Après la Finlande, il y a deux ans, plus notre road trip entre la Norvège, la Suède et la Finlande, me voici de retour pour un nouveau carnet de voyage dans le sud ouest de l'Irlande, sur 5 jours le long de l'Anneau du Kerry.
Ce carnet a été publié sur notre site et dans la catégorie blog on a aussi rajouté quelques petites infos complémentaire : www.retourdumonde.fr
L’Irlande. Il ne nous a pas fallu grand chose pour nous décider, aucun de nous deux n’y avait jamais mis les pieds, les paysages, du peu que j’avais vu, me rappelait un peu la beauté de l’Ecosse, et surtout la lecture de quelques articles sur l’anneau du Kerry sur le blog de Julie de Carnets de Traverse avait achevé de nous convaincre. Bref, on a donc décidé de se faire ça en 5 jours, histoire d’avoir le temps de prendre notre temps et de profiter des coins reculés de la péninsule d’Iveragh.
Une chose avant de commencer le récit de ce voyage : il faut toujours vérifier et re-vérifier ses réservations. Pourtant, comme tout voyageur, on est assez bornés là-dessus. Et pourtant….un oubli arrive vite. En l’occurrence un simple oubli de lettre dans un nom de famille a bien failli remettre en cause le départ. Après une petite sueur froide au check in du vol Aer Lingus pour Cork de 14h30, rien à signaler. Au final pas de souci, le personnel a été prévenant et nous a bien aidé, de toute façon la réservation ne pouvait pas être changée.
Nous sommes de retour dans le terminal 1 de Roissy, plus de 6 mois après notre voyage en Laponie, forcément ça rappelle quelques bons souvenirs. Sauf que cette fois-ci, nous sommes habillés plus…normalement on va dire. Tour rapide dans le terminal, le passage habituel aux douanes, salle d’embarquement et nous nous installons dans l’avion, à peine rempli. Il faut dire que nous sommes sur un vol en semaine, et qui n’est pas à destination de la capitale irlandaise.
Atterrissage sans encombre et première goulée d’air frais et humide. Ça fait du bien, c’est tout ce qu’on désirait, retrouver un peu l’air pur, l’air qui vient du large, celui qui vous requinque en moins de deux, et vous fait sentir plus…propre. Histoire de faire les choses en grand, Cork nous accueille avec un double arc-en-ciel. Rien que ça. C’est d’ailleurs une des premières photos de ce voyage, histoire de marquer le coup.
Voilà notre seconde maison pour ces 5 jours, on reprend nos marques depuis février, on installe la carte, on prépare la Go Pro, la bouteille d’eau pas loin, un extrait de Google Map par ci, les réservations par là, le sac photo à portée de main. Bref on retrouve nos bonnes vieilles habitudes, sauf que pour cette fois, une chose a changé… Le volant n’est pas du bon côté. Je le prends bien, j’essaye de ne pas stresser, de créer des nouveaux réflexes et surtout de les garder.
On prend la route, un peu tendus. Conduite manuelle, embrayage un peu moisi, stress des priorités, mais petit à petit les choses roulent, la route défile avec RTE, la radio nationale, en bande-son. Pas le temps de regarder les paysages, alors je me les faits décrire par ma co-pilote.
Petit à petit, les paysages se vallonnent, la route se resserre, mais le flot de camions lui ne semble pas diminuer. A droite, nos premiers moutons, à gauche un champ d’où émane un léger brouillard comme en suspension au dessus de l’herbe verte, trop verte. D’un vert presque ostentatoire.
La route s’allonge, et soudain je vois un panneau : Lough Guitane. On a un peu révisé avant de partir et on sait que Lough = Loch = Lake = Lac. Bref, un coup d’œil derrière et je m’engage sur la route minuscule en me demandant au fur et à mesure si je n’ai pas fait une connerie. La route monte en pente sèche, elle n’est pas large. A la première voiture croisée, c’est le petit coup de flip.
On ne voit pas de lac, on se demande si on est sur la bonne route, ou plutôt si elle mène quelque part. A chaque portail de maison, on hésite à faire demi-tour, puis en haut d’une montée, on aperçoit le lac coincé entre les Mangerton Mountains. La nuit tombe vite et rapidement et sur ce petit chemin, notre premier arrêt sera pour contempler ce paysage qui introduit bien le voyage que nous amorçons : un pré avec des vaches et des moutons, un lac en second plan, et les montagnes derrière.
Dans notre dos le soleil se couche, on profite de la vue sous le regard d’un bélier, on prend notre première dose de paysages. Un lac, coincé entre des montagnes Toblerone, au dessus la lune, à gauche deux vaches qui nous regardent dubitativement.
On prend quelques photos, on prend le temps de s’approprier la vue, et on remonte dans la voiture. A peine nos deux paires de fesses posées sur les sièges que la pluie se met à tomber avec force et fracas.
On ne voit pas grand chose, mais on avance, et soudain la pluie s’arrête, plus confiants on continue la route pour rejoindre Killarney. On se paume un peu dans le dédale des ronds-points, et derrière nous la file des voitures s’allonge grandement. On rate notre chemin, on fait demi tour en rase campagne et enfin on arrive à l’Inveraray Farm Guesthouse, ou plutôt chez Eileen et Noel. Eileen, nous accueille avec le sourire, on se sent déjà comme chez une grande tante.
Elle nous prépare un thé bien chaud, avec des petits cookies, et le traditionnel nuage de lait. Ca y est on est bien en Irlande. Pendant qu’on déguste notre thé, Eileen nous parle avec amour de la région, est contente de voir que, contrairement à la majorité des gens de passage, on ne va pas se contenter d’avaler l’Anneau du Kerry en une seule journée, et qu’on va prendre le temps de se perdre, de farfouiller, de se balader. Bref, elle nous donne ses bons coins, nous dit quoi voir, quoi faire, où aller. Eileen nous dit tout, jusqu’à nous conseiller un chouette restau.
Ca tombe bien, on a faim. Sans doute le décalage horaire (et oui une heure ça change tout). On saute dans la voiture, on fait la route vers un phare dans la nuit, soit le seul pub-restaurant, sur la route du Gap of Dunloe. Pas de chance, alors qu’on était contents d’être là, le serveur, avec son plus bel accent irlandais de la campagne, nous explique, ponctuant chaque mot par 'Maybe" que ce soir, exceptionnellement ils ne servent pas à manger.
Un peu dégoûtés, on décide de partir sur Killarney en se disant que là-bas, on trouvera bien quelque chose. Il recommence à pleuvoir, on marche dans Main Street, où toutes les 3 boutiques se trouve un pub. Beaucoup de restaurants fermés, malgré l’heure de dîner.
On jette notre dévolu sur un fish & chips, en "Eat-In". Le poisson est bon, la friture aussi, pas trop grasse, mais finalement on n’avait pas si faim, et pour moi la fatigue se fait sentir. Toujours ce fichu décalage horaire…
Route en sens inverse, retour au B&B, Eileen, se confond en excuse pour le restaurant fermé. Décidément la politesse des irlandais n’est pas une légende. Je prend l’air une dernière fois dehors, il se remet à pleuvoir, le vent souffle.
Et puis soudain plus rien, car ici, la pluie semble partir aussi soudainement qu’elle arrive.
Merci, la suite arrive mais ce n'est pas toujours très simple pour poster des photos avec cette nouvelle interface sur VF. C'était plus simple lorsqu'on pouvait mettre des liens externes.
Quel beau début, la suite s'annonce bien, donc une nouvelle envie de voyage, ça c'est certain mais bon, pas l'année qui vient, car d'autres projets.
rendez vous pour la suite et les photos qui l'accompagneront sans doute. en attendant bonne fin d'année.
Le jour se lève en même temps que nous. On ouvre les rideaux, face à nous, on découvre la campagne irlandaise dans tout ce qu’elle a de plus cliché. Des champs vallonnés verts à perte de vue, et à droite les premières montagnes des Macgillycuddy’s Reeks, entre les deux le soleil qui doucement se lève et inonde les champs d’une lueur orange et rose. Mais comment on l’a apprit hier, ici, le temps ne dure jamais très longtemps.
Avant le petit déjeuner, on sort prendre l’air. Derrière nous, au dessus du B’n’B, des nuages chargés de pluie, avancent d’un pas déterminé au dessus des vaches qui, indifférentes, continuent de paître.
A peine le temps de rentrer que la pluie se met à tomber à verses, on se rentre à l’intérieur alors que dehors les nuages et le soleil se font face pour notre plus grand plaisir.
Eileen nous arrache au spectacle en nous prévenant que notre petit déjeuner est prêt.
C’est un petit déjeuner "with view" qui nous attend. Face à notre table, une vue plongeante sur le Gap of Dunloe. On peut vraiment dire qu’on est gâtés. On regarde les nuages de pluie, les lueurs qui changent, le tout en dégustant un porridge maison, saupoudré de cannelle, un vrai régal.
A peine le temps de terminer, que le petit déjeuner continue avec une assiette "so british" ou plutôt "so irish" : œuf sur le plat, pain toasté, bacon excellent, et saucisses, histoire de bien nous blinder l’estomac avant la sortie à venir.
Le temps de payer et de recevoir quelques "hugs" de la part d’Eileen, dehors le temps le ciel s’assombrit, c’est reparti à la pluie, le tout agrémenté d’un double arc-en-ciel. On quitte notre hôte après qu’elle nous ai souhaité d’avoir un temps ensoleillé pour notre journée.
Comme elle nous l’a conseillé, on reprend la voiture, histoire d’aller randonner du côté du Gap of Dunloe. On attaque le chemin en refusant les assauts, presque trop insistants, des conducteurs de carrioles, qui, l’été, ont l’habitude de balader les touristes sur les routes du Gap of Dunloe. A 30 euros la promenade par personne, on préfère de loin marcher. On refuse poliment au moins 5 fois, afin qu’enfin on puisse attaquer la route en toute sérénité.
Passée une petite montée, on laisse les quelques dernières maisons derrière nous, pour enfin rentrer dans le vif du sujet. Face à nous s’ouvrent les bien nommées Purple Moutains. C’est un festival de couleurs, la plus belle palette de tons automnaux.
Du rouge, du pourpre, du marron, du jaune, du orange. Autour de nous, les paysages sont gorgés d’eau, quelques petites cascades, les flaques d’eau ont des airs de mini lacs, le tout sous un ciel argenté qui peine quand même à délaisser les nuages au profit d’un franc soleil. Mais on y croit, on pense au fond de nous que le soleil va gagner ce combat incessant.
On aperçoit notre premier lac, qui a des allures de marais, avec ses grands plants d’herbes touffus et ses joncs…et sa baignoire abandonnée servant sans doute d’auge.
Le chemin serpente et nous avec, surtout entre les flaques d’eau. Au loin, on aperçoit notre premier "view point", un vieux pont en pierre que j’avais déjà repéré sur internet, sur quelques sites de photos. Sous le pont une cascade part de l’Upper Lake et vient se mourir dans le marais, et dans les tourbières.
On prend notre pied face à ce paysage magnifique, surtout avec le soleil qui semble cette fois-ci bien installé. Les reflets, sur les pierres mouillées, sur les rivières, les cascades, tout ça donne à voir des tons argentés, des reflets de mercure qui semblent contraster à merveille avec les couleurs brunes et chaudes de la lande environnante. Et que dire du vert qui vient terminer le tableau.
On peut dire qu’on a devant nous le type de paysages qu’on est venu chercher. On se pose quelques instants sur le pont, face au soleil, et on reprend la route longeant le lac.
Vous verrez que c'est le seul jour de vrai beau que nous aurons 😉
Suite Jour 2
Les berges vert pomme ont des allures de rizières. Au loin la face impressionnante du Gap of Dunloe, semble dominer ces paysages multicolores.
En plus, le soleil vient lécher les crêtes, magnifiant ces dernières. Par un subtil jeu d’ombre et de lumière, les lignes vives des arrêtes ressortent et accentuent l’allure magistrale de ce gros bloc de pierre.
On prend le chemin du retour sous un soleil plus que réchauffant, on continue de s’émerveiller devant la beauté des paysages qui moi me rappelle l’Ecosse ou même le Pays Basque par ses couleurs, ses formes, ses montagnes.
On croise quelques personnes, un père de famille qui se balade avec une poussette et son chien galopant à ses côtés.
Pendant ce temps un petit vieux promène ses chevaux de trait, tout le monde nous salue d’un "How are you ?" à la place d’un simple "Hello" ou d’un "Morning".
Le retour se fait au même rythme que les chevaux, qui grimpent les rochers parfois à la limite de la glissade. On est bien face à ces paysages de toute beauté. On ne presse pas le pas, d’autant que contrairement à ce matin, ça y est, le soleil est bel et bien là.
On décide de repartir sur Killarney, histoire de faire quelques courses utiles, et puis on se paume dans les rues de Killarney. Mauvais rond-point, plus de panneaux, demi tour, puis de nouveau des ronds-points, et puis non c’est pas là, "essaye à gauche", "mais on est déjà passé par ici ?".
Pour être honnête un met un certain temps pour trouver la direction du Ross Castle au pied du Lough Leane où on a décidé de casser la graine.
Sa tour carrée fortifiée domine le Lough depuis le 15ème siècle. Epoque à laquelle il était le fief du clan O’Donoghue Ross.
De nouveau le ciel est argenté, les canards barbotent, les mouettes font les folles en s’amusant avec le vent, et nous après quelques photos de rigueur, on choisit de se poser sur le petit banc sous un arbre face au Lac.
A peine le temps de déballer les sandwichs que la grêle se met à tomber. Ni une, ni deux, on remballe le tout et on se met à courir à la voiture…mais comme on l’a remarqué hier, le temps se dégrade aussi vite qu’il repart. Pas grave, on continuera dans la voiture.
Comme on a quand même peu de kilomètres entre nos étapes, on décide de couper par les chemins de traverse, on a repéré quelques petites routes qu’on débute sous une pluie battante à faire pâlir un breton (ou un normand), mais il faut savoir que les Irlandais sont très avares en panneau de signalisation.
Ne sachant pas vraiment si nous sommes sur la bonne route, on continue quand même, avec pour seule indication le Carrauntoohil.
Sauf que voilà, la plus grande montagne d’Irlande a beau nous dominer de toute sa hauteur – 1038m -, ce n’est pas censé être vraiment notre direction, mais on continue tout de même le chemin, en gardant en tête qu’on finira bien par retomber sur un panneau, ou au pire sur nos pas…
Enfin, un carrefour nous remet sur le bon chemin et les kilomètres déroulent jusqu’à Killorglin, petite bourgade avec un peu de charme, qui nous fait notre pause goûter, et nous permet de déguster un Mince Pastry, spécialité irlandaise, sorte de petit roulé aux épices.
On ne s’attarde pas trop et on garde le reste du goûter, pour aller filer sur Cromane. Après ces quelques jours, on n'a qu’une seule idée en tête, voir la mer. Sur la carte Cromane semble être posé sur une langue de terre.
On trouve notre chemin, et on descend se garer le long d’un talus de cailloux. En face, la péninsule du Dingle nous fait front, à notre gauche, un spectacle magique. Une longue plage de galets, et au bout la mer, et un soleil magnifique, insistant, flamboyant, bien calé entre ces quelques nuages.
Même si le soleil rayonne, il ne nous réchauffe pas pour autant. Le vent souffle, il est glacé, et semble ne faire qu’un avec l’humidité ambiante.
Le temps de regarder ailleurs, de se poser la question si la mer monte, et va nous coincer, le ciel a déjà changé. Les nuages sont revenus, ne laissant percer qu’un rai de lumière qui illumine les petits îlots de la Dingle Bay. Le spectacle est divin. On ne s’attarde pas, car on aimerait avoir encore de la lumière pour notre prochain arrêt du côté de Glenbeigh.
Un peu comme pour le pont du Gap of Dunloe, j’ai repéré un chouette spot photo sur la plage de Rossbeigh dans la crique du même nom. Après quelques petites routes, on arrive enfin dans la crique. On se gare sur une dune de galet, on sort et là c’est la gifle. Le vent souffle avec une force extrême, faisant claquer les portes de la voiture, et presque envoler mon manteau.
Cela n’empêche pas quelques courageux de se promener, et deux petits vieux de pêcher. On tente le coup, au loin on aperçoit notre but. On s’avance sur la longue plage de sable, ne sachant toujours pas si la marée est montante ou descendante.
On admire la vue, les reflets du soleil couchant, des nuages dans le sable encore humide. Encore une fois le spectacle est magique, magnifique et tous les éléments semblent être réunis rien que pour nous faire plaisir.
On continue notre chemin, apercevant au loin une mouette qui semble plus occupée que les autres. Par curiosité on s’approche, histoire d’essayer de comprendre ce qu’elle fabrique, et très vite on comprend qu’elle est occupée sur une carcasse. En s’approchant un peu plus, on voit très vite que c’est sur celle d’un phoque échoué sur la plage.
On la laisse à son diner, pour arriver enfin à notre destination. Le vent nous abrutit, le froid nous fait rougir les oreilles, mais nous voilà au pied de la carcasse que j’ai tant vu sur quelques sites de photo sur internet. Cette épave est bien connue des photographes de passage dans la région.
Là voilà tout à nous, enfoncée dans sa flaque d’eau faisant refléter le ciel et mettant en valeur ses formes. Il n’en reste que la structure extérieure, et le gouvernail. L’intérieur est rempli de cailloux et une rigole continue sans cesse d’alimenter la flaque qui l’entoure.
En tournant autour et en la prenant sous toutes ses coutures, on se demande quelle est son histoire. On l’apprendra en rentrant, en tombant sur un site irlandais qui répertorie toutes les carcasses de bateaux dans le pays.
Cette goélette s’appelle Sunbeam. D’origine anglaise, elle date de 1860, elle s’est échouée sur la plage de Rossbeigh un jour de Janvier 1903 lorsqu’elle faisait route entre Kinvara et Cork, suite à une grosse tempête.
Au loin le soleil est déjà caché derrière les montagnes et les nuages. On prend le chemin du retour, toujours sous les assauts du vent, ce qui n’empêche pas la lumière d’être toujours aussi belle. Cette dernière donne au sable humide l’impression d’un miroir.
On grimpe de nouveau la dune, et face à la mer on prend un thé bien chaud et bien réconfortant, le tout accompagné de shortbreads.
Le temps de tout sortir, on se rend compte que face à nous, la plage sur laquelle on marchait il y a 10 minutes à peine est, par endroits, entièrement recouverte par des petites vaguelettes.
Autant dire que le timing était parfait, et qu’on a rebroussé chemin juste à temps ! Le soleil n’est déjà plus, alors on reprend la route vers notre hébergement. La nuit n’aidant en rien, on passera plusieurs fois devant sans le voir.
