Heureux qui comme Ulysse....
Israël: un voyage dans l'espace et dans le temps
by Mida
This discussion is in French, the community’s main language.
Original post
Israël : un voyage dans l’espace et dans le temps
Terre promise du peuple juif, berceau du christianisme, troisième lieu saint des musulmans. Chaque pierre rappelle une histoire, l’Histoire. Chaque nom de lieu évoque une paracha de la Torah ou un passage des Evangiles. C’est le théâtre vivant de la Bible. Israël, une vieille terre mais aussi un Etat jeune, qui à l’éternité du désert a su ajouter la fertilité des champs d’orangers, de dattes, de fraises et de bananiers. Religieux à Jérusalem, laïques à Tel Aviv, dragueurs à Eilat, les Israéliens sont à la fois rudes, exubérants, passionnés et tolérants, âpres au travail et bons vivants. Malgré des cultures d’une extrême diversité Israël a fait preuve d’une immense capacité d’adaptation en intégrant une population variée, aux nombreuses origines ethniques, religieuses et sociales. Epreuve difficile qui ne va pas sans problèmes mais quel pays saurait intégrer 1/6 de nouveaux immigrants en si peu de temps, pour ne prendre que l’exemple des réfugiés de l’ancienne URSS ? Terre de contraste ? Plutôt patrie du paradoxe, comme cette Jérusalem que l’on se dispute, et dont le nom signifie « cité de la paix » Terre Promise de la Bible, Israël est aujourd’hui un pays moderne, dynamique, prospère et animé. Nous ne comptons plus le nombre de voyages effectués dans ce pays que nous aimons tant. Et chaque fois, un émerveillement devant les villes et les villages, les forêts dont le vert profond contraste toujours avec l’aridité environnante, les fermes florissantes, les sites archéologiques riches en histoire, les industries et les entreprises en plein essor. Tout ceci sur un territoire à peine plus grand que deux départements français. Un récent séjour grâce au travail de Daniel nous permet de sortir des circuits touristiques classiques. Un incontournable : Jérusalem, ville sainte, capitale éternelle, ville mystique, mythique et magique, ville du passé et du futur. Comment ne pas s’émouvoir devant cette ville détruite combien de fois et reconstruite avec ses propres pierres, blanches et éclatantes, cette ville qui a si bien conserver son caractère et son âme. Croyant ou pas, qui « monte à Jérusalem ou y vit est envahi par cette joie mystérieuse et profonde, celle d’un monde inconnu » (Dostoïevski) Ici on n’oublie rien, « Capitale de la mémoire » avec ses quartiers ethniques et religieux de la vieille ville, une ville sacrée et chargée de spiritualité, l’émotion intense d’une visite au nouveau Yad Vashem (musée de la Shoah), un prisme triangulaire qui pénètre du fond d’une colline aride pour terminer au sommet d’une forêt qui domine Jérusalem… et l’espoir de la vie. Flâner à Jérusalem, se perdre dans le théâtre humain coloré, vif, passionné et riche de la Vieille Ville, autour des remparts, dans le Cardo. Monter le matin sur l’esplanade pour admirer la magnifique Dôme du Rocher, couvert de l’or offert par le roi Hussein de Jordanie. Découvrir au coin d’une ruelle la vue magnifique et combien empreinte d’émotion du mur Occidental, du Kotel, le Mur des Lamentations, et partager les cris de joies et d’amour des Bar Mitzvah, les chuchotements et les murmures des prières autour de la Torah. Effleurer les pierres du mur, usées par les caresses des mains et des lèvres des fidèles. Insérer ses vœux rapidement griffonnés sur une feuille de carnet. Marcher, marcher la journée et la nuit. Magique ! Inutile de refaire la liste des sites, des quartiers, et des musées à visiter à Jérusalem, les guides sont là pour ça ! Mais consacrez un peu de temps pour le nouveau Davidson Center, parc archéologique qui se trouve à la base du mur sud de l’esplanade du Temple et qui permet d’apprendre l’histoire du Mont du Temple avec des moyens informatiques impressionnants. On y apprend par de nombreuses illustrations et reconstitutions, la reconstruction du Temple d’Herode. Les images virtuelles font revivre la vie quotidienne de cette époque. Cette exhibition est indispensable pour bien comprendre toutes les explications concernant la construction du mur que l’on découvre en visitant les tunnels. Mais Jérusalem n’est pas seulement la ville qui prie : la ville nouvelle à l’ouest vit avec son temps et offre un double visage. On y travaille, et on s’y amuse comme partout. La nuit dans les cafés de Ben Yehouda, on se croirait n’importe où… sauf à Jérusalem ! Au sud du pays, le vaste triangle du désert du Néguev occupe près de la moitié de la superficie du pays. Un vrai désert, avec la nudité, l’immensité, l’aridité des étendues de pierres et de sable. Mais de plus en plus un « faux-désert » car partout surgissent des villes et des villages, la terre se couvrent d’un verdoyant manteau de culture grâce à de gigantesques travaux d’irrigation. Le Néguev, c’est en quelque sorte le Far West israélien et la re-découverte de ses solitudes a été pour nous une magnifique expérience. Nous avons passé trois nuits et trois journées formidables, remplies d’émotion et d’images. Aujourd’hui, nous ne pensons qu’à y retourner. Stéphane, français, émigré en Israël depuis huit ans, nous a accueillis et nous a transmis sa passion et son amour de la région de Mitzpé Ramon. La première fois qu’il y a séjourné, il a su que c’était ici qu’il devait se « poser » Dans un hangar, il a construit un guest-house : autour d’une grande pièce conviviale avec salon, salle à manger et cuisine américaine, il a installé quatre chambres doubles, une grande salle au première étage avec nombreux couchages, une piscine, un sauna, un jacuzzi, salle de fitness et massage. Son idée géniale : construire quatre « tomcars », sorte de buggy à deux places et, avec son 4x4 Land Rover, il fait faire des sorties autour et au fond du cratère du Mitzpé Ramon : le Makhtesh (mortier, en hébreu). Nous partons à la découverte du cratère érosif entouré d’une haute muraille. C’est un phénomène géologique unique au monde et à certains endroits, on se croit vraiment sur la lune. Nous parcourons des pistes caillouteuses parmi des splendides paysages. Des granits roses et gris, les calcaires jaunes et blancs, les grès multicolores y composent des formes étranges et spectaculaires. Les dunes du désert et les carrières de la pierre de Jérusalem, pierre de taille, toute en dentelle, une nature ponctuée par des collines rabotées par l’érosion, traversée par des oueds (rarement envahis par les eaux de pluies soudaines et brèves), cassée par des ravins et des canyons profonds. Quel bonheur de sortir des chemins balisés et faire bondir nos engins sur les chemins de pierres, des escaliers et des trous creusés par l’érosion. Rapidement, une poussière épaisse et étouffante de chaleur nous recouvre complètement. Il faudra l’aide d’une soufflette à air comprimé et une bonne douche pour tout évacuer ! Arrêt dans la quiétude d’une clairière plantée de conifères au milieu du désert pour accueillir les animaux (des chevaux nains sauvages et des chameaux) Repos et thé à la menthe. Un peu plus loin, au bord de la falaise de laquelle les bédouins précipitent leurs bêtes mortes, nous admirons l’incessant ballet des aigles, des serpents et des scorpions en quête de nourriture. La ferme de Yossi, militaire de Bat Yam à la retraite, est installée sur le site d’une ancienne ferme Nabatéenne de plus de 1000 ans avant JC. Il élève des chevaux, des oies et des brebis, et nous fait déguster ses yaourts et son fromage de chèvre. Planté dans son potager, des tomates, aubergines, courgettes, poivrons, et autres légumes, des oliviers, le tout cultivé en utilisant les plans exacts de l’installation des Nabatéens aussi bien pour l’emplacement de la maison par rapport au potager, que les enclos du bétail et les techniques d’irrigation. Cette année il plantera des vignes en espérant un bon cru pour son vin du Néguev d’ici 5 ans. En 4x4 nous descendons dans le Makhtesh où nous faisons plusieurs arrêts pour nous promener au fond des cirques creusés par l’érosion, dans des bassins immenses où les lits des rivières, asséchés en été, peuvent devenir des endroits très dangereux quand des orages éclatent. La roche d’un aspect solide s’effrite comme du sable entre nos doigts. Une géologie riche et variée, calcaire, fer et ardoise. Mais ce « pays sec » (traduction de Néguev en hébreu) est comme une éponge… sous le désert il y a de l’eau, donc possibilité de vie ! En cherchant bien on trouve des champs de culture, une variété infinie de plantes et de fleurs (les pistaches, anémones, marguerites, acacias) et une faune qui a élu domicile ( gazelles, hyènes, renard, ânes sauvages, vautours et une grande variété d’oiseaux) La découverte des solitudes désertiques du Néguev était pour nous une magnifique expérience. Nous n’oublierons jamais la lumière, le soleil éblouissant aux différents moments de la journée, les couchers du soleil qui enflamment le désert et les nuits sous un ciel étoilé. Quelle chance exceptionnelle de pouvoir assister à une éclipse de la lune ! Un grand merci à Stéphane et à Ronit pour ce séjour fantastique. guidmi@netvision.net.il ou www.guidehorizon.com Archéologues passionnés, les Israéliens ne cessent de fouiller dans le passé de leur pays. Un moine égaré dans le désert, un enfant bédouin à la recherche d’une chèvre, un paysan labourant sa terre et c’est la découverte d’une synagogue antique, un pavement de mosaïque byzantine, des vestiges d’anciens habitats ou carrément une population disparue et toute une ville. Massada est certainement un de ses sites les plus extraordinaires d’Israël. Tout d’abord par sa situation géographique : une citadelle naturelle qui domine la mer Morte du haut des 300m de ses falaises, une masse formidable de puissance et sécurité au beau milieu du désert de Judée. Quel symbole aussi par son histoire, la prise de Massada par les Romains et toute la population d’une cité qui se suicide plutôt que de vivre la captivité. Massada a d’abord été une résidence royale pour Hérode et sans doute la plus géniale « villa » que l’on puisse imaginer. Les fouilles ont permit de mettre à jour tous les bâtiments, ce qui rend le site et la visite passionnants. Le plus étonnant dans cet environnement hostile est le système qui permettait à Hérode d’avoir plusieurs bains et même une vraie piscine au milieu du désert. Incroyable ! Le système d’irrigation est très bien démontré. Nous n’avons rien inventé ! Dominant la belle route du désert menant vers le kibboutz de Ben Gourion à Sde Boker, les ruines d’Avdat, cité byzantine, veillent sur le Néguev depuis plus de quinze siècles. Les Nabatéens construisent cette ville étape sur la « route des épices », route des caravanes pour le transport d’herbes, épices, parfums et trésors de l’Orient. Ils y habitent pendant mille ans. Avdat est découvert par un voyageur anglais en 1871 mais c’est seulement en 1958 qu’elle a été restaurée. Daniel y a travaillé en 1965 avec un archéologue allemand rescapé des camps de la mort et venu en Israël en 1945. Il travaille au nettoyage d’une tombe où il y a aussi bien une croix qu’une menorah. Ne sachant à laquelle religion ils appartiennent, ils se rassurent en utilisant les deux symboles. Quelle joie pour Daniel quand il retrouve « sa tombe » Il est comblé ! De Jérusalem à Beit She’an nous empruntons la route de la vallée du Jourdain qui passe en rase campagne. La route est d’une beauté incroyable, une sorte de Grand Canyon en miniature. Nous descendons vers la mer morte où nous sommes à 300m au-dessous du niveau de la mer (le point le plus bas de la Terre). Nos oreilles bourdonnent. Point stratégique : Jericho se trouve sur notre gauche et l’Allenby Bridge pour rejoindre la Jordanie sur notre droite. La vallée de Beit She’an est d’une grande fertilité grâce aux 35 sources et aux cours d’eau qui descendent des monts de Gilboa et canalisés pour permettre l’arrosage de toute la région. On y cultive des céréales, des légumes, des bananiers et des dattes. Plusieurs kibboutzim se sont installés dans cette région et pratiquent l’élevage. Des fermes, des poulaillers et des dairy farms. Le site archéologique de Beit She’an est d’un intérêt remarquable. Sa restauration a permis de rendre la vie à la vieille cité : on peut aisément imaginer l’animation d’une ville romano-byzantine, la vie de ses habitants entre les thermes avec les vestiges de bains monumentaux, amphithéâtre des gladiateurs, et les rues pavées avec les boutiques précédées d’élégantes colonnes. Un capharnaüm de pierres provoqué par le tremblement de terre de 747. L’arbre dénudé et cruciforme qui se trouve sur la colline a servi de « croix de Golgotha » dans l’un des films christiques tournés en Israël. Les bains sont dignes d’un grand centre de fitness, lieu de rendez vous et ouvert à tous. Il s’agit d’un ensemble de huit salles entourées d’un portique. Les thermes sont posés sur un soubassement de basalte, dans les pièces centrales un système de chauffage souterrain commun à tous les édifices. Ne possédant pas de savon ils utilisent une huile et gomment avec des bâtonnets pour faire peau neuve. Toutes les villes de cette époque sont construites avec les mêmes modèles de manière qu’en arrivant dans une ville les voyageurs puissent facilement se repérer. New York a sûrement copié sur ce principe ! C’est dans la synagogue du VIe siècle de Beit Alfa que fut découverte l’une des plus belles mosaïques juives. Ce sont les pionniers du kibboutz Hefzi Bah qui voient apparaître sous leurs pioches les premiers fragments de la mosaïque d’une ménorah. Les mosaïques sont entièrement réalisées en pierre de couleurs à l’exception de quelques cubes de verre qui lui donnent un éclat mystérieux. Sur les différents panneaux on y voit la représentation du sacrifice d’Abraham, la roue des signes du zodiaque et l’Arche sainte. Les mosaïques semblent être l’œuvre d’une seule famille juive de Palestine, spécialisée en Galilée dans l’édification des synagogues et le travail des mosaïques. La réserve naturelle d’Ein Guedi, oasis de 450 ha est un véritable havre de fraîcheur. L’oasis est irriguée par de nombreuses sources, des magnifiques chutes qui retombent dans des piscines naturelles. Au-delà de ces sources se succèdent des gorges percées de grottes situées sur leurs parois. Une riche végétation subtropicale y prospère : énormes bambous, acacias, plantes aux fleurs merveilleuses, pommiers de Sodome. Dans cette végétation débordante évolue une faune plutôt discrète : nombreux bouquetins, hyènes, renards, loups et beaucoup de reptiles. Deux vallées traversent la réserve : Wadi Arugot et Wadi David. Compter deux heures pour la première marche, certainement la plus belle mais la plus longue et la plus difficile. Même si Wadi David est moins sauvage elle est plus facile et très chouette aussi. Israël, une terre promise il y a cinq mille ans et qui fêtera bientôt ses soixante ans. Une terre qui mérite la paix au delà des passions et de la folie des fanatismes.
www.kluger.fr
Heureux qui comme Ulysse....
Heureux qui comme Ulysse....
Salut,
Je pense qu'une visite en Israel coule de source pour toute personne appréciant les voyages culturels.
J'ai songé à m'y rendre l'été 2005 mais vu le prix des billets d'avion, j'ai opté pour l'Egypte.
Je compte bien m'y rendre plus tard et c'est l'apect économique (prix des hotls sur place) plus que la situation politique qui me dérange.
En quelle année y êtes-vous allé pour la dernière fois ?
Je pense qu'une visite en Israel coule de source pour toute personne appréciant les voyages culturels.
J'ai songé à m'y rendre l'été 2005 mais vu le prix des billets d'avion, j'ai opté pour l'Egypte.
Je compte bien m'y rendre plus tard et c'est l'apect économique (prix des hotls sur place) plus que la situation politique qui me dérange.
En quelle année y êtes-vous allé pour la dernière fois ?
Ben
Merci Michèle pour ce texte magnifique!
La faune dans le désert est tout à fait surprenante: il n'est pas si rare de rencontrer des loups, la nuit, dans le Néguev. Ils sont de très petite taille. Dans le désert de Judée se cachent quelques léopards qui sont extrêmement difficile à observer.
La faune dans le désert est tout à fait surprenante: il n'est pas si rare de rencontrer des loups, la nuit, dans le Néguev. Ils sont de très petite taille. Dans le désert de Judée se cachent quelques léopards qui sont extrêmement difficile à observer.
Lukas
J'ai eu la chance d'aller moi aussi en Israel entre les deux intifadas, sans doute a une des periodes les plus propices au tourisme car c'etait une epoque chargee d'espoir... la situation et l'atmosphere est sans doute maintenant bien differente, et par ailleurs je ne pense pas qu'il soit encore possible de circuler partout librement.
Jerusalem est effectivement une ville magnifique, qui m'a marque par ses contrastes, ou l'on passe en quelques metres d'un bazar a une rue avec des commerces modernes, d'un quartier arabe a un quartier juif, d'une eglise a une mosquee.... je me rappelle de cette rue ou etait creusee un grand trou et cinq metres plus bas on apercevait des colonnes romaines... on y voit des traces de notre histoire judeo-chretienne et puis des traces d'une histoire que souvent on connait moins, celle de l'islam.
Israel est une terre de contraste, je me rappelle de cette colline pres de Jerusalem, d'un cote on a une vue sur le Mont des Oliviers, et de l'autre sur le desert de Judee. Il y a Massada, forteresse extraordinaire au milieu du desert, la Mer Morte qui continue de mourir et ses hotels qui se retrouvent a 200 metres du rivage, et plus loin des champs d'agrumes a pertes de vue, des villages arabes et des kibboutz....
Oui Israel est une terre magnifique. qui tire sa richesse d'une nature entre mer et desert et d'une histoire mouvementee, et malheureusement paie aussi pour cela le prix fort, une situation de conflits perpetuels, pour des raisons ethniques, religieuses, economiques aussi car si aujourd'hui les passions et les fanatismes nourrissent les conflits, demain d'autres problemes surviendront, tel que le partage de l'eau entre Israeliens et avec les voisins d'Israel...
Jerusalem est effectivement une ville magnifique, qui m'a marque par ses contrastes, ou l'on passe en quelques metres d'un bazar a une rue avec des commerces modernes, d'un quartier arabe a un quartier juif, d'une eglise a une mosquee.... je me rappelle de cette rue ou etait creusee un grand trou et cinq metres plus bas on apercevait des colonnes romaines... on y voit des traces de notre histoire judeo-chretienne et puis des traces d'une histoire que souvent on connait moins, celle de l'islam.
Israel est une terre de contraste, je me rappelle de cette colline pres de Jerusalem, d'un cote on a une vue sur le Mont des Oliviers, et de l'autre sur le desert de Judee. Il y a Massada, forteresse extraordinaire au milieu du desert, la Mer Morte qui continue de mourir et ses hotels qui se retrouvent a 200 metres du rivage, et plus loin des champs d'agrumes a pertes de vue, des villages arabes et des kibboutz....
Oui Israel est une terre magnifique. qui tire sa richesse d'une nature entre mer et desert et d'une histoire mouvementee, et malheureusement paie aussi pour cela le prix fort, une situation de conflits perpetuels, pour des raisons ethniques, religieuses, economiques aussi car si aujourd'hui les passions et les fanatismes nourrissent les conflits, demain d'autres problemes surviendront, tel que le partage de l'eau entre Israeliens et avec les voisins d'Israel...
Bonsoir Ben
En lisant ton profil, je peux te dire qu'un voyage en Israël t'envouterait! L'Histoire à tous les coins de rue.
C'est vrai que le billet d'avion est toujours un peu couteux, surtout en été ou pendant les fêtes juives mais tu peux trouver des charters un peu plus abordable.
Mon premier voyage date des années 80 et depuis nous retournons souvent avec toujours autant de plaisir.
On peut se promener partout en Israël, il y a que les soldats et la sécurité un peu partout (mais jamais excessive) qui nous rappelle que c'est un pays en guerre.
En esperant que tu puisses faire ce voyage dans un proche avenir.
Michèle
En lisant ton profil, je peux te dire qu'un voyage en Israël t'envouterait! L'Histoire à tous les coins de rue.
C'est vrai que le billet d'avion est toujours un peu couteux, surtout en été ou pendant les fêtes juives mais tu peux trouver des charters un peu plus abordable.
Mon premier voyage date des années 80 et depuis nous retournons souvent avec toujours autant de plaisir.
On peut se promener partout en Israël, il y a que les soldats et la sécurité un peu partout (mais jamais excessive) qui nous rappelle que c'est un pays en guerre.
En esperant que tu puisses faire ce voyage dans un proche avenir.
Michèle
www.kluger.fr
Heureux qui comme Ulysse....
Heureux qui comme Ulysse....
Bonsoir Lukas
Nous n'avons pas eu autant de chance😕 les leopards n'étaient pas au rendez vous. Mais à un de nos voyages précédents nous avons passé la nuit dans un camp de druze et nous avons eu la visite d'un loup qui passait et repassait entre nos sacs de couchage. Je n'ai plus fermé l'oeil de la nuit!😉
Merci beaucoup pour ton compliment sur mon texte. Cela fait plaisir de partager nos souvenirs et nos bonheurs avec d'autres.
Mon mari va travailler à Bangalore fin octobre pour une semaine. Malheureusement je ne peux pas l'accompagner.
Nous n'avons pas eu autant de chance😕 les leopards n'étaient pas au rendez vous. Mais à un de nos voyages précédents nous avons passé la nuit dans un camp de druze et nous avons eu la visite d'un loup qui passait et repassait entre nos sacs de couchage. Je n'ai plus fermé l'oeil de la nuit!😉
Merci beaucoup pour ton compliment sur mon texte. Cela fait plaisir de partager nos souvenirs et nos bonheurs avec d'autres.
Mon mari va travailler à Bangalore fin octobre pour une semaine. Malheureusement je ne peux pas l'accompagner.
www.kluger.fr
Heureux qui comme Ulysse....
Heureux qui comme Ulysse....
Bonsoir Pierre
Quel plaisir de lire aussi ton amour pour Israël. Tu as très bien senti l'ambiance de ce pays et tous les merveilles qu'il nous offre.
Et oui, je veux croire qu'il y a encore de l'espoir pour qu'une paix puissent s'installer dans cette région. Ils le méritent.
Shalom
Quel plaisir de lire aussi ton amour pour Israël. Tu as très bien senti l'ambiance de ce pays et tous les merveilles qu'il nous offre.
Et oui, je veux croire qu'il y a encore de l'espoir pour qu'une paix puissent s'installer dans cette région. Ils le méritent.
Shalom
www.kluger.fr
Heureux qui comme Ulysse....
Heureux qui comme Ulysse....
Israël : un voyage dans l’espace et dans le temps
Terre promise du peuple juif, berceau du christianisme, troisième lieu saint des musulmans. Chaque pierre rappelle une histoire, l’Histoire. Chaque nom de lieu évoque une paracha de la Torah ou un passage des Evangiles. C’est le théâtre vivant de la Bible. Israël, une vieille terre mais aussi un Etat jeune, qui à l’éternité du désert a su ajouter la fertilité ... Religieux à Jérusalem, laïques à Tel Aviv, dragueurs à Eilat, les Israéliens sont à la fois rudes, exubérants, passionnés et tolérants, âpres au travail et bons vivants. Malgré des cultures d’une extrême diversité Israël a fait preuve d’une immense capacité d’adaptation en intégrant une population variée, aux nombreuses origines ethniques, religieuses et sociales. Epreuve difficile qui ne va pas sans problèmes mais quel pays saurait intégrer 1/6 de nouveaux immigrants en si peu de temps, pour ne prendre que l’exemple des réfugiés de l’ancienne URSS ? Terre de contraste ? Plutôt patrie du paradoxe, comme cette Jérusalem que l’on se dispute, et dont le nom signifie « cité de la paix » Terre Promise de la Bible, Israël est aujourd’hui un pays moderne, dynamique, prospère et animé. ... Un incontournable : Jérusalem, ville sainte, capitale éternelle, ville mystique, mythique et magique, ville du passé et du futur. Comment ne pas s’émouvoir devant cette ville détruite combien de fois et reconstruite avec ses propres pierres, blanches et éclatantes, cette ville qui a si bien conserver son caractère et son âme. Croyant ou pas, qui « monte à Jérusalem ou y vit est envahi par cette joie mystérieuse et profonde, celle d’un monde inconnu » (Dostoïevski) Ici on n’oublie rien, « Capitale de la mémoire » avec ses quartiers ethniques et religieux de la vieille ville, une ville sacrée et chargée de spiritualité, l’émotion intense d’une visite au nouveau Yad Vashem (musée de la Shoah), un prisme triangulaire qui pénètre du fond d’une colline aride pour terminer au sommet d’une forêt qui domine Jérusalem… et l’espoir de la vie. ... Israël, une terre promise il y a cinq mille ans et qui fêtera bientôt ses soixante ans. Une terre qui mérite la paix au delà des passions et de la folie des fanatismes.
En relisant votre texte, je suis stupéfait par la justesse de vos propos. Etant citoyen israëlien, je n'aurais pas, non plus, pu faire une meilleure description de mes concitoyens. Impatient de vous relire.
En relisant votre texte, je suis stupéfait par la justesse de vos propos. Etant citoyen israëlien, je n'aurais pas, non plus, pu faire une meilleure description de mes concitoyens. Impatient de vous relire.
Lukas
Après ta visite, n'hésite pas, toi aussi, à exercer tes talents d'écriture (je me souviens de tes "mélanges chypriotes")
Lukas
Oui, il est possible que je mette quelques années avant de convaincre mon homme d'aller s'y promener. C'est un pays qui a une image étrange, glauque, dans l'esprit de nombreux européens, dont le sien. Il faut que je l'apprivoise lentement à cette idée.
A moins que je décide de passer outre et d'y aller seule... je ne sais pas.
Puis j'écrirai, peut-être.
Je ne voudrais pas apparaître contrariant. Or, dans tout le Moyen Orient, Israël reste pour moi le pays où j'ai rencontré les gens les plus antipathiques, les moins souriants et les moins hospitaliers. Quelle différence par rapport aux Arabes ...
Après un premier voyage en 2001, je m'étais juré de ne plus y retourner tant j'avais été déçu par le peuple israëlien, à une exception près toutefois : revoir Jerusalem, une ville sublime.
J'ai eu le bonheur cette année de retourner à Jerusalem. J'ai encore plus apprécié la ville qu'il y a 5 ans. Mon opinion sur les gens en revanche n'a pas changé d'un iota.
Venant de Jordanie et me rendant à Jerusalem par le Pont Allenby, j'ai déjà eu un aperçu de la manière 😠 dont les Israëliens traitaient les visiteurs étrangers au point de passage. Et je ne vous dis pas comment ils traitaient les Palestiniens. 🏴☠️😠
Bref, Jerusalem : 1.000 fois oui. Israël : le pays certainement. Le peuple israëlien : 1.000 fois non
Après un premier voyage en 2001, je m'étais juré de ne plus y retourner tant j'avais été déçu par le peuple israëlien, à une exception près toutefois : revoir Jerusalem, une ville sublime.
J'ai eu le bonheur cette année de retourner à Jerusalem. J'ai encore plus apprécié la ville qu'il y a 5 ans. Mon opinion sur les gens en revanche n'a pas changé d'un iota.
Venant de Jordanie et me rendant à Jerusalem par le Pont Allenby, j'ai déjà eu un aperçu de la manière 😠 dont les Israëliens traitaient les visiteurs étrangers au point de passage. Et je ne vous dis pas comment ils traitaient les Palestiniens. 🏴☠️😠
Bref, Jerusalem : 1.000 fois oui. Israël : le pays certainement. Le peuple israëlien : 1.000 fois non
"Les relations, c'est comme l'argent, on n'en a jamais assez"
Israël reste pour moi le pays où j'ai rencontré les gens les plus antipathiques, les moins souriants et les moins hospitaliers. Quelle différence par rapport aux Arabes ...
Premiere remarque il y a en Israel 20% d' Arabes (j'entends d'Arabes israeliens, donc sans doute plus en comptant les palestiniens vivant en Israel).
Ensuite personnellement j'ai ete accueilli dans une famille israelienne la bas, a Kyriat Tivon pres d'Haifa, et j'ai vecu avec un groupe de jeunes israeliens, et l'accueil a ete chaleureux. Alors certes beaucoup de familles sont plutot de culture "occidentale", donc c'est difficile de comparer avec les pays alentours de culture arabe.
Ensuite concernant les points de passage je crois qu'il serait dommage de faire l'amalgame entre le comportement de l'armee (ou du gouvernement) et celui de l'ensemble de la population...
Premiere remarque il y a en Israel 20% d' Arabes (j'entends d'Arabes israeliens, donc sans doute plus en comptant les palestiniens vivant en Israel).
Ensuite personnellement j'ai ete accueilli dans une famille israelienne la bas, a Kyriat Tivon pres d'Haifa, et j'ai vecu avec un groupe de jeunes israeliens, et l'accueil a ete chaleureux. Alors certes beaucoup de familles sont plutot de culture "occidentale", donc c'est difficile de comparer avec les pays alentours de culture arabe.
Ensuite concernant les points de passage je crois qu'il serait dommage de faire l'amalgame entre le comportement de l'armee (ou du gouvernement) et celui de l'ensemble de la population...
"Israël reste pour moi le pays où j'ai rencontré les gens les plus antipathiques"
pires que dans les autres pays riches, la France en particulier ?
pires que dans les autres pays riches, la France en particulier ?
Ben
Bonjour,
Quand j'écris "Quelle différence par rapport aux Arabes ...", je reste dans le contexte du Moyen Orient en général. En Jordanie, en Syrie, en Egypte, les populations locales sont pour moi beaucoup plus gentilles et hospitalières que la population israëlienne. Il n'y pas photo sur ce point-là
Et si j'en réfère à la vieille ville de Jerusalem uniquement, il y a toujours pour moi une diiférence majeure dans l'accueil entre les quartiers arabe, arménien et chrétien d'une part et le quartier juif, de l'autre. Là aussi, c'est pour moi manifeste.
Quand j'écris "Quelle différence par rapport aux Arabes ...", je reste dans le contexte du Moyen Orient en général. En Jordanie, en Syrie, en Egypte, les populations locales sont pour moi beaucoup plus gentilles et hospitalières que la population israëlienne. Il n'y pas photo sur ce point-là
Et si j'en réfère à la vieille ville de Jerusalem uniquement, il y a toujours pour moi une diiférence majeure dans l'accueil entre les quartiers arabe, arménien et chrétien d'une part et le quartier juif, de l'autre. Là aussi, c'est pour moi manifeste.
"Les relations, c'est comme l'argent, on n'en a jamais assez"
pires que dans les autres pays riches, la France en particulier ?
oui. Et pourtant je ne suis pas toujours d'accord avec la vision française.
oui. Et pourtant je ne suis pas toujours d'accord avec la vision française.
"Les relations, c'est comme l'argent, on n'en a jamais assez"
Bonjour,
Ton petit échange avec Aristo me rappelle une annecdote. L'année dernière, à Chypre, je discutais avec une jeune femme et on en est venu à parler des Français. Après avoir un peu tâté le terrain pour vérifier que je n'allais pas mal le prendre elle me dit que les Français étaient insupportablement prétentieux exactement comme les Israëliens. Sachant le peu d'estime que mes ex-compatriotes éprouvent pour les Israëliens, j'avais trouvé cette remarque hautement comique.
Moi j'aurais toutefois ajouté les Grecs à sa liste des prétentieux...
Ton petit échange avec Aristo me rappelle une annecdote. L'année dernière, à Chypre, je discutais avec une jeune femme et on en est venu à parler des Français. Après avoir un peu tâté le terrain pour vérifier que je n'allais pas mal le prendre elle me dit que les Français étaient insupportablement prétentieux exactement comme les Israëliens. Sachant le peu d'estime que mes ex-compatriotes éprouvent pour les Israëliens, j'avais trouvé cette remarque hautement comique.
Moi j'aurais toutefois ajouté les Grecs à sa liste des prétentieux...
Bonjour,
Culture différente, hum....
Je ne sais pas ce que tu appelles "culture occidentale", mais si tu vas en Syrie ou au Liban tu trouveras beaucoup de gens très "occidentaux", cultivés, européanophiles. Le jeu des Israeliens qui voudraient se faire passer pour une oasis de civilisation au milieu des sauvages ne doit pas nous tromper !
Tu distingues le peuple et l'armée... moije veux bien, mais en Israel justement, ce n'est pas possible : l'armée est une armée de conscription et le gouvernement est élu ; donc chaque citoyen israelien porte la pleine responsabilité de ce comportement.
Dans le contexte actuel, je ne me vois pas aller en Israel, car je ne me vois pas rendre des compte ni de mes voyages passés ni de mes idées auprès d'un policier ou d'un soldat israelien.
Michel
Culture différente, hum....
Je ne sais pas ce que tu appelles "culture occidentale", mais si tu vas en Syrie ou au Liban tu trouveras beaucoup de gens très "occidentaux", cultivés, européanophiles. Le jeu des Israeliens qui voudraient se faire passer pour une oasis de civilisation au milieu des sauvages ne doit pas nous tromper !
Tu distingues le peuple et l'armée... moije veux bien, mais en Israel justement, ce n'est pas possible : l'armée est une armée de conscription et le gouvernement est élu ; donc chaque citoyen israelien porte la pleine responsabilité de ce comportement.
Dans le contexte actuel, je ne me vois pas aller en Israel, car je ne me vois pas rendre des compte ni de mes voyages passés ni de mes idées auprès d'un policier ou d'un soldat israelien.
Michel
Tu distingues le peuple et l'armée... moije veux bien, mais en Israel justement, ce n'est pas possible : l'armée est une armée de conscription et le gouvernement est élu ; donc chaque citoyen israelien porte la pleine responsabilité de ce comportement.
😮
Si c'est une armée de conscription ils n'ont justement pas le choix, non ? Le refus d'obtempérer à des ordres qu'ils jugeaient iniques de certains pilotes (donc élite) avait par ailleurs fait pas mal de vagues, l'année dernière ou il y a deux ans. "Chaque citoyen israélien porte la pleine responsabilité de ce comportement" ? Mais enfin...c'est le propre de la démocratie ça, la majorité met ses représentants au pouvoir et les minorités subissent en attendant plus ou moins activement des jours meilleurs. Tu te sens responsable des agissements des pimpoïs qui gouvernent l'hexagone à l'heure actuelle ? C'est un peu gonflé de vouloir faire passer Israël qui a une société très contrastée pour une nation de clones interchangeables !
😮
Si c'est une armée de conscription ils n'ont justement pas le choix, non ? Le refus d'obtempérer à des ordres qu'ils jugeaient iniques de certains pilotes (donc élite) avait par ailleurs fait pas mal de vagues, l'année dernière ou il y a deux ans. "Chaque citoyen israélien porte la pleine responsabilité de ce comportement" ? Mais enfin...c'est le propre de la démocratie ça, la majorité met ses représentants au pouvoir et les minorités subissent en attendant plus ou moins activement des jours meilleurs. Tu te sens responsable des agissements des pimpoïs qui gouvernent l'hexagone à l'heure actuelle ? C'est un peu gonflé de vouloir faire passer Israël qui a une société très contrastée pour une nation de clones interchangeables !
Bonjour.... (Re !)...
Je crains fort que tu n'aies pas le choix d'être responsable des agissements des hurluberlus qui te gouverne si tu les as élus 🤪, même sans voter pour eux. Israel est quand même un pays que beaucoup de ses habitants ont choisi, un pays d'immigration. Beaucoup ont la double nationalité, ils y sont parce qu'ils veulent bien.
Michel
Je crains fort que tu n'aies pas le choix d'être responsable des agissements des hurluberlus qui te gouverne si tu les as élus 🤪, même sans voter pour eux. Israel est quand même un pays que beaucoup de ses habitants ont choisi, un pays d'immigration. Beaucoup ont la double nationalité, ils y sont parce qu'ils veulent bien.
Michel
Choisi, oui, si on veut, reste à connaître les motivations de leur choix, et il me semble que cela varie beaucoup d'un individu à l'autre...
Quant au reste...ben non, désolée, je ne me sens pas "responsable" (j'ai largement ferraillé verbalement avec mes connaissances concernées pour empêcher cela), tout au plus embarquée dans la même galère dont ni moi ni mes plusoumoins représentants tenons la barre (relativement dans mon cas puisque je suis une émigrée).
En fait tout raisonnement qui tend à grouper les hommes par nations et pas par familles de vision du monde transfrontalières me tape sur les nerfs😛 et... je sais que je nage en pleine utopie😕.
Quant au reste...ben non, désolée, je ne me sens pas "responsable" (j'ai largement ferraillé verbalement avec mes connaissances concernées pour empêcher cela), tout au plus embarquée dans la même galère dont ni moi ni mes plusoumoins représentants tenons la barre (relativement dans mon cas puisque je suis une émigrée).
En fait tout raisonnement qui tend à grouper les hommes par nations et pas par familles de vision du monde transfrontalières me tape sur les nerfs😛 et... je sais que je nage en pleine utopie😕.
Un grand merci pour ce récit. Je rêve depuis de nombreuses années de visiter cette terre extraordinaire avec son immensité histoirique et spirituelle. Comme si, pour moi, c'était là que tout avait commencé, là où tous les chemins menaient.
Je serais ravie si tu pouvais m'orienter, me conseiller sur l'approche à avoir pour un premier voyage en terre promise : partir avec un tour opérator? voir plutôt avec des agences locales? combien de temps?
Merci encore
" Certes, un rêve de beignet, c'est un rêve, pas un beignet. Mais un rêve de voyage, c'est déjà un voyage..."
Marek Halter
Marek Halter
Bonjour Mélanie
Je suis heureuse de savoir que mon carnet te donne envie de découvrir Israël. On se déplace très facilement en Israël, par ses propres moyens. Avec grand plaisir je t'aiderai pour organiser ton premier voyage. Envoies moi en message privé tes désires et nous pourrons discuter ensemble.
A + Michèle
Je suis heureuse de savoir que mon carnet te donne envie de découvrir Israël. On se déplace très facilement en Israël, par ses propres moyens. Avec grand plaisir je t'aiderai pour organiser ton premier voyage. Envoies moi en message privé tes désires et nous pourrons discuter ensemble.
A + Michèle
www.kluger.fr
Heureux qui comme Ulysse....
Heureux qui comme Ulysse....
"A la guerre, il n'y a pas de victime innocente" comme écrivait Sartre dans l'Existentialisme est un humanisme.
Michel
Michel
"A la guerre, il n'y a pas de victime innocente" comme écrivait Sartre dans l'Existentialisme est un humanisme.
Boof, ce n'est pas la seule connerie qu'a dit Sartre....
Culture différente, hum....
Je ne sais pas ce que tu appelles "culture occidentale", mais si tu vas en Syrie ou au Liban tu trouveras beaucoup de gens très "occidentaux", cultivés, européanophiles. Le jeu des Israeliens qui voudraient se faire passer pour une oasis de civilisation au milieu des sauvages ne doit pas nous tromper !
La je pense que tu me fais un proces d'intention. Je n'ai ni dit que les Israeliens etaient civilises, ni que leurs voisins arabes etaient des sauvages. J'ai juste dit que comme 80% de la population provenait d'une immigration hors moyen-orient (generalement europe de l'ouest et russie), leur culture etait differente de celles de leurs voisins jordaniens, syriens, egyptiens... Lorsque je dis culture differente, ca ne veut pas dire culture superieure, de meme que lorsque je dis arabe ca ne veut pas dire sauvage.
Boof, ce n'est pas la seule connerie qu'a dit Sartre....
Culture différente, hum....
Je ne sais pas ce que tu appelles "culture occidentale", mais si tu vas en Syrie ou au Liban tu trouveras beaucoup de gens très "occidentaux", cultivés, européanophiles. Le jeu des Israeliens qui voudraient se faire passer pour une oasis de civilisation au milieu des sauvages ne doit pas nous tromper !
La je pense que tu me fais un proces d'intention. Je n'ai ni dit que les Israeliens etaient civilises, ni que leurs voisins arabes etaient des sauvages. J'ai juste dit que comme 80% de la population provenait d'une immigration hors moyen-orient (generalement europe de l'ouest et russie), leur culture etait differente de celles de leurs voisins jordaniens, syriens, egyptiens... Lorsque je dis culture differente, ca ne veut pas dire culture superieure, de meme que lorsque je dis arabe ca ne veut pas dire sauvage.
Ton post m'interesse, car je me demande quel est le comportement general des isreaeliens, des jeunes surtout, chez eux.Voyageant en asie depuis des annees, j'ai beau essayer de comprendre (service militaire long, propagande, on leur bourre le crane pendant 3 ans, etc....), j'ai toujours la nausee, il n'y a pas d'autres mots, quand je les voit se comporter en groupe.Je ne parle pas des voyageurs solitaires, qui sont aussi outres que les non israeliens, et ont honte pour leur compatriotes..D'experience en experience, c'est toujours pareil.Il y a helas des endroits ou je ne vais pas car je ne supporte plus l'arrogance, l'impolitesse, la vulgarite, de ces groupes de ''merdeux'', quels que soit leur age, agressifs, guerriers, qui se croient au dessus de tout le monde et n'hesitent pas a le proclamer.C'est incroyable et cela me met mal a l'aise, car meme les gens les plus tolerants, dont je pense faire partit, finissent par avoir un certain ressentiment, et personellement cela me gene.Mais comment peut on se comporter ainsi?.Dans toute l'asie, c'est le meme discour, les voyageurs de tous pays pensent comme moi, et a chaque fois je suis de plus en plus choquee.Et il y en faut beaucoup.C'est pour cela que je voulais savoir si c'est pareil en israel....
Poses toi les bonnes questions, ne t 'occupes pas des reponses...
Mon objectif n'est surement pas de créer une polémique. Que du contraire ! Or, j'ai visité plusieurs pays arabes et j'ai visité Israël. Et je suis désolé de le dire mais les Israëliens ont un problème psychologique grave : j'ai le sentiment qu'ils voient chez tous les visiteurs étrangers des terroristes potentiels ! Cela commence au(x) poste(s) frontière ou aux points de passage. On ne vous parle pas. On tente de vous intimider avec des questions posées 10 fois. Alors que dire de leur manière de s'exprimer aux Palestiniens. Ils leur aboient dessus ! Il n'y pas d'autres termes. Et cela n'a rien à voir avec le fait qu'ils s'agissent de militaires. C'est une question de mentalité.
Dans les hôtels, jamais un sourire pour l'étranger que je suis. Or, je suis une personne très calme et hyper discrète.
Vraiment pas des gens accueillants. Les mots "hospitalité" et "amabilité" ne doivent pas faire partie de leur vocabulaire. Quant aux jeunes ne sont pas mieux, il sont dans la droite lignée de leurs aïeuls.
C'est vraiment dommage.
Dans les hôtels, jamais un sourire pour l'étranger que je suis. Or, je suis une personne très calme et hyper discrète.
Vraiment pas des gens accueillants. Les mots "hospitalité" et "amabilité" ne doivent pas faire partie de leur vocabulaire. Quant aux jeunes ne sont pas mieux, il sont dans la droite lignée de leurs aïeuls.
C'est vraiment dommage.
"Les relations, c'est comme l'argent, on n'en a jamais assez"
D'experience en experience, c'est toujours pareil.Il y a helas des endroits ou je ne vais pas car je ne supporte plus l'arrogance, l'impolitesse, la vulgarite, de ces groupes de ''merdeux'', quels que soit leur age, agressifs, guerriers, qui se croient au dessus de tout le monde et n'hesitent pas a le proclamer.
Tu parles des israéliens ou des juifs? parce que je ne saisis pas toute la pensée, j'avoue. je ne sais pas comment on reconnait un israelien en voyage, à moins de voir son passeport ou bien tu parles des juifs en général. 😕
Tu parles des israéliens ou des juifs? parce que je ne saisis pas toute la pensée, j'avoue. je ne sais pas comment on reconnait un israelien en voyage, à moins de voir son passeport ou bien tu parles des juifs en général. 😕
" Certes, un rêve de beignet, c'est un rêve, pas un beignet. Mais un rêve de voyage, c'est déjà un voyage..."
Marek Halter
Marek Halter
" Tu parles des israéliens ou des juifs? parce que je ne saisis pas toute la pensée, j'avoue. je ne sais pas comment on reconnait un israelien en voyage, à moins de voir son passeport ou bien tu parles des juifs en général."
Pour ce que j'en sais cette remarque s'applique bien aux Israeliens ; je suis bien sûr, et comme tout le monde, totalement incapable de reconnaître un juif, mais je sais reconnaître un Israelien, à la langue parlée par exemple.
Michel
Pour ce que j'en sais cette remarque s'applique bien aux Israeliens ; je suis bien sûr, et comme tout le monde, totalement incapable de reconnaître un juif, mais je sais reconnaître un Israelien, à la langue parlée par exemple.
Michel
Le sujet est délicat, d'autant plus du fait de la situation des Palestiniens, les Israeliens apparaissent bien souvent comme les "méchants" aux yeux des médias occidentaux, influançant ainsi l'opinion publique des pays occidentaux.
Et ça, les Israeliens le savent.
Qu'ils soient paranoiaques, c'est juste et presque normal, vue toute leur histoire depuis la diaspora. Cela peut donc se comprendre, même si c'est choquant quand on en est victime.
A ce sujet, le relation entre Israeliens et travailleurs palestiniens est ambivalente. Chacun a besoin de l'autre.
J'attends de me rendre sur place pour aller plus loin dans ma tentative de compréhension de la mentalité israelienne, mais en attendant je vous pose cette question, suggéréee ailleurs :
Les Arabes Israeliens, oubliés par les médias, ont-ils cette même mentalité décriée par vous-mêmes ?
Autre question, cette attitude des juifs israeliens n'est-elle pas une "carapace" ?
Et ça, les Israeliens le savent.
Qu'ils soient paranoiaques, c'est juste et presque normal, vue toute leur histoire depuis la diaspora. Cela peut donc se comprendre, même si c'est choquant quand on en est victime.
A ce sujet, le relation entre Israeliens et travailleurs palestiniens est ambivalente. Chacun a besoin de l'autre.
J'attends de me rendre sur place pour aller plus loin dans ma tentative de compréhension de la mentalité israelienne, mais en attendant je vous pose cette question, suggéréee ailleurs :
Les Arabes Israeliens, oubliés par les médias, ont-ils cette même mentalité décriée par vous-mêmes ?
Autre question, cette attitude des juifs israeliens n'est-elle pas une "carapace" ?
Ben
Je parle des ''groupes de jeunes israeliens''.Je pensais avoir ete clairer.Comme c'est un sujet aborde souvent sur la route, entre voyageurs de tous pays et israeliens voyageant seuls, cela m'interessait.Mais je laisse tomber, si au bout d'un post on me demande deja si je pense juif ou israelien, c'est pas la peine.C'est toujours la meme chose, si on critique un tant soit peu (et a juste titre), une categorie d'israeliens, c'est partit, c'est racisme et compagnie.Le racisme est une chose trop grave pour l'employer a toutes les sauces.Le fait de ne pouvoir jamais critiquer, ca donne des types qui gardent tout pour eux, et qui finissent par peter les cables et dire n'importe quoi, comme dieudone.Je lache l'affaire....namaste a tous..vero
Poses toi les bonnes questions, ne t 'occupes pas des reponses...
Mais non, reste un peu.
J'ai remarqué le même phénomène que toi à propos des jeunes israéliens en Asie. Souvent charmants et intéressants quand ils sont seuls, ils deviennent insupportables et manifestent un rejet évident de tous les non-israéliens quand ils sont en groupe. Je n'ai pas trouvé d'explication.
Pour ceux qui ne le savent pas, les israéliens n'ont pas beaucoup de pays où aller. A cause de leur passeport, presque tous les pays musulmans leur sont interdits (sauf pour ceux qui ont une double nationalité et donc deux passeports). Comme pays pas trop éloignés où la vie est bon marché, il reste l'Inde, et les pays bouddhistes de l'Asie du sud-est. De plus, la tradition en Israël est de partir entre 6 mois et un an en voyage à l'issue du service militaire (3 ans pour les garçons et 2 pour les filles si je me souviens bien). Tout cela fait qu'on rencontre beaucoup de jeunes israéliens dans les pays cités.
Pour ceux qui ne le savent pas, les israéliens n'ont pas beaucoup de pays où aller. A cause de leur passeport, presque tous les pays musulmans leur sont interdits (sauf pour ceux qui ont une double nationalité et donc deux passeports). Comme pays pas trop éloignés où la vie est bon marché, il reste l'Inde, et les pays bouddhistes de l'Asie du sud-est. De plus, la tradition en Israël est de partir entre 6 mois et un an en voyage à l'issue du service militaire (3 ans pour les garçons et 2 pour les filles si je me souviens bien). Tout cela fait qu'on rencontre beaucoup de jeunes israéliens dans les pays cités.
Bonjour,
"Pour ceux qui ne le savent pas, les israéliens n'ont pas beaucoup de pays où aller. A cause de leur passeport, presque tous les pays musulmans leur sont interdits "
Je signale en passant que la Turquie est sans problème pour les Israeliens et qu'ils y viennent facilement.
Michel
"Pour ceux qui ne le savent pas, les israéliens n'ont pas beaucoup de pays où aller. A cause de leur passeport, presque tous les pays musulmans leur sont interdits "
Je signale en passant que la Turquie est sans problème pour les Israeliens et qu'ils y viennent facilement.
Michel
ouhlala faut pas s'emballer, j'ai juste posé une question parce que justement pour moi ça n'était pas clair du tout, je n'avais pas compris. désolée je ne dissèque pas tous vos messages donc je ne savais pas que le sujet avait déjà été abordé. je n'ai nullement prêté à personne aucun propos sinon je n'aurais pas mis une phrase interrogative mais exclamative.
donc merci également de ne pas non plus détourner mes propos.
à en croire ta signature, je pensais qu'on avait le droit de poser des questions. apparemment pas.
à en croire ta signature, je pensais qu'on avait le droit de poser des questions. apparemment pas.

