sortes d'oiseaux : flamands roses, pélicans, aigrettes, frégates....Des raies , une limule et un petit crocodile vraiment bien caché. Diego et Gustavo ont vraiment l’œil pour voir les animaux. J'aurais pu passer 100 fois devant le crocodile et je ne l'aurais jamais vu tellement il se
fondait dans le paysage. Ses explications sur la faune et la flore étaient très intéressantes. Nous avons eu aussi droit à une petite pause où nous avons dégusté des mangues et bananes qui n’ont vraiment pas le même goût qu’en France . Un régal les petites mangues jaunes mexicaines. Je recommande Diego et son agence pour une sortie kayak en français (tarif 1000 pesos par personne).
Le soir, nous sommes allés à pied à Punta Coco pour voir la bioluminescence. Pas besoin d’excursion guidée pour cela. Si vous ne voulez vraiment pas marcher vous pouvez prendre un taxi. A Punta Coco il vous faut passer le bar restaurant sur la plage et ensuite aller vers la gauche dans un espèce de bras de mer qui forme un lac. Il faut remuer les pieds ou mettre les mains dans l’eau et l’agiter, c’est le mouvement qui fait produire la lumière. Attention ne vous attendez pas aux photos que vous avez pu voir et qui sont toutes retouchées !
C’est sympa à voir mais vous ne serez pas éblouis par la lumière...
Mercredi 8 juillet :
Sortie requin baleine avec « My Holbox tours ». Pourquoi vous conseiller cette agence plutôt qu’une autre parmi les différentes offres pour nager avec les requins baleines ? Tout simplement parce que Valérie sait s'entourer de très bons professionnels pour rendre votre expérience exceptionnelle. Nous étions avec le capitaine Fernando qui fait tout pour placer son bateau à la perfection et faciliter votre immersion. Dans l’eau nous étions accompagnés de Humberto qui fait lui aussi tout son possible et se démène pour que vous
passiez un moment incroyable. Il ne se contente pas de vous "surveiller" pour que tout se passe bien comme le font certains guides d’autres compagnies en vous abandonnant. Non, Humberto lit la trajectoire du requin baleine et vous guide. Vous n’avez plus qu’à le suivre. Il ne ménage pas ses efforts en vous tenant la main pour vous guider dans cette rencontre rapide mais intense . Humberto filme aussi ce moment. Il vous proposera de visionner les vidéos et vous proposera de les lui acheter. Ses vidéos sont de très bonne qualité.
Fernando et Humberto nous ont aussi préparé à manger. Mention spéciale pour leur guacamole . Valérie est là pour que tout se passe bien sur le bateau et répondre à vos questions en français, anglais ou espagnol sur cet animal. Si vous choisissez My Holbox Tours , vous serez sûrs d’avoir une prestation de grande qualité.
Concernant la sortie en elle même, avant de s’y lancer il faut savoir que les requins peuvent être très loin. Le jour de notre sortie nous avons fait 3h30 de bateau avant de les atteindre. Les bateaux utilisés sont des petits bateaux et autant vous dire qu’à l’aller, quand on n’était pas dans le bon sens par rapport aux vagues, ça tape dur ! Sur les 9 passagers 4 ont vomi. Par contre une fois face au requin vous oubliez tout ça. Même si nager avec le requin baleine n’est pas une promenade de santé. Ils nagent assez rapidement donc il faut de l’endurance pour les suivre. Vous aurez normalement droit à 2 passages. Notre premier passage a duré un
peu plus de 4 minutes et le deuxième 2 minutes environ car il allait assez vite et nous étions encore fatigués de notre premier passage. Cela peut sembler court mais quand on palme c’est très long. En tout cas c’est vraiment une expérience à faire mais choisissez bien la compagnie avec qui vous le faites. Au retour il y a un arrêt à Cabo Catoche. Franchement le snorkeling est assez décevant si vous avez déjà fait du snorkeling ailleurs dans le monde. Par contre le stop repas au Cabo Catoche est très sympa pour se reposer (sable blanc et hamacs).
Jeudi 9 juillet :
Petite balade à pied en direction de Punta Mosquito à 6h du matin. Très sympa.
Ferry en direction de Chiquila (330 pesos par personne) + bus Ado en direction de Valladolid (300 pesos par personne).
A Valladolid, réservation via Booking à l’hôtel « Casa Lucia ». L’hôtel est très beau, dans un style
colonial , il est très proche du terminal des bus ADO et du centre. Il est très calme et propre. Il y a une cuisine commune que l’on peut utiliser avec frigo, micro ondes et une fontaine à eau, avec une grande tablée devant la piscine, et un espace terrasse intérieure sympa. Le petit déjeuner, très simple, était inclus. Les seuls petits bémols étaient la taille de la chambre et de la salle de bain qui étaient assez petites, l'absence de miroir dans
la chambre, et le ventilateur qui faisait du bruit.
Vendredi 10 juillet :
Pas très loin du terminal de bus Ado se trouve la station de colectivos pour Chichen Itza . Il propose une offre aller-retour Chichen Itza avec possibilité au retour de vous déposer au cénote Ik Kil et ensuite de vous ramener à Valladolid pour 370 pesos par personne (entrée Ik kil comprise)
Pour la visite de Chichen Itza nous avions réservé une visite avec un guide souvent cité sur les groupes qui s’appelle Juan Pat. C’est un maya qui vit pas très loin du site et qui parle un excellent français. Il prend les places à l’avance pour vous et fait la queue pour être le premier sur le site. Cela nous a coûté 500 pesos par personne + les entrées. Sa visite dure 2 heures et est consacrée essentiellement à la pyramide principale et au terrain du jeu de balle. Il est passionné et passionnant même s’il semblerait qu’en tant que Maya, certaines
de ses affirmations seraient un peu partisanes. Il me semble vraiment important de prendre un guide sinon vous allez vraiment passer à côté du site. Vous pouvez contacter Juan Pat par whatsapp au +52 985 121 2381
Nous sommes ensuite allés au cénote Ik Kil (douche et gilets obligatoires, casiers à disposition) Effectivement il est très fréquenté, mais il est quand même très très joli avec sa végétation luxuriante.
Samedi 11 juillet :
Comme nous n’avions pas de voiture mais que nous voulions néanmoins visiter d’autres cénotes où il semblait compliqué de se rendre en transport en commun, nous avons fait le choix de réserver un taxi pour la journée. Nous nous sommes donc mis d’accord pour 1200 pesos pour nous amener à 3 cénotes différents et nous attendre à chaque fois: Xcanahaltun, Palomitas, Sac-Aua. (Pour trouver les taxis c’est simple : ils
stationnent à l’arrivée de la gare des bus ADO.)
Il nous a rejoint au cénote Zaci que nous avions rejoint à pied. Nous y sommes allés à l’ouverture, nous étions les premiers et seuls un moment ! 150 pesos par personne. Joli cénote en centre ville avec une belle végétation luxuriante. Il ressemble un peu à Ik Kil mais avec moins cet effet cylindre profond impressionnant.
Cénote Xcanahaltun : le plus beau cénote parmi ceux visités. Entrée 250 pesos par personne. Il s’agit d’un cénote fermé avec un trou qui laisse passer la lumière. Un décor de grotte. Kayak possible dans le cénote. Il y a plein de petits poissons au bord qui mangent les peau mortes de vos pieds. Etant fermé, l’eau est... très fraîche !
Cénote Palomitas : entrée 250 pesos par personne. Très beau cénote fermé, encore plus fermé que Xcanahaltun. Le trou au plafond est encore plus petit, donc très sombre quand nous sommes arrivés, ambiance un peu impressionnante. Extraordinaire lorsque le personnel allume les lumières, le cénote rappelle une « cathédrale gothique » pleine de stalactites très clairs.
Cénote Sac Aua : entrée 290 pesos par personne. L’entrée inclut la visite d’une grotte avec un guide local (paiement au pourboire). Ce cénote est très original avec son île centrale, et beaucoup moins couru que Suytun.
Pour info l’eau est vraiment très froide dans les cénotes. Dans ces trois cénotes, en juillet, nous étions seuls un moment et pas vu plus de 2 familles en même temps, vraiment très agréable !
Dimanche 12 juillet :
Bus Ado vers Bacalar (536 pesos par personnes).
A Bacalar, nous avons logé via AirBnb chez une hôte qui s’appelle Luli et qui propose plusieurs chambres avec salle de bain et cuisine partagée.
La chambre est joliment décorée dans un endroit agréable. Elle est idéalement située à proximité de la lagune et du centre ville. La cuisine partagée est pratique. La moustiquaire est utile au dessus du lit car il y a beaucoup de moustiques à Bacalar. Luli met à disposition un bidon d'eau ce qui est très appréciable. Seul gros point noir, c’est l’absence de pression à la douche, obligés de se rincer en remplissant un seau d'eau.
Par ailleurs il n'y a pas de "réelle" porte qui sépare la chambre de la salle de bain. Nous n'avons jamais vu Luli mais elle était très présente par message. La terrasse au milieu de la végétation est agréable.
Du terminal ADO au logement nous avons pris un taxi pour 40 pesos. Comme ce taxi avait été honnête sur le prix (nous nous étions renseignés auparavant) nous avons décidé de l’utiliser à chaque fois que nous avions besoin d’un taxi à Bacalar. Voici son Whatapp : +52 983 184 3585
Lundi 13 juillet :
Nous avons fait une sortie bateau sur la lagune avec « Bacalar Francophone activités ». Nous n’étions que tous les 2 donc cela nous a coûté 3500 pesos. Si nous avions réussi à être 4 cela nous aurait coûté 1000 pesos par personne.