L’occasion de constater qu’hors saison, la région vivote et n’a rien à voir avec l’affluence massive qu’elle peut connaître durant l’été.
La randonnée du matin, associée à la promenade sous le vent et le froid, nous a littéralement cassés, harassés. On rentre, on se pose dans notre petit studio, pas trop décidés à aller manger dehors, alors on se met en mode comme à la maison dans notre maison toute vide, nous rappelant le côté "Shining" de notre hébergement à Riksgransen, cet hiver en Suède.
Demain, peu de kilomètres nous attendent, l’occasion de prendre notre temps, et de faire quelques ballades, en espérant qu’il fera plus chaud, car oui, ce soir il fait 2°c.
Voilà c'est la fin du Jour 2 😉
Oh que oui ! C'était clairement la plus belle journée de ce voyage, tant au niveau du temps, que des paysages, de l'atmosphère, même si le reste était très bien.
Je poste le jour 3 demain, merci de prendre le temps tout lire 🙂
Perso, je n'ai pas pu attendre et je suis allée lire la suite directement sur votre site. C'est vraiment un joli compte rendu de voyage, qui, j'en suis sûre, devrait en inspirer plus d'un ! Votre carnet sur la Laponie me donne aussi des envies de voyage vers le nord.
je suis toujours là à regarder la suite, et toujours aussi charmée par ce pays fascinant, quel dommage pour cette goélette. je pensais que même à cette époque l'Irlande bénéficiait d'un climat plus doux, disons moins froid.
A bientôt .
Je savais qu'il y en a qui craquerait avant la fin des posts sur VF 😛
Content de voir que ça vous inspire et de monter, là-haut, au Nord, n'hésitez pas si vous avez des question !
Jour 3
Encore une fois, nous sommes réveillés plus tôt que le réveil. Dehors le jour se lève à peine, et nous prenons notre petit déjeuner face à un soleil naissant, et à notre 8ème arc-en-ciel au dessus de la péninsule du Dingle qui nous fait face.
Affaires rangées, sac paré, appareil photo rechargé, on se remet en route, en commençant par un petit détour via Kells Beach. On a beau y être passés hier soir, forcément de jour, on découvre un nouveau paysage. La route serpente jusqu’à la petite plage coincée entre les rochers et un petit camping.
Encore une fois on prend le temps, le vent nous fouette le visage, nous revigore. Le ciel bleu, et les nuages s’étirent, pendant que nous admirons le paysage qui reflète les rayons du soleil sur le ciment mouillé du ponton
Aujourd’hui nous avons le temps pour prendre notre temps, alors on se met à couper par des petites routes sans trop savoir où elles vont nous mener. Sur le plan que nous a remis notre hôte de la veille, on repère une curiosité qui semble être un cimetière ou une église du côté de la montagne Cnoc ad dTobar, on décide de pousser voir ce qu’il en retourne.
Dehors le temps semble tourner au gris, les petites routes s’enchaînent, s’entrecroisent, à chaque carrefour c’est un coup de poker pour savoir quelle direction emprunter, mais je fais confiance au pif de Cécile qui finit par nous mener au bout de la crique.
Un petit port, quelques maisons, des nasses, des bateaux en cale sèche nous y attendent, mais rien de plus. Le coin est littéralement paumé, nous sommes seuls, hormis deux chats qui nous regardent d’un air ahuri sur le pas de la porte. Paumé mais assez magique, après tout c’est un peu pour se genre de coin qu’on se balade, et qu’on aime se perdre.
Autour de nous, on cherche à comprendre ce qui figure sur la carte, on regarde sur la montagne, la fameuse Cnoc ad dTobar (ou Knocknadobar en anglais). Mais on ne discerne rien de particulier, pas d’église, pas de croix, rien. Si ce ne sont les délimitations des champs qui grimpent sur la colline d’un noir charbon, parsemées de taches vertes.
A nos pieds, les falaises recouvertes de mousses vertes, blanches, marrons viennent mourir dans une mer agitée.
Le coin donne vraiment une sensation de bout du monde, on ne croise personne, pas une seule voiture, pas âme qui vive, à part une mouette qui, perchée sur un lampadaire, nous regarde avec défi. On repart encore plus intrigués qu’à l’arrivée, avec même une petite pointe de déception.
Nous voilà de nouveau sur la route principale, et alors qu’on s’arrête pour vérifier le chemin, je jette un œil en arrière sur Cnoc ad dTobar et j’aperçois en haut une sorte de forme. Je monte alors le téléobjectif et jette un œil. C’est bien ça, tout en haut de la montagne, se trouve une croix, voilà ce qui était indiqué sur la carte.
Mais quand on regarde, le dévers de la montagne, on se dit que la montée jusqu’en haut ne doit certainement pas être réservée à tout le monde. Alors que des nuages menaçant commencent à envelopper les montagnes environnantes, nous avalons les kilomètres jusqu’à l’un des points que nous avions noté avant de partir : Ballycarbery Castle.
Vous en expliquer l’histoire serait assez compliqué, d’ailleurs nous même ne sommes pas vraiment sûr d’avoir tout compris tant le château est passé de familles en familles depuis sa construction.
Malheureusement la ruine du 15ème siècle n’est pas visitable l’hiver, et impossible de s’en approcher sans enjamber les barrières. Alors on tourne autour de la ruine qui, sous un ciel des plus gris, nous donne une impression assez mystique. Depuis l’Ecosse, à chaque ruine de château que je vois, je ne peux m’empêcher de m’imaginer ces lieux habités, en parfait état, la vie qui se déroulait à l’époque, les querelles des territoires.
Dehors la pluie tombe de plus en plus, et autant mettre fin au suspens toute de suite, ce sera comme ça toute la journée et n’ira pas en s’arrangeant.
A côté de Ballycarbery Castle se trouvent deux ruines de forts datant du 10ème siècle, Cahergal Fort et Leacanabuaile Fort. Le premier est lui aussi inaccessible, pourtant c’est celui en meilleur état, sans cesse rénové, et d’ailleurs nous verrons des échafaudages tout autour. On tente le chemin qui monte jusqu’au second, à pieds, sous la pluie de plus en plus glaçante. Le fort est perché sur un petit promontoire de pierre au beau milieu d’un champ de moutons. Ces derniers nous regardent d’un air hagard lorsque nous poussons la porte pour pénétrer dans le champ.
On grimpe la petite montée sur un sol qui ressemble à une éponge, nous chaussures s’enfoncent d’un bon centimètre dans un mélange de boue, de déjections de moutons et d’eau. Chaque pas nous donne droit à de magnifiques bruits de succion. Alors qu’on grimpe, on se dit que la descente risque d’être épique.
En haut de la colline, on a une vue dégagée sur le coin, avec au loin la silhouette du Ballycarbery Castle qui se découpe.
On déchiffre le plan, on essaye de comprendre quelle pouvait être la vie au 9ème siècle dans ce genre de construction, et on s’étonne des chambres souterraines installées dans l’épaisseur du mur d’enceinte de plus de 4 mètres.
Je tente quelques photos malgré la pluie, mais rapidement l’objectif est constellé de gouttes, je remballe vite fait le matériel, et on attaque la descente. Et arriva ce qui devait arriver, alors que j’esquive deux chutes consécutives, Cécile, elle n’y coupe pas, le temps de me retourner et je la retrouve les quatre fers en l’air, le cul dans la boue, le pantalon détrempé.
A la voiture, on tente tant bien que mal de se sécher, de se nettoyer du mieux que l’on puisse. Un peu fatigués par cette sortie, et par le temps qui commence à nous glacer les os, on se réconforte comme on peut, en se disant que la vue était tout de même jolie.
Pour aller mieux rien ne vaut un déjeuner de sandwichs faits dans la voiture et face à la mer. On décide donc de retourner sur la route de Cahersiveen et d’aller sur le port d’où part le ferry vers Valentia Island, Reenard Point. Evidemment, pas de ferry à cette période de l’année, et c’est bien dommage. Mais le temps de faire le déjeuner, le temps se dégage sur le port et la crique devant nous, un bonheur pour les oiseaux et en particulier les mouettes qui se bataillent en nombre pour de la petite friture.
Ca crie, ça braille, ça s’engueule et surtout ça s’attaque à grands coups de bec. On peut observer ce ballet incessant assez longtemps tant c’est intriguant : qui va manger en premier ? Qui n’aura rien ? Est ce que le fou de Bassan remontera de sa plongée avec un repas ?
Au loin les bateaux des Lifeboats, les gardes côtes locaux très respectés de la population et en charge de toute la côte sud ouest de l’Irlande font des rondes croisant des bateaux de pêcheurs qui se dirigent vers Beginish Island, une armée de mouettes à leurs trains.
Un dernier coup d’œil sur Knightstown, la ville principale de Valentia, et comme le temps commence à se gâter et la pluie à être un peu plus forte, on reprend la route vers Portmagee et au vu du temps qui ne se dégage pas, on reste sur notre première idée d’aller visiter Valentia Island.
On prend donc le pont qui sépare l’île de la terre ferme et la première étape sera Skellig Experience.
Un petit musée qui raconte l’histoire des îles de Skellig, deux énormes rochers acérés situés en pleine mer, classés au patrimoine mondial de l’UNESCO, et qui, sur le principal des deux rochers, a abrité plusieurs monastères, deux phares et a subit plusieurs invasions Viking.
La visite de ce musée est habituellement couplée avec un tour en bateau des îles, mais il ne se fait que de juillet à septembre et par mer – très – calme. Si la mer est trop agitée, cela risque d’emporter les bateaux vers les petits rochers tranchants sur les abords de l’île.
L’histoire de Skellig Michael est particulièrement intéressante, car un monastère y a été érigé au 6e siècle par des moines, qui l’ont construit pierre par pierre, avant d’être attaqués par les Vikings vers 800. Le monastère sera abandonné par la communauté des moines au 12e siècle.
Un film, dans le musée, montre le nombre de marches à gravir pour y monter, et il est bien spécifié que mieux vaut ne pas avoir le vertige pour y aller.
En images, on le comprend mieux. Deux autres aspects des îles Skellig sont montrés dans le musée : la faune ornithologique, car les îles sont des étapes des migrations des oiseaux, en particulier des macareux, et le phare de Skellig Michael, qui fut érigé à la fin du 19e siècle, rénové dans les années 50 et automatisé dans les années 80.
L’histoire des familles qui ont habité le phare, souvent pendant une période longue est malheureusement peu abordée. Par contre, son utilité est bien montrée : les îles Skellig étaient les premières îles que l’on voyaient avant d’aborder l’Irlande, il a donc fallu mettre en place un système de lumière reconnaissable entre les phares de Valentia et St Finians Bay. Le musée est court, et peut-être pas assez poussé concernant les phares, mais il est agréable et cela permet de faire une pause dans la journée, et pour nous de s’abriter.
Après cette petite pause culturelle, on décide d’amorcer Valentia par le côté ouest et de faire notre première pause à Bray Head. La vue est malheureusement un peu bouchée, mais la côte se découpe bien sous nos yeux.
Ce puits, malheureusement, nous ne le trouverons jamais…la route d’accès étant pleine de flaques – un peu profondes – et de nids de poules massifs, nous ferons demi-tour au bout du chemin sans rien trouver, si ce n’est la peur d’avoir abîmé la voiture. Par contre, on y trouvera, un pub esseulé, au milieu de nulle part, avec sans doute l’un des meilleurs arguments commerciaux de ce point le plus à l’ouest de l’Europe : « Next Pint : New York »
Nous abordons maintenant le nord de l’île et le temps ne s’améliore vraiment pas, mais sur la carte les Fogher Cliffs nous font de l’œil, tout le monde nous en a parlé, même Eileen, notre hôte de Killarney…
Arrivés en bas de la Geokaun Mountain, il faudra motiver la voiture pour monter, mais nous nous arrêterons au premier palier, les deux autres étant des points de vue, nous ne pourrons pas en profiter avec le brouillard qui s’épaissit de plus en plus.
La vue sur les Fogher Cliffs vaut tout de même le coup malgré la nappe épaisse de brouillard. Autant dire que cela rajoute un petit quelque chose à la magie du lieu. De base, les falaises, c’est toujours impressionnant, mais là le brouillard qui les enveloppe, dramatise l’ambiance. Il fait ressortir le noir de la pierre et le vert des plantes grasses qui s’accrochent à la roche.
Qui plus est le lieu est chargé de légende dont celle d’Oscar qui après avoir convoité une princesse française s’est mis un paquet de gens à dos, s’en est suivie une bataille, et le jet d’un énorme rocher sur ses assaillants. Rocher dont on peut voir la réplique malgré que la bataille ait eu lieu au 6ème siècle…
L’appareil photo est trempé après quelques clichés mais ça valait le coup de tremper les chaussures et de se geler. On ne s’attarde pas et on reprend la route principale avec une visibilité grandement restreinte.
Notre prochain arrêt sera pour the Grotto. Ce nom nous intrigue beaucoup sur la carte, alors on s’embarque sur le chemin. On tombe alors sur une énorme falaise, percée d’un trou noir.
Nichées à son sommet, une vierge et Bernadette, montées dans cette niche en 1954. Our Lady’s Grotto est à la base une carrière d’ardoise, qu’une chute de pierre fera fermer en 1910. Abandonnée jusqu’en 1954, année de Marie (Marian Year) où elle sera réhabilitée en lieu de communion. Depuis, il s’y déroule beaucoup de célébrations, et en parallèle la carrière a été rouverte pour l’export de l’ardoise, qui a, entre autres, servi pour la rénovation de l’Opéra de Paris.
Le brouillard, s’épaissit encore, la pluie ne faiblit pas, on s’arrêtera donc là avec les photos. On continue le tour de l’île jusqu’à Knighstown. Mais si, vous savez, la petite ville en face de laquelle on a mangé ce midi !
Le versant sud de l’île sera plutôt vite parcouru. Le jour tombe, la pluie continue, pour tout dire, on est déçus mais fatigués, déçus de ne pas avoir plus d’accalmie, sans spécialement demandé à avoir du beau temps non stop, déçus de ne pas apercevoir les Skellig Islands au loin.
Depuis ce midi, la pluie n’a pas cessé de tomber, à différentes intensités. Nous rejoignons donc Portmagee, notre arrêt pour ce soir et son charmant petit port, et faisons quelques courses car demain, dimanche, tout sera fermé.
On prend donc nos quartiers chez Moorings, une charmante maison violet framboise écrasée, qui donne face au port. Ce petit coin de paradis, ça fait déjà 2 ans qu’il nous fait de l’œil, depuis que Julie des Carnets de Traverse en avait fait un joli papier. Pensez donc, l’Irlande on ne connaissait pas, on a vu ce petit hôtel avec la vue sur le balais des chalutiers et forcément, on a voulu aller voir.
Et bien on n'est pas déçus, sans le vouloir, on se retrouve dans la même chambre que Julie il y a 2 ans. Vue sur le port, sur Valentia Island, juste au dessus d’un bar o�� nous irons décompresser avec une pinte de Guiness, face à un test match de l’Irlande face aux Samoa (nul besoin de préciser que c’est du rugby), qui se soldera par une victoire écrasante et évidente de l’Irlande.
On s’y sent tellement bien, à observer le balais des habitués, qu’on n’y bougera pas de la soirée. On y mangera bien, voir même très bien pour un prix plus que correct. Pour moi un fish & chips très copieux, une assiette de poisson pour Cécile. A la fin du match, et du repas, tranquillement on digérera en flânant sous la bruine, le long du port, et on reprendra nos quartiers dans notre belle chambre, jusqu’à ce qu’on voit la météo pour le lendemain qui finira de nous achever.
C'est vrai que quand on remarque les cotes acérées des Skelling, y'a plutôt intérêt à ce qu'il n'y est pas trop de vent, mais ça nous a laissé un petit gout de déception, ne serait ce que de ne pas les voir !
Jour 4 :
Le jour se lève sur le port de Portmagee, bien que les bateaux soient encore dans une semi pénombre, au loin sur la droite, on distingue rapidement le soleil pointer entre deux montagnes. Dehors il bruine très légèrement, mais impossible de savoir si ça va se maintenir.
La vue sur le port au petit matin est magnifique, pas de pêcheurs qui s’activent, mais juste les bateaux qui roulent au rythme du courant.
Après un copieux petit déjeuner irlandais typique accompagné de black et de white pudding (respectivement du boudin noir et du boudin blanc qui n’a rien à voir avec le nôtre), on s’arrache difficilement du cocon qu’est le Moorings pour reprendre la route.
Je reste un peu sur ma faim d’hier, vis à vis des paysages de Valentia, alors on se met au défi de trouver le phare que nous avons sans doute loupé la veille.
Après quelques marches arrière, et de routes loupées, on trouve une route qui d’abord nous mène au pied de la station météo de l’île, qu'il n’est apparemment pas possible de visiter. Au loin on aperçoit le phare en question, mais aussi les falaises abruptes de Doulus Head et le morceau de terre chauve de Beginish Island. Même à cette distance on distingue bien les vagues venir se fracasser sur les falaises d’un noir charbonneux. La houle est de plus en plus forte, la pluie semble suivre le même chemin, néanmoins le spectacle est assez impressionnant.
On continue la route, on s’attaque à une pente à 15% en épingle qui augure du bon pour la remontée, et on suit la route qui longe la mer. Les vagues viennent s’écraser sur les rochers avec une force impressionnante. On profite d’une accalmie pour faire les derniers mètres, et mettre la voiture à l’abri.
Pendant plus d’un quart d’heure on observera les vagues se briser, les rouleaux d’un bleu turquoise se former juste avant de s’abattre dans une multitude d’embruns. Le spectacle donne lieu à des images assez impressionnantes.
Pour ce qui est du phare, le plus à l’ouest de l’Europe, celui-ci est fermé à partir de septembre, aucune chance donc de pouvoir le visiter, ou même de s’approcher encore plus de la pointe.
On quitte Valentia, pour reprendre la route qui longe la Saint Finan’s Bay, malheureusement la vue est bouchée, on tente tout de même le coup en prenant la route en cul-de-sac (en français dans le texte) qui nous permet d’apercevoir au loin Puffin Island et qui mène à Bolus Head.
La route se transforme alors en chemin de randonnée, qu’on aurait tenté avec plaisir, mais dehors le temps se dégrade salement, et ce serait relativement dangereux et inconscient de s’y risquer. On passe tout de même à proximité du monument, rappelant l’accident que subit un équipage de G.I. américains durant la seconde guerre mondiale, écrasant leurs avions sur Skellig Michael, la plus grande des îles Skellig. A ce propos, nous ne les apercevront jamais, et pourtant elles n’ont de cesse de nous intriguer, je pense que ce sera l’un de nos plus grands regrets de ce voyage.