" Certes, un rêve de beignet, c'est un rêve, pas un beignet. Mais un rêve de voyage, c'est déjà un voyage..."
Marek Halter
Marek Halter
Le temps que je me demande si j'allais où non répondre à Glidule, voilà que finalement, elle a décidé de retirer ses message.
Pour ma part, je comprenais tout à fait sa tristesse .
Il n' y a pas un peuple au monde qu'il soit aussi difficile, sous peine de passer pour d'infâmes racistes de critiquer et pas un peuple au monde qui reçoive, malgré ce, autant de critiques exacerbées. C'est tout de même très paradoxal. Et lorsque ces critiques se transforment en "haine " ( comme je comprends ta tristesse Catherine ! ) alors, nous arrivons à ces paroxysmes dont notre histoire européenne est hélas entachée depuis le Moyen-Âge .
Porter des jugements négatifs ou positifs sur un peuple dans son ensemble d'individus, tous différents par essence, me paraît être la racine même du racisme . Or les Juifs religieux donc on toujours parlé du peuple juif qu'elles que soit leur origine, Europe, Europe Centrale ou de l'Est, Amérique du Nord, Afrique du Nord, Ethiopie . Nécessité "politique" de la diaspora sans doute, nécessité de la tradition aussi, sûrement : le Peuple Elu . Je me demande si ce n'est pas là l'origine de la confusion d'une part entre Juif => se reconnaissant comme adeptes d'une religion et Israéliens => citoyens d'un territoire dont on n'a pas à se questionner au sujet de l' appartenance religieuse et dont la politique peut et doit être critiquée comme la politique de n'importe quelle nation, lorsqu'elle est critiquable. Le comportement des Français en Algérie par exemple à été au moins aussi critiquable à l'égard des Algériens que le comportement des Israéliens à l'égard des Palestiniens, avec ses jeunes recrues de "conscrits" dépassés par les événements, intoxiqués par la propagande, individuellement sans doute, malheureux si ce n'est désespérés.
Pour ma part, je n'ai jamais rencontré d'Israélien en voyage, nous ne croisons sans doute pas les mêmes circuits, cependant, la guide qui nous a fait visiter Boukhara tambour battant cet été, se plaignait à un moment du comportement des groupe de "Juifs" mais je lui ai dit "Ah oui ? " d'une façon tellement agressive sûrement, qu'elle à parlé d'autre chose....
Pour ma part, je comprenais tout à fait sa tristesse .
Il n' y a pas un peuple au monde qu'il soit aussi difficile, sous peine de passer pour d'infâmes racistes de critiquer et pas un peuple au monde qui reçoive, malgré ce, autant de critiques exacerbées. C'est tout de même très paradoxal. Et lorsque ces critiques se transforment en "haine " ( comme je comprends ta tristesse Catherine ! ) alors, nous arrivons à ces paroxysmes dont notre histoire européenne est hélas entachée depuis le Moyen-Âge .
Porter des jugements négatifs ou positifs sur un peuple dans son ensemble d'individus, tous différents par essence, me paraît être la racine même du racisme . Or les Juifs religieux donc on toujours parlé du peuple juif qu'elles que soit leur origine, Europe, Europe Centrale ou de l'Est, Amérique du Nord, Afrique du Nord, Ethiopie . Nécessité "politique" de la diaspora sans doute, nécessité de la tradition aussi, sûrement : le Peuple Elu . Je me demande si ce n'est pas là l'origine de la confusion d'une part entre Juif => se reconnaissant comme adeptes d'une religion et Israéliens => citoyens d'un territoire dont on n'a pas à se questionner au sujet de l' appartenance religieuse et dont la politique peut et doit être critiquée comme la politique de n'importe quelle nation, lorsqu'elle est critiquable. Le comportement des Français en Algérie par exemple à été au moins aussi critiquable à l'égard des Algériens que le comportement des Israéliens à l'égard des Palestiniens, avec ses jeunes recrues de "conscrits" dépassés par les événements, intoxiqués par la propagande, individuellement sans doute, malheureux si ce n'est désespérés.
Pour ma part, je n'ai jamais rencontré d'Israélien en voyage, nous ne croisons sans doute pas les mêmes circuits, cependant, la guide qui nous a fait visiter Boukhara tambour battant cet été, se plaignait à un moment du comportement des groupe de "Juifs" mais je lui ai dit "Ah oui ? " d'une façon tellement agressive sûrement, qu'elle à parlé d'autre chose....
Catherine
" La lucidité est la blessure la plus proche du soleil" René Char
http://www.catherinegil.com
http://www.catherinegil.com
J’ai vécu le sectarisme des israéliens en voyage.
Ça se passait à Varkala, un petit paradis tropical dans le sud de l’Inde, avec de merveilleuses plages de sable blond dominées par d’impressionnantes falaises sur lesquels étaient disposés en bon ordre guest-houses et petits restaurants à l’intention des visiteurs. Un site enchanteur, avec en prime, à l’heure du dîner, des couchers du soleil de toute beauté.
Sur la plage, une jeune anglaise juive, me prenant moi-même pour un juif français (elle me l’avouera plus tard) m’avait, sous un futile prétexte, abordé et invité à la rejoindre en soirée pour dîner avec ses amis israéliens, une proposition que j’ai acceptée. J’affirme ici, sur ce forum, que de toute la soirée, ils ne m’ont pas adressé la parole ! Pas une phrase, pas un mot, pas une syllabe, pas une allusion dans ma direction! Rien! Ç’en était fascinant ! Et ça m’a rappelé un épisode de la série télévisée "Cosmos 1999", où le commandant Koenig, de retour d’une excursion de routine dans l’espace, se rend compte qu’il est devenu "invisible" à ses amis de la base spatiale. Personne ne le remarque, personne ne l’entend. C’était à peu près ce qui m’arrivait là-bas, tout au long de ce dîner, sur les hauteurs de Varkala. Face à ce petit troupeau homogène, je me faisais l’effet d’un être invisible, indécelable, qui cherchait matière à exister. J’étais loin de m’en formaliser. Ayant compris, je me suis économisé et j’ai pu les observer à loisir tout en posant quelques questions à mon "hôtesse". Elle m’a expliqué par exemple que la plupart de ces garçons (entre 22 et 30 ans) étaient marqués par leurs années passées sous les drapeaux et qu’une certaine bienséance, certaines bonnes manières leur étaient devenues "naturellement" étrangères. J’ avais en face de moi des gens dont le caractère fruste et sectaire était justifié par des circonstances personnelles exceptionnelles. D'après elle également, le thème de la souffrance du peuple juif, largement exploité en Israël, contribue à les faire réagir de façon hermétique au contact de l’étranger. C’est ce moment que j’ai choisi pour lui montrer les étoiles, lui en souligner la beauté, lui énumérer les différentes constellations et lui suggérer une balade romantique qui débarrasserait de notre présence sacrilège ces jeunes gens traumatisés, leur permettant de poursuivre leur psychothérapie collective dans de meilleures conditions.
Khaldoun
Nb : Lepiaf, tu écris que les israéliens n’ont pas beaucoup de pays où aller. Je connais 25 pays (bientôt 27) qui leur accordent le droit d’aller et venir à leur guise, sans visa, un privilège refusé aux jeunes syriens, libanais, jordaniens et égyptiens voisins. Pour ce qui est des destinations "musulmanes", de nombreux israéliens vont en vacances au Maroc chaque année sans difficulté.
Ça se passait à Varkala, un petit paradis tropical dans le sud de l’Inde, avec de merveilleuses plages de sable blond dominées par d’impressionnantes falaises sur lesquels étaient disposés en bon ordre guest-houses et petits restaurants à l’intention des visiteurs. Un site enchanteur, avec en prime, à l’heure du dîner, des couchers du soleil de toute beauté.
Sur la plage, une jeune anglaise juive, me prenant moi-même pour un juif français (elle me l’avouera plus tard) m’avait, sous un futile prétexte, abordé et invité à la rejoindre en soirée pour dîner avec ses amis israéliens, une proposition que j’ai acceptée. J’affirme ici, sur ce forum, que de toute la soirée, ils ne m’ont pas adressé la parole ! Pas une phrase, pas un mot, pas une syllabe, pas une allusion dans ma direction! Rien! Ç’en était fascinant ! Et ça m’a rappelé un épisode de la série télévisée "Cosmos 1999", où le commandant Koenig, de retour d’une excursion de routine dans l’espace, se rend compte qu’il est devenu "invisible" à ses amis de la base spatiale. Personne ne le remarque, personne ne l’entend. C’était à peu près ce qui m’arrivait là-bas, tout au long de ce dîner, sur les hauteurs de Varkala. Face à ce petit troupeau homogène, je me faisais l’effet d’un être invisible, indécelable, qui cherchait matière à exister. J’étais loin de m’en formaliser. Ayant compris, je me suis économisé et j’ai pu les observer à loisir tout en posant quelques questions à mon "hôtesse". Elle m’a expliqué par exemple que la plupart de ces garçons (entre 22 et 30 ans) étaient marqués par leurs années passées sous les drapeaux et qu’une certaine bienséance, certaines bonnes manières leur étaient devenues "naturellement" étrangères. J’ avais en face de moi des gens dont le caractère fruste et sectaire était justifié par des circonstances personnelles exceptionnelles. D'après elle également, le thème de la souffrance du peuple juif, largement exploité en Israël, contribue à les faire réagir de façon hermétique au contact de l’étranger. C’est ce moment que j’ai choisi pour lui montrer les étoiles, lui en souligner la beauté, lui énumérer les différentes constellations et lui suggérer une balade romantique qui débarrasserait de notre présence sacrilège ces jeunes gens traumatisés, leur permettant de poursuivre leur psychothérapie collective dans de meilleures conditions.
Khaldoun
Nb : Lepiaf, tu écris que les israéliens n’ont pas beaucoup de pays où aller. Je connais 25 pays (bientôt 27) qui leur accordent le droit d’aller et venir à leur guise, sans visa, un privilège refusé aux jeunes syriens, libanais, jordaniens et égyptiens voisins. Pour ce qui est des destinations "musulmanes", de nombreux israéliens vont en vacances au Maroc chaque année sans difficulté.
Je n'ai fait que rapporter ce que plusieurs interlocuteurs israéliens m'ont dit.
Le fait est que contrairement à nous français, belges, suisses et canadiens, les israéliens ne peuvent aller dans tous les pays.
J'ai vécu la même expérience en Inde avec quelques ex-soldats israéliens en vadrouille.Alors que j'avais réussi à avaler mon dégoût pour ces jeunes qui participent tout de même au malheur des Palestiniens, on m'a clairement fait comprendre que je n'étais qu'une pauvre "goy"(sic!) probablement antisémite et qui ne comprenait rien à rien.L'un d'eux a même ajouté qu'ils étaient les "élus" et que tous les peuples qui se sont dressés contre le sien au cours des siècles ont disparu.J'ai fait remarqué que les descendants des Romains et des Grecs existaient bien et qu'à ma connaissance Israel n'avait même pas encore soixante ans.
Pas la peine de préciser que j'ai jeté le froid quand j'ai ajouté que sous Israel il y avait la Palestine.J'ai été boycottée sur le champ.Drôles de gus quand même.
C'est ce qui peut arriver quand on va draguer une bande de beaux mecs bronzés et musclés sur une plage ! 😎
Tu aurais mieux fais d'aller visiter des temples ! 😇
Plus sérieusement, puisqu'il y a des a priori profonds de ton côté et du leur, cela ne sert à rien de discuter, dans ce cas là, chacun reste et restera toujours sur ses positions.
Voyager et rencontrer des gens, c'est aussi s'apercevoir du fossé d' incompréhension qui sépare parfois les peuples dont les mentalités sont parfois très différentes.
Tu aurais mieux fais d'aller visiter des temples ! 😇
Plus sérieusement, puisqu'il y a des a priori profonds de ton côté et du leur, cela ne sert à rien de discuter, dans ce cas là, chacun reste et restera toujours sur ses positions.
Voyager et rencontrer des gens, c'est aussi s'apercevoir du fossé d' incompréhension qui sépare parfois les peuples dont les mentalités sont parfois très différentes.
Ben
Voyager et rencontrer des gens, c'est aussi s'apercevoir du fossé d' incompréhension qui sépare parfois les peuples dont les mentalités sont parfois très différentes.
Ben..... non, voyager et rencontrer des gens, c'est surtout, comme participer à un forum d'ailleurs, faire évoluer ses idées, créer des ponts vers l'autre si le fossé ne peut être comblé. C'est se rapprocher au lieu de camper sur ces positions..... Faire tomber le mur de ses oreilles.....
Ben..... non, voyager et rencontrer des gens, c'est surtout, comme participer à un forum d'ailleurs, faire évoluer ses idées, créer des ponts vers l'autre si le fossé ne peut être comblé. C'est se rapprocher au lieu de camper sur ces positions..... Faire tomber le mur de ses oreilles.....
Catherine
" La lucidité est la blessure la plus proche du soleil" René Char
http://www.catherinegil.com
http://www.catherinegil.com
Je te laisse libre de tes supputations un brin mysogines.Les "à-prioris profonds", tu en es plein apparemment...
Maintenant si tu appelles une "différence de mentalité", le fait de pratiquer le racisme et l'enfermement sur soi, oui en effet c'est une grosse différence entre ces gens-là et moi...😉
C'est ce qui peut arriver quand on va draguer une bande de beaux mecs bronzés et musclés sur une plage ! 😎
Tu aurais mieux fais d'aller visiter des temples !
Plus sérieusement, puisqu'il y a des a priori profonds de ton côté et du leur, cela ne sert à rien de discuter, dans ce cas là, chacun reste et restera toujours sur ses positions.
Voyager et rencontrer des gens, c'est aussi s'apercevoir du fossé d' incompréhension qui sépare parfois les peuples dont les mentalités sont parfois très différentes.
C'est ce qui peut arriver quand on va draguer une bande de beaux mecs bronzés et musclés sur une plage ! 😎
Tu aurais mieux fais d'aller visiter des temples !