Nous avons fait un tour privé de 4h sur la lagune avec Steeve et son bateau très confortable. Il est québecois donc parle un français parfait. Pendant ces 4 heures, Steeve nous a fait découvrir les différents lieux emblématiques de la lagune mais aussi des lieux où les autres bateaux ne vont pas. Il nous a raconté l'histoire de la Lagune. Il est aussi de bon conseil pour les lieux où aller et les restos où manger. En petit bonus une vidéo prise avec son drone lors de notre pause baignade.
Mardi 14 juillet :
Nous sommes allés à Los Rapidos en taxi (400 pesos aller retour) et entrée à 225 pesos par personnes. C’est très touristique mais c’est vraiment très beau. On peut y manger (cher), se reposer, faire autant de fois que l’on veut la descente des « rapides ». C’est intéressant si on y passe plusieurs heures. On ne peut pas y faire entrer nourriture et boissons, que l’on dépose à l’entrée et reprend à la sortie.
Mercredi 15 juillet :
Les mercredis, la navigation est interdite sur la lagune de Bacalar, nous avions donc prévu une autre excursion.
Visite de Calakmul au départ de bacalar avec l’agence ABCtours ( Whatsapp +52 983 319 8359)
Cette agence nous a organisé une excursion au départ de Bacalar et à destination de Calakmul avec un guide francophone. La communication avec l'agence a été très fluide en amont par whatsapp. Mr Checo le chauffeur et Fernando le guide qui parlait un très bon français sont venus nous chercher le jour dit. Mr Checo a conduit très prudemment sur cette longue route. Il s’est toujours assuré de notre confort. Fernando est passionné de faune et de flore. Il est biologiste, diplômé en ornithologie donc il est incollable sur les animaux.
Le moindre bruit ou chant et il sait de quoi il s’agit . Il a l’oeil pour les repérer, des plus grands au plus petit .
Lors du trajet nous nous sommes arrêtés au km 27 pour une petite balade en forêt, puis nous sommes ensuite allés voir les 2 principales pyramides du site . Au retour nous nous sommes arrêtés à la grotte aux chauves souris pour ce spectacle magique de plusieurs millions de chauves souris qui en sortent chaque jour à la tombée de la nuit . Au final nous avons vu ou aperçu furtivement pour certains, dans la foret, au bord de la route ou sur le site, des singes araignées, des singes hurleurs, un toucan , 2 tapirs , des dindons , 2
cervidés, des oiseaux . Si comme nous vous êtes très branchés faune et flore plus que archéologie je vous recommande cette agence et excursion avec Fernando.
Le prix n’est effectivement pas donné, mais la route est très longue entre Bacalar et le site (3h30). Prix : 3900 pesos par personne pour 2 (3500 si 3 et 3200 si 4)
jeudi 16 juillet :
Trajet en bus ADO vers Playa Del Carmen (614 pesos par personnes)
A playa Del Carmen, nous avons logé dans un logement loué sur Airbnb. L’immeuble est situé sur la place de la mairie, à côté du casino.
Le gros plus de ce logement est qu’il est très bien situé, pas très loin de la quinta. Cuisine plus que sommaire mais un frigo qui marche bien. Des supermarchés sont disponibles à proximité. La piscine sur le toit terrasse de l'immeuble est très sympa. Par contre les 2 gros points négatifs sont l'insonorisation (on entend carrément le réveil du voisin, et toutes les animations sur la place) et l'absence totale de pression à la douche. Nous étions obligés de remplir une poubelle d’eau pour nous la verser dessus. Quand nous l'avons indiqué au propriétaire il nous a dit que cela n'était pas normal et que quelqu'un passerait régler le problème mais nous
n'avons jamais eu de nouvelles. Au vu des précédents commentaires, le problème semble connu mais non réglé.
Playa del Carmen est très touristique côté quinta avenida, mais dans une ambiance musicale et bon enfant ;
nous ne nous sommes jamais sentis en insécurité. Énormément de petites boutiques de souvenirs pour touristes sur cette avenue. Jolie sculpture monumentale sur la plage (les deux personnages qui se rejoignent dans les airs), à coté de laquelle on peut voir le spectacle des Voladores (des hommes qui montent sur un mat, s’y accrochent les pieds par une corde, puis en descendent en tournant, en « volant » autour du mât, tête en bas. Spectacle au chapeau plusieurs fois par jour. Plus jolie que la quinta avenida à notre goût : la
calle 38, végétalisée, luxuriante et plus calme que la quinta avenida, à découvrir en début de soirée, avec la mer au bout. Repas très bons et prix très raisonnables au tacos « El Tio Noy », à quelques mètres de la quinta avenida, dans une rue perpendiculaire.
Pour vos souvenirs, nous vous conseillons d’aller au Walmart plutôt que sur la quinta, où vous trouverez à bons prix et fixes des têtes de mort, de la tequila, du mezcal, des portes clés, des mugs, des verres...
Vendredi 17 juillet :
Nous avons fait l’excursion vers Isla Contoy. Isla Contoy est une île non habitée très protégée. Seules 200 personnes peuvent y accoster par jour par roulement. Seules quelques compagnies ont donc le droit d’y accoster. La plupart des agences délèguent donc la journée à une agence tierce.
Nous avons donc réservé via l’agence VRM (Viviendo Riviera Maya) mais ce n’est pas cette agence qui assure la prestation mais Ocean Tours Mexico. L'île préservée de Contoy est un petit paradis . Nous avons été accompagnés par des guides multilingues et notamment francophones tout au long de la journée. Steffy nous a donné des renseignements sur l'île de Contoy lors d’une petite balade sur les chemins balisés de l’ile et Leño Tlatemoa a mis l'ambiance sur les trajets en bateau avec sa musique et ses danses . L'île de Contoy
est vraiment magnifique et le repas du midi était succulent : poisson et poulet grillés, guacamole et totopos, riz, fruits, boissons (tout est apporté et repris par l’équipe des guides) La partie snorkeling est par contre assez décevante si vous en avez déjà fait à Cozumel par exemple. Le stop sur Isla Mujeres n’a pas trop d'intérêt non plus car trop court pour explorer l'île et c’est une île excessivement touristique. L'excursion a en tout cas était très bien organisée par cette agence et nous avons passés une très bonne journée (prix 2970
pesos par personne)
Samedi 18 juillet :
Nous voulions faire du snorkeling à Cozumel mais nous trouvions que les prix des agences francophonesvétait très chers. Par ailleurs, pour faire du snorkeling nous nous sommes dit qu’il n’y avait pas de nécessitévd’avoir des guides francophones.
Nous avons donc trouvé une solution bien moins chère en prenant nous même le ferry à Playa Del Carmen etven choisissant une agence de Playa Del Carmen. Le ferry aller-retour nous a coûté 663,50 pesos parvpersonne. Nous avons ensuite pris un taxi pour rejoindre le bateau de snorkeling (100 pesos). L’agence quevnous avons choisi s’appelle Mystic Snorkel. Ils n’ont pas de locaux. La sortie nous a coûté 1400 pesos parvpersonne. Il s’agit d’un petit bateau mais ce jour là nous étions les seuls donc nous avons eu une sortie privéevau prix d’une sortie collective. Nous nous sommes arrêtés sur 4 sites différents. Ils étaient tous très différents
les uns des autres et très jolis. Nous avons vu toutes sortes de poissons, de coraux, un requin nourrice et desvtortues. Le site El cielo avec ses énormes étoiles de mer est exceptionnel. Si vous devez faire du snorkelingvdans le péninsule du Yucatan c’est vraiment la sortie à faire car les autres sites sont assez « pauvres ».
Dimanche 19 juillet :
Matinée plongée avec Triton Diving. J’ai choisi l’option plongée sur Cozumel. Très bonne expérience.
Réservation par whatsapp facile. Le jour des plongées c’est Selene, francophone, qui nous encadrait. Selenevest très attentive à la sécurité de son groupe . Les briefings sont clairs et précis. Sur Cozumel nous avons faitv2 sites très différents : le premier en plongée dérivante avec beaucoup de vie. De beaux coraux et poissons.
Le deuxième était une épave, le C53, un bateau de 56 mètres dans lequel on peut pénétrer. Peu de vie, maisvune belle épave coulée exprès pour les plongeurs donc en très bon état. Un moment inoubliable. Selene avmême pris des vidéos durant la plongée, que le club transmet par la suite gratuitement. Je recommande cevclub.
Pour information à Playa Del Carmen les plages étaient remplies de sargasses pendant notre séjour, malgrévla présence de barrières et malgré le ramassage quotidien. Il semblerait que le problème soit inextricable etvque les sargasses arrivent de plus en plus tôt dans la saison. Des locaux nous ont dit que le tourisme en avaitvpris un sacré coup cet été et qu’ils se demandaient si le tourisme pourrait exister encore longtemps sur lavpériode des sargasses. Beaucoup de touristes traversent donc vers les îles pour aller profiter des plages
d’Isla Mujeres et Cozumel, juste en face, dont ce côté (ouest) est épargné.
Lundi 20 juillet :
Trajet en colectivos pour Puerto Morelos. Un premier colectivo en direction de Cancun qui vous arrête entre Puerto Morelos village et Puerto Morelos plage (40 pesos par personne) et un autre de cet embranchement au bord de la route à Puerto Morelos plage (10 pesos par personne)
A puerto Morelos, nous avions réservé via Airbnb une chambre dans l’établissement Piedra Del Caraïbe.