Bonjour, toujours le même plaisir à lire ce beau récit, l'Irlande en plein hiver. vous avez dû vous régaler de ces paysages magnifiques. Je vous souhaite de beaux voyages pour cette année 2014, que tous vos projets puissent se concrétiser.
J'ai eu la chance de faire la rando autour de Bolus Head en février l'année dernière, et malgré une fin très pluvieuse, on avait pu admirer les Skelligs depuis le haut de la pointe. La balade de quelques heures vaut vraiment le coup si vous repassez par cet endroit un jour, sait-on jamais...
En effet on était bien tenté par cette rando mais là on en n'aurait pas profité pleinement, le temps était vraiment exécrable !
@Louxor71 : Merci, vous aussi beaucoup de voyage en cette nouvelle année. Pour nous départ mi-février pour un nouveau voyage 😛
Jour 4 (suite)
Marche arrière, retour sur la route, à Ballinskelligs, on s’arrête sur la plage, d’où l’on aperçoit les ruines d’un château et celles d’une abbaye.
Cette abbaye datant du 12ème, puis du 15ème siècle, a été fondée par les moines de Skellig, lorsque ces derniers abandonnèrent leurs monastères sur le piton rocheux suite à une uniformisation de la religion catholique.
Désormais on ne peut voir qu’un seul bâtiment, sans doute un bâtiment domestique autour du cloître. Dans le cimetière, de nombreuses croix celtes en guise de tombes, certaines sont même relativement récentes. Le cimetière est quant à lui face à la mer et aux assauts du vent.
Le vent souffle toujours autant, la pluie est incessante et persistante, au point qu’il en devient très difficile de faire des photos sans en consteller l’objectif d’une multitude de gouttes arrivées en moins deux par un coup de vent ravageur. C’est assez rageant et frustrant de ne pas pouvoir immortaliser certains paysages. Je relativise en me disant qu’au moins ça fait travailler la rapidité de la prise de vue.
Mais le voyage continue, en s’enfonçant dans un brouillard si épais, que parfois la visibilité ne dépasse pas 4 ou 5 mètres. Néanmoins on arrive tout de même à Waterville, ville balnéaire, sans âme, qui pourrait aussi bien se situer en Normandie, en Belgique ou en Angleterre.
Point de passage obligé de nombreux cars de touristes, c’est la ville que choisit Charlie Chaplin comme lieu de villégiature. Sur la longue artère principale, dos à la mer, une statue rappelle sa présence. Juste à côté du parc Mick O’Dwyer, légende vivante de football gaélique, à la liste de récompenses longue comme deux bras plus une jambe, originaire de Waterville.
Aujourd’hui encore de nombreuses stars de Tiger Wood en passant par Michael Douglas, viennent y profiter de l’air marin mais aussi taper dans une balle de golf.
Partout dans la ville on croise des signes rappelant la présence de Chaplin, un musée dont on cherche encore l’entrée, des pochoirs, ou même des dessins sur les murs. Sous le regard d’un homard géant en plastique, on se met en quête de trouver un coin pour manger.
On trouve une place face à la mer, pour y préparer les sandwichs à l’abri de la pluie. Le pare brise se constelle de gouttes, la pluie continue de tomber, pendant que Cécile prépare le déjeuner sous le regard concentré de Monsieur Fromage, Glenlàra.
J’avale mon dessert sous la pluie, et me balade un peu pour profiter de la vue, m’imprégner de la ville, de son garage abandonné cherchant un futur propriétaire, m’imaginant la vie dans cette maison dont le blanc sied à l’aplomb de la falaise.
Le dessert avalé, on s’attaque au Coomakesta Pass, un col qui, en temps normal, possède une très belle vue sur la baie, Scariff Islands et les autres petits morceaux de rochers qui parsèment la Ballinskelligs Bay. Malheureusement, le temps ne s’améliore pas et on pourrait même dire qu’il empire, si tant est que ce soit possible.
On tente quand même d’aller faire un tour du côté de Derrynane House, et de la Derrynane Beach, considérée comme l’une des plus belles plages de la région. Dans l’eau un surfeur brave les multiples panneaux indiquant des courants dangereux. Les cailloux noirs, striés, s’enfonçant dans le sable et créant un relief sont magnifiques.
Malheureusement là encore, il devient très vite difficile, voir quasi impossible de faire des photos. Le vent charriant des attaques de gouttelettes, l’appareil ruisselle, l’objectif dégouline. Je m’énerve, fatigué de ce temps, qui nous prive de la plus belle partie du voyage.
Autant le vent, le froid, même l’humidité ne me dérangent pas plus que ça, mais contre la pluie impossible de faire quoi que ce soit.
On décide de tenter tout même d’aller voir Staigue Fort, l’un des forts les mieux conservés du pays, datant de 100 avant Jésus Christ, c’est sans doute l’enceinte de protection de l’habitation d’un propriétaire terrien. Il pleut tellement que le petit pont menant au terrain, et sous lequel coule habituellement une paisible rivière, est littéralement inondé par 40 cm d’eau. On fait tout de même un rapide tour du fort, regrettant vraiment cette pluie, car aux alentours le paysage est magnifique et aurait été propice à une chouette balade dans les tourbières pourpres.
Retour en sens inverse, sur une route étroite, on récupère la grande route qui devient peu à peu moins sauvage et moins escarpée. Il faut dire que là, l’étroitesse des routes de la côte ouest de la péninsule d’Iveragh nous rappellent les hauteurs du Pays basque. Désormais la pluie est tellement forte et continue que chaque crevasse sur la route, à chaque cuvette à la fin d’une descente et au début d’une montée, l’eau s’accumule de plusieurs centimètres. En voiture, malgré une visite oscillant entre 40 et 60 km/h, ce sont des gerbes d’eau, un ralentissement soudain et brusque qui sont au rendez-vous. Parfois il est difficile d’apercevoir les flaques, la voiture est littéralement freinée par la masse d’eau que l’on déplace, et ce sur plusieurs kilomètres.
Fatigués, dépités, on se remet en route en passant par Sneem. Lieu de vacances du Général De Gaulle, après avoir quitté le pouvoir. Tout le monde a en tête le Général, marchant sur la plage accompagné d’ Yvonne et de deux gardes du corps. Le village est mignon, les maisons sont toutes colorées, donnant un peu de vie à la rue sous cette grisaille.
On craque, on a besoin de se requinquer, pour ça on se dirige dans la seule petite pâtisserie de la ville, qui fait aussi boucher, restaurant, café, et supermarché. Deux chocolats chauds, accompagnés d’un muffin et d’une tarte aux pommes. Ca fait du bien, et ça nous remet d’aplomb, du moins pour quelques minutes seulement.
C’est le moment où l'on hésite. On se demande si on fait un détour par Ballaghbeam Gap, qui semble un très beau point de vue, un peu plus haut dans les montagnes de Macgillycuddy’s Reeks. Mais la nuit tombe, le ciel est archi bouché, alors on met le cap directement sur Kenmare, notre étape de ce soir.
Avant ça, tout téméraires et entêtés que nous sommes, on fait encore un énième détour dans la ville pour prendre l’air face au minuscule petit port bordé de petites maisonnettes toutes plus mignonnes les unes que les autres. Le brouillard s’est très fortement épaissi, et avec les lumières de la route, le port a des allures fantomatiques. Les couleurs magnifiques associées à la lumière brumeuse me font penser à certaines photos du photographe Mikko Largerstedt. Atmosphère cotonneuse, comme enveloppée d’une bulle de silence.
Au moment où je vais pour retourner le trépied et prendre en photo les maisons, celui-ci se desserre, ce qui donnera une photo plutôt…artistique qu’on décide de garder. Le calme est planant, la seule personne qui était dans le coin est parti, on a beaucoup de mal décoller de cet endroit, mais l’humidité a raison de nous.
On s’arrache du paysage, direction le B’n’B, duquel on ressort très vite pour partir à la recherche d’un coin pour dîner. On jette notre dévolu sur le N°35, magnifique petit restaurant à l’ambiance chaleureuse et agréable et où mes yeux s’arrêtent dans le menu sur un Irish Stew que je rêvais de déguster. Je ne suis pas déçu. Cécile part sur un hamburger 100% maison, avec un steak de bœuf de la région.
On termine le repas rassasiés, après cette journée éreintante, nous sommes sur les rotules. Peut être aussi que la perspective de la fin du voyage a joué sur notre moral. Pour demain, on espère que le temps sera un peu meilleur, histoire d’en profiter à fond pour notre dernier jour sur l’anneau du Kerry.
Oui pour le coup, le coté humide, pluvieux, n'était pas usurpé ! Et dire que la semaine après notre départ il à fait un temps de dingue, mais bon c'est comme ça, ça fait partie de la loterie du voyage 🙂
Jour 5
Le jour se lève sur Kenmare. De notre chambre, un petit coup d’œil sur le temps extérieur et on y croit, pas de pluie, un soleil timide pointe même derrière quelques nuages, et on aperçoit même un petit coin de ciel bleu. De la véranda, où nous prenons notre petit déjeuner – ah le saumon au petit déjeuner ! -, on trace l’itinéraire.
Aujourd’hui nous n’avons qu’un seul impératif, être à 16h à Cork. Entre temps on va essayer de rentabiliser les quelques heures. On part sur Ballaghbeama Pass qu’on a hésité à aller voir la veille. Cette fois-ci le temps semble plus clément, même si un léger brouillard continue de s’accrocher à la cime des montagnes.
On s’éloigne donc de la ville pour s’enfoncer sur une toute petite route. Au fur et à mesure que la route se rétrécit, les paysages deviennent de plus en plus beaux. Après un passage au milieu d’une petite forêt qui rappelle un peu les forêts allemandes, la route nous dépose au beau milieu d’une immense plaine. Avec ces tons de pourpre, d'orange brûlé, de caramel, et du rouge vif des branches de houx, on a en tête les images de plaines du Montana, ou des forêts canadiennes en automne.
Toute la matinée, c’est à peu près le type de paysage que nous verrons, avec des variantes. Forcément, comme à notre habitude on s’arrête souvent, parfois tous les 2 ou 300 mètres, pour admirer la vue, prendre des photos. On tente un peu d’extérioriser la journée pourrie de la veille, alors on en profite deux fois plus.
Au-dessus des montagnes, les nappes de brouillard sont toujours attachées à la cime, et derrière l’épaisse couche de nuage argentée, le soleil tente quand même de percer. Sur les bords de la route, les champs font dégorger les fortes pluies de la veille dans un nombre infini de cascades, de rivières serpentant dans les paysages, et rendant le sol spongieux.
Alors que le temps défile, la route se fait de plus en plus étroite, et commence à grimper. La topologie des paysages change petit à petit se transformant en petites collines verdoyantes où paissent des moutons tagués, et un bouc massif qui nous regarde d’un drôle d’œil. Une percée dans les nuages gris s’est formée, nous laissant voir un beau ciel bleu. C’est d’ailleurs le seul moment où nous verrons autant de ciel bleu.
Au loin, nous voyons très bien la route grimper encore un peu plus et serpenter en lacets entre les rochers recouverts d’herbe et de mousse. Les cailloux gris sont remplacés par d’énormes blocs d’un noir charbonneux, contrastant avec le vert de la mousse. L’herbe brûlée à des couleurs surréalistes, presque irréelles. L’orange et le brun sont poussés à leurs extrêmes.
Soudain la route se rétrécit à son maximum, deux rochers noirs couleur charbon, et au loin la route amorce la descende. Ca y est nous y sommes, voilà Bealach Béime ou Ballaghbeama Gap.
A notre gauche, une falaise abrupte d’où l’on attend à tout moment de voir débouler des rochers. Le spectacle qui nous est donné à voir est magnifique, sans doute avec le Gap of Dunloe, l’un de nos coups de cœur de ce voyage. Le jeu des couleurs, les tons utilisés, tout y est parfait, excepté le vent qui, s’engouffrant dans le passage des deux montagnes, souffle avec une force assez impressionnante.
Nous reprenons la route en sens inverse, croisant ainsi les mêmes moutons, le même bouc et les mêmes ruines de maisons qu’à l’aller.
On se dirige vers Moll’s Gap, un autre col, qui nous fait passer devant un magnifique petit lac, le Lough Barfinnihy. Avec sa petite île plantée au milieu, les tons carotte brûlée de ses fougères, et la route qui passe à côté, font que cette route est vraiment un beau passage, qui nous en met plein la vue.
Me voilà de retour après un petit moment d'absence !
Jour 5 (suite)
De Moll’s Gap pas grand chose à en dire, si ce n’est qu’on a même du mal à comprendre où se trouve le col. Comparé à Ballaghbeama, celui ci fait clairement pâle figure.
Comme on reste un peu sur notre faim, qu’on est plutôt bons sur le timing, on décide de rebrousser chemin, et de s’engager dans un cul de sac : Blackwater Valley en direction de l’intriguant Gentlemen’s Rock. La route en zigzag descend et s’enfonce dans une très large plaine. Rien à voir avec les paysages au-dessus de nous.
Hormis une voiture et deux personnes, encore une fois nous ne croisons pas grand monde, les paysages sont pour nous et rien que pour nous. Pas de peur de croiser une voiture, de ne pas avoir de place pour se ranger. Dans le creux de la vallée, nous sommes absolument seuls.
On longe quand même quelques maisons, dont une particulièrement british avec son toit de chaume, sa vue sur un pont de pierre antique. On se verrait pas mal dans le coin, pour y passer quelques jours par an.
Soudain au détour d’un virage, plusieurs maisons, un chien foufou, une école et une église, le tout dominé par les Tomies Moutain et Purple’s Moutain. Le spectacle, en bas des montagnes, nous surplombant de toutes leurs splendeurs est assez grandiose. On s’arrête quelques instants pour regarder le panneau avec un plan.
On se rend alors compte qu’on n’est qu’à quelques kilomètres, sans doute 1 ou 2, du Gap of Dunloe, là où nous étions partis nous balader le premier jour. En effet si nous avions continué notre randonnée, nous nous serions retrouvés là où nous sommes. Une belle manière de terminer la boucle du voyage.
Demi-tour et nous refaisons la dizaine de kilomètres dans l’autre sens, croisant un couple de nos âges, arrêtés sur le bord de la route, profitant du paysage comme on l'a fait quelques heures avant eux.
Une fois de retour sur la route principale près de Moll’s Gap, on regarde d’un œil neuf cette vue plongeante sur Blackwater Valley. D’en haut le paysage s’étend à perte de vue, si bien qu’il est même quasiment impossible de distinguer la route que l’on a emprunté. Comme si elle n’avait existé où ne s’offrait qu’au plus curieux, aux plus aventureux, bien décidés à farfouiller ce coin de l’Irlande pour y emprunter les chemins de traverse.
Au loin une chaîne de montagnes plus haute que les autres domine Blackwater Valley, tentant de donner une échelle, un repère. A bien y regarder c'est une chaîne de montagnes de la Macgillycuddy’s Reeks, qui sont juste à la gauche de Carrantuohill, la montagne la plus haute d’Irlande.
La route défile de nouveau, longeant Blackwater Valley que l’on laisse désormais derrière nous. Nous filons afin de trouver notre spot pour le déjeuner de ce midi. On a déjà une petite idée sur la question. Direction Ladie’s View.
Caché derrière une rangée d’arbres et malgré le parking devant, le coin n’est pas simple à trouver, mais pourtant la vue en vaut le détour. Pour la petite histoire; cet endroit doit son nom à une anecdote datant de 1861. La Reine Victoria, venue avec sa suite et son attelage, tomba tellement amoureuse de la vue qu’elle demanda à s’arrêter. Exceptionnellement pour l’époque, elle autorise alors ses dames de compagnie, que l’on appelait les Ladies in waiting, de profiter de la vue avec elle. C’est ainsi que l’on baptisa l’endroit Ladie’s View en souvenir de cette épisode.
Face à nous Upper Lake, l’un des principaux lacs rejoignant Lough Leane, le lac principal de Killarney, où nous avions vu Ross Castle le premier jour. Upper Lake, est un gruyère formant ainsi une multitude de petits lacs, de rivières, et d’îlots recouverts de sapin aux teintes colorées et chaudes. A voir la vue, on comprend que la Reine y soit tombée en admiration.
On retourne à la voiture préparer les sandwichs, et on embarque tout pour se poser et déguster ça, le cul sur une rocher, face à la très belle vue. On ne se lasse pas du spectacle, qui nous donne envie de revenir découvrir encore plus l’Irlande, et de s’attaquer à l’Ecosse par la même occasion. Les montagnes nous entourent, et la seule percée dans l’horizon, c’est bien cette vue sur l’Upper Lake.
Repas terminé, on remballe tout, faisant bien gaffe à ne rien laisser traîner. Le voyage continue nous faisant longer les eaux cristallines de l’Upper Lake et ses petits lacs sans noms. On s’arrête sur le bas de la route profitant de l’eau transparente, argentée, qui fait refléter les montagnes avoisinantes. Le spectacle est là encore grandiose et magnifique.
Bon je vais bien le terminer ce carnet de voyage, fin du jour 5
Jour 5 (re-suite)
Il nous reste encore un point à voir, avant de boucler la boucle. Torc Wacterfall, une cascade de 18 mètres de haut.
On s’engage dans le petit chemin qui serpente dans une forêt dense, où le sol est recouvert de feuilles jaune et orange. Encaissée entre les rochers, la cascade est plutôt modeste mais tout de même, elle fait son petit effet.
On prend un peu notre temps, pour profiter du spectacle, mais pas trop tout de même et on laisse la cascade derrière nous. Il nous reste un peu de route à faire, pas loin de 80km, pour aller rendre la voiture.
Rangement dans la voiture, histoire de gagner du temps, et nous voilà partis pour avaler les derniers kilomètres de ce voyage. On a pris un peu retard sur le timing, sans doute à Ladie’s View, mais il était difficile de quitter le coin, ce qui fait qu’on est obligés de speeder un peu. Mais voilà, beaucoup de monde sur la route, et surtout beaucoup de travaux que nous aurons vu dans tout le Kerry.
Sur une portion de route entièrement en rénovation, nous restons bloqués pas loin de 20 minutes. Nous devions rendre la voiture à 16h, il est 15h56 et il nous reste plus de 58 kilomètres. Autant dire que nous ne serons jamais à l’heure. On avale à grande vitesse les derniers kilomètres, on retrouve par la même occasion la civilisation qui, une fois encore, ne nous avait pas vraiment manqué. On dépose la voiture, après 436 kilomètres parcourus.
On respire un peu en attendant le bus Eireann qui nous dépose dans le centre de Cork. Durant le trajet on profite du wi-fi à bord pour poster quelques photos de la journée sur internet.
Il fait nuit, nous somme un peu fatigués, on prend rapidement nos quartiers dans l’hôtel, pour faire un tour très rapide de la ville, faire quelques emplettes alors que la quasi totalité des magasins est déjà fermée.