Plus sérieusement, puisqu'il y a des a priori profonds de ton côté et du leur, cela ne sert à rien de discuter, dans ce cas là, chacun reste et restera toujours sur ses positions.
Voyager et rencontrer des gens, c'est aussi s'apercevoir du fossé d' incompréhension qui sépare parfois les peuples dont les mentalités sont parfois très différentes.
Ben..... non, voyager et rencontrer des gens, c'est surtout, comme participer à un forum d'ailleurs, faire évoluer ses idées, créer des ponts vers l'autre si le fossé ne peut être comblé. C'est se rapprocher au lieu de camper sur ces positions..... Faire tomber le mur de ses oreilles.....
C'est bien entendu dans ce but là que nous voyageons, et le plus souvent, nous parvenons à obtenir ce résultat positif.
Malheureusement, ce n'est pas toujours le cas, et l'homme étant ce qu'il est, on parvient aussi parfois au résultat que j'ai évoqué. A un triste constat, donc. Plus souvent dans certains pays que dans d'autres, c'est vrai. Mais parlez un peu de la shoah avec le tres bon ami arabe que vous venez de vous faire, qui vous a invité chez lui au sein de sa famille. Il est malheureusement possible, voire probable que ce que vous entendiez vous brise le coeur.
de même essayez de parler des kurdes ou de l'armenie à votre ami turc issu des couches populaires
parlez des albanais à votre amis grec
parles des tsigagnes à votre ami roumain
parlez des palestiniens à votre ami israelien qui vote à droite
etc etc etc (malheureusement à l'infini)
de même essayez de parler des kurdes ou de l'armenie à votre ami turc issu des couches populaires
parlez des albanais à votre amis grec
parles des tsigagnes à votre ami roumain
parlez des palestiniens à votre ami israelien qui vote à droite
etc etc etc (malheureusement à l'infini)
Ben
😛, Mon p'tit Aristo, le tout n'est pas de parler, regardes le résultat lorsque tu "parles" aux ou des femmes.....😕
Il faut aussi savoir écouter.
Je parlais de ces oreilles qui ont des murs pas des langues qui ont un boeuf.....bien que, évidement, lorsqu'on cumule tout devient plus difficile......😕
Je parlais de ces oreilles qui ont des murs pas des langues qui ont un boeuf.....bien que, évidement, lorsqu'on cumule tout devient plus difficile......😕
Catherine
" La lucidité est la blessure la plus proche du soleil" René Char
http://www.catherinegil.com
http://www.catherinegil.com
Ecouter seulement son interlocuteur, c'est avoir une vision tronquée de celui-ci. Il faut également l'interroger. Pour le connaître plainement. A condition de le vouloir !
Certes, on ne froissera jamais son interlocuteur en l'écoutant uniquement. On ne posant pas certaines questions.
Reste à savoir pourquoi on discute. Pour écouter ce qu'on veut bien nous dire ou pour connaître réellement l'autre.
C'est une question de choix, respectables.
Par ailleurs, ne dis pas "lorsque tu parles aux ou des femmes" mais "à certaines femmes" ! Attention, ne généralise pas ! Toutes les voyageuses ne vont pas draguer les groupes de beaux garçons qui se font bronzer sur la plage 😏
Certes, on ne froissera jamais son interlocuteur en l'écoutant uniquement. On ne posant pas certaines questions.
Reste à savoir pourquoi on discute. Pour écouter ce qu'on veut bien nous dire ou pour connaître réellement l'autre.
C'est une question de choix, respectables.
Par ailleurs, ne dis pas "lorsque tu parles aux ou des femmes" mais "à certaines femmes" ! Attention, ne généralise pas ! Toutes les voyageuses ne vont pas draguer les groupes de beaux garçons qui se font bronzer sur la plage 😏
Ben
plainement
Pleinement, sans vouloir te froisser.
Pleinement, sans vouloir te froisser.
Ecouter seulement son interlocuteur, c'est avoir une vision tronquée de celui-ci. Il faut également l'interroger. Pour le connaître plainement. A condition de le vouloir !
Certes, on ne froissera jamais son interlocuteur en l'écoutant uniquement. On ne posant pas certaines questions.
Reste à savoir pourquoi on discute. Pour écouter ce qu'on veut bien nous dire ou pour connaître réellement l'autre.
C'est une question de choix, respectables.
Par ailleurs, ne dis pas "lorsque tu parles aux ou des femmes" mais "à certaines femmes" ! Attention, ne généralise pas ! Toutes les voyageuses ne vont pas draguer les groupes de beaux garçons qui se font bronzer sur la plage 😏
Pleinement => de plein et pas de plaine évidemment
Qui est-ce qui généralise ? sous entendu "tu" . Généraliser er , est un verbe du premier groupe comme chanter ou parler. Je te laisse en tirer les conclusions qui s'imposent. Qui est ce qui laisse ? "Je" à qui à "tu" 😛
Pour le reste, tu me fatigues . Vraiment !😕
Certes, on ne froissera jamais son interlocuteur en l'écoutant uniquement. On ne posant pas certaines questions.
Reste à savoir pourquoi on discute. Pour écouter ce qu'on veut bien nous dire ou pour connaître réellement l'autre.
C'est une question de choix, respectables.
Par ailleurs, ne dis pas "lorsque tu parles aux ou des femmes" mais "à certaines femmes" ! Attention, ne généralise pas ! Toutes les voyageuses ne vont pas draguer les groupes de beaux garçons qui se font bronzer sur la plage 😏
Pleinement => de plein et pas de plaine évidemment
Qui est-ce qui généralise ? sous entendu "tu" . Généraliser er , est un verbe du premier groupe comme chanter ou parler. Je te laisse en tirer les conclusions qui s'imposent. Qui est ce qui laisse ? "Je" à qui à "tu" 😛
Pour le reste, tu me fatigues . Vraiment !😕
Catherine
" La lucidité est la blessure la plus proche du soleil" René Char
http://www.catherinegil.com
http://www.catherinegil.com
"Généraliser er , est un verbe du premier groupe comme chanter ou parler. Je te laisse en tirer les conclusions qui s'imposent."
🤪 ? Tu veux lui faire mettre un "s" à l'impératif d'un verbe du premier groupe ?....
Michel
🤪 ? Tu veux lui faire mettre un "s" à l'impératif d'un verbe du premier groupe ?....
Michel
😎
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Day 1 – February 14
We all have two lives. And the second one kicks off the day you realize you only have one, with the determination to spend the time you have left on what truly adds sparkle to your life, Kevin! I like to elegantly introduce a trip with a philosophical quote. First, it gives you the illusion that I’m some kind of deep thinker, and second, it lets me fill up the first few lines of my blank page when I don’t know how to tell you I’m diving back into what really lights up my life: another adventure beyond the horizon! And nearly every other year, like a toxic relationship, my horizon tends to take shape in Uncle Sam’s backyard. And this, despite his cousin Donald calling the shots. Speaking of which, it was partly that impulsive guy who pushed us to be just as impulsive and snag our four flight tickets at a ridiculously low price—a direct result of foreign tourism taking a hit from BetaMax’s repeated antics... Four tickets? Who are the other lucky ones? In this case, our lucky ones are actually lucky ladies: My Flo, always up for exploring the world with me on foot, camelback, or scooter, is obviously in on the fun. The other two seats went to our daughters, Sasha and Luna, both thrilled to be part of this new American adventure...
But what’s the American West like in February?... A gamble. Let’s call it Russian roulette since we’re not landing during peak weather season. That’s why we encouraged our transportation and accommodation to get cozy and produce a little camper van, so we can stay ultra-flexible in the face of any weather tantrums. We’ll be roaming in Kara the van with the motto "Follow the sun!" Bad weather? We bolt. Snow? We speed up. Sunny? We act like it was the plan all along and soak it up.
"Okay, but why keep coming back to the same corner of the globe? After ten American adventures, you must be tired of seeing the same things, right?" But I’m not crazy, you know!... The American West is like making love to your gorgeous wife over and over, always enjoying it just as much. And contrary to what you might think, the American West isn’t just the Grand Canyon, Monument Valley, Las Vegas, and Bryce Canyon. Proof is, after ten trips to the U.S., my retinas are still untouched by three-quarters of the places I scribbled on a napkin for this adventure... Oh, and add to that my wife, who I’ve easily converted to my religion, and boom... relapse is even easier! Because yes, we’ve landed in Los Angeles after a sunny flight over Greenland, still under Danish flag for now. And we’re already heading east through the XXL traffic of L.A.’s eight-lane highways, eager to dive into our first discoveries. But first, night is taking over the sky, and second, we’ve been officially awake for 24 hours, so I suggest wrapping up this intro. I’ll tell you more tomorrow morning. Sound good?