Meilleur logement de nos vacances au Mexique. Il s’agit d’un appart hôtel. L'appart étant prêt avant l’heure du check in, on nous a autorisé à y entrer. Le logement était fidèle à la description, grand, spacieux, avec un lit King size confortable. La douche avait beaucoup de pression ce qui n’est pas une évidence au Mexique. Le personnel était très gentil et accueillant. Il nous ont permis de profiter de la piscine, des toilettes et de la douche sur le roof top, après le check out, et dans l'attente de l’heure de notre départ vers l'aéroport de Cancun pour notre vol retour. Ils ont même gardé nos bagages. Je recommande fortement cet établissement.
A Puerto Morelos, il y avait beaucoup moins de sargasses qu’à Playa Del Carmen. Cela était un peu plus baignable.
Nous avons fait la sortie snorkeling avec la coopérative des pécheurs pour 450 pesos par personnes durant 2 heures. Le récif est à proximité de la plage (il est interdit d’y aller à la nage) donc il y a très peu de temps de bateau. Ce n’est pas aussi joli qu’à Cozumel mais c’est sympathique et pas très cher. Sur la page de Puerto Morelos vous pouvez aussi accéder à un petit récif pas en très bon état. Il y a aussi un cénote dans la mer où l’eau douce se mélange avec l’eau salée. L’eau est trouble à cet endroit-là. Très bon dîner et excellents cocktails à « la choza del puerto ».
Mardi 21 juillet :
Flâneries dans puerto morelos (allez voir l’église et lisez bien tout ce qui est écrit, c’est divertissant!!), farniente à la piscine de l’hôtel et départ vers l’aéroport de Cancun en taxi (400 pesos) réservé par Indrive, pour rentrer en France.
Nos coups de coeurs :
- Holbox
- la sortie requin baleine
- les cénotes
- la flore et la faune locale très présente
- Isla contoy
- Cabo catoche hormis le snorkeling
Ce qui nous a le moins plu :
- la bioluminescence (très peu visible malgré de bonnes conditions)
- la nourriture que nous avons trouvé peu diversifiée dans les taquerias
- les pourboires constants
- le manque de pression dans les douches (fixes au mur, sans flexible et pommeau)
N’hésitez pas si vous avez des questions tant que c’est encore frais dans nos têtes.
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!
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.
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
Traveling with just one spare pair of underwear, considering a hot shower a miracle, never staying in the same place too long by sleeping wherever night catches us, taking whatever local, improbable, and rickety transport we can find—this is the DNA of us wanderers. Except this time, the script for our movie is going to be a whole different genre. On paper, the destination doesn’t exactly scream epic adventure: Réunion! And what’s more... we won’t be two, or four, or even ten. We’ll be a solid thirty. All from the same family. Yes, thirty. At this point, it’s not just a trip—it’s a summer camp on the move! Why inflict this on such a peaceful island? Because my brother decided to get married there with his lovely bride. A great idea, you might say... especially when it involves relocating the equivalent of a small Ardennes village 10,000 kilometers from home for three weeks! So who’s stepping up to be the guide and wave the little flag?
So, for an exceptional trip, exceptional stories! Don’t worry, the debates at the supermarket over whether to choose plain chips or roast chicken chips, the beach picnics washed down with ti’ punch, and other rougail sausages to digest by the pool will only make it into the family archives. Here, I’ll stick to the tales of our beautiful escapes, the ones where we explore the wild corners of this little volcanic rock planted in the middle of the Indian Ocean. So where exactly are we headed?
For the first week—the subject of this first installment—we’re taking it easy. We’ll start by rediscovering the coastline, from the Souffleur in Saint-Leu to the Hermitage lagoon, before a little trip to the Cirque de Cilaos and its legendary road with 400 turns, just to get our legs warmed up.
This travel journal is therefore intended solely for my photos, to present a consistent style.
All the shots were taken with a simple Samsung Galaxy smartphone and with whatever was at hand.
All stays combined, I’ve spent the equivalent of three years at most in Thailand, and I’m not a big expert on the country.
However, after many trips, lots of reading on VoyageForum and other sites, and conversations with many locals as well as expats, my view of the country is becoming clearer, though it’s constantly evolving. You never stop discovering and learning.
I guess I wanted to piece together a puzzle, mainly for those who want to get an idea of the country here and for those who miss it.
I don’t know if this minimalist sharing will interest anyone, but it’ll do me good to put it together. After so many months without traveling and then these other long months with VF closed, there’s plenty of material available.
There’ll be a mix of places, periods, and subjects, but it might well be intentional.
I suspect many Thais have dogs because they make excellent guards for the home. Nothing better to deter burglars or to signal the presence of a snake. You’ll often see Thais tapping the top of their dog’s head, but don’t be fooled: it’s a sign of affection from them. Judging by the dogs’ reactions, they’re used to it.
Thailand is one of the countries on the planet where rabies is still present, so keep that in mind. It’s not just bites that can be dangerous, so don’t let just any dog lick you. Especially on a wound, of course.
Even though dogs often fear humans—this dangerous and unpredictable predator—we still need to stay cautious.
Be careful when walking into alleys because the dog will defend its master’s big property, be careful at night, and be careful when they’re in packs.
It sometimes crosses our minds that Thailand isn’t really made for walking around, and dogs are one of the reasons.
That said, it’s not uncommon to see them chasing bikes or scooters. Cars, though, are much rarer—they’re too big.
It seems Thais prefer to give their dogs freedom by not locking them behind gates. Though sometimes the gate is closed, the little side door is wide open. Oh, and sometimes there’s no gate in front of the property, or it’s been broken for years.
You’ll often see dogs sleeping on the side of the road, sometimes right on the road. When you arrive, they move aside nonchalantly—or not at all. It’s less funny when they suddenly appear from thick vegetation, which reminds visitors not to drive too fast. As a result, you’ll notice that dogs with injuries or missing legs aren’t that rare.
Since they believe in reincarnation and respect for all forms of life, they don’t chase dog packs away too much, and they don’t sterilize them enough. Seeing a small pack roaming freely in the countryside, you might think it’s best not to cross paths with them at the edge of a field.
A darker side of this is that euthanasia isn’t often practiced. Twice, we saw dogs at temples on the brink of death, enduring terrible suffering. No one did anything about it. The image (and the smell) of one of them, dying and emitting the stench of death, still comes back to me sometimes.
Some of you may have seen the YouTube vlog of a French woman living in Phuket who was given a little pig by her Thai friends. The well-fed animal quickly became a happy, enormous beast with its own garden. Yet, it didn’t take long for it to fall seriously ill and become incurable. In her video, the French woman described how difficult it was to find a vet willing to perform euthanasia.
You’ll often see bowls by the side of the road. Thais leave food and water in them for stray cats and dogs. Overall, they have a big heart for animals.
If you ever pop into a shopping mall, you might see people pushing their small dogs in strollers. It’s not a gimmick—it’s just that these strollers are provided for customers to put their pets in, otherwise you can’t bring them inside. It looks a bit odd when you expect to see a baby.
It was winter, a winter with beautiful weather,
A season that only exists in the southwest of America,
I remember very well what I told you that morning
A month ago... A century ago, an eternity ago...
We’ll go... wherever you want, whenever you want...
Well, yeah, back from our adventure in our enchanting American West just a month ago, we’re already taking a bite out of one of its lesser-known competitors. "Flo, if you had to pick just one reason to justify your love for the U.S., what would it be?" The greasy, dripping burgers? No, I don’t think I’m going out on a limb by saying it’d be the wide-open spaces... And that’s exactly what our new quest is taking us to—a land on the other side of the globe where the horizon also seems endless, where silence tastes like salty wind and sand, where freedom is measured in kilometers of desert tracks, where the GPS is mostly there to confirm you’re lost in the middle of nowhere... Add to that magic formula the fact that you’ll see more zebras, giraffes, wildebeest, and elephants than people per square kilometer, and you can imagine us setting foot in Southern Africa for the first time, more precisely at the small airport in Windhoek, capital of... of...? Brush up on your geography, damn it! We’re landing in Namibia!!!
To be honest, Namibian landscapes have been flirting with me for ages. So how did I resist this island of temptation for so long? First, the budget. Let’s just say that for the same amount of effort (and kidneys), the bank lets you choose two other adventures almost anywhere else on the planet. Then there were my girls. Yeah, back then, they were too little to dose up on Malarone, the only malaria remedy at the time... Long story short, ten years later, all the planets have aligned. First, I won the Euromillions! Well, almost... Let’s just say my girls are now old enough... not to take Malarone, but to stop following me on all my adventures! Jackpot! "Flo, how about a little two-person caprice, just the two of us, tackling the Namibian tracks?"
As we landed on the runway, first wow effect: The horizon is immense. It’s flat as can be, incredibly flat... So much flat space! Did I mention it was flat?... Looking into the distance, it feels like your gaze could circle the Earth without hitting a single obstacle—until you end up staring at your own backside. "Oh, what a nice view!" Well, it’s the first time I’ve seen my butt from this angle! Touching moment... Sorry, I’m rambling—must be the exhaustion from the three-flight marathon we just powered through via Ethiopia and South Africa... And yet, no time to philosophize about my anatomy. As usual, we want to rack up our first kilometers to be front and center at dawn tomorrow. After wrapping up the tedious Namibian immigration formalities and meeting the 4x4 that’ll be our companion day and night for the next fifteen days, we’re off! We’re not exactly fresh, but we’re ready to tackle the next five hundred kilometers in night mode, cruise control set due south! Just outside Windhoek, the local wildlife—a jackal—welcomes us with a smile: "Welcome to Namibia!" That’s what it said! Honest... Okay, first endless straight road, first flaming sunset, first corrugated dirt track, first Milky Way with zero light pollution... You get it—it’s definitely the day of firsts... First night camping, too, in the big trunk of our Toyota Fortuner parked by the side of the track... The real adventure, the kind that smells under the arms, can finally begin...