Il est déjà l’heure de dîner, et pour ça, nous avions convenu de tester le même restaurant que Julie avait testé il y a plusieurs années, The Market Lane.
L’ambiance y est cosy, le service de Martin, notre serveur y est pour beaucoup. Alors qu’on déguste des bières artisanales, brassées exclusivement pour le restaurant, je craque pour un confit de canard croustillant avec sa roquette et ses croûtons. Croquant, succulent à souhait, mariné dans une sauce sucrée avec des poires, un vrai régal.
On enchaine tous les deux sur un jambonneau cuit lentement avec ses petits légumes croquant et son gratin de chou-fleur.
Tout aussi merveilleux visuellement que gustativement parlant. Une tarte au citron vient terminer tout ça. Il nous faut tout de même une petite promenade digestive pour faire passer tout ça, afin de rentrer à l’hôtel, préparer la valise, avant de prendre l’avion demain.
Irlande, nous t’avons beaucoup aimé, et c’est sûr nous reviendrons.
Je vais essayer au plus vite de poster le tout dernier jour à Cork, bonne soirée !
Et voilà on termine avec le dernier jour et la fin de ce road trip dans le Kerry.
Jour 6
Le lendemain matin le timing est plutôt serré. Mais on prend le risque de visiter un peu Cork, ou tout du moins, de rayonner entre notre hôtel et la gare routière. On s’engage dans les rues, alors que le soleil commence à se lever, on profite alors des lumières bleutées au-dessus de la Lee, la rivière qui traverse Cork.
On remonte les rues, sans savoir où elles nous mènent. C’est bientôt l’heure du début des cours, les gamins en uniforme fourmillent dans les rues, se croisent, se bousculent, se chamaillent, nous au milieu de tout ça, on jette un œil sur l’architecture de la ville. Croisant des bâtiments en brique, des maisons au toit pointu, une cabine téléphonique hors d’usage et totalement déglinguée ou encore une église tout droit sortie d’un bouquin d’heroic fantasy.
Au détour d’une rue on s’engage dans une impasse, intrigués par l’ambiance qu’elle dégage. On comprend vite que l’impasse se termine par une cascade naturelle qui vient mourir dans un petit bassin juste au pied de la terrasse d’un B’n’B.
La présence des poutrelles métalliques et des poulies, montre bien que beaucoup de coins comme celui là doivent se cacher dans Cork, rappelant le passé industriel et portuaire de la ville.
Les façades des boutiques sont colorées, majoritairement des pubs dans cette rue. Mais aussi un fish’n’chips à la devanture bleu turquoise, qui, avec le même système que la friterie Antoine à Bruxelles, n’ayant pas de place à l’intérieur, vous propose de commander votre repas et d’aller le manger, accompagné d’une bière, dans le pub d’en face.
On s’enfonce encore un peu plus dans les ruelles, pour tomber dans une série de petites artères où le street art est roi. Sur le même côté de la rue, on peut trouver des graff’ plus classiques aux couleurs vives, rappelant que l’Irlande a aussi sa place sur l’échiquier du graffiti.
Mais aussi des pièces, des scènes différentes, plus humoristiques, prenant en compte l’espace dans lequel elles ont été peintes. Comme ce regard de femme coincé entre le bas de fenêtre et le sol.
Ou encore ces pièces géométriques, presque psychédéliques qui ont été faites dans l’espace restreint d’une porte de garage.
On termine la rue par une vision, disons différente de la théorie de l’évolution, et un angle de bâtiment qui rappelle les couleurs flashy de Murakami pour retomber sur la rue principale, aveuglé par un rayon de soleil.
On retraverse la Lee River, pour retourner en sens inverse, sur l’autre berge, vers la gare routière, profitant des dernières belles lumières que nous offre Cork. Cette visite rapide de la ville, tôt le matin, nous a donné envie de revenir, de farfouiller, de fouiner dans cette ville au passé important.
On saute dans le bus, direction l’aéroport pour un retour sous le soleil vers Paris. Arrivés en France, nous serons accueillis par une purée de pois sans nom, faisant démentir qu’en Irlande il fait plus moche qu’en France.
Et voilà de cet Irish And Chips, road trip de 5 jours en Terre irlandaise, merci à bous de m'avoir lu, merci pour vos retour, prochain voyage prévu pour dans 1 mois ! 🙂
On a fait un article sur notre blog à ce propos. En fait on a globalement rien vu de Cork, on est arrivé le soir, on ressorti mangé, et on est rentré. Le lendemain matin avant de sauter dans le bus pour l'aéroport, on avait quelques courses à faire, donc on à peine bouger 45/1h dans la ville, difficile de s'en faire un avis.
Mais quelques retours que j'ai pu avoir me disent qu'ils ont eu du mal à accrocher.
Carnets de voyage › Irlande / Grande-Bretagne · 19 replies
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"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...
The latest travel journal about Turkmenistan dates back to 2019. Here’s a quick update on this vast desert country, which is now a bit easier to visit than before.
This is my first travel journal. If you have any questions, don’t hesitate to ask. The country is slowly opening up, but it’s still possible to visit sites where you’ll be completely alone. In five days, I saw two Hongkongers, a few Germans, and a Chilean at the crater, ten Chinese people in a capital bazaar, and that’s it!
It’s possible to visit Turkmenistan from Uzbekistan. The easiest and most economical way is to take a taxi to the border from Bukhara. The trip takes a little over an hour.
Crossing the border takes quite a while because many Turkmen bring back items bought in Uzbekistan to resell in Turkmenistan. For example, diapers, baby products, or beauty products.
It took me over 2.5 hours to cross the border. To visit Turkmenistan, it’s mandatory to have a guide and go through a travel agency. British agencies often offer three-, five-, or seven-day trips for over 1,500 or 2,000 €.
But if your budget is more limited, you can contact a few Turkmen agencies directly by email, and they’ll make you an offer between 700 and 1,300 € for three to seven days. I took a five-day trip from Turkmenabat in the northeast of the country to Dashoguz in the north. The goal was to visit the main UNESCO-listed sites, including Merv, and archaeological sites like Nisa or Gonur Tepe.
Your guide will also be your driver. They’ll pick you up at the border. The formalities are very long because customs officers have to stamp multiple documents, and obtaining the visa you previously requested from your travel agency requires several checks. But the process goes relatively smoothly, even if each step takes a while.
Once on the other side, the first surprise is the brand-new highway all the way to Turkmenabat. A very long line of trucks stretches for several kilometers on the Turkmen side to cross the border into Uzbekistan. According to my guide, Turkmen trucks transport gas and cotton (though not this season, since the harvest is in September), but they mainly fill up their tanks because fuel is much cheaper in Turkmenistan. A full tank for a car costs about 3 €, which is unbeatable.
From the Farap border post, the goal is to reach the city of Mary, which is home to the UNESCO-listed site of Merv in its suburbs, about thirty kilometers away. This city is known as a foundation by Alexander the Great in the 4th century BC under the name Alexandria of Margiana. Several fortresses are visible.
After more than three hours on the road, we have lunch at a Turkish restaurant called Aladdin. Several quotes from the president are visible along the highway, but the road is in good condition, and we move along easily. This will be by far the best road in the country—things will get much worse later.
Roundabouts are particularly interesting because they feature emblems of Turkmen culture, like the dog, a carpet, the Ahal Teke horse, or Muslim symbols, even though the presence of Islamic artifacts is quite limited.
If I close my eyes and think of the Sultanate of Oman, I first smell a light scent of incense, feel the warmth of a sunbeam on my skin, before sand slips through my fingers. I taste the sweetness of a date, a real candy, then the flavor of coffee with a hint of cardamom and rosewater... I hear the desert wind whistling in my ears, the distant call of a muezzin, then the murmur of water. I open my eyes to see smiles, welcoming gestures, a turquoise sea, rocks ranging from ochre to purple, deep wadis where torrents burst forth, orange dunes, white sandy beaches where tiny crabs scurry at full speed. I see incredible oases emerging between arid mountains. I see abandoned villages that I’d dream were full of life, imposing fortresses overlooking valleys, and lively souks where offers are delicate and negotiation is a mutual courtesy.
All that, and so much more.
This is what I tried to capture in my illustrated travel journal, which I’ll fill in here and there with photos.
I drew this journal “cold,” after my return (actually, I made it this summer, while our trip was last winter). It’s a pretty special format—I bought it in Japan without really knowing what I’d do with it. Well, it found its purpose! Below is a photo of this accordion-style journal: here, it’s only partially open, because when fully unfolded, it’s 5 meters long!
For drawing enthusiasts: The accordion format is both a constraint (each sheet is 9 cm x 27 cm) and a freedom (you can create a fresco). The paper is also a bit special: it doesn’t allow for fine lines, but it takes ink well (liner pen). However, everything has to be done almost in one go (with a very light pencil sketch) because it erases poorly. It absorbs too much water for coloring with markers or watercolors (unless you avoid soaking it), but it works well with oil pastels and their use with a brush and solvent. Since it’s yellowish, it allowed me to create contrasts even with white pastel.
On the right, the "welcome marker"—those dates offered everywhere as a sign of hospitality. On the left, a tribute to those stunning doors worn by time, admired all over the old quarters, including the abandoned ones.
Oman is one of the world’s largest producers of frankincense resin. Incense burners are everywhere, from the simplest clay ones to the most precious handcrafted silver ones...
Hospitality will often lead you to accept a small coffee, an "Omani coffee," very light, subtly flavored with cardamom, maybe a touch of saffron, and occasionally rosewater.
Here, I’ve depicted a man in the common everyday attire of Omanis: the dishdasha, mostly white (during the week and daytime; colors are more common in the evening or on Fridays and Saturdays). While you’ll see some men dressed in Western clothes, they’re very few. The white dishdasha is truly the shared attire of all men. The dishdasha, which has no hood, is distinguished by a small pom-pom attached to the collar, the furakha, which is soaked in perfume. And believe me, Omanis go overboard with it! "It smells like the pom-pom" is an expression that’s now part of our shared language, my husband and I.
Another must of men’s attire is the kuma, a small round head covering, usually white with brightly colored patterns. The keffiyeh is also worn (but without the cord called an agal in Arab countries), and it’s mostly worn by those with roots in the desert, from what I understood.
And what about the women, you might ask? Some are veiled, some in full black (but not a burka—more like a chador + abaya), due to the influence of Saudi Arabia and the United Arab Emirates, whereas the traditional outfit used to be a layering of very colorful dresses. Most of the women we saw wore neutral clothing, a plain veil over their hair, but with their faces uncovered. We also saw many saris and colorful veils—don’t forget that 40% of the population consists of Indian, Nepalese, and Bangladeshi immigrants, who work a lot in tourism, hospitality, restaurants, services, and construction.
Just to clarify, as a tourist, there’s no pressure to wear a veil, and never any disapproving looks. Of course, you’ll save the mini shorts, plunging necklines, bare shoulders, and midriffs for the hotel terrace—but I’d say that’s the same for men and women, and with the sun being strong, it’s better for your skin too.
Here’s the introduction! In the next post, I’ll tell you about my itinerary, and we can dive in!
I’m sharing a little recap of this new 4-week trip to China—nothing fancy, just my experience.
We’re taking advantage of the extended visa exemption to return to China for the 4th time. I loved last summer’s trip so much that I’m a bit worried about being disappointed this year. Plus, I’ve had a few hiccups before this departure: my WeChat account got blocked, and I couldn’t recover it (luckily, Alipay still works fine); I couldn’t verify my 12306 account for weeks; Trip.com failed to book our second train; and I’ve got an injury that’ll slow me down during the trip... Ugh, I hate starting a trip with these kinds of issues. Then, oh surprise! Just before leaving, my 12306 account got verified! Super easy to use from that point on—I could book a few train tickets without fees.
We’re sticking with Free’s e-SIMs, which work great in China.
August 2–3
Anyway, on the morning of August 2nd, we took the RER to CDG. As usual, we couldn’t check in online. It’s always a bit frustrating, especially since we didn’t have any checked luggage. We flew with Air China. We arrived at the check-in counter at 9:50 AM, 2 hours and 40 minutes before the flight. The line for our check-in stretched 300 meters across the airport in both directions. What a joke!! We spent 1 hour and 45 minutes in that line just to reach the counter and get our boarding passes. By then, it was 11:35 AM, and boarding had already started at 11:20 AM. The screens showed a 25-minute walk to our gate—on the other side of the airport, of course—plus we had to go through passport control and security... Long story short, the plane didn’t leave without us 🙂 We boarded among the last passengers, and we took off at 12:30 PM. We’d flown Air China four times before, but this time, it felt *really* low-cost. The check-in chaos, the cramped seats (12 seats per row), no music by artists known outside China, mediocre food, and a boarding area at Beijing Airport with only 10 seats—worthy of Ryanair or EasyJet. And yet, the price was sky-high. Again, D.’s vacation requests were denied outside of July and August, so we’re traveling from August 2nd to 30th. We couldn’t have picked a worse time for inflated prices, and with the situation in Iran, we got hit with a 390 € fuel surcharge. I’ve never paid so much for flights—I felt like I’d bought business class, but nope, far from it!!
We landed in Beijing around 4:15 AM. It was 28°C with thick fog. We drove and drove and drove for 20 minutes, as usual in Beijing. Then we went through a first check, a second check, a third check, and waited for our connecting flight at 6:40 AM. A small Airbus A320, but way more space than in the Boeing 777 from the first flight. We landed in Kunming, Yunnan, around 10:15 AM in the rain.
We headed to the subway. You can’t pay at the machines with Alipay here either, so we set up the transport QR code directly in Alipay to scan at the subway gates. The process is a bit long the first time if you haven’t entered your info before, but once it’s done, it’s *so* much easier! We took Line 6 to the terminus for 6 yuan each.
We’d booked a hotel nearby, on the 16th floor. It’s actually studios on different floors of a huge residential building. The view’s pretty nice from here. We settled in quickly—back to those wooden beds, or rather, mattresses as hard as wood, which we *hadn’t* missed...
Then we went out for our first bowl of noodles of the trip and wandered through the shopping streets of the old town.
It was crowded, and the weather was cool—around 19–20°C. We tried a local specialty: milk skin, thick, dried, then grilled with rose jam. Yeah... we won’t be having that again. The taste and texture of the milk skin... no thanks.
We saw a lot of wild mushroom hotpot too. It’s on our list for later. We also passed through the Jinma and Biji gates, where I played with reflections in puddles. I *love* doing that 🙂
At the end of the day, we headed to a temple advertised as open 24/7 on Amap. Of course, when we got there, it was closed. We’ll go back tomorrow. That was the first of many disappointments with Amap this trip—I hadn’t had that issue on previous visits.
We were exhausted after that sleepless flight. Night was falling, and we decided to grab a quick bite without much appetite. We shared a delicious vegetable fried rice for 12 yuan—we even left half of it. The portions are *huge*.
After a couple of small purchases, we headed back at 9 PM, wiped out, after walking 17 km between the airports and these first steps in Kunming. I expected to see quite a few Western travelers here, but we didn’t spot a single one. Instead, we met lots of curious Chinese people, many of them super friendly and helpful—almost *too* eager, like when they’d run to serve us as fast as possible. It’s a bit much, but it’s great to be back!
Hi everyone, I’m Patrick, 67 years old, a seasoned traveler (already 22 trips outside Europe).
In autumn 2025, I took my first 3-week trip to Japan, with stops in Tokyo, Kamakura, Matsumoto, Kamikochi, Takayama, Kanazawa, Kyoto, Nara, Osaka, Koyasan, Tokyo again, and Nikko.
I wanted to go back in May 2026 and explore some lesser-known places to complement my first trip.
Last year, there were four of us traveling together to discover Japan (a fairly classic itinerary). This time, I’ll be traveling solo for part of the trip and with a couple of French friends for the rest.
The weather was gorgeous in May, averaging around 25°C, with two very hot days in Kyoto and only two rainy days.
As usual, I organized everything myself, gathering plenty of information from various sites, including this one.
Transportation:
An ICOCA card is essential.
I got a 5-day Kansai-Hiroshima pass because I took the shinkansen between Hiroshima and Osaka three times, and it paid for itself quickly.
Accommodations:
Mostly through Booking. No issues at all. Average cost was 46 € per night.
Meals:
For breakfast, I alternated between buying food at a konbini to eat in my room or on the train and grabbing something at local cafés.
For lunch and dinner, I tried to vary my meals as much as possible—lots of sashimi, sushi, and ramen.
Okonomiyaki in Osaka and Hiroshima.
Oysters in every form (raw, grilled, fried) in Onomichi and Hiroshima.
A variety of seafood (shrimp, shellfish) in Hiroshima and Matsumoto.
Fish whose names often escaped me, but notably mackerel and eel (unagi).
Tempura and gyoza.
Chicken skewers (yakitori) and one teppanyaki meal.
One omakase meal (9 different dishes).
In the end, not much meat aside from a few yakitori skewers. No splurges on super expensive wagyu or Kobe beef.
Average dinner cost: 4,800 yen, drinks included.
The Itinerary:
Day 1: Departure from Brussels
Day 2: Arrival in Osaka
Day 3: To Himeji, then Kurashiki
Day 4: To Fukuyama, then Tomo no Ura, then Onomichi
Day 5: Cycling the Shimanami Kaido
Day 6: To Takahara, then Hiroshima
Day 7: To Kyoto to attend the Aoi Matsuri parade
Day 8: To Miyajima
Day 9: Hiroshima, then Kyoto
Day 10: Southern Kyoto
Day 11: Northern Kyoto
Day 12: Final day in Kyoto, then to Nagatsugawa
Day 13: Start of the Nakasendo Trail (Magome to Tsumago)
Day 14: Second day of the trail (Kiso Fukushima)
Day 15: Third day of the trail (Narai), then Matsumoto
Day 16: To Mt. Fuji (Kawaguchiko)
Day 17: To Tokyo
Day 18: Excursion to Enoshima and Kamakura
Day 19: Flight home, with a 10-hour layover in Hong Kong
Day 20: Arrival in Brussels
My buddy Christian and I (Patrick) are off for 28 days in Argentina in March.
We’ve already shared several trips as a duo (Bolivia Peru, Namibia, Laos, Costa Rica).
Since we’re starting from the idea that at our age (65) we won’t be coming back here—there are just too many other corners of the world to discover—we did the "grand tour" of Argentina, with 6 domestic flights to make the most of our 28 days.