We all have two lives. And the second one kicks off the day you realize you only have one, with the determination to spend the time you have left on what truly adds sparkle to your life, Kevin! I like to elegantly introduce a trip with a philosophical quote. First, it gives you the illusion that I’m some kind of deep thinker, and second, it lets me fill up the first few lines of my blank page when I don’t know how to tell you I’m diving back into what really lights up my life: another adventure beyond the horizon! And nearly every other year, like a toxic relationship, my horizon tends to take shape in Uncle Sam’s backyard. And this, despite his cousin Donald calling the shots. Speaking of which, it was partly that impulsive guy who pushed us to be just as impulsive and snag our four flight tickets at a ridiculously low price—a direct result of foreign tourism taking a hit from BetaMax’s repeated antics... Four tickets? Who are the other lucky ones? In this case, our lucky ones are actually lucky ladies: My Flo, always up for exploring the world with me on foot, camelback, or scooter, is obviously in on the fun. The other two seats went to our daughters, Sasha and Luna, both thrilled to be part of this new American adventure...
But what’s the American West like in February?... A gamble. Let’s call it Russian roulette since we’re not landing during peak weather season. That’s why we encouraged our transportation and accommodation to get cozy and produce a little camper van, so we can stay ultra-flexible in the face of any weather tantrums. We’ll be roaming in Kara the van with the motto "Follow the sun!" Bad weather? We bolt. Snow? We speed up. Sunny? We act like it was the plan all along and soak it up.
"Okay, but why keep coming back to the same corner of the globe? After ten American adventures, you must be tired of seeing the same things, right?" But I’m not crazy, you know!... The American West is like making love to your gorgeous wife over and over, always enjoying it just as much. And contrary to what you might think, the American West isn’t just the Grand Canyon, Monument Valley, Las Vegas, and Bryce Canyon. Proof is, after ten trips to the U.S., my retinas are still untouched by three-quarters of the places I scribbled on a napkin for this adventure... Oh, and add to that my wife, who I’ve easily converted to my religion, and boom... relapse is even easier! Because yes, we’ve landed in Los Angeles after a sunny flight over Greenland, still under Danish flag for now. And we’re already heading east through the XXL traffic of L.A.’s eight-lane highways, eager to dive into our first discoveries. But first, night is taking over the sky, and second, we’ve been officially awake for 24 hours, so I suggest wrapping up this intro. I’ll tell you more tomorrow morning. Sound good?