Here we go—finally, the big day has arrived! A trip the whole family (my two kids, my husband, and me) had been looking forward to for so long.
To keep it short, we left from Nice, arrived in Namibia on June 25, 2025, and left again on the 21st—four weeks later.
We used an agency for all the camping reservations, activities, and the car rental. At least that side of things was taken care of. Michaël was our contact throughout the planning and the trip itself.
We spent our first night at Londiningi BB. A bit out of the city center but very quiet. The rooms were spacious and clean, and we could eat on-site that evening. Perfect for recovering from the flight.
This travel journal is our second on VoyageForum, following last year’s where we recounted our four weeks in Vietnam.
The goal remains the same: since some members on this site share tips, experiences, and great deals that help us prepare for our trips, we do the same after returning—both to give back a little and in the hope that our experiences might be useful to others in some way.
Our route was as follows: Bangkok, Siem Reap, Krabi, Suratthani, Koh Phangan, Koh Tao, Chumphon, Bang Saphan, Prachuab Khiri Khan, Sam Roi Yod, Hua Hin, Phetchaburi, Bangkok.
Beyond rediscovering Bangkok, our objectives were the long-held dream of seeing Angkor and exploring southern Thailand, much of which isn’t overly touristy.
A quick big thank-you to Barbot, who took the time to answer several of our questions.
12/07/2013
The cheapest flight we found earlier this year was a Paris-Bangkok route with a layover in Moscow for 1440 €, total for two people.
So, this time we tried Aeroflot. Airbus A318 for the first leg, A330 for the second. Nothing particularly annoying to report—the passengers were very calm, the cabin temperature was comfortable, and we had enough legroom.
That said, the quality of the meal trays was pretty mediocre, and the flight attendants weren’t exactly comedians.
We’d like to remind everyone that it’s best to exchange as little money as possible at the airport upon arrival, since the rate is about 5% worse than at city banks.
Of course, we made sure to take the airport exit where you can catch official taxis to avoid getting scammed. So, we queued up, a little lady gave us the ticket, and off we went with the driver.
Generally, this system works well because these drivers are registered, know their duties, and the risks they face if they break the rules. Except that day, right off the bat, we got the scammer of the day. His first move was to snatch the ticket from my wife’s hands—the one you’re supposed to keep in case of a complaint. My husband saw it, but after a full day of travel, we were a bit out of it, and honestly, there was no reason to be suspicious. But once we started driving, the guy refused to turn on the meter. We insisted more and more firmly, but nothing. So, I used the famous method of opening the door and starting to step out of the car. At 40 km/h, that scares the driver more than the passenger. He finally turned on the meter, but that didn’t calm him down—quite the opposite. For the next half-hour, he ruined the ride by demanding extra fees here and there. Having dealt with several scam attempts last year in Vietnam, this wasn’t exactly new, and we were proud of ourselves for staying pretty zen. Still, this guy was a little scary—he was completely wired and aggressive. Honestly, it was hard not to think he was on something. He’d be perfect for a *Scarface* remake. When we finally arrived at the hotel, he followed us to the entrance. We paid the two tolls (25 and 45 baht), gave him the usual 100 baht extra for the ride, and stayed polite but firm. So, meter: 245 baht + 100 baht + 25 and 45 baht for tolls—we paid the exact amount, no way we were tipping this guy. He left furious, but he was already like that before picking us up... Anyway, avoid Mr. Chartree Chidchen, number 089 826 7308, car E2663!
We were so relieved to finally settle in at Feung Nakorn Balcony hotel in the temple district. 42 € per night, great reception, all the staff is friendly. The AC works fine, the bed seemed hard at first but turned out to be comfortable. The hotel is quiet, away from the nightlife, but at this time of year, many places are less crowded than in high season. Even with a nice fish pond and outdoor breakfast area, it’s a decent hotel, though we felt we could’ve found something better.
After a night on the plane, the first afternoon is always a bit of a slog. We napped for a few hours, and when we woke up—guess what—we were starving. We visited a temple across from the hotel (nothing special) and then decided to take the Chao Phraya Express, the river shuttle that serves many piers along the river. It was a really enjoyable experience. The steel gangway wobbles when you board and disembark, the boat sits low in the water, and sometimes you get splashed. During peak times, you’re packed in like sardines, but most of all, there’s that exotic urban landscape passing by, especially the temple rooftops.
At that exact moment, the boat was packed. We didn’t see a ticket booth at the pier, and we tried in vain to pay the few baht for the ride. The cashier on the boat was too busy, and another employee we called didn’t have time to help us. Oh well, we weren’t going to force the issue. Still, this mode of transport is super practical for avoiding traffic, and at the piers, the lines with station names are clearly marked, with colors matching the flags on the boats. Combined with a map like the *Routard* guide, it’s easy to navigate.
We easily made it to the restaurant *Harmonique*, located near one of these piers. It’s a unanimous favorite on this forum, and let us tell you—it’s well-deserved. What a wonderful experience that evening! We only saw the outdoor gazebo because there was no way we were dining inside. It’s not flashy, so those looking for a luxurious setting should look elsewhere.
That night, the staff was a bit slow, and we had to track them down several times to move things along. But oh, my friends—what a feast on the plate! Start with the appetizer platter for two at 250 baht, featuring four specialties, each more tempting than the last, followed by their famous crab curry for 200 baht. There’s *so much* crab in there! The dish is so delicious and rich that when you finish, you feel—how to put it—like it was almost *too* good, to the point where you’re almost put off eating for days. And also, oh yes, we *will* be back. Their satay chicken is just as amazing, and it would be a crime not to mention their generous dessert with ice cream, warm banana, and chocolate, plus their *excellent* almond milkshake.
Later, we took a taxi to Kao San Road, mainly to book a Ko Tao-Chumphon trip for 600 baht per person at the Lomprayah counter. In hindsight, we should’ve booked all three of our trips there right away.
Kao San Road is *ultra*-touristy—better for younger crowds, but it’s still worth seeing. There’s rock ‘n’ roll, hippies, and crowds everywhere.
We walked back to the hotel, and when we got a little lost near a canal, a really nice older Thai man spontaneously appeared out of the night to kindly point us in the right direction.
Finally, a real long night of sleep ahead—we cranked up the AC. Sweet, the vacation has begun!
Hi there,
I just got back from a trip to Sri Lanka from December 18th to January 1st with 2 adults and 2 kids (12 years old).
If it helps, here’s my itinerary.
We left on December 18th from Madrid with Qatar Airways. No complaints. I booked my tickets back in March for 800 € per person. (I flew from Madrid because I live near the Spanish border and was too worried about strikes in France.)
We arrived on December 19th at 4 PM (local time). Before leaving France, I’d booked a taxi through MyTransfer for 59 € to Sigiriya. A van was waiting for us at the airport exit.
A never-ending 3-hour drive to Sigiriya. We stayed at Samana Guesthouse—very simple, clean, with a pool and an excellent Sri Lankan breakfast. Shower and straight to bed.
Friday, December 20th: Beautiful weather, but very humid and hot. We visited Lion Rock (36 € for adults) and then Pidurangala.
I loved both sites—they’re a must-do in my opinion.
Spent the late afternoon by the pool.
Saturday, December 21st: Another gorgeous day. The guesthouse manager offered us a free 2-hour tuk-tuk tour. We first visited a lake, rice fields, the temple, and the Sigiriya market, plus the usual tourist trap—the botanical garden (no pressure to buy anything at the end).
Then we took a tuk-tuk to Dambulla Temple, the Golden Buddha, and the wholesale market.
Sunday, December 22nd: Still beautiful weather. I’d booked a taxi for 8 AM. We did all the long trips by taxi to save time. I’d ask for prices from 2 or 3 WhatsApp taxi agencies 2 days or the day before—super responsive, always got replies within 5 minutes. We headed to Ella (4-hour drive) for 22,000 LKR.
Arrived in the afternoon at Rest Full Homestay—a small, family-run guesthouse. Clean, cozy, and an amazing Sri Lankan breakfast.
In the afternoon, we went to Nine Arches Bridge. It was a Sunday, a Sri Lankan holiday, so it was *packed*—mostly locals and very few white tourists! Even though it was crowded, it was cool because it was all Sri Lankans. We waited an hour for the train. It’s worth seeing, but honestly, I didn’t think it was that amazing.
Then we headed to the station to check if we needed to book tickets for the train to Haputale—turns out, no.
Monday, December 23rd: Beautiful weather. We hiked Ella Rock—a gorgeous trek. The final stretch is steep but shaded, so it wasn’t as tough as I’d read. The whole hike is stunning from start to finish. We saw the train pass twice (one blue, one red) and lots of women picking tea.
After that, we did Little Adam’s Peak. It’s not hard, but it was *packed* with tourists—meh. Luckily, at the top, you can walk a bit farther (down one side and back up) to get some space to yourself.