Here are our stops:
1) Departure from Brussels to Buenos Aires via Madrid
2) Arrival and first contact with Buenos Aires
3) Early morning flight to Ushuaia. Boat trip on the Beagle Channel
4) Ushuaia: hikes in Tierra del Fuego National Park
5) Ushuaia: last hike and flight to El Calafate
6) El Calafate to El Chaltén by bus. First hike
7) El Chaltén: hike
8) El Chaltén: hike
9) El Chaltén: hike and bus back to El Calafate
10) El Calafate: Perito Moreno Glacier
11) Flight to Bariloche. Car rental and surrounding areas
12) Seven Lakes Region
13) Nahuel Huapi National Park region
14) Flight to Salta. Car rental
15) To Tilcara
16) To Humahuaca
17) To Purmamarca
18) To Jujuy via the salt flats
19) To Cafayate
20) Around Cafayate
21) To Cachi
22) Back to Salta
23) Flight to Iguazu
24) Waterfalls on the Argentine side
25) Waterfalls on the Brazilian side and flight to Buenos Aires
26) Buenos Aires
27) Return flight
28) Morning arrival
Happy reading!..
Hi everyone, we're back from a DIY USA road trip we organized from July 31, 2026, to August 26, 2026.
The destination: The Southwest USA, including Texas, Arizona, and New Mexico. Roughly 7,000 kilometers covered.
The car: A Chevrolet Equinox for two, rented through BSP Auto and Avis. Inside, we had 2 suitcases, a travel bag, two carry-on bags, a Walmart cooler, photo gear, and water bottles (a 40-pack).
The route: Dallas DFW, Fort Worth, Houston, Austin, San Antonio, Alpine, El Paso, Tucson, Sedona, Albuquerque, Amarillo, and back to Dallas to finish with a departure from DFW.
The travelers: Two seniors well advanced in years (73 and 75) but still active (nothing too physically demanding—to stay alive and fund our trips), fully independent physically, though a bit less so mentally. Big USA fans, a country where anything is possible. More walkers than hikers, preferring 3-star hotels over roadside motels, Italian restaurants over US food, frequent stops for photos, museums over nothing, naps over forced marches. Not too whiny, just enough to stay French in the land of the "great Satan," as they say.
Not great with languages—street English (but handy), and my Spanish is non-existent except for: "Hola! Una cerveza por favor!" That’s about it. My wife understands everything but refuses to speak.
The cost of the road trip: Around 12,000 €, including AF flights, the car, gas, gifts, visits, and everything else. Well managed, since we’d budgeted 13,500 € initially.
The positive side: A delight, with those endless open roads. Museums to discover. The realization of the Hispanic presence and its important history in this part of America. Lovely locals. Tourists who were more or less friendly. A terrible Texan accent that was hard to understand. Gas stations that were like real stores, with prepared food, alcohol sold in Arizona and New Mexico, and employees who were always up for a laugh!
The negative side: The heat throughout the trip... 43°C in Dallas at the end. Impossible to walk the streets. Lots of homeless people in downtown Dallas. Hotel breakfasts that were always the same. You get used to it.
So, it was positive overall, but the concept is starting to wear us out. We might rethink the DIY road trip model for next time. If the man upstairs grants us more time.
Next up, we’ll wait for the first batch of sorted photos to go through the wringer.
After as many weeks as I have fingers on my right hand, we're hitting the road again, fully recovered from our pharaonic adventure. Back in France to drop off our daughters (sorry, girls!), this time it's just the two of us, ready to be welcomed by a new destination. They say it offers one of the richest cultural heritages in the world for those willing to put in the effort. It's the land of the ancient Silk Road, where we'll follow a journey steeped in history and discoveries straight out of *One Thousand and One Nights*. A former Soviet bloc region independent only since 1991, we'll be walking in the footsteps of Genghis Khan, Tamerlane, Alexander the Great, Marco Polo...
Another fun fact about this country: it's strictly forbidden to import porn on your phone. True story. The same goes for painkillers! Unless it's about sodomy—though the two don’t seem connected, that’s just how it is. Don’t ask me why! Anyway, I’m getting off track. Here’s the big question: Where do you think we’ve just landed?... To give you a hint, the locals are known for being incredibly welcoming. No sooner said than done—our first taxi driver, proud to transport French travelers, refused to let us pay for the ride. Great vibes for these two weeks ahead. So, any guesses?
Uzbekistan!!!
"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.
This time, I landed in Monastir on a direct flight from Nice, again with Tunisair. We left about ten minutes late, and the flight lasted around 1 hour 30 minutes. A meal was served on board (cucumber salad with Edam-like cheese, carrots, and two small portions of dishes I couldn’t identify—semolina with peppers, olives, and parsley, two small rolls, a square of processed cheese, and a chocolate cake). It’s worth noting because it’s not common on flights this short.
In February, France and Tunisia were in the same time zone, but now Tunisia is one hour behind. This time difference and the flight duration work perfectly for a short 15-day trip since it takes me a few days to adjust to jet lag.
Luckily, I’d asked my hotel about the taxi fare from the airport because the drivers (there were several around me) didn’t hesitate to quote outrageous prices. The actual fare is 20 dinars, but one asked for 120 dinars. I refused, and another offered 60 dinars. I replied, "That’s too expensive—I’ll take the metro!" (Having tried the Tunis metro, I had no desire to repeat the experience in Monastir with a suitcase!). I started walking toward the metro, and one of the drivers caught up with me, saying, "20 dinars is fine!" I’ll skip the details, but the negotiation took a little while.
When I arrived at the hotel, I told the receptionist someone had asked for 120 dinars. He put his hands to his head and said, "They’re awful!" He remembered our phone call two days earlier when I’d booked (he’s the one who told me I could take the metro).
The Mezri Hotel isn’t expensive. I got a sea-view room for 75 dinars (22 €). (I’d booked a balcony room for 90 dinars but wouldn’t have had time to enjoy it.) It’s well-located but noisy because there’s no double glazing.
The receptionist is a very kind older gentleman. He called a friend whose wife is from Tozeur to find out if I should take a bus or a *louage* tomorrow and what time.
I arrived at the hotel around 7:00 PM and had time to stroll along the corniche to the ribat. Despite some run-down buildings, the seaside seemed livelier and cheerier than Sousse’s.
Monastir is the hometown of former president Bourguiba. I passed his mausoleum by taxi. There are Tunisian flags along the avenue by the sea because every year on April 6—the anniversary of Habib Bourguiba’s death—the president of the Republic visits the Bourguiba Mausoleum in Monastir to pay respects.
The taxi driver mentioned other Tunisian presidents. He complained about rising prices and insecurity, blaming President Kaïs Saïed (I’d already heard that security was better under Ben Ali).
At the end of my stay, I’ll take time to explore Monastir, but tomorrow morning, I’m off to Tozeur—a long bus ride awaits me.
With my girlfriend Christelle, we’ve chosen South Africa for our first trip to Southern Africa, focusing on safaris—after a long debate with a Cape Town/Kruger combo.
But that would’ve meant cutting out St Lucia, which would’ve been harder to fit into another trip.
And St Lucia—thanks to Michel and all those travel journals—we really wanted to go there.
So our 11-night itinerary ended up like this, mostly shaped by school holidays:
- 3 nights in St Lucia
- 1 night in Hluhluwe
- 1 night at Mkhaya Game Reserve (Eswatini)
- 1 night at Hlane Royal National Park (Eswatini)
- 3 nights in Kruger (Berg en Dal / Satara / Tamboti)
- 1 night at Shindzela Tented Camp in the Timbavati private reserve
- 1 final night in Kruger at Lower Sabie
All of this in the off-season and rainy season, just a month after catastrophic floods that killed over 150 people and seriously damaged Kruger’s infrastructure.
I’ll jump straight to St Lucia and skip the loooong journey to get there (with a layover in Frankfurt, landing in Johannesburg, a domestic flight to Durban, and the rest by rental SUV—First Car Rental, perfect, no complaints).
To motivate readers—especially some familiar faces here—I’ll drop in a first photo.
Here we go!!!
I left home at 4 AM on October 31st and headed to Barcelona. Driving through Barcelona on the ring road stresses me out a bit, but at 6 AM the traffic is smooth, and I arrive at the airport without any issues. I call the valet, who quickly comes to pick up my car. He takes photos of it from all angles before letting me go.
Baggage check-in hasn’t started yet, and there are already several of us waiting.
Once free, everything happens very quickly. The flight to Abu Dhabi is on time and goes smoothly. I’ve never had any problems with this airline, which I’ve been using for several years.
The flight to Bangkok arrives at 7 AM as scheduled. This is my first time in Thailand and Bangkok. I’m used to traveling in India, and I notice that everything here is well organized—the customs process is quick, and the luggage is already on the carousel.
I booked a taxi on Booking. All I have to do is find the right exit and door based on the agency’s instructions. A large sign with the names of people who booked is posted on a wall. A hostess greets me and calls the taxi, which arrives 5 minutes later. I booked one night at the Lost Inn BKK hotel in the Phra Nakhon district, and we arrive at 9 AM. The welcome isn’t warm, and I have to wait until noon, sitting on a chair, before I can check into my room. I’m exhausted, and sleeping sitting up isn’t ideal. Noon finally arrives—the room is small but clean, which is fine for one night. I quickly take a shower to wake up because I plan to spend the afternoon visiting the Grand Palace. First, I need to exchange some money, and the banks are all close together on the same street, which is very convenient. When I enter one, a hostess gives me a ticket and invites me to sit down. There are about twenty counters, and I wait quietly until my number is called. The exchange is quick, so I can head out to find the Royal Palace. It’s actually very easy, and the walk is pleasant.
Entry to the Royal Palace (500 baht).
It’s magnificent and grand, and there are quite a few of us visiting. The sky is gray, it’s very humid, and a shower interrupts the visit. It’s a vast complex of temples and palaces. The buildings are colorful and sparkling, with a great sense of serenity (without the tourists, of course). I quietly enjoy the place and try to take photos without tourists, which isn’t easy.
Very close to the Grand Palace is Wat Pho, one of the oldest Buddhist temples in the capital.
It’s very famous for its 46-meter-long reclining Buddha statue.
Walking around the temple, you can see different representations of Buddha, all covered in gold leaf.
Inside the temple, on one side, monks recite their prayers, while the other side is reserved for tourists who come to meditate in silence.
Before returning to the hotel, I have dinner at an Indian restaurant. I go to bed early because tomorrow’s wake-up call will be very early again.
Saturday, November 2nd
Wake-up at 4 AM, departure from the hotel at 4:30 AM. The taxi I booked via Booking is waiting for me and takes me to the airport. The trip is fairly quick—he takes small roads, and at this hour, there’s no traffic.
The flight to Phnom Penh is on time. Before boarding, I realize I left my fleece jacket on the carousel, but it’s too late to go back for it.
The flight goes well, and customs is quick.
At the exit, I take a tuk-tuk to Julieka’s GH near the museum. The welcome is friendly. I won’t be able to check into my room until noon, so I take the opportunity to exchange some euros on the market street. The street is lined with restaurants, and I’ll have my first meal there.
The museum is right across the street, so I don’t waste any time visiting it.
The representations of Hindu deities are very different from those in India, and I don’t recognize them. Many beautiful Buddhas are on display.
The museum is very pleasant, and there aren’t too many people, which is a plus.
At the exit, I return to the GH, settle into my room—which is decent and clean.
The Royal Palace is 1 km away. I walk along a garden, and at the end of the street is the Tonlé Sap, but I turn right. I arrive at a large esplanade and see the buildings with tiered roofs and glazed tiles. The entrance to the palace is a little further away.
At the entrance, I notice there isn’t the same crowd as at the one in BKK.
Khmer architecture is magnificent. The complex consists of gardens, palaces, pagodas with golden roofs, and slender spires.
The Silver Pagoda houses the small Emerald Buddha, which is actually made of jade. The silver flooring is covered with carpets. Photos are not allowed.
The walls surrounding the pagoda are covered with frescoes depicting scenes from the Ramayana.
My partner and I traveled from Sunday, July 5, 2026, to Wednesday, July 22, 2026.
We spent a long time debating whether to rent a car or use public transportation. In the end, after reading so many posts about travelers getting scammed by police or rental companies—even those recommended by blogs and reviews—we decided to stick with public transport. It worked out really well. Sure, we had a little less freedom to go where we wanted, but it was way less stressful for us.
Sunday, July 5:
Arrived at Cancun Airport. Withdrew cash from the ATM in the terminal just before exiting. The ADO bus counter (they pronounce it "A-Jee-O") is right behind you when you're facing the ATM. Bus to downtown Cancun cost 145 pesos per person.
Stayed at "Rose 5," booked on Booking. The studio was super clean and perfect for one night. The owner’s instructions for accessing the place were very precise, with photos included. Check-in was self-service with a code. The ADO bus terminal isn’t far, and there are shops and restaurants nearby. We really appreciated that the AC was already on when we arrived. By the way, I’d recommend always booking places with AC—it’s *really* hot in Mexico.
Monday, July 6:
Bought a SIM card with data from a TELCEL store. My partner, who’s on Free Mobile, was able to use her regular plan. Just so you know, I found the network pretty unstable. As soon as we left the cities, neither of us—me with TELCEL or her with Free—had any signal.
Another thing to watch out for: roaming charges. I had to turn my SIM back on for less than 30 seconds to get a bank SMS code, and my phone apparently connected to the internet—resulting in an 8-euro roaming fee.
Left on an ADO bus to Chiquila for 278 pesos per person. During our trip, ADO buses were always on time, comfortable, and clean. The AC is *cranked* though, so bring something to cover up with—it gets cold. Some routes were fully booked even in the low season, so try to reserve 1 or 2 days in advance either via the app (when it works) or at the counter.
When we arrived at the ADO terminal in Chiquila, the ferry company counters were right next to it. Ferries leave every 30 minutes, alternating between companies, so no need to book ahead. Just take whichever one is leaving next (330 pesos per person).
When we got to Holbox (pronounced "Hol-bosh"), we’d booked a place via Booking called "Casa de Nana." It was a huge studio with a fridge, cooking plate, and utensils. The best part? The *location*. It was 100 meters from the beach and 200 meters from a Chedraui supermarket. They provided bath towels and beach towels, and the AC worked perfectly. There’s a key box so you can leave your keys inside when you go out. The only downside was that no one was there to let us in when we arrived, so we had to wait a while. The Wi-Fi was good, which was lucky because during our 4-day stay in Holbox, the phone network *never* worked. According to locals, that’s pretty common in Holbox, along with water outages.
Luckily, I’d had the good idea to download an offline map, which helped us find our way back to the place more easily. You can walk there from the dock.
The restaurant next to our place (La Barracuda) was great if you like seafood—I’d recommend their octopus dishes.
Tuesday, July 7:
We did a kayak tour in Holbox’s mangroves at 6 AM. We were looking for a sunrise kayak tour with a French-speaking guide. That’s exactly what we got with "Kayaking Holbox," where Diego, the owner, speaks English and French. He was joined by Gustavo, another guide.
We’d booked for a group tour, but we were the only ones. Diego still went ahead with it instead of canceling due to lack of participants, so we got a private tour at the group rate—really professional of him. They showed us this amazing ecosystem for over 3 hours. We saw all kinds of birds: pink flamingos, pelicans, egrets, frigatebirds... rays, a horseshoe crab, and a little crocodile that was *so* well hidden. Diego and Gustavo have a real eye for spotting animals—I could’ve passed by the crocodile 100 times and never seen it, it blended in so well. Their explanations about the flora and fauna were super interesting. We also got a little break where we tasted mangoes and bananas that taste *nothing* like the ones in France. A real treat—those little Mexican yellow mangoes! I’d definitely recommend Diego and his agency for a French-language kayak tour (1000 pesos per person).
In the evening, we walked to Punta Coco to see the bioluminescence. No need for a guided tour—if you really don’t want to walk, you can take a taxi. At Punta Coco, you have to pass the beach bar/restaurant and then go left into a kind of inlet that forms a lagoon. You have to wiggle your feet or move your hands in the water to create movement, which makes the light appear. Just don’t expect the kind of photos you’ve seen online—they’re all edited! It’s fun to see, but you won’t be dazzled by the light...
Wednesday, July 8:
Whale shark tour with "My Holbox Tours." Why recommend this agency over others for swimming with whale sharks? Simply because Valérie surrounds herself with top professionals to make your experience unforgettable. We were with Captain Fernando, who does everything to position the boat perfectly and make your swim easier. In the water, we were with Humberto, who also goes above and beyond to make sure you have an incredible time. He doesn’t just "supervise" like some guides from other companies who leave you on your own. No, Humberto reads the whale shark’s trajectory and guides you—all you have to do is follow him. He really puts in the effort, even holding your hand to guide you through this quick but intense encounter. Humberto also films the moment and will offer to show you the videos and sell them to you. His footage is really high quality.
Fernando and Humberto also prepared food for us. Special mention for their guacamole! Valérie is there to make sure everything goes smoothly on the boat and to answer your questions in French, English, or Spanish about these animals. If you choose My Holbox Tours, you can be sure you’ll get a top-notch experience.
About the tour itself: before you go, you should know that the sharks can be *really* far away. The day we went, it took 3.5 hours by boat to reach them. The boats are small, and let me tell you—on the way there, when we weren’t going with the waves, it was *rough*. Out of 9 passengers, 4 got seasick. But once you’re face-to-face with the shark, you forget all about that. Even if swimming with a whale shark isn’t exactly a walk in the park—they swim pretty fast, so you need some endurance to keep up. You’ll usually get 2 turns. Our first swim lasted a little over 4 minutes, and the second about 2 minutes because the shark was moving fast and we were still tired from the first swim. It might seem short, but when you’re swimming, it feels *long*. Either way, it’s an experience you *have* to do—but choose your company wisely. On the way back, there’s a stop at Cabo Catoche. Honestly, the snorkeling is pretty disappointing if you’ve done it elsewhere in the world. But the lunch stop at Cabo Catoche is really nice for relaxing (white sand and hammocks).
Thursday, July 9:
Short morning walk to Punta Mosquito at 6 AM. Really nice.
Ferry to Chiquila (330 pesos per person) + ADO bus to Valladolid (300 pesos per person).
In Valladolid, we booked "Casa Lucia" via Booking. The hotel is gorgeous, with a colonial style, and very close to the ADO bus terminal and downtown. It’s super quiet and clean. There’s a shared kitchen you can use with a fridge, microwave, and water dispenser, plus a big table by the pool and a nice indoor terrace. Breakfast was simple but included. The only small downsides were the tiny room and bathroom, no mirror in the room, and a noisy fan.
Friday, July 10:
Not far from the ADO bus terminal is the colectivo station for Chichen Itza. They offer a round-trip to Chichen Itza with an option to stop at Ik Kil cenote on the way back and then drop you off in Valladolid for 370 pesos per person (Ik Kil entrance included).