Voilà quelques années que je désirais découvrir la Sulawesi. Mais voilà quelques péripéties, le COVID, le prix des billets, ... Bref, les années sont passées mais nous voici enfin partis en famille pour un périple de 3 semaines dans le sud de la Sulawesi : Rammang Rammang, Rantepao, Sengkang, Bira et Selayar.
J'aime rester longtemps dans les endroits que je visite, me laisser du temps pour découvrir les lieux, rencontrer des gens sur place. Du coup pas de traversée, juste le sud. Mais quand je dis juste, ce n'est en rien restrictif tant cette île est riche en paysages, en petites rencontres, moments magiques s'il en est.
Mercredi 08/07 - jeudi 09/07 : Départ de Montpellier pour 5 avions, enfin 4 tout d'abord jusqu'à Jakarta. Nous y récupérons nos bagages pour un départ le lendemain pour Makassar. C'est à cette condition que le billet était abordable (702 euros). Bon je ne vais pas vous faire le récit des avions, pas grand intérêt. Nous sommes arrivés à 7h du soir et avions hésiter à repartir dans la soirée vers Makassar. Mais on a opté pour une nuit de récupération avant de repartir. Grand bien nous a pris vu qu'il manquait la valise de mon fils... Premier contact avec la population, en mode un peu stress, un voyage sans valise c'est tout de suite moins sympa. De suite, une dame est venue nous rassurer : la valise prenait du bon temps à Singapour. Des achats de dernière minute sans doute. Bref, rien de grave, elle devrait être là le lendemain à 9h. Ça devrait passer vu que notre vol est à midi. Bon du coup, direction notre hôtel (Days hotel & suites) à côté de l'aéroport. Pas cher (40 euros les 3 chambres, mes enfants sont grands et ont besoin de leur espace), mais ça ne vaut pas plus. Il est de ces hôtels qui ont mal vieilli. Mais bon rien de grave, on est juste là pour la nuit et puis... on a pu voir la victoire de la France contre le Maroc à la coupe du monde en direct à 3h du mat. Voilà bien l'essentiel !
Vendredi 10/07 : A la recherche de la valise perdue Bon premier challenge ce matin : retrouver notre valise. On nous envoie dans le sous-sol de l'aéroport, à l'entrée des employés. Accueilli avec des sourires, me voila suivant un personnel de l'aéroport qui me fait rentrer par les sous-sols de l'aéroport pour revenir au tapis de déchargement des bagages. 9h pile, la valise arrive comme dit la veille. Nous voilà au complet ! Allez hop, changement de terminal pour prendre un repas bien mérité et notre 5ème avion direction Makassar. Petite aparté : pour trouver les vols intérieur, j'ai longtemps galéré : je voulais aller directement sur les sites des compagnies sans résultat. Alors sans faire de pub (mais un peu qd même du coup), j'ai compris qu'il serait plus simple de passer par des sites tels tiket.com ou traveloka. Ce choix s'est avéré payant, j'ai même pu réserver des hôtels durant le voyage par la suite. 12h40 : Nous voici donc en route pour Makassar. Là 1ère bonne nouvelle : on est les seuls touristes. Enfin disons on est les seuls touristes européens dans l'avion. Non non vous ne rêvez pas : le sac est rempli de ... paquets de chips. Chacun ses souvenirs après tout...