What I *didn’t* like was the commercial vibe at the big café/restaurant with a pool at the entrance of Little Adam’s Peak. Loud music, all that money being made right next to little souvenir stands run by Sri Lankans or tea-picking women. Felt off.
Ended the day buying souvenirs at one of the few shops we found during the trip.
Tuesday, December 24th: Beautiful weather. Took the train to Haputale. We got to the station 30 minutes before the 9:30 AM train. We could’ve taken 2nd or 3rd class—I went with 2nd (160 LKR per person).
It was crowded, but we managed to get seats—first 2, then 3. Only a 1-hour ride, but I *loved* it—windows and doors open the whole time.
Arrived in Haputale around 11 AM, and the mist was already rolling in.
We walked to our guesthouse, The Mist Holiday Bungalow. Simple but clean, with a great view of the tea plantations. The owner’s wife is Vietnamese and used to work for French tour operators, so her French is still pretty good—helpful for us since our English is terrible. They booked us a tuk-tuk for 4:45 AM the next day (2,000 LKR) to Lipton’s Seat.
Spent the afternoon wandering around Haputale. Not much charm, but there’s a nice fruit and veggie market and a short walk through the tea plantations.
Wednesday, December 25th: Beautiful weather. The tuk-tuk was on time to take us to Lipton’s Seat. We were the first ones there—the sky was just starting to turn pink. In the end, only about ten of us watched the sunrise. The guesthouse had packed us breakfast, and we walked back down (half on the road, half through the plantations). Didn’t see any tea picking since it was Christmas, but the walk was still incredible. We took detours through villages full of kids.
After that, we visited the tea factory. The tour was really interesting, and we took the bus back down to Haputale. Such a great moment—whole families were heading to mass, dressed up and made up. All so beautiful.
At noon, we left for Udawalawe National Park. Taxi for 14,000 LKR. Stayed at River Inn Safari Cottage. *Warning*: It’s the same place as Eagle Safari Cottage. I don’t recommend it. We’d always stayed with families before, but here it was just staff—totally different vibe. The pool was nice but not very clean (water was murky). The bungalow was big and fine, but it was brand new—so new the asphalt floor wasn’t fully dry. It’s in the middle of nowhere, so we had to eat on-site. Couldn’t leave a review on Booking because they never confirmed we’d stayed, and they canceled our reservation the next day.
Thursday, December 26th: Beautiful weather. I’d booked a safari through the hotel for 5:30–10 AM for 54 USD. Honestly, yes, there are a lot of jeeps, but it was great. The kids loved it—we saw everything there was to see.
Left by taxi at 11:30 AM for Welligama (12,000 LKR).
We didn’t stay in Welligama city but at Coconut Beach, between Welligama and Midigama. *Total crush* on the guesthouse: Sky Mountain Café with View. Such a lovely family. The mom makes amazing meals at reasonable prices. The view from the hill over the sea is unreal.
Spent the afternoon walking along the beach.
Friday, December 27th: Beautiful weather. My kids are surfers. Unfortunately, there weren’t any boards their size to rent at Coconut, so we took a tuk-tuk to Welligama Bay (1,000 LKR). They surfed from 8 AM to 5 PM—rental was 5,000 LKR for the day. Meanwhile, we walked the beach and swam. Water was 29°C.
Saturday, December 28th: Beautiful weather, rain from 4 PM until midnight. Same surf day. They were so well-behaved the whole trip, so this was their reward.
Sunday, December 29th: Beautiful weather. Beach day at Coconut. *Warning*: It’s a reef break. For surfers, there are three spots (Coconut Left, Middle, and Right). The boys bodysurfed (with fins) all morning, and at 1 PM, we took the bus to Hikkaduwa.
Stayed at Hotel Universal Beach. Nothing special—right on the water, but the rooms were dark even though they were clean. The manager was super nice, but the rest was meh, and breakfast was mediocre compared to what we’d had before (2 eggs and 3 slices of toast). Plus, it was late—8 AM.
First impression of Hikkaduwa wasn’t great—way too many Russians for our taste.
Monday, December 30th: Beautiful weather. Spent the whole day exploring. Turtle Beach, then the other side of the beach (toward Galle) near the fishing port. The beach there is much wider, with scattered hotels and super quiet. It’s beautiful—I should’ve booked somewhere in that area. Ended up having a great day away from the crowds.
Tuesday, December 31st: Overcast, then beautiful, rain at 4 PM. Had to end the year (and the trip) with some surf. Rented boards for the kids (3,000 LKR per board for the day). Bad luck—the waves were on a reef break but small. Not great for them, but no big deal. They still got out of the water by 2 PM. Walked the beach (which is gorgeous), had a juice, and went for a swim. Then back to surfing in the rain at 4 PM.
Wednesday, January 1st: Left by taxi at 5 AM (18,000 LKR). Flight at 10 AM. Arrived in Madrid at 8 PM.
I could have titled my travel journal like Carmen: "Some trips are born twice." Indeed, we had considered this destination back in February 2020. However, an honest tour operator advised us against traveling at that time due to the climate. So, we gave up and opted for Guatemala instead (see "On the Mayan Lands" on this site).
So, why this title? When I was in primary school, over 65 years ago, the illustrations in my history books (Machu Picchu) and geography books (Lake Titicaca) made me dream, and those images stayed in my mind. It took until 2026 to finally make this dream come true!
We prepared our trip with Tout Pérou, a French-speaking "agency." Everything was handled via email and WhatsApp exchanges with our contact: Laurent, who was both competent, friendly, and full of good advice.
For 200 €, Tout Pérou provided us with drivers and guides whenever we wanted, helped us buy our domestic flights (cheaper when purchased in Peru), booked shuttles between airports and hotels, and got us a discount on the train ride to Aguas Calientes, as well as on the buses between Chivay and Puno and between Puno and Cusco. In short, Laurent took care of all the logistics and the Machu Picchu tickets. It was up to us to book our hotels. Tout Pérou provided a list, but we weren’t obliged to follow it. Another advantage of the package: we didn’t have to pay in advance; we paid the service providers directly day by day.
We didn’t meet Laurent in person because he was on vacation in Europe. Before his departure, he gave us a briefing, provided a summary table with the entire program, the service providers, their phone numbers, their fees, the schedules, and gave us plenty of advice (money, exchange, safety, etc.). After returning at the end of our stay, he kept checking in on us.
Lastly, we had also gathered information from Arnaud Lagadec, who runs a hotel in Cusco and offers tours of the region. He gave us a lot of useful information. Another contact: Thomas Montaigne, very friendly, who runs an agency in Arequipa (Agence Pérou Exclusif).
Day 1 – Paris to Lima
Foreword
I’ll share our trip without any pretension—I don’t have the talent of some contributors on this forum—and I’ll illustrate it with a few photos (taken with an ordinary smartphone). My comments are personal and only reflect my own views. So, please be kind! Feel free to comment on my story as you like, but let’s avoid pointless debates.
Even though we live in the south of the Paris region, true to our habits when the flight is in the morning, we chose to spend the night before our departure in a hotel near CDG and parked our car in a parking lot in Garches. This way, we avoid the stress that often comes with traveling around Paris (accidents, roadworks, traffic jams, etc.).
Check-in and border control went smoothly on that Sunday morning. Our Air France flight was uneventful. In Lima, border control took a particularly long time, and for the first time, we didn’t get an entry visa stamped in our passports.
As planned, a driver took us to the Miraflores district, where our hotel was located. We were surprised by the numerous signs about possible tsunamis, having forgotten that Peru is prone to such events and regularly experiences earthquakes. We’d see the consequences of these during our journey.
Exhausted from the early wake-up, the 13-hour flight, and the 7-hour time difference, we had dinner at the hotel before a restful night.
Note that this day was Peru’s presidential election day. As a result, we weren’t served beer—the sale of alcohol was banned that Sunday.
We did the Langtang trek (hike) from September 10th to 17th, with the first and last days being the trip from Kathmandu and back—so 6 days of actual walking. It’s a fairly well-known trek but certainly not as famous or crowded as those in the Annapurna or Everest regions, which is why we chose it.
In theory, it’s mandatory to have a guide for this trek. In reality, it seems there are ways to bypass the regulations: we met at least two people hiking without a guide—a South Korean, a New Zealander, and possibly also a couple of English women and an American couple, though we’re not sure if they had a guide.
The agency we booked with had told us it was an affordable trek for relatively older people in good shape—which is our case (I’m 72 myself). I have to say upfront that we found it quite challenging, maybe because we didn’t have good weather—it was the end of the monsoon season. To be clear, no matter your fitness level, I’d say doing this trek in the middle of the monsoon season would be suicidal.
Day 1 – Journey from Kathmandu to Syapru Besi
On Monday, September 8th, there had been violent protests in Kathmandu against the government, which had, among other things, blocked access to social media and been accused of nepotism and corruption. There were 19 deaths. The situation was very tense on the day of our departure, Wednesday the 10th. The agency warned us that public transport was very unreliable. So, we decided to take a jeep, at an additional cost of $100 ($160 minus what was already budgeted for the bus).
We left a little before 7 a.m. and it took us a good hour just to reach the outskirts of Kathmandu. Along the way, we saw several houses and vehicles set on fire by protesters.
The road to Syapru Besi is only 120 km, but it’s frankly awful. It’s always narrow, winds through endless mountains, and the shoulders range from bad to confusing to nonexistent. Several sections are just dirt tracks. We didn’t regret opting for the jeep, as we could stop several times at our convenience—if only to let Y (my Thai partner) throw up everything she had. She’d taken her usual motion sickness medication, but the constant turns, accelerations, and braking eventually made her terribly carsick.