For the Chichen Itza visit, we’d booked a tour with a guide often mentioned in groups—his name is Juan Pat. He’s a Maya who lives near the site and speaks excellent French. He reserves spots in advance for you and queues up to be the first on-site. It cost 500 pesos per person + entrance fees. His tour lasts 2 hours and focuses mainly on the main pyramid and the ball court. He’s passionate and fascinating, even if some of his claims, as a Maya, might be a little biased. I think it’s *really* important to have a guide—otherwise, you’ll miss so much. You can contact Juan Pat on WhatsApp at +52 985 121 2381.
Afterward, we went to Ik Kil cenote (showers and life jackets mandatory, lockers available). It’s *very* crowded, but still really beautiful with its lush vegetation.
Saturday, July 11:
Since we didn’t have a car but still wanted to visit other cenotes that seemed hard to reach by public transport, we decided to book a taxi for the day. We agreed on 1200 pesos to take us to 3 different cenotes and wait for us at each one. (To find taxis, just look where they park near the ADO bus station.)
He picked us up at Zaci cenote, which we’d walked to. We got there at opening time and were the first ones there—had the place to ourselves for a while! 150 pesos per person. A pretty cenote in the city center with lush vegetation. It’s a bit like Ik Kil but without the deep cylindrical effect.
Cenote Xcanahaltun: the most beautiful cenote we visited. Entry 250 pesos per person. It’s a closed cenote with a hole that lets light in—a cave-like setting. You can kayak inside. There are little fish at the edge that nibble dead skin off your feet. Since it’s closed, the water is *freezing*!
Cenote Palomitas: entry 250 pesos per person. Another stunning closed cenote, even more enclosed than Xcanahaltun. The hole in the ceiling is smaller, so it was pretty dark when we arrived—kind of an eerie vibe. But when the staff turned on the lights, it looked like a "Gothic cathedral" full of bright stalactites.
Cenote Sac Aua: entry 290 pesos per person. The ticket includes a guided cave tour (tip-based). This cenote is really unique with its central island and way less crowded than Suytun. Just so you know, the water is *really* cold in cenotes. In these three, in July, we had the place to ourselves for a while and never saw more than 2 families at once—so peaceful!
Sunday, July 12:
ADO bus to Bacalar (536 pesos per person).
In Bacalar, we stayed via Airbnb with a host named Luli, who offers several rooms with shared bathroom and kitchen.
The room is nicely decorated in a pleasant setting. It’s ideally located near the lagoon and downtown. The shared kitchen is handy. The mosquito net over the bed is useful because there are *a lot* of mosquitoes in Bacalar. Luli provides a water jug, which is really nice. The only big downside is the lack of water pressure in the shower—we had to rinse off by filling a bucket. Also, there’s no real door separating the room from the bathroom. We never met Luli in person, but she was very responsive via messages. The terrace in the middle of the vegetation is lovely.
From the ADO terminal to the place, we took a taxi for 40 pesos. Since this driver was honest about the price (we’d checked beforehand), we decided to use him every time we needed a taxi in Bacalar. Here’s his WhatsApp: +52 983 184 3585.
Monday, July 13:
We did a boat tour on the lagoon with "Bacalar Francophone Activities." Since we were just the two of us, it cost 3500 pesos. If we’d managed to be 4 people, it would’ve been 1000 pesos per person.
We had a private 4-hour tour on the lagoon with Steeve and his very comfortable boat. He’s from Quebec, so his French is perfect. During those 4 hours, Steeve showed us the lagoon’s iconic spots *and* places other boats don’t go. He told us about the lagoon’s history and gave great tips on where to go and where to eat. As a little bonus, he gave us a video taken with his drone during our swimming break.
Tuesday, July 14:
We went to Los Rapidos by taxi (400 pesos round trip) and entry was 225 pesos per person. It’s *very* touristy but really beautiful. You can eat there (expensive), relax, and go down the "rapids" as many times as you want. It’s worth it if you spend a few hours there. You can’t bring in food or drinks—you leave them at the entrance and pick them up on the way out.
Wednesday, July 15:
On Wednesdays, navigation is banned on Bacalar Lagoon, so we’d planned another excursion.
Visit to Calakmul from Bacalar with ABCtours (WhatsApp +52 983 319 8359).
This agency organized a trip from Bacalar to Calakmul with a French-speaking guide. Communication beforehand via WhatsApp was smooth. Mr. Checo, the driver, and Fernando, the guide (who spoke great French), picked us up on the day. Mr. Checo drove very carefully on the long road and always made sure we were comfortable. Fernando is passionate about flora and fauna—he’s a biologist with a degree in ornithology, so he knows *everything* about animals. The slightest sound or song, and he knows what it is. He’s got an eye for spotting them, from the biggest to the smallest.
During the trip, we stopped at km 27 for a short forest walk, then went to see the two main pyramids on the site. On the way back, we stopped at the bat cave for the magical spectacle of millions of bats flying out at dusk. In the end, we saw or glimpsed (some briefly) spider monkeys, howler monkeys, a toucan, 2 tapirs, turkeys, 2 deer, and lots of birds. If, like us, you’re more into flora and fauna than archaeology, I’d *highly* recommend this agency and tour with Fernando.
It’s not cheap, but the road between Bacalar and the site is *long* (3.5 hours). Price: 3900 pesos per person for 2 (3500 for 3, 3200 for 4).
Thursday, July 16:
ADO bus to Playa del Carmen (614 pesos per person).
In Playa del Carmen, we stayed in an Airbnb. The building is on the town hall square, next to the casino.
The best thing about this place is the *location*—super close to Fifth Avenue (La Quinta). The kitchen is pretty basic, but the fridge works well. There are supermarkets nearby. The rooftop pool is really nice. The two big downsides, though, are the soundproofing (you can *hear* the neighbor’s alarm and all the events on the square) and the *total* lack of water pressure in the shower. We had to fill a trash can with water to pour over ourselves. When we told the owner, he said it wasn’t normal and someone would come fix it, but we never heard back. Based on previous reviews, this seems to be a known issue that never gets resolved.
Playa del Carmen is *very* touristy on Fifth Avenue, but in a fun, musical vibe—we never felt unsafe. There are *tons* of little souvenir shops for tourists on this street. There’s a beautiful monumental sculpture on the beach (the two figures meeting in the air), next to which you can see the Voladores show (men climbing a pole, tying themselves with ropes, and descending headfirst while "flying" around the pole). The show is tip-based and happens several times a day. In our opinion, Calle 38 is prettier than Fifth Avenue—it’s lush, green, and quieter, with the sea at the end. Great for an early evening stroll. We had really good meals at great prices at "El Tio Noy" tacos, just a few meters from Fifth Avenue in a side street.
For souvenirs, we’d recommend going to Walmart instead of Fifth Avenue—you’ll find skulls, tequila, mezcal, keychains, mugs, glasses... at good, fixed prices.
Friday, July 17:
We did the excursion to Isla Contoy. Isla Contoy is an uninhabited, highly protected island. Only 200 people are allowed to land per day on a rotating basis, so only a few companies have permission to dock there. Most agencies subcontract the day to a third-party company.
We booked through VRM (Viviendo Riviera Maya), but it was Ocean Tours Mexico that handled the tour. Contoy is a little paradise. We were accompanied by multilingual guides, including French speakers, throughout the day. Steffy gave us info about the island during a short walk on the marked trails, and Leño Tlatemoa kept the mood up on the boat rides with music and dancing. Isla Contoy is *truly* stunning, and the lunch was delicious: grilled fish and chicken, guacamole and tortilla chips, rice, fruit, drinks (everything is brought and taken back by the guides). The snorkeling part was pretty disappointing if you’ve done it in Cozumel, though. The stop at Isla Mujeres isn’t very interesting either—it’s too short to explore, and the island is *extremely* touristy. Still, the excursion was very well organized, and we had a great day (2970 pesos per person).
Saturday, July 18:
We wanted to go snorkeling in Cozumel but thought the prices from French-speaking agencies were too high. Plus, for snorkeling, we figured we didn’t *need* a French-speaking guide.
So we found a much cheaper solution by taking the ferry from Playa del Carmen ourselves and choosing an agency in Playa. The round-trip ferry cost 663.50 pesos per person. Then we took a taxi to the snorkeling boat (100 pesos). The agency we chose is called Mystic Snorkel—they don’t have a physical office. The tour cost 1400 pesos per person. It was a small boat, but that day we were the only ones, so we got a private tour at the group rate. We stopped at 4 different sites, all very different and beautiful. We saw all kinds of fish, corals, a nurse shark, and turtles. El Cielo, with its huge starfish, is *exceptional*. If you’re going snorkeling in the Yucatan Peninsula, this is *the* tour to do—the other sites are pretty "poor" in comparison.
Sunday, July 19:
Morning dive with Triton Diving. I chose the Cozumel dive option. Great experience.
Booking via WhatsApp was easy. On the day of the dive, Selene, who speaks French, was our guide. She’s *very* attentive to the group’s safety. The briefings are clear and precise. In Cozumel, we did 2 very different sites: the first was a drift dive with lots of life—beautiful corals and fish. The second was a wreck, the C53, a 56-meter boat you can enter. Not much marine life, but a beautiful wreck intentionally sunk for divers—still in great condition. An unforgettable moment. Selene even took videos during the dive, which the club sends you for free afterward. I’d *highly* recommend this club.
Just so you know, in Playa del Carmen, the beaches were full of sargassum during our stay, despite barriers and daily cleanup. Locals told us the problem is getting worse and the sargassum is arriving earlier in the season. Tourism has taken a *big* hit this summer, and they’re wondering if tourism can even survive the sargassum season anymore. A lot of tourists are heading to the islands—Isla Mujeres and Cozumel—to enjoy the beaches, as the west side of those islands is sargassum-free.
Monday, July 20:
Colectivo to Puerto Morelos. First, a colectivo toward Cancun that drops you off between Puerto Morelos town and Puerto Morelos beach (40 pesos per person), then another from that junction to the beach (10 pesos per person).
In Puerto Morelos, we’d booked a room via Airbnb at "Piedra del Caribe." *Best* place we stayed in Mexico. It’s an aparthotel. Our room was ready before check-in, so they let us in early. The place matched the description—spacious, with a comfortable king-size bed. The shower had *great* pressure, which isn’t a given in Mexico. The staff was super friendly and welcoming. They let us use the pool, restrooms, and rooftop shower after check-out while we waited for our ride to Cancun Airport. They even kept our luggage. I *highly* recommend this place.
In Puerto Morelos, there was *way* less sargassum than in Playa del Carmen—it was actually swimmable.
We did the snorkeling tour with the fishermen’s cooperative for 450 pesos per person for 2 hours. The reef is close to the beach (you’re not allowed to swim there), so the boat ride is short. It’s not as pretty as Cozumel, but it’s nice and affordable. On Puerto Morelos’s page, you can also access a small, not-very-well-preserved reef. There’s also a cenote in the sea where fresh water mixes with saltwater—the water is murky there. We had a great dinner and excellent cocktails at "La Choza del Puerto."
Tuesday, July 21:
Wandered around Puerto Morelos (check out the church and read everything—it’s entertaining!), relaxed by the hotel pool, and left for Cancun Airport by taxi (400 pesos) booked via InDrive to head back to France.
Our highlights:
- Holbox
- The whale shark tour
- The cenotes
- The local flora and fauna (so present!)
- Isla Contoy
- Cabo Catoche (except for the snorkeling)
What we liked least:
- The bioluminescence (barely visible despite good conditions)
- The food—we found it not very diverse in taquerias
- The constant tipping
- The lack of water pressure in showers (fixed, wall-mounted, no hose or showerhead)
Don’t hesitate to ask if you have any questions while it’s still fresh in our minds.
Traveling with just one spare pair of underwear, considering a hot shower a miracle, never staying in the same place too long by sleeping wherever night catches us, taking whatever local, improbable, and rickety transport we can find—this is the DNA of us wanderers. Except this time, the script for our movie is going to be a whole different genre. On paper, the destination doesn’t exactly scream epic adventure: Réunion! And what’s more... we won’t be two, or four, or even ten. We’ll be a solid thirty. All from the same family. Yes, thirty. At this point, it’s not just a trip—it’s a summer camp on the move! Why inflict this on such a peaceful island? Because my brother decided to get married there with his lovely bride. A great idea, you might say... especially when it involves relocating the equivalent of a small Ardennes village 10,000 kilometers from home for three weeks! So who’s stepping up to be the guide and wave the little flag?
So, for an exceptional trip, exceptional stories! Don’t worry, the debates at the supermarket over whether to choose plain chips or roast chicken chips, the beach picnics washed down with ti’ punch, and other rougail sausages to digest by the pool will only make it into the family archives. Here, I’ll stick to the tales of our beautiful escapes, the ones where we explore the wild corners of this little volcanic rock planted in the middle of the Indian Ocean. So where exactly are we headed?
For the first week—the subject of this first installment—we’re taking it easy. We’ll start by rediscovering the coastline, from the Souffleur in Saint-Leu to the Hermitage lagoon, before a little trip to the Cirque de Cilaos and its legendary road with 400 turns, just to get our legs warmed up.
This travel journal is therefore intended solely for my photos, to present a consistent style.
All the shots were taken with a simple Samsung Galaxy smartphone and with whatever was at hand.
All stays combined, I’ve spent the equivalent of three years at most in Thailand, and I’m not a big expert on the country.
However, after many trips, lots of reading on VoyageForum and other sites, and conversations with many locals as well as expats, my view of the country is becoming clearer, though it’s constantly evolving. You never stop discovering and learning.
I guess I wanted to piece together a puzzle, mainly for those who want to get an idea of the country here and for those who miss it.
I don’t know if this minimalist sharing will interest anyone, but it’ll do me good to put it together. After so many months without traveling and then these other long months with VF closed, there’s plenty of material available.
There’ll be a mix of places, periods, and subjects, but it might well be intentional.
I suspect many Thais have dogs because they make excellent guards for the home. Nothing better to deter burglars or to signal the presence of a snake. You’ll often see Thais tapping the top of their dog’s head, but don’t be fooled: it’s a sign of affection from them. Judging by the dogs’ reactions, they’re used to it.
Thailand is one of the countries on the planet where rabies is still present, so keep that in mind. It’s not just bites that can be dangerous, so don’t let just any dog lick you. Especially on a wound, of course.
Even though dogs often fear humans—this dangerous and unpredictable predator—we still need to stay cautious.
Be careful when walking into alleys because the dog will defend its master’s big property, be careful at night, and be careful when they’re in packs.
It sometimes crosses our minds that Thailand isn’t really made for walking around, and dogs are one of the reasons.
That said, it’s not uncommon to see them chasing bikes or scooters. Cars, though, are much rarer—they’re too big.
It seems Thais prefer to give their dogs freedom by not locking them behind gates. Though sometimes the gate is closed, the little side door is wide open. Oh, and sometimes there’s no gate in front of the property, or it’s been broken for years.
You’ll often see dogs sleeping on the side of the road, sometimes right on the road. When you arrive, they move aside nonchalantly—or not at all. It’s less funny when they suddenly appear from thick vegetation, which reminds visitors not to drive too fast. As a result, you’ll notice that dogs with injuries or missing legs aren’t that rare.
Since they believe in reincarnation and respect for all forms of life, they don’t chase dog packs away too much, and they don’t sterilize them enough. Seeing a small pack roaming freely in the countryside, you might think it’s best not to cross paths with them at the edge of a field.
A darker side of this is that euthanasia isn’t often practiced. Twice, we saw dogs at temples on the brink of death, enduring terrible suffering. No one did anything about it. The image (and the smell) of one of them, dying and emitting the stench of death, still comes back to me sometimes.
Some of you may have seen the YouTube vlog of a French woman living in Phuket who was given a little pig by her Thai friends. The well-fed animal quickly became a happy, enormous beast with its own garden. Yet, it didn’t take long for it to fall seriously ill and become incurable. In her video, the French woman described how difficult it was to find a vet willing to perform euthanasia.
You’ll often see bowls by the side of the road. Thais leave food and water in them for stray cats and dogs. Overall, they have a big heart for animals.
If you ever pop into a shopping mall, you might see people pushing their small dogs in strollers. It’s not a gimmick—it’s just that these strollers are provided for customers to put their pets in, otherwise you can’t bring them inside. It looks a bit odd when you expect to see a baby.
It was winter, a winter with beautiful weather,
A season that only exists in the southwest of America,
I remember very well what I told you that morning
A month ago... A century ago, an eternity ago...
We’ll go... wherever you want, whenever you want...
Well, yeah, back from our adventure in our enchanting American West just a month ago, we’re already taking a bite out of one of its lesser-known competitors. "Flo, if you had to pick just one reason to justify your love for the U.S., what would it be?" The greasy, dripping burgers? No, I don’t think I’m going out on a limb by saying it’d be the wide-open spaces... And that’s exactly what our new quest is taking us to—a land on the other side of the globe where the horizon also seems endless, where silence tastes like salty wind and sand, where freedom is measured in kilometers of desert tracks, where the GPS is mostly there to confirm you’re lost in the middle of nowhere... Add to that magic formula the fact that you’ll see more zebras, giraffes, wildebeest, and elephants than people per square kilometer, and you can imagine us setting foot in Southern Africa for the first time, more precisely at the small airport in Windhoek, capital of... of...? Brush up on your geography, damn it! We’re landing in Namibia!!!
To be honest, Namibian landscapes have been flirting with me for ages. So how did I resist this island of temptation for so long? First, the budget. Let’s just say that for the same amount of effort (and kidneys), the bank lets you choose two other adventures almost anywhere else on the planet. Then there were my girls. Yeah, back then, they were too little to dose up on Malarone, the only malaria remedy at the time... Long story short, ten years later, all the planets have aligned. First, I won the Euromillions! Well, almost... Let’s just say my girls are now old enough... not to take Malarone, but to stop following me on all my adventures! Jackpot! "Flo, how about a little two-person caprice, just the two of us, tackling the Namibian tracks?"
As we landed on the runway, first wow effect: The horizon is immense. It’s flat as can be, incredibly flat... So much flat space! Did I mention it was flat?... Looking into the distance, it feels like your gaze could circle the Earth without hitting a single obstacle—until you end up staring at your own backside. "Oh, what a nice view!" Well, it’s the first time I’ve seen my butt from this angle! Touching moment... Sorry, I’m rambling—must be the exhaustion from the three-flight marathon we just powered through via Ethiopia and South Africa... And yet, no time to philosophize about my anatomy. As usual, we want to rack up our first kilometers to be front and center at dawn tomorrow. After wrapping up the tedious Namibian immigration formalities and meeting the 4x4 that’ll be our companion day and night for the next fifteen days, we’re off! We’re not exactly fresh, but we’re ready to tackle the next five hundred kilometers in night mode, cruise control set due south! Just outside Windhoek, the local wildlife—a jackal—welcomes us with a smile: "Welcome to Namibia!" That’s what it said! Honest... Okay, first endless straight road, first flaming sunset, first corrugated dirt track, first Milky Way with zero light pollution... You get it—it’s definitely the day of firsts... First night camping, too, in the big trunk of our Toyota Fortuner parked by the side of the track... The real adventure, the kind that smells under the arms, can finally begin...