Arrivée à Makassar, un chauffeur nous attend pour nous emmener directement à Ramang Ramang : 250 000 rps (12 euros) pour nous emmener à notre guest house (Rammang Rammang house) : au diable les rencontres dans le bus. Nous voila donc arrivés au premier step de notre périple et c'est déjà magnifique.
La guest house de mes enfants :
La notre :
Vue sur le petit lac :
Bon en terme d'info, tout n'est pas si simple dans le coin. Je voulais prendre des cartes sim du pays, pour internet et le tel. Je les ai trouvées chères à l'aéroport de Jakarta (20 euros pour 20 Go). Du coup, j'ai préféré attendre. Bon ben pas à Rammang Rammang du coup. Impossible d'en acheter une au marchand du coin : il faut une boutique Telkomsat (la meilleure couverture). On attendra Rantepao pour avoir la wifi du coup... D'ailleurs quand je dis marchand, disons plutôt la cahute du coin... Rien de grave, on en trouvera facilement à Rantepao pour 5 euros les 25 Go. Nous voilà donc sans internet, juste entre nous à profiter de la vue magnifique.
Samedi 11/07 : Rammang Rammang Levés tôt avec la musique d'un mariage qui résonne dans le village (tout le monde y est invité), nous voilà parti à la découverte des alentours. Un peu de marche, un peu de bateau (partagé avec une touriste française et une polonaise, si si il y en a des touristes, peu mais il y en a, 750 000 rp jusqu'à 8 personnes) dans un canal très sympa, nous découvrons le site karstique. C'est calme et très beau. La rivière :
Le site karstique :