In Nuwakot, we stopped for breakfast at a nice little restaurant, Jimbu. It was around 8:30 a.m., and we’d barely covered 60 km. The restaurant has a lovely garden overlooking the Trishuli Ganga, the river flowing down from Syapru Besi. First photo: the river in the bottom right corner, mist and clouds over the mountain on the other side.
An hour later, my second photo: the hills along the Trishuli Ganga. You can see the different crops—lush green rice paddies in the lower right and corn, already yellowed and likely harvested, in the foreground on the left. And of course, the mist and clouds through which you can glimpse the mountain on the other side of the river.
When we started looking for a summer destination a few months ago, our first criterion was to avoid extreme heat and heatwaves. We had already been to Norway two years ago and are considering going back in the future for other occasions. So, we had some fun asking ChatGPT which destinations enjoyed a mild climate during the summer without going too far. Among the list provided by the AI were the Canary Islands... The idea of a place we wouldn’t have thought of first, both not too far away and exotic enough, appealed to us: “Hmm, why not?”
This destination had never really attracted me, though Magali was a bit more interested. Five years earlier, COVID had caused a short break in my professional activity, and I had planned a trip because the flight price was attractive, and I was looking for a destination different from what usually appeals to me, more than out of deep interest. From a distance and with a social judgment I acknowledge (it’s not great, but it’s not completely wrong), I had the image of a destination for party-goers enjoying the sun without the slightest interest in local culture, with concrete coastlines and denatured landscapes—everything I detest the most. Still, I had done some quick research on the different islands and spotted Lanzarote for its beautiful volcanic landscapes, hiking trails, beaches, and the impression of a good balance between activity and fewer crowds than Tenerife or Gran Canaria. Then I dropped the idea of going, without ever reconsidering traveling to the Canaries...
Until now! Because we started researching the different islands of the archipelago to see which ones might appeal to us the most. It was La Gomera, the third smallest island of the archipelago, more praised for its hiking trails and preserved nature than for its beaches, away from mass tourism (fifty times fewer tourists than Tenerife) but still a bit more developed than its wild neighbor El Hierro, that caught our attention. Contrary to what might be suggested later, I’m not at all addicted to AI, but I use it from time to time to synthesize quick research or simply for experimentation. Since ChatGPT had started anticipating my tastes lately as if it had become my buddy (often successfully, sometimes off the mark), I asked which Canary Island would suit me best for a trip with my family. The tool answered first with... La Gomera. So, I tested it and teased it a bit to see if this suggestion was well-founded, as the method sometimes makes it contradict itself. But no luck: “You’d appreciate the wild nature of El Hierro, but with family, you’ll find little activity for the kids. You won’t like the touristy vibe of the big islands like Tenerife, Gran Canaria, Lanzarote, and Fuerteventura. You could consider La Palma, but it’s really La Gomera that will suit you best, based on your interests and the criteria given.” So, we dug deeper into our research and were convinced without a shadow of a doubt that this island was the one waiting for us.
Without knowing it, we had Canarians in our circle who revealed their origins when they heard about our travel plans. One from Tenerife insisted we’d be better off choosing Tenerife (obviously...) because it also has preserved spots and that La Gomera, “you can explore it in two or three days, you’ll get bored quickly...” The other, a colleague from Gran Canaria who had never visited La Gomera, still recommended it without hesitation because it turned out her parents had just gone there on vacation: they loved it and had encountered few tourists. She also tended to think this destination was usually the subject of short stays, but according to what her parents told her, taking your time there was also a great idea. However, in our research, the idea that La Gomera is an island you can explore in three or four days max kept coming up. So, we considered combining its visit with La Palma or El Hierro, the other two that caught our eye. But hopping between islands by ferry represents a significant budget for non-Canarians, even more so for a family of four. Then, scrutinizing Google Maps, it seemed obvious that two weeks were too short to discover two islands as they deserve, and that there seemed to be plenty to see in La Gomera, given its very unique culture. After all, we read that some people spend several months a year there, others never even leave... Finally, these landscapes and this atmosphere, which seemed to us a mix of Europe, North Africa, and Latin America, tempted us. So, it would be two weeks in La Gomera, deal!
La Gomera is therefore the second... well, the third smallest island of the Canaries since La Graciosa was recently recognized as a fully inhabited island. It has the shape of a rough circle about 20 to 25 kilometers in diameter and has just over 20,000 inhabitants, half of them in its capital, San Sebastián de la Gomera, the only real town. Like its Canarian sisters, La Gomera is a volcanic formation that rose about 10 million years ago. The island is very mountainous and rugged, covered with red and black rocky landscapes. Geological activity has shaped, between the sprawling massifs that end in steep cliffs in the ocean, six coastal valleys with tropical vegetation that have favored human settlement. They divide the island like slices of a cake; from the north clockwise: the agricultural Vallehermoso, the rustic Agulo, the green, humid, and fertile Hermigua, the sunny capital San Sebastián de la Gomera, the southern and isolated Alajeró-Santiago, and the seaside Valle Gran Rey. They constitute the six municipalities (more like cantons to our French understanding) of the territory.
The large solidified magma massifs that shape the heart of the island have created a large depression more protected from the sun at its center, allowing the growth of a vast laurel forest, today grouped within the Garajonay National Park, La Gomera’s green lung, which has earned it the status of a World Biosphere Reserve. Its completely European appearance contrasts sharply with the rocky and tropical landscapes of the rest of the island. Thus, the climate varies greatly from one point to another on the island: in summer, you can quickly go from a dry and sunny valley at 35°C to a humid forest area at altitude at 18°C.
La Gomera was populated late. As with the rest of the Canaries, human presence is thought to have begun about 2,000 years ago. Groups of animist Berbers, probably fleeing persecution, gradually populated the archipelago, especially the western islands and La Gomera, becoming its small aboriginal population: the Guanches (or later Gomeros). The animist and pastoral civilization of the Guanches thrived until the Spanish takeover in the 15th century, which, after a short period of harmony and mixing with the indigenous people, suddenly ended in bloodshed... La Gomera later became the “Columbus Island” after Christopher Columbus’s stopover, increasing the blending of populations. In the 20th century, many Gomeros emigrated to Cuba and other Latin American countries in search of a better life, bringing back a mix of cultures and traits quite palpable in today’s Gomeran culture. It is, however, in La Gomera that the vestiges of Guanche culture seem to have left the most traces, in the language, gastronomy, social practices... Moreover, most Gomeros, especially in remote villages, have a particular identifiable type and proudly claim their ancestral roots, even making La Gomera a bit exotic in the eyes of other Canarians.
Perhaps that’s why it has never really wanted to develop its tourist infrastructure too much. If we set aside the tourists who visit for the day by bus or boat from Tenerife on a marked itinerary (and whom we ultimately rarely encounter), La Gomera has remained a hidden gem, a destination focused on nature discovery that attracts hikers, nature-loving divers, and scientists for its fauna and flora, and to a lesser extent, beachgoers who don’t seek overly developed coastlines. Tourist activity is therefore limited. Roughly speaking, you’ll find a majority of Spaniards, including a substantial number of residents from other Canary Islands, many Germans who have a particular fondness for La Gomera and spend long stays there or own second homes, to the point that the German cultural footprint is clearly noticeable in some places (it’s said to be Angela Merkel’s favorite holiday spot), and still quite a few French. The presence of other nationalities seemed negligible to us. Most travelers come mainly for hiking, but it’s also a prime spot for whale watching. Additionally, the seaside resorts of La Gomera—San Sebastián, Santiago, and especially Valle Gran Rey—are well-known destinations for hippies, especially German ones, ranging from chic boho hippies to old-school hippies who’ve been there for decades, quite similar to those you’d meet in India in Goa, Rishikesh, or Paharganj. Thus, practices like naturism, vegetarianism, and local organic production are quite well established in some areas.
Some practical info:
- The round-trip flight from Paris to Tenerife cost us 365 € per person (outbound with Transavia, return with EasyJet), including checked luggage and three seats reserved side by side.
- We chose two bases to explore the island: one week in Valle Gran Rey, reputed to be the most pleasant of the three seaside resorts, and one week in Hermigua, more mountainous and close to the natural park. We booked two houses with balconies and views: the first at 120 € per night, the second at 99 €.
- The round-trip ferry between Tenerife and La Gomera cost us 270 € with the company Baleària Canarias, including discounts for children aged 4 and 12, but I don’t have the exact details. It was a bit cheaper than with the other company, Fred Olsen.
- Finally, we rented a car through the agency Cicar for 360 € for 16 days, which comes to 22.50 € per day.
- Apart from that, we didn’t plan anything and decided the day before or even the morning of what we wanted to do. We didn’t invest in any paper guide on the Canaries, as information on La Gomera was scarce, but we used the very comprehensive site La Gomera Travel, a travel guide published by the Canary Islands Tourism Council, a real goldmine of almost exhaustive information on the island.
Alright, off we go for 16 days of adventure discovering La Gomera!
Last October, we landed in Marrakech to spend a few days with family exploring Morocco’s roads.
Transport: a rented Dacia.
Accommodations: small guesthouses.
Our first stop was just a few kilometers from Marrakech, at a lovely house perfect for relaxing and recharging before continuing. It’s called Bleu House, a little paradise on the outskirts of Marrakech. The welcome was very warm, with a beautiful pool and a lovely garden.