Here we go—finally, the big day has arrived! A trip the whole family (my two kids, my husband, and me) had been looking forward to for so long.
To keep it short, we left from Nice, arrived in Namibia on June 25, 2025, and left again on the 21st—four weeks later.
We used an agency for all the camping reservations, activities, and the car rental. At least that side of things was taken care of. Michaël was our contact throughout the planning and the trip itself.
We spent our first night at Londiningi BB. A bit out of the city center but very quiet. The rooms were spacious and clean, and we could eat on-site that evening. Perfect for recovering from the flight.
This travel journal is our second on VoyageForum, following last year’s where we recounted our four weeks in Vietnam.
The goal remains the same: since some members on this site share tips, experiences, and great deals that help us prepare for our trips, we do the same after returning—both to give back a little and in the hope that our experiences might be useful to others in some way.
Our route was as follows: Bangkok, Siem Reap, Krabi, Suratthani, Koh Phangan, Koh Tao, Chumphon, Bang Saphan, Prachuab Khiri Khan, Sam Roi Yod, Hua Hin, Phetchaburi, Bangkok.
Beyond rediscovering Bangkok, our objectives were the long-held dream of seeing Angkor and exploring southern Thailand, much of which isn’t overly touristy.
A quick big thank-you to Barbot, who took the time to answer several of our questions.
12/07/2013
The cheapest flight we found earlier this year was a Paris-Bangkok route with a layover in Moscow for 1440 €, total for two people.
So, this time we tried Aeroflot. Airbus A318 for the first leg, A330 for the second. Nothing particularly annoying to report—the passengers were very calm, the cabin temperature was comfortable, and we had enough legroom.
That said, the quality of the meal trays was pretty mediocre, and the flight attendants weren’t exactly comedians.
We’d like to remind everyone that it’s best to exchange as little money as possible at the airport upon arrival, since the rate is about 5% worse than at city banks.
Of course, we made sure to take the airport exit where you can catch official taxis to avoid getting scammed. So, we queued up, a little lady gave us the ticket, and off we went with the driver.
Generally, this system works well because these drivers are registered, know their duties, and the risks they face if they break the rules. Except that day, right off the bat, we got the scammer of the day. His first move was to snatch the ticket from my wife’s hands—the one you’re supposed to keep in case of a complaint. My husband saw it, but after a full day of travel, we were a bit out of it, and honestly, there was no reason to be suspicious. But once we started driving, the guy refused to turn on the meter. We insisted more and more firmly, but nothing. So, I used the famous method of opening the door and starting to step out of the car. At 40 km/h, that scares the driver more than the passenger. He finally turned on the meter, but that didn’t calm him down—quite the opposite. For the next half-hour, he ruined the ride by demanding extra fees here and there. Having dealt with several scam attempts last year in Vietnam, this wasn’t exactly new, and we were proud of ourselves for staying pretty zen. Still, this guy was a little scary—he was completely wired and aggressive. Honestly, it was hard not to think he was on something. He’d be perfect for a *Scarface* remake. When we finally arrived at the hotel, he followed us to the entrance. We paid the two tolls (25 and 45 baht), gave him the usual 100 baht extra for the ride, and stayed polite but firm. So, meter: 245 baht + 100 baht + 25 and 45 baht for tolls—we paid the exact amount, no way we were tipping this guy. He left furious, but he was already like that before picking us up... Anyway, avoid Mr. Chartree Chidchen, number 089 826 7308, car E2663!
We were so relieved to finally settle in at Feung Nakorn Balcony hotel in the temple district. 42 € per night, great reception, all the staff is friendly. The AC works fine, the bed seemed hard at first but turned out to be comfortable. The hotel is quiet, away from the nightlife, but at this time of year, many places are less crowded than in high season. Even with a nice fish pond and outdoor breakfast area, it’s a decent hotel, though we felt we could’ve found something better.
After a night on the plane, the first afternoon is always a bit of a slog. We napped for a few hours, and when we woke up—guess what—we were starving. We visited a temple across from the hotel (nothing special) and then decided to take the Chao Phraya Express, the river shuttle that serves many piers along the river. It was a really enjoyable experience. The steel gangway wobbles when you board and disembark, the boat sits low in the water, and sometimes you get splashed. During peak times, you’re packed in like sardines, but most of all, there’s that exotic urban landscape passing by, especially the temple rooftops.
At that exact moment, the boat was packed. We didn’t see a ticket booth at the pier, and we tried in vain to pay the few baht for the ride. The cashier on the boat was too busy, and another employee we called didn’t have time to help us. Oh well, we weren’t going to force the issue. Still, this mode of transport is super practical for avoiding traffic, and at the piers, the lines with station names are clearly marked, with colors matching the flags on the boats. Combined with a map like the *Routard* guide, it’s easy to navigate.
We easily made it to the restaurant *Harmonique*, located near one of these piers. It’s a unanimous favorite on this forum, and let us tell you—it’s well-deserved. What a wonderful experience that evening! We only saw the outdoor gazebo because there was no way we were dining inside. It’s not flashy, so those looking for a luxurious setting should look elsewhere.
That night, the staff was a bit slow, and we had to track them down several times to move things along. But oh, my friends—what a feast on the plate! Start with the appetizer platter for two at 250 baht, featuring four specialties, each more tempting than the last, followed by their famous crab curry for 200 baht. There’s *so much* crab in there! The dish is so delicious and rich that when you finish, you feel—how to put it—like it was almost *too* good, to the point where you’re almost put off eating for days. And also, oh yes, we *will* be back. Their satay chicken is just as amazing, and it would be a crime not to mention their generous dessert with ice cream, warm banana, and chocolate, plus their *excellent* almond milkshake.
Later, we took a taxi to Kao San Road, mainly to book a Ko Tao-Chumphon trip for 600 baht per person at the Lomprayah counter. In hindsight, we should’ve booked all three of our trips there right away.
Kao San Road is *ultra*-touristy—better for younger crowds, but it’s still worth seeing. There’s rock ‘n’ roll, hippies, and crowds everywhere.
We walked back to the hotel, and when we got a little lost near a canal, a really nice older Thai man spontaneously appeared out of the night to kindly point us in the right direction.
Finally, a real long night of sleep ahead—we cranked up the AC. Sweet, the vacation has begun!
Hi there,
I just got back from a trip to Sri Lanka from December 18th to January 1st with 2 adults and 2 kids (12 years old).
If it helps, here’s my itinerary.
We left on December 18th from Madrid with Qatar Airways. No complaints. I booked my tickets back in March for 800 € per person. (I flew from Madrid because I live near the Spanish border and was too worried about strikes in France.)
We arrived on December 19th at 4 PM (local time). Before leaving France, I’d booked a taxi through MyTransfer for 59 € to Sigiriya. A van was waiting for us at the airport exit.
A never-ending 3-hour drive to Sigiriya. We stayed at Samana Guesthouse—very simple, clean, with a pool and an excellent Sri Lankan breakfast. Shower and straight to bed.
Friday, December 20th: Beautiful weather, but very humid and hot. We visited Lion Rock (36 € for adults) and then Pidurangala.
I loved both sites—they’re a must-do in my opinion.
Spent the late afternoon by the pool.
Saturday, December 21st: Another gorgeous day. The guesthouse manager offered us a free 2-hour tuk-tuk tour. We first visited a lake, rice fields, the temple, and the Sigiriya market, plus the usual tourist trap—the botanical garden (no pressure to buy anything at the end).
Then we took a tuk-tuk to Dambulla Temple, the Golden Buddha, and the wholesale market.
Sunday, December 22nd: Still beautiful weather. I’d booked a taxi for 8 AM. We did all the long trips by taxi to save time. I’d ask for prices from 2 or 3 WhatsApp taxi agencies 2 days or the day before—super responsive, always got replies within 5 minutes. We headed to Ella (4-hour drive) for 22,000 LKR.
Arrived in the afternoon at Rest Full Homestay—a small, family-run guesthouse. Clean, cozy, and an amazing Sri Lankan breakfast.
In the afternoon, we went to Nine Arches Bridge. It was a Sunday, a Sri Lankan holiday, so it was *packed*—mostly locals and very few white tourists! Even though it was crowded, it was cool because it was all Sri Lankans. We waited an hour for the train. It’s worth seeing, but honestly, I didn’t think it was that amazing.
Then we headed to the station to check if we needed to book tickets for the train to Haputale—turns out, no.
Monday, December 23rd: Beautiful weather. We hiked Ella Rock—a gorgeous trek. The final stretch is steep but shaded, so it wasn’t as tough as I’d read. The whole hike is stunning from start to finish. We saw the train pass twice (one blue, one red) and lots of women picking tea.
After that, we did Little Adam’s Peak. It’s not hard, but it was *packed* with tourists—meh. Luckily, at the top, you can walk a bit farther (down one side and back up) to get some space to yourself.
What I *didn’t* like was the commercial vibe at the big café/restaurant with a pool at the entrance of Little Adam’s Peak. Loud music, all that money being made right next to little souvenir stands run by Sri Lankans or tea-picking women. Felt off.
Ended the day buying souvenirs at one of the few shops we found during the trip.
Tuesday, December 24th: Beautiful weather. Took the train to Haputale. We got to the station 30 minutes before the 9:30 AM train. We could’ve taken 2nd or 3rd class—I went with 2nd (160 LKR per person).
It was crowded, but we managed to get seats—first 2, then 3. Only a 1-hour ride, but I *loved* it—windows and doors open the whole time.
Arrived in Haputale around 11 AM, and the mist was already rolling in.
We walked to our guesthouse, The Mist Holiday Bungalow. Simple but clean, with a great view of the tea plantations. The owner’s wife is Vietnamese and used to work for French tour operators, so her French is still pretty good—helpful for us since our English is terrible. They booked us a tuk-tuk for 4:45 AM the next day (2,000 LKR) to Lipton’s Seat.
Spent the afternoon wandering around Haputale. Not much charm, but there’s a nice fruit and veggie market and a short walk through the tea plantations.
Wednesday, December 25th: Beautiful weather. The tuk-tuk was on time to take us to Lipton’s Seat. We were the first ones there—the sky was just starting to turn pink. In the end, only about ten of us watched the sunrise. The guesthouse had packed us breakfast, and we walked back down (half on the road, half through the plantations). Didn’t see any tea picking since it was Christmas, but the walk was still incredible. We took detours through villages full of kids.
After that, we visited the tea factory. The tour was really interesting, and we took the bus back down to Haputale. Such a great moment—whole families were heading to mass, dressed up and made up. All so beautiful.
At noon, we left for Udawalawe National Park. Taxi for 14,000 LKR. Stayed at River Inn Safari Cottage. *Warning*: It’s the same place as Eagle Safari Cottage. I don’t recommend it. We’d always stayed with families before, but here it was just staff—totally different vibe. The pool was nice but not very clean (water was murky). The bungalow was big and fine, but it was brand new—so new the asphalt floor wasn’t fully dry. It’s in the middle of nowhere, so we had to eat on-site. Couldn’t leave a review on Booking because they never confirmed we’d stayed, and they canceled our reservation the next day.
Thursday, December 26th: Beautiful weather. I’d booked a safari through the hotel for 5:30–10 AM for 54 USD. Honestly, yes, there are a lot of jeeps, but it was great. The kids loved it—we saw everything there was to see.
Left by taxi at 11:30 AM for Welligama (12,000 LKR).
We didn’t stay in Welligama city but at Coconut Beach, between Welligama and Midigama. *Total crush* on the guesthouse: Sky Mountain Café with View. Such a lovely family. The mom makes amazing meals at reasonable prices. The view from the hill over the sea is unreal.
Spent the afternoon walking along the beach.
Friday, December 27th: Beautiful weather. My kids are surfers. Unfortunately, there weren’t any boards their size to rent at Coconut, so we took a tuk-tuk to Welligama Bay (1,000 LKR). They surfed from 8 AM to 5 PM—rental was 5,000 LKR for the day. Meanwhile, we walked the beach and swam. Water was 29°C.
Saturday, December 28th: Beautiful weather, rain from 4 PM until midnight. Same surf day. They were so well-behaved the whole trip, so this was their reward.
Sunday, December 29th: Beautiful weather. Beach day at Coconut. *Warning*: It’s a reef break. For surfers, there are three spots (Coconut Left, Middle, and Right). The boys bodysurfed (with fins) all morning, and at 1 PM, we took the bus to Hikkaduwa.
Stayed at Hotel Universal Beach. Nothing special—right on the water, but the rooms were dark even though they were clean. The manager was super nice, but the rest was meh, and breakfast was mediocre compared to what we’d had before (2 eggs and 3 slices of toast). Plus, it was late—8 AM.
First impression of Hikkaduwa wasn’t great—way too many Russians for our taste.
Monday, December 30th: Beautiful weather. Spent the whole day exploring. Turtle Beach, then the other side of the beach (toward Galle) near the fishing port. The beach there is much wider, with scattered hotels and super quiet. It’s beautiful—I should’ve booked somewhere in that area. Ended up having a great day away from the crowds.
Tuesday, December 31st: Overcast, then beautiful, rain at 4 PM. Had to end the year (and the trip) with some surf. Rented boards for the kids (3,000 LKR per board for the day). Bad luck—the waves were on a reef break but small. Not great for them, but no big deal. They still got out of the water by 2 PM. Walked the beach (which is gorgeous), had a juice, and went for a swim. Then back to surfing in the rain at 4 PM.
Wednesday, January 1st: Left by taxi at 5 AM (18,000 LKR). Flight at 10 AM. Arrived in Madrid at 8 PM.
I could have titled my travel journal like Carmen: "Some trips are born twice." Indeed, we had considered this destination back in February 2020. However, an honest tour operator advised us against traveling at that time due to the climate. So, we gave up and opted for Guatemala instead (see "On the Mayan Lands" on this site).
So, why this title? When I was in primary school, over 65 years ago, the illustrations in my history books (Machu Picchu) and geography books (Lake Titicaca) made me dream, and those images stayed in my mind. It took until 2026 to finally make this dream come true!
We prepared our trip with Tout Pérou, a French-speaking "agency." Everything was handled via email and WhatsApp exchanges with our contact: Laurent, who was both competent, friendly, and full of good advice.
For 200 €, Tout Pérou provided us with drivers and guides whenever we wanted, helped us buy our domestic flights (cheaper when purchased in Peru), booked shuttles between airports and hotels, and got us a discount on the train ride to Aguas Calientes, as well as on the buses between Chivay and Puno and between Puno and Cusco. In short, Laurent took care of all the logistics and the Machu Picchu tickets. It was up to us to book our hotels. Tout Pérou provided a list, but we weren’t obliged to follow it. Another advantage of the package: we didn’t have to pay in advance; we paid the service providers directly day by day.
We didn’t meet Laurent in person because he was on vacation in Europe. Before his departure, he gave us a briefing, provided a summary table with the entire program, the service providers, their phone numbers, their fees, the schedules, and gave us plenty of advice (money, exchange, safety, etc.). After returning at the end of our stay, he kept checking in on us.
Lastly, we had also gathered information from Arnaud Lagadec, who runs a hotel in Cusco and offers tours of the region. He gave us a lot of useful information. Another contact: Thomas Montaigne, very friendly, who runs an agency in Arequipa (Agence Pérou Exclusif).
Day 1 – Paris to Lima
Foreword
I’ll share our trip without any pretension—I don’t have the talent of some contributors on this forum—and I’ll illustrate it with a few photos (taken with an ordinary smartphone). My comments are personal and only reflect my own views. So, please be kind! Feel free to comment on my story as you like, but let’s avoid pointless debates.
Even though we live in the south of the Paris region, true to our habits when the flight is in the morning, we chose to spend the night before our departure in a hotel near CDG and parked our car in a parking lot in Garches. This way, we avoid the stress that often comes with traveling around Paris (accidents, roadworks, traffic jams, etc.).
Check-in and border control went smoothly on that Sunday morning. Our Air France flight was uneventful. In Lima, border control took a particularly long time, and for the first time, we didn’t get an entry visa stamped in our passports.
As planned, a driver took us to the Miraflores district, where our hotel was located. We were surprised by the numerous signs about possible tsunamis, having forgotten that Peru is prone to such events and regularly experiences earthquakes. We’d see the consequences of these during our journey.
Exhausted from the early wake-up, the 13-hour flight, and the 7-hour time difference, we had dinner at the hotel before a restful night.
Note that this day was Peru’s presidential election day. As a result, we weren’t served beer—the sale of alcohol was banned that Sunday.
We did the Langtang trek (hike) from September 10th to 17th, with the first and last days being the trip from Kathmandu and back—so 6 days of actual walking. It’s a fairly well-known trek but certainly not as famous or crowded as those in the Annapurna or Everest regions, which is why we chose it.
In theory, it’s mandatory to have a guide for this trek. In reality, it seems there are ways to bypass the regulations: we met at least two people hiking without a guide—a South Korean, a New Zealander, and possibly also a couple of English women and an American couple, though we’re not sure if they had a guide.
The agency we booked with had told us it was an affordable trek for relatively older people in good shape—which is our case (I’m 72 myself). I have to say upfront that we found it quite challenging, maybe because we didn’t have good weather—it was the end of the monsoon season. To be clear, no matter your fitness level, I’d say doing this trek in the middle of the monsoon season would be suicidal.
Day 1 – Journey from Kathmandu to Syapru Besi
On Monday, September 8th, there had been violent protests in Kathmandu against the government, which had, among other things, blocked access to social media and been accused of nepotism and corruption. There were 19 deaths. The situation was very tense on the day of our departure, Wednesday the 10th. The agency warned us that public transport was very unreliable. So, we decided to take a jeep, at an additional cost of $100 ($160 minus what was already budgeted for the bus).
We left a little before 7 a.m. and it took us a good hour just to reach the outskirts of Kathmandu. Along the way, we saw several houses and vehicles set on fire by protesters.
The road to Syapru Besi is only 120 km, but it’s frankly awful. It’s always narrow, winds through endless mountains, and the shoulders range from bad to confusing to nonexistent. Several sections are just dirt tracks. We didn’t regret opting for the jeep, as we could stop several times at our convenience—if only to let Y (my Thai partner) throw up everything she had. She’d taken her usual motion sickness medication, but the constant turns, accelerations, and braking eventually made her terribly carsick.
In Nuwakot, we stopped for breakfast at a nice little restaurant, Jimbu. It was around 8:30 a.m., and we’d barely covered 60 km. The restaurant has a lovely garden overlooking the Trishuli Ganga, the river flowing down from Syapru Besi. First photo: the river in the bottom right corner, mist and clouds over the mountain on the other side.