Mercredi 08/07 - jeudi 09/07 : Départ de Montpellier pour 5 avions, enfin 4 tout d'abord jusqu'à Jakarta. Nous y récupérons nos bagages pour un départ le lendemain pour Makassar. C'est à cette condition que le billet était abordable (702 euros). Bon je ne vais pas vous faire le récit des avions, pas grand intérêt. Nous sommes arrivés à 7h du soir et avions hésiter à repartir dans la soirée vers Makassar. Mais on a opté pour une nuit de récupération avant de repartir. Grand bien nous a pris vu qu'il manquait la valise de mon fils... Premier contact avec la population, en mode un peu stress, un voyage sans valise c'est tout de suite moins sympa. De suite, une dame est venue nous rassurer : la valise prenait du bon temps à Singapour. Des achats de dernière minute sans doute. Bref, rien de grave, elle devrait être là le lendemain à 9h. Ça devrait passer vu que notre vol est à midi. Bon du coup, direction notre hôtel (Days hotel & suites) à côté de l'aéroport. Pas cher (40 euros les 3 chambres, mes enfants sont grands et ont besoin de leur espace), mais ça ne vaut pas plus. Il est de ces hôtels qui ont mal vieilli. Mais bon rien de grave, on est juste là pour la nuit et puis... on a pu voir la victoire de la France contre le Maroc à la coupe du monde en direct à 3h du mat. Voilà bien l'essentiel !
Vendredi 10/07 : A la recherche de la valise perdue Bon premier challenge ce matin : retrouver notre valise. On nous envoie dans le sous-sol de l'aéroport, à l'entrée des employés. Accueilli avec des sourires, me voila suivant un personnel de l'aéroport qui me fait rentrer par les sous-sols de l'aéroport pour revenir au tapis de déchargement des bagages. 9h pile, la valise arrive comme dit la veille. Nous voilà au complet ! Allez hop, changement de terminal pour prendre un repas bien mérité et notre 5ème avion direction Makassar. Petite aparté : pour trouver les vols intérieur, j'ai longtemps galéré : je voulais aller directement sur les sites des compagnies sans résultat. Alors sans faire de pub (mais un peu qd même du coup), j'ai compris qu'il serait plus simple de passer par des sites tels tiket.com ou traveloka. Ce choix s'est avéré payant, j'ai même pu réserver des hôtels durant le voyage par la suite. 12h40 : Nous voici donc en route pour Makassar. Là 1ère bonne nouvelle : on est les seuls touristes. Enfin disons on est les seuls touristes européens dans l'avion. Non non vous ne rêvez pas : le sac est rempli de ... paquets de chips. Chacun ses souvenirs après tout...