Next, we headed toward the Tichka Pass. The road has really improved in recent years—it’s much easier to drive now. No more getting stuck behind trucks, and today, the construction is practically finished.
Morocco has turned green after the recent rains. It’s a joy for the herds and shepherds.
I hesitated about writing this travel journal...
This summer, we only did the classics (the 3 northern parks and Zanzibar) and let a local agency take care of everything from start to finish.
No craziness, no risks, no sleeping under the stars, no self-drive, no venturing off the beaten path, no incidents, and not even any delays in the pre-planned itinerary...
But don’t think we were disappointed!
The whole family (there were 6 of us) came back with smiles and memories of great moments spent together.
So, if you're looking for a "classic" way to discover Tanzania, this is the place to be.
Our 2-week itinerary:
- Arusha (1 night upon arrival)
- Tarangire (1 night)
- Ngorongoro (2 nights in Karatu then Irmisigiyo)
- Serengeti (3 nights in Robanda, Togoro Plains, and Seronera)
- Zanzibar Stone Town (1 night)
- Zanzibar Matemwe (3 nights)
- Zanzibar Jambiani (3 nights)
Come along, I'm taking you to this country where it's so nice to wander and slow down...
This trip was in 2023, but when I wanted to write my travel journal, VF was still closed to contributions...
So, now that I've just finished my Japan travel journal here, I figured it was high time to honor this destination we came back from so enchanted.
Disclaimer 1: This is a written travel journal. There’ll be text! Too much, for some!
Disclaimer 2: This is an illustrated travel journal. There’ll be photos! Too many, for some!
I have to say, every time I try to discipline myself, to keep it shorter, to include fewer photos... I end up adding more. It feels like my dear Aunt Nicole, who exhausted us with her slide-show evenings in the 70s/80s, decided to take her revenge. The upside for you, readers, is that you can slip away anytime without offending Aunt Nicole. I won’t even notice!
Anyway, since I love maps, here’s one to give you an idea of where I’m taking you. As you can see, we only saw a tiny part of Laos (the areas circled in red); we only had 3 weeks for ourselves (my husband’s newly retired, I still work), and we prefer taking our time over rushing around like crazy.
In broad strokes, it was very classic:
First, we “settled in” at Luang Prabang (8 days), because we wanted and needed to.
From there, we took three days to venture a little further north—not far in kilometers, but as we know, distances aren’t just about km!
Then we flew south to Paksé, letting ourselves drift down to the 4,000 Islands while stopping by the pre-Angkorian archaeological sites.
We wrapped up with the Bolaven Plateau.
A few practical notes: We arrived via Bangkok, then took a Bangkok-Luang Prabang flight, having picked up our luggage in Bangkok to check it in for Luang Prabang. No issues—the Bangkok airport, which many of you know, is very well organized.
We got our visas on arrival in Luang Prabang. Quick, but to be fair, we were on a “small” plane, and the big flights had arrived earlier, so we weren’t too crowded in line!
At the end of our trip, we didn’t fly out of Paksé but from the nearby airport in Thailand, Ubon Ratchathani (a 2.5-hour drive from Paksé), then Bangkok and Paris.
You’ll notice we skipped Vientiane to stay longer in Luang Prabang. That said, there’s now a high-speed train between Vientiane and Luang Prabang—good to know—and soon the (Chinese) train will go all the way to Bangkok and even Kuala Lumpur!
With that intro out of the way, let’s dive into the heart of the matter.
To be continued: Slowing down the pace... in Luang Prabang
It’s an ancient city that breathes, a living spring.
Here, no kitschy signs like “I miss you in Fengyu,” nor mass-produced fake antiques.
The century-old houses still bear the marks of wind and rain; in the morning, you hear roosters crowing, and at dusk, smoke gently rises from the kitchens.
This city doesn’t try to please anyone—like the spring water flowing through it, it simply keeps living at its own pace.
Located in Eryuan County, in the Dali Prefecture of Yunnan, the ancient town of Fengyu is a nationally designated historical and cultural city. It’s nicknamed the “land of scholars and ink”—during the Qing Dynasty, the Fengxiang Academy produced four *jinshi* and eleven *juren* in the imperial examinations. The Bai families made studying and farming a true legacy. Even on market days, you’ll find stalls of calligraphy and paintings, while lintels and screen walls are covered with family mottos.
Fengyu was also an important stop on the ancient Tea Horse Road. It preserves the second-largest Bai architectural complex in China, just after Xizhou. The famous traveler Xu Xiake spent seven days here and compared it to the “peach blossom paradise.”
I’m inviting you on a stroll through my drawings—a completely subjective, far from exhaustive, and totally personal take, since it’s based on my own sketches. I put this travel journal together after returning in late 2024, mostly using felt-tip pens and pencils, with a few collages thrown in. I worked from our personal photos.
Let’s start with the shotengai...
Our first "wow" moment came as we stepped out of the subway in Asakusa, the Tokyo neighborhood where we’d booked our hotel for our first five nights. Exhausted after our long flight, we finally arrived and took an exit that led straight into a shotengai—one of those covered shopping streets that pop up in city centers and flourished between the 1950s and 1980s.
It was an instant aesthetic shock, like a close encounter of the third kind between the modern city, a typical Asian market with its street stalls, the vintage vibe of the arcade, the sheer abundance of goods, and the bustling crowd—a mix of tourists, pilgrims (thanks to nearby Senso-ji Temple), and locals (it’s a very working-class area).
In the end, it set the tone for a feeling we’d experience throughout the trip. Wherever we went, shotengai turned out to be fantastic spots for finding little restaurants, shops, or even fresh produce. Some are like real mazes, like in Kyoto, where we spent ages trying to relocate a restaurant we’d loved ;-)
In Kanazawa, the Omicho Market:
And in Kyoto, Nishiki Market:
The latest travel journal about Turkmenistan dates back to 2019. Here’s a quick update on this vast desert country, which is now a bit easier to visit than before.
This is my first travel journal. If you have any questions, don’t hesitate to ask. The country is slowly opening up, but it’s still possible to visit sites where you’ll be completely alone. In five days, I saw two Hongkongers, a few Germans, and a Chilean at the crater, ten Chinese people in a capital bazaar, and that’s it!
It’s possible to visit Turkmenistan from Uzbekistan. The easiest and most economical way is to take a taxi to the border from Bukhara. The trip takes a little over an hour.
Crossing the border takes quite a while because many Turkmen bring back items bought in Uzbekistan to resell in Turkmenistan. For example, diapers, baby products, or beauty products.
It took me over 2.5 hours to cross the border. To visit Turkmenistan, it’s mandatory to have a guide and go through a travel agency. British agencies often offer three-, five-, or seven-day trips for over 1,500 or 2,000 €.
But if your budget is more limited, you can contact a few Turkmen agencies directly by email, and they’ll make you an offer between 700 and 1,300 € for three to seven days. I took a five-day trip from Turkmenabat in the northeast of the country to Dashoguz in the north. The goal was to visit the main UNESCO-listed sites, including Merv, and archaeological sites like Nisa or Gonur Tepe.
Your guide will also be your driver. They’ll pick you up at the border. The formalities are very long because customs officers have to stamp multiple documents, and obtaining the visa you previously requested from your travel agency requires several checks. But the process goes relatively smoothly, even if each step takes a while.
Once on the other side, the first surprise is the brand-new highway all the way to Turkmenabat. A very long line of trucks stretches for several kilometers on the Turkmen side to cross the border into Uzbekistan. According to my guide, Turkmen trucks transport gas and cotton (though not this season, since the harvest is in September), but they mainly fill up their tanks because fuel is much cheaper in Turkmenistan. A full tank for a car costs about 3 €, which is unbeatable.
From the Farap border post, the goal is to reach the city of Mary, which is home to the UNESCO-listed site of Merv in its suburbs, about thirty kilometers away. This city is known as a foundation by Alexander the Great in the 4th century BC under the name Alexandria of Margiana. Several fortresses are visible.
After more than three hours on the road, we have lunch at a Turkish restaurant called Aladdin. Several quotes from the president are visible along the highway, but the road is in good condition, and we move along easily. This will be by far the best road in the country—things will get much worse later.
Roundabouts are particularly interesting because they feature emblems of Turkmen culture, like the dog, a carpet, the Ahal Teke horse, or Muslim symbols, even though the presence of Islamic artifacts is quite limited.
Preamble:
Africa was calling to me, so a year ago, with our usual travel companions, we decided to return to the continent we love so much.
Where to go?
Uganda quickly caught our attention—wildlife we’re used to seeing, plus gorillas and the shoebill we missed in Zambia.
We got in touch with Paul, who’s been mentioned several times on the forum back in September, booked our flight tickets, secured the gorilla permits, and by early October, the most important things were done.
We still had plenty of time to hold our "prep meetings" for the final itinerary.
Three days before departure, I sprained my ankle (my weak spot, as you’ll recall from our Colombia trip).
I wasn’t in great spirits, but after a year of waiting, nothing was going to stop me.
We’d see how it goes!
Off we went for our new adventures
If you're looking for great tips and offbeat spots, if you love exploring uncharted parts of a country, if the exotic is your adrenaline, then move along!
Our 15 days in early May in this part of Turkey (a country I first discovered during a city trip to Istanbul in 2017) will only tread well-worn paths and revisit popular routes. Simply because I kept hoping until the very end that our flight to Jordan wouldn’t be canceled. Events in the Gulf proved me wrong, so we left with:
Zero preparation.