An hour later, my second photo: the hills along the Trishuli Ganga. You can see the different crops—lush green rice paddies in the lower right and corn, already yellowed and likely harvested, in the foreground on the left. And of course, the mist and clouds through which you can glimpse the mountain on the other side of the river.
When we started looking for a summer destination a few months ago, our first criterion was to avoid extreme heat and heatwaves. We had already been to Norway two years ago and are considering going back in the future for other occasions. So, we had some fun asking ChatGPT which destinations enjoyed a mild climate during the summer without going too far. Among the list provided by the AI were the Canary Islands... The idea of a place we wouldn’t have thought of first, both not too far away and exotic enough, appealed to us: “Hmm, why not?”
This destination had never really attracted me, though Magali was a bit more interested. Five years earlier, COVID had caused a short break in my professional activity, and I had planned a trip because the flight price was attractive, and I was looking for a destination different from what usually appeals to me, more than out of deep interest. From a distance and with a social judgment I acknowledge (it’s not great, but it’s not completely wrong), I had the image of a destination for party-goers enjoying the sun without the slightest interest in local culture, with concrete coastlines and denatured landscapes—everything I detest the most. Still, I had done some quick research on the different islands and spotted Lanzarote for its beautiful volcanic landscapes, hiking trails, beaches, and the impression of a good balance between activity and fewer crowds than Tenerife or Gran Canaria. Then I dropped the idea of going, without ever reconsidering traveling to the Canaries...
Until now! Because we started researching the different islands of the archipelago to see which ones might appeal to us the most. It was La Gomera, the third smallest island of the archipelago, more praised for its hiking trails and preserved nature than for its beaches, away from mass tourism (fifty times fewer tourists than Tenerife) but still a bit more developed than its wild neighbor El Hierro, that caught our attention. Contrary to what might be suggested later, I’m not at all addicted to AI, but I use it from time to time to synthesize quick research or simply for experimentation. Since ChatGPT had started anticipating my tastes lately as if it had become my buddy (often successfully, sometimes off the mark), I asked which Canary Island would suit me best for a trip with my family. The tool answered first with... La Gomera. So, I tested it and teased it a bit to see if this suggestion was well-founded, as the method sometimes makes it contradict itself. But no luck: “You’d appreciate the wild nature of El Hierro, but with family, you’ll find little activity for the kids. You won’t like the touristy vibe of the big islands like Tenerife, Gran Canaria, Lanzarote, and Fuerteventura. You could consider La Palma, but it’s really La Gomera that will suit you best, based on your interests and the criteria given.” So, we dug deeper into our research and were convinced without a shadow of a doubt that this island was the one waiting for us.
Without knowing it, we had Canarians in our circle who revealed their origins when they heard about our travel plans. One from Tenerife insisted we’d be better off choosing Tenerife (obviously...) because it also has preserved spots and that La Gomera, “you can explore it in two or three days, you’ll get bored quickly...” The other, a colleague from Gran Canaria who had never visited La Gomera, still recommended it without hesitation because it turned out her parents had just gone there on vacation: they loved it and had encountered few tourists. She also tended to think this destination was usually the subject of short stays, but according to what her parents told her, taking your time there was also a great idea. However, in our research, the idea that La Gomera is an island you can explore in three or four days max kept coming up. So, we considered combining its visit with La Palma or El Hierro, the other two that caught our eye. But hopping between islands by ferry represents a significant budget for non-Canarians, even more so for a family of four. Then, scrutinizing Google Maps, it seemed obvious that two weeks were too short to discover two islands as they deserve, and that there seemed to be plenty to see in La Gomera, given its very unique culture. After all, we read that some people spend several months a year there, others never even leave... Finally, these landscapes and this atmosphere, which seemed to us a mix of Europe, North Africa, and Latin America, tempted us. So, it would be two weeks in La Gomera, deal!
La Gomera is therefore the second... well, the third smallest island of the Canaries since La Graciosa was recently recognized as a fully inhabited island. It has the shape of a rough circle about 20 to 25 kilometers in diameter and has just over 20,000 inhabitants, half of them in its capital, San Sebastián de la Gomera, the only real town. Like its Canarian sisters, La Gomera is a volcanic formation that rose about 10 million years ago. The island is very mountainous and rugged, covered with red and black rocky landscapes. Geological activity has shaped, between the sprawling massifs that end in steep cliffs in the ocean, six coastal valleys with tropical vegetation that have favored human settlement. They divide the island like slices of a cake; from the north clockwise: the agricultural Vallehermoso, the rustic Agulo, the green, humid, and fertile Hermigua, the sunny capital San Sebastián de la Gomera, the southern and isolated Alajeró-Santiago, and the seaside Valle Gran Rey. They constitute the six municipalities (more like cantons to our French understanding) of the territory.
The large solidified magma massifs that shape the heart of the island have created a large depression more protected from the sun at its center, allowing the growth of a vast laurel forest, today grouped within the Garajonay National Park, La Gomera’s green lung, which has earned it the status of a World Biosphere Reserve. Its completely European appearance contrasts sharply with the rocky and tropical landscapes of the rest of the island. Thus, the climate varies greatly from one point to another on the island: in summer, you can quickly go from a dry and sunny valley at 35°C to a humid forest area at altitude at 18°C.
La Gomera was populated late. As with the rest of the Canaries, human presence is thought to have begun about 2,000 years ago. Groups of animist Berbers, probably fleeing persecution, gradually populated the archipelago, especially the western islands and La Gomera, becoming its small aboriginal population: the Guanches (or later Gomeros). The animist and pastoral civilization of the Guanches thrived until the Spanish takeover in the 15th century, which, after a short period of harmony and mixing with the indigenous people, suddenly ended in bloodshed... La Gomera later became the “Columbus Island” after Christopher Columbus’s stopover, increasing the blending of populations. In the 20th century, many Gomeros emigrated to Cuba and other Latin American countries in search of a better life, bringing back a mix of cultures and traits quite palpable in today’s Gomeran culture. It is, however, in La Gomera that the vestiges of Guanche culture seem to have left the most traces, in the language, gastronomy, social practices... Moreover, most Gomeros, especially in remote villages, have a particular identifiable type and proudly claim their ancestral roots, even making La Gomera a bit exotic in the eyes of other Canarians.
Perhaps that’s why it has never really wanted to develop its tourist infrastructure too much. If we set aside the tourists who visit for the day by bus or boat from Tenerife on a marked itinerary (and whom we ultimately rarely encounter), La Gomera has remained a hidden gem, a destination focused on nature discovery that attracts hikers, nature-loving divers, and scientists for its fauna and flora, and to a lesser extent, beachgoers who don’t seek overly developed coastlines. Tourist activity is therefore limited. Roughly speaking, you’ll find a majority of Spaniards, including a substantial number of residents from other Canary Islands, many Germans who have a particular fondness for La Gomera and spend long stays there or own second homes, to the point that the German cultural footprint is clearly noticeable in some places (it’s said to be Angela Merkel’s favorite holiday spot), and still quite a few French. The presence of other nationalities seemed negligible to us. Most travelers come mainly for hiking, but it’s also a prime spot for whale watching. Additionally, the seaside resorts of La Gomera—San Sebastián, Santiago, and especially Valle Gran Rey—are well-known destinations for hippies, especially German ones, ranging from chic boho hippies to old-school hippies who’ve been there for decades, quite similar to those you’d meet in India in Goa, Rishikesh, or Paharganj. Thus, practices like naturism, vegetarianism, and local organic production are quite well established in some areas.
Some practical info:
- The round-trip flight from Paris to Tenerife cost us 365 € per person (outbound with Transavia, return with EasyJet), including checked luggage and three seats reserved side by side.
- We chose two bases to explore the island: one week in Valle Gran Rey, reputed to be the most pleasant of the three seaside resorts, and one week in Hermigua, more mountainous and close to the natural park. We booked two houses with balconies and views: the first at 120 € per night, the second at 99 €.
- The round-trip ferry between Tenerife and La Gomera cost us 270 € with the company Baleària Canarias, including discounts for children aged 4 and 12, but I don’t have the exact details. It was a bit cheaper than with the other company, Fred Olsen.
- Finally, we rented a car through the agency Cicar for 360 € for 16 days, which comes to 22.50 € per day.
- Apart from that, we didn’t plan anything and decided the day before or even the morning of what we wanted to do. We didn’t invest in any paper guide on the Canaries, as information on La Gomera was scarce, but we used the very comprehensive site La Gomera Travel, a travel guide published by the Canary Islands Tourism Council, a real goldmine of almost exhaustive information on the island.
Alright, off we go for 16 days of adventure discovering La Gomera!
Last October, we landed in Marrakech to spend a few days with family exploring Morocco’s roads.
Transport: a rented Dacia.
Accommodations: small guesthouses.
Our first stop was just a few kilometers from Marrakech, at a lovely house perfect for relaxing and recharging before continuing. It’s called Bleu House, a little paradise on the outskirts of Marrakech. The welcome was very warm, with a beautiful pool and a lovely garden.
Next, we headed toward the Tichka Pass. The road has really improved in recent years—it’s much easier to drive now. No more getting stuck behind trucks, and today, the construction is practically finished.
Morocco has turned green after the recent rains. It’s a joy for the herds and shepherds.
I hesitated about writing this travel journal...
This summer, we only did the classics (the 3 northern parks and Zanzibar) and let a local agency take care of everything from start to finish.
No craziness, no risks, no sleeping under the stars, no self-drive, no venturing off the beaten path, no incidents, and not even any delays in the pre-planned itinerary...
But don’t think we were disappointed!
The whole family (there were 6 of us) came back with smiles and memories of great moments spent together.
So, if you're looking for a "classic" way to discover Tanzania, this is the place to be.
Our 2-week itinerary:
- Arusha (1 night upon arrival)
- Tarangire (1 night)
- Ngorongoro (2 nights in Karatu then Irmisigiyo)
- Serengeti (3 nights in Robanda, Togoro Plains, and Seronera)
- Zanzibar Stone Town (1 night)
- Zanzibar Matemwe (3 nights)
- Zanzibar Jambiani (3 nights)
Come along, I'm taking you to this country where it's so nice to wander and slow down...
This trip was in 2023, but when I wanted to write my travel journal, VF was still closed to contributions...
So, now that I've just finished my Japan travel journal here, I figured it was high time to honor this destination we came back from so enchanted.
Disclaimer 1: This is a written travel journal. There’ll be text! Too much, for some!
Disclaimer 2: This is an illustrated travel journal. There’ll be photos! Too many, for some!
I have to say, every time I try to discipline myself, to keep it shorter, to include fewer photos... I end up adding more. It feels like my dear Aunt Nicole, who exhausted us with her slide-show evenings in the 70s/80s, decided to take her revenge. The upside for you, readers, is that you can slip away anytime without offending Aunt Nicole. I won’t even notice!
Anyway, since I love maps, here’s one to give you an idea of where I’m taking you. As you can see, we only saw a tiny part of Laos (the areas circled in red); we only had 3 weeks for ourselves (my husband’s newly retired, I still work), and we prefer taking our time over rushing around like crazy.
In broad strokes, it was very classic:
First, we “settled in” at Luang Prabang (8 days), because we wanted and needed to.
From there, we took three days to venture a little further north—not far in kilometers, but as we know, distances aren’t just about km!
Then we flew south to Paksé, letting ourselves drift down to the 4,000 Islands while stopping by the pre-Angkorian archaeological sites.
We wrapped up with the Bolaven Plateau.
A few practical notes: We arrived via Bangkok, then took a Bangkok-Luang Prabang flight, having picked up our luggage in Bangkok to check it in for Luang Prabang. No issues—the Bangkok airport, which many of you know, is very well organized.
We got our visas on arrival in Luang Prabang. Quick, but to be fair, we were on a “small” plane, and the big flights had arrived earlier, so we weren’t too crowded in line!
At the end of our trip, we didn’t fly out of Paksé but from the nearby airport in Thailand, Ubon Ratchathani (a 2.5-hour drive from Paksé), then Bangkok and Paris.
You’ll notice we skipped Vientiane to stay longer in Luang Prabang. That said, there’s now a high-speed train between Vientiane and Luang Prabang—good to know—and soon the (Chinese) train will go all the way to Bangkok and even Kuala Lumpur!
With that intro out of the way, let’s dive into the heart of the matter.
To be continued: Slowing down the pace... in Luang Prabang
It’s an ancient city that breathes, a living spring.
Here, no kitschy signs like “I miss you in Fengyu,” nor mass-produced fake antiques.
The century-old houses still bear the marks of wind and rain; in the morning, you hear roosters crowing, and at dusk, smoke gently rises from the kitchens.
This city doesn’t try to please anyone—like the spring water flowing through it, it simply keeps living at its own pace.
Located in Eryuan County, in the Dali Prefecture of Yunnan, the ancient town of Fengyu is a nationally designated historical and cultural city. It’s nicknamed the “land of scholars and ink”—during the Qing Dynasty, the Fengxiang Academy produced four *jinshi* and eleven *juren* in the imperial examinations. The Bai families made studying and farming a true legacy. Even on market days, you’ll find stalls of calligraphy and paintings, while lintels and screen walls are covered with family mottos.
Fengyu was also an important stop on the ancient Tea Horse Road. It preserves the second-largest Bai architectural complex in China, just after Xizhou. The famous traveler Xu Xiake spent seven days here and compared it to the “peach blossom paradise.”
I’m inviting you on a stroll through my drawings—a completely subjective, far from exhaustive, and totally personal take, since it’s based on my own sketches. I put this travel journal together after returning in late 2024, mostly using felt-tip pens and pencils, with a few collages thrown in. I worked from our personal photos.
Let’s start with the shotengai...
Our first "wow" moment came as we stepped out of the subway in Asakusa, the Tokyo neighborhood where we’d booked our hotel for our first five nights. Exhausted after our long flight, we finally arrived and took an exit that led straight into a shotengai—one of those covered shopping streets that pop up in city centers and flourished between the 1950s and 1980s.
It was an instant aesthetic shock, like a close encounter of the third kind between the modern city, a typical Asian market with its street stalls, the vintage vibe of the arcade, the sheer abundance of goods, and the bustling crowd—a mix of tourists, pilgrims (thanks to nearby Senso-ji Temple), and locals (it’s a very working-class area).
In the end, it set the tone for a feeling we’d experience throughout the trip. Wherever we went, shotengai turned out to be fantastic spots for finding little restaurants, shops, or even fresh produce. Some are like real mazes, like in Kyoto, where we spent ages trying to relocate a restaurant we’d loved ;-)
In Kanazawa, the Omicho Market:
And in Kyoto, Nishiki Market:
Preamble:
Africa was calling to me, so a year ago, with our usual travel companions, we decided to return to the continent we love so much.
Where to go?
Uganda quickly caught our attention—wildlife we’re used to seeing, plus gorillas and the shoebill we missed in Zambia.
We got in touch with Paul, who’s been mentioned several times on the forum back in September, booked our flight tickets, secured the gorilla permits, and by early October, the most important things were done.
We still had plenty of time to hold our "prep meetings" for the final itinerary.
Three days before departure, I sprained my ankle (my weak spot, as you’ll recall from our Colombia trip).
I wasn’t in great spirits, but after a year of waiting, nothing was going to stop me.
We’d see how it goes!
Off we went for our new adventures
If you're looking for great tips and offbeat spots, if you love exploring uncharted parts of a country, if the exotic is your adrenaline, then move along!
Our 15 days in early May in this part of Turkey (a country I first discovered during a city trip to Istanbul in 2017) will only tread well-worn paths and revisit popular routes. Simply because I kept hoping until the very end that our flight to Jordan wouldn’t be canceled. Events in the Gulf proved me wrong, so we left with:
Zero preparation.
Not a single hotel booked (well, except the first one), no visits planned, just a flight ticket bought three weeks earlier. No guidebook, no app—just the desire to explore southern Turkey and Cappadocia, whose images and the chance to stretch our legs had caught my eye.
Oh, wait—I did bring along a new guide: Gemini! Yes, my friends, generative AI was my chief advisor throughout the trip for sites to visit, accommodations, routes, and even restaurants! An experiment I wanted to try to form my own opinion on using this new technology. And what better way to test it than a Turkish getaway?
The verdict? You’ll have to wait for the trip recap to find out!
The main idea of the trip is also relaxation.
So, the plan is Antalya for a few days, the Turkish Riviera for a few more, Cappadocia as the highlight, and a return via Antalya to wrap up the trip. And it was all planned by AI!
So, if you're ready, fasten your seatbelts—cabin crew, doors to automatic and cross check—boarding for Turkey now!
It often happens that we're asked what to visit in Belgium.
And the answers usually point to Bruges, Ghent, Antwerp, and Brussels—and rightly so, as these cities are well worth visiting ;).
However, Belgium, though small, isn’t just limited to these four cities.
I live in one of them (Brussels), enjoy spending time in the other three, but I’d like to highlight some lesser-known spots that could add to the trip for those who want to see a bit more or something different.
Between trips, I like exploring one or two corners of the country where I live.
Hence the idea for a travel journal of walks.
Most of the places I’ll talk about can be visited as a day trip from Brussels, whether by public transport or car.
In chronological order of the topics covered:
- The Gileppe Dam (Liège province) - message 2, page 1
- The Domaine de La Hulpe (Walloon Brabant) - message 3, page 1
- Mechelen (Antwerp province) - message 4, page 1
- The coast - message 5, page 1
- The Westhoek, from De Panne - message 6, page 1
- The Zwin, from Knokke - message 7, page 1
- Lier (between Mechelen and Antwerp) - message 8, page 1
- Mons (Hainaut) - message 9, page 1
- The Florenville region - message 12, page 1
- The East Cantons - message 13, page 1
- Dinant - message 18, page 1
- The Japanese garden in Hasselt - message 24, page 2
- Leuven - message 29, page 2
- Louvain-la-Neuve - message 32, page 2
- Ostend - message 42 (page 3) and message 166 (page 9)
- The floralies of Groot-Bijgaarden - message 43, page 3
- Halle Forest - message 44, page 3
- Pralines - message 54, page 3
- Charleroi - message 68, page 4
- Namur - message 92, page 5
- Le Bois du Cazier (Marcinelle) - message 95, page 5
- Couques and gosettes - message 96, page 5
- Liège - message 99, page 5
- Tournai - message 115, page 6
- Oudenaarde - message 121, page 7
- Meise Botanical Garden - message 124, page 7
- Tongeren - message 125, page 7
- Beersel Castle (Flemish Brabant) - message 126, page 7
- Brussels in lockdown (messages 150 and 154, page 8)
- Notre-Dame à la Rose Hospital in Lessines (messages 161 and 162, page 9)
- Westende (message 167, page 9)
I’ll keep updating this list as the journal progresses...
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.
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:
A little sneak peek?