Not a single hotel booked (well, except the first one), no visits planned, just a flight ticket bought three weeks earlier. No guidebook, no app—just the desire to explore southern Turkey and Cappadocia, whose images and the chance to stretch our legs had caught my eye.
Oh, wait—I did bring along a new guide: Gemini! Yes, my friends, generative AI was my chief advisor throughout the trip for sites to visit, accommodations, routes, and even restaurants! An experiment I wanted to try to form my own opinion on using this new technology. And what better way to test it than a Turkish getaway?
The verdict? You’ll have to wait for the trip recap to find out!
The main idea of the trip is also relaxation.
So, the plan is Antalya for a few days, the Turkish Riviera for a few more, Cappadocia as the highlight, and a return via Antalya to wrap up the trip. And it was all planned by AI!
So, if you're ready, fasten your seatbelts—cabin crew, doors to automatic and cross check—boarding for Turkey now!
It often happens that we're asked what to visit in Belgium.
And the answers usually point to Bruges, Ghent, Antwerp, and Brussels—and rightly so, as these cities are well worth visiting ;).
However, Belgium, though small, isn’t just limited to these four cities.
I live in one of them (Brussels), enjoy spending time in the other three, but I’d like to highlight some lesser-known spots that could add to the trip for those who want to see a bit more or something different.
Between trips, I like exploring one or two corners of the country where I live.
Hence the idea for a travel journal of walks.
Most of the places I’ll talk about can be visited as a day trip from Brussels, whether by public transport or car.
In chronological order of the topics covered:
- The Gileppe Dam (Liège province) - message 2, page 1
- The Domaine de La Hulpe (Walloon Brabant) - message 3, page 1
- Mechelen (Antwerp province) - message 4, page 1
- The coast - message 5, page 1
- The Westhoek, from De Panne - message 6, page 1
- The Zwin, from Knokke - message 7, page 1
- Lier (between Mechelen and Antwerp) - message 8, page 1
- Mons (Hainaut) - message 9, page 1
- The Florenville region - message 12, page 1
- The East Cantons - message 13, page 1
- Dinant - message 18, page 1
- The Japanese garden in Hasselt - message 24, page 2
- Leuven - message 29, page 2
- Louvain-la-Neuve - message 32, page 2
- Ostend - message 42 (page 3) and message 166 (page 9)
- The floralies of Groot-Bijgaarden - message 43, page 3
- Halle Forest - message 44, page 3
- Pralines - message 54, page 3
- Charleroi - message 68, page 4
- Namur - message 92, page 5
- Le Bois du Cazier (Marcinelle) - message 95, page 5
- Couques and gosettes - message 96, page 5
- Liège - message 99, page 5
- Tournai - message 115, page 6
- Oudenaarde - message 121, page 7
- Meise Botanical Garden - message 124, page 7
- Tongeren - message 125, page 7
- Beersel Castle (Flemish Brabant) - message 126, page 7
- Brussels in lockdown (messages 150 and 154, page 8)
- Notre-Dame à la Rose Hospital in Lessines (messages 161 and 162, page 9)
- Westende (message 167, page 9)
I’ll keep updating this list as the journal progresses...
This trip had been on my mind for about fifteen years.
But the discomfort of overnight stays, the difficulty of communication, and the prices of the few car rental options kept making me postpone the project.
And then, everything suddenly fell into place—I told myself, it’s time!
The preparations took longer than usual; the destination is still far from mainstream.
A bit of Kazakhstan?
Not in the end.
The south or not the south?
Yes, in the end.
Pre-book or go with the flow?
Only two stops were a leap into the unknown.
To help me find the ideal route, I made great use of this forum (thanks to everyone for patiently answering my questions!), pored over travel journals and blogs (Christian, Jeff), zoomed in on Google Maps and Yandex, and bought the guide published by OunTravela about this destination (the guide has been updated since).
---/---
You’ve got your passport, international driver’s license, bank cards, and euros?
Off we go to Lyon—just one night left before our early morning flight.
Tomorrow night, we’ll be sleeping in Bishkek!
(Steak for my partner’s mischievous nephews...)
You’ll find here a post with some practical information.
And here, the version of the travel journal without comments.
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As a supplement, the route track.
Not necessarily ultra-accurate since Google has serious gaps for this destination...
January 2026
Here we go again for new adventures and the pleasure of sharing them with you here! First of all, I’d like to thank everyone who helped me with the preparations, even with some last-minute improvisations just days before departure. Thanks to Montagnard74, Jojoone1, Songsam, Attila, Dennis2, NadegerFERM, and the authors whose travel journals about Laos inspired me (Montagnard74, Muriel18, Mavietongs...).
In this story, written by Richard and illustrated by me, we’ll tell you about the journey of four friends: Catherine, Richard, Nathalie, and Bruno. A reinvented but overall successful trip, filled with discoveries and surprises, the scents of spices and frangipani flowers, (too) spicy food, sunsets, and... one big mess.
On some paintings, the scenes become almost narrative: you can make out figures, everyday gestures, like a memory of the village inscribed in the walls. The decorative frames around the doors aren’t left to chance either—they symbolically protect the house, like a boundary between the inside and the outside world.
The arches, weathered by time with their yellow-orange hues, support a structure topped by a small temple whose whitewashed sacred part contrasts with the darkened domes crowned with red flags.
A cannon is displayed near the building, imposing with its tier, a reminder of the power and prestige of the place.
Other panels show scenes from daily life: people at work, musicians, animals, and even battle scenes. These small sculptures are true archives of 18th-century Bengali society.
The rooms are furnished with Victorian furniture, the walls adorned with trophies, and heavy Belgian glass chandeliers hang from the ceiling. All the furniture is covered with clear plastic sheets, giving the whole place a strange, almost frozen atmosphere.
My mind is elsewhere. I think, without even meaning to, I’m already reflecting on these six weeks that flew by in the blink of an eye.
Images come back in waves: Bishnupur, a place where I felt something special and where I’d love to return; the warm welcome in Naya and the stunning Patachitra paintings; the many markets I passed through over the days; the houses decorated with Sohrai paintings in the villages of Jharkhand; Santiniketan and my bike rides, including that infamous flat tire I won’t soon forget; Murshidabad, with its palaces and fascinating history; and finally, Kalna, with its temples that provided such a beautiful conclusion to the trip.
These six weeks were rich, varied, sometimes surprising, sometimes more challenging, but always filled with discovery. So many encounters, landscapes, architectural gems, and unexpected moments… I almost have a tear in my eye.
I decide to leave the museum pretty quickly and head to New Market.
On the right, the "welcome marker"—those dates offered everywhere as a sign of hospitality. On the left, a tribute to those stunning doors worn by time, admired all over the old quarters, including the abandoned ones.
Hospitality will often lead you to accept a small coffee, an "Omani coffee," very light, subtly flavored with cardamom, maybe a touch of saffron, and occasionally rosewater.
Here, I’ve depicted a man in the common everyday attire of Omanis: the dishdasha, mostly white (during the week and daytime; colors are more common in the evening or on Fridays and Saturdays). While you’ll see some men dressed in Western clothes, they’re very few. The white dishdasha is truly the shared attire of all men. The dishdasha, which has no hood, is distinguished by a small pom-pom attached to the collar, the furakha, which is soaked in perfume. And believe me, Omanis go overboard with it! "It smells like the pom-pom" is an expression that’s now part of our shared language, my husband and I.
Another must of men’s attire is the kuma, a small round head covering, usually white with brightly colored patterns. The keffiyeh is also worn (but without the cord called an agal in Arab countries), and it’s mostly worn by those with roots in the desert, from what I understood.
And what about the women, you might ask? Some are veiled, some in full black (but not a burka—more like a chador + abaya), due to the influence of Saudi Arabia and the United Arab Emirates, whereas the traditional outfit used to be a layering of very colorful dresses. Most of the women we saw wore neutral clothing, a plain veil over their hair, but with their faces uncovered. We also saw many saris and colorful veils—don’t forget that 40% of the population consists of Indian, Nepalese, and Bangladeshi immigrants, who work a lot in tourism, hospitality, restaurants, services, and construction.
Just to clarify, as a tourist, there’s no pressure to wear a veil, and never any disapproving looks. Of course, you’ll save the mini shorts, plunging necklines, bare shoulders, and midriffs for the hotel terrace—but I’d say that’s the same for men and women, and with the sun being strong, it’s better for your skin too.
Here’s the introduction! In the next post, I’ll tell you about my itinerary, and we can dive in!
The large solidified magma massifs that shape the heart of the island have created a large depression more protected from the sun at its center, allowing the growth of a vast laurel forest, today grouped within the Garajonay National Park, La Gomera’s green lung, which has earned it the status of a World Biosphere Reserve. Its completely European appearance contrasts sharply with the rocky and tropical landscapes of the rest of the island. Thus, the climate varies greatly from one point to another on the island: in summer, you can quickly go from a dry and sunny valley at 35°C to a humid forest area at altitude at 18°C.
Last October, we landed in Marrakech to spend a few days with family exploring Morocco’s roads.
Transport: a rented Dacia.
Accommodations: small guesthouses.
Come along, I'm taking you to this country where it's so nice to wander and slow down...
I’m inviting you on a stroll through my drawings—a completely subjective, far from exhaustive, and totally personal take, since it’s based on my own sketches. I put this travel journal together after returning in late 2024, mostly using felt-tip pens and pencils, with a few collages thrown in. I worked from our personal photos.
And in Kyoto, Nishiki Market:
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.
A little sneak peek?