Arrivée à Makassar, un chauffeur nous attend pour nous emmener directement à Ramang Ramang : 250 000 rps (12 euros) pour nous emmener à notre guest house (Rammang Rammang house) : au diable les rencontres dans le bus. Nous voila donc arrivés au premier step de notre périple et c'est déjà magnifique.
La guest house de mes enfants :

La notre :

Vue sur le petit lac :

Bon en terme d'info, tout n'est pas si simple dans le coin. Je voulais prendre des cartes sim du pays, pour internet et le tel. Je les ai trouvées chères à l'aéroport de Jakarta (20 euros pour 20 Go). Du coup, j'ai préféré attendre. Bon ben pas à Rammang Rammang du coup. Impossible d'en acheter une au marchand du coin : il faut une boutique Telkomsat (la meilleure couverture). On attendra Rantepao pour avoir la wifi du coup... D'ailleurs quand je dis marchand, disons plutôt la cahute du coin... Rien de grave, on en trouvera facilement à Rantepao pour 5 euros les 25 Go. Nous voilà donc sans internet, juste entre nous à profiter de la vue magnifique.
Samedi 11/07 : Rammang Rammang Levés tôt avec la musique d'un mariage qui résonne dans le village (tout le monde y est invité), nous voilà parti à la découverte des alentours. Un peu de marche, un peu de bateau (partagé avec une touriste française et une polonaise, si si il y en a des touristes, peu mais il y en a, 750 000 rp jusqu'à 8 personnes) dans un canal très sympa, nous découvrons le site karstique. C'est calme et très beau. La rivière :
Le site karstique :





Preamble
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.
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.
Hi everyone,
We (two adults, 74 and 70 years old) had already shared a travel journal about our first trip to the Philippines in February/March 2019 on this forum (https://voyageforum.com/v.f?post=9377175;search_string=carnet%20philippines). We had visited Manila, the Banaue rice terraces, Sagada, the Visayas (Bohol, Siquijor, Dumaguette), and on our way back to Luzon, the Taal volcano before returning to France. Delighted by this trip, organized by the French-speaking agency Alizé, we decided to further explore this beautiful country, this time focusing on Coron and Palawan.
Before writing this journal, I should mention that these are personal comments and don’t reflect any differing opinions. Without any literary or photographic talent, I’ll stick to the facts and share a few details about the visits, hotels, and restaurants.
Preparations
We decided to return in mid-January 2025 and consulted three French-speaking tour operators to create a trip based on our wishes (places to visit, type of accommodation) and budget. Comparing three operators helped us weigh their advice and make our choices. Only our first operator respected the budget, a second came close, and the third proposed a slightly more upscale trip. In the end, we chose the agency from our first trip. Our discussions helped refine our itinerary, and when we reviewed it point by point, the document provided was perfect, full of great tips. The most debated point was a 3-day, 2-night cruise between Coron and Palawan. We were tempted but worried about being the only "older" travelers among younger people and feared two uncomfortable nights. Reassured by our tour operator, we finally opted for this "exploration." We’ll come back to that later. Once the choice was made and dates set, we booked our international flights with Cathay Pacific for 750 € per person, which offers the best schedules (short layovers) at an acceptable price for flights arriving in Cebu. Our trip started on February 25 and returned to Paris on March 15.
International flights
The round-trip flights went smoothly. Cathay does the job well, without frills. The service quality seems to have slightly declined compared to our previous trips with them. Hong Kong Airport is huge but very practical. Note that not all airlines serve Cebu. Recommendation: Fill out your Philippine entry form within 72 hours before your flight. This can prevent issues with the airline (possible boarding refusal) and saves a lot of time upon arrival (see the Philippine embassy website).
Domestic flights
For our two domestic flights—Cebu to Coron and Puerto Princesa to Cebu—our tour operator chose Philippine Airlines and their propeller planes. No problems there.
Day 1: We landed around 12 PM (local time) after 17 hours of travel. A driver was waiting for us at the airport exit and took us to our hotel, intentionally chosen near the airport (Mandaue, about 10 minutes away) to help us recover and get a good night’s sleep before our early morning domestic flight the next day. The Mayoo Hotel, reasonably priced, was perfect for this. Large, beautiful room in a new building—clean, comfortable, with a spa. We could relax by the pool on the 16th floor and enjoy the city view. The breakfast was exceptional, and the staff was smiling, attentive, and helpful. An ATM in the lobby allowed for withdrawals. However, the hotel is in a neighborhood with nothing to see or do. We dined at the Korean restaurant K-GOGI across from the hotel—a real attraction and a great discovery.
Day 2: After a restful night, we were driven to the airport around 6:30 AM for an 8:10 AM flight from Cebu to Busuanga (Coron).

The flight was uneventful. Upon arrival, we paid 200 pesos per person for the Coron tourist fee before a 40-minute transfer to our hotel: Natura Resort, located outside the city in a secluded spot. The setting is stunning—a beautifully maintained tropical garden, a pleasant pool, and the option to book massages. The cottages are tropical-style with thatched roofs, simple and unpretentious.

The owner, who speaks French, told us that given the heat and our ages, climbing the 721 steps to the top of Mount Tapyas wasn’t necessary. She gave us a few rooftop recommendations to watch the sunset over Coron Bay. After a good swim in the pool and a meal at the resort’s pleasant restaurant, we hired a tricycle to go into town. We were told it costs 150 pesos one way, and depending on the return time, it could exceed 250 pesos. But our driver gave us his WhatsApp number and charged the same price regardless of the time. He just earned two days’ worth of customers. He dropped us off at the port where bangkas (local boats) gather for day trips. It was the end of the day, so there was a rush. A few shops around the port sold waterproof bags for marine excursions at reasonable prices (compared to back home), after some bargaining. We wandered the town’s alleys looking for the Top Hotel, whose rooftop is famous. Indeed, it’s perfectly located to admire the sunset and enjoy a refreshing drink.



We dined nearby at a small Chinese restaurant, then just had to call our driver to head back. The night wasn’t entirely restful—our hotel had a soundtrack of all the countryside animals, and it seemed they had no set bedtime! :
Preparations
We decided to return in mid-January 2025 and consulted three French-speaking tour operators to create a trip based on our wishes (places to visit, type of accommodation) and budget. Comparing three operators helped us weigh their advice and make our choices. Only our first operator respected the budget, a second came close, and the third proposed a slightly more upscale trip. In the end, we chose the agency from our first trip. Our discussions helped refine our itinerary, and when we reviewed it point by point, the document provided was perfect, full of great tips. The most debated point was a 3-day, 2-night cruise between Coron and Palawan. We were tempted but worried about being the only "older" travelers among younger people and feared two uncomfortable nights. Reassured by our tour operator, we finally opted for this "exploration." We’ll come back to that later. Once the choice was made and dates set, we booked our international flights with Cathay Pacific for 750 € per person, which offers the best schedules (short layovers) at an acceptable price for flights arriving in Cebu. Our trip started on February 25 and returned to Paris on March 15.
International flights
The round-trip flights went smoothly. Cathay does the job well, without frills. The service quality seems to have slightly declined compared to our previous trips with them. Hong Kong Airport is huge but very practical. Note that not all airlines serve Cebu. Recommendation: Fill out your Philippine entry form within 72 hours before your flight. This can prevent issues with the airline (possible boarding refusal) and saves a lot of time upon arrival (see the Philippine embassy website).
Domestic flights
For our two domestic flights—Cebu to Coron and Puerto Princesa to Cebu—our tour operator chose Philippine Airlines and their propeller planes. No problems there.
Day 1: We landed around 12 PM (local time) after 17 hours of travel. A driver was waiting for us at the airport exit and took us to our hotel, intentionally chosen near the airport (Mandaue, about 10 minutes away) to help us recover and get a good night’s sleep before our early morning domestic flight the next day. The Mayoo Hotel, reasonably priced, was perfect for this. Large, beautiful room in a new building—clean, comfortable, with a spa. We could relax by the pool on the 16th floor and enjoy the city view. The breakfast was exceptional, and the staff was smiling, attentive, and helpful. An ATM in the lobby allowed for withdrawals. However, the hotel is in a neighborhood with nothing to see or do. We dined at the Korean restaurant K-GOGI across from the hotel—a real attraction and a great discovery.
Day 2: After a restful night, we were driven to the airport around 6:30 AM for an 8:10 AM flight from Cebu to Busuanga (Coron).

The flight was uneventful. Upon arrival, we paid 200 pesos per person for the Coron tourist fee before a 40-minute transfer to our hotel: Natura Resort, located outside the city in a secluded spot. The setting is stunning—a beautifully maintained tropical garden, a pleasant pool, and the option to book massages. The cottages are tropical-style with thatched roofs, simple and unpretentious.

The owner, who speaks French, told us that given the heat and our ages, climbing the 721 steps to the top of Mount Tapyas wasn’t necessary. She gave us a few rooftop recommendations to watch the sunset over Coron Bay. After a good swim in the pool and a meal at the resort’s pleasant restaurant, we hired a tricycle to go into town. We were told it costs 150 pesos one way, and depending on the return time, it could exceed 250 pesos. But our driver gave us his WhatsApp number and charged the same price regardless of the time. He just earned two days’ worth of customers. He dropped us off at the port where bangkas (local boats) gather for day trips. It was the end of the day, so there was a rush. A few shops around the port sold waterproof bags for marine excursions at reasonable prices (compared to back home), after some bargaining. We wandered the town’s alleys looking for the Top Hotel, whose rooftop is famous. Indeed, it’s perfectly located to admire the sunset and enjoy a refreshing drink.



We dined nearby at a small Chinese restaurant, then just had to call our driver to head back. The night wasn’t entirely restful—our hotel had a soundtrack of all the countryside animals, and it seemed they had no set bedtime! :
Preamble
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 considered 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 out of curiosity than deep interest. From a distance and with a social judgment I acknowledge (it’s not great, but not entirely wrong), I had the image of a destination for party-goers flocking to the sun with no interest in local culture, 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 in the archipelago to see which ones might appeal to us the most. It was La Gomera, the third smallest island in 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 the rest might suggest, I’m not at all addicted to AI, but I use it from time to time to synthesize quick research or just experimentally. 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 family trip. The tool answered first with... La Gomera. So, I tested it and teased it a bit to see if the suggestion was solidly grounded, as the method sometimes makes it contradict itself. But no luck: “You’d appreciate the wild nature of El Hierro, but with family, you’d 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 La Gomera, “you can see it all 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 her parents had just been 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 see 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 in the Canaries is 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 there seemed to be plenty to see in La Gomera due to its very unique culture. After all, we read that some people spend several months a year there, while others never even leave... Finally, these landscapes and this atmosphere, which seemed to us like 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 in the Canaries since La Graciosa was recently recognized as a fully inhabited island. It’s roughly round, 20 to 25 kilometers in diameter, and has just over 20,000 inhabitants, half of whom live 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 in red and black rocky landscapes. Geological activity has shaped the sprawling massifs that end in steep cliffs plunging into the ocean, creating six coastal valleys with tropical vegetation that have fostered human activity. They divide the island like slices of a cake; starting from the north and moving 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 beachside Valle Gran Rey. These make up the six municipalities (more like cantons to our French sensibilities) of the territory.
The large solidified magma massifs that form the heart of the island have created a large depression more protected from the sun at its center, allowing the growth of a vast laurisilva, a forest mainly composed of laurels, now grouped within the Garajonay National Park, La Gomera’s green lung, which has earned it the status of a UNESCO World Biosphere Reserve. Its distinctly European appearance contrasts sharply with the rocky and tropical landscapes of the rest of the island. Thus, the climate varies greatly from one part of the island to another: in summer, you can quickly go from a dry, sunny valley at 35°C to a humid forest area at 18°C in the highlands.
La Gomera was populated late. As with the rest of the Canaries, human presence likely began 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 conquest 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 that are still very palpable in Gomeran culture today. It’s in La Gomera, however, that the remnants of Guanche culture seem to have left the most traces—in language, gastronomy, social practices... Moreover, most Gomeros, especially in remote villages, have a distinct and identifiable look and proudly claim their ancestral roots, even making La Gomera seem a bit exotic to other Canarians.
Maybe that’s why it never really wanted to develop its tourist infrastructure too much. If you set aside the tourists who visit for the day by bus or boat from Tenerife on a marked itinerary (and whom you ultimately encounter rarely), 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 aren’t looking for overly developed coastlines. Tourism is therefore limited. Roughly speaking, you’ll find mostly 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 imprint is clearly noticeable in some places—it’s said to be Angela Merkel’s favorite holiday spot), and quite a few French. The presence of other nationalities seemed negligible. Most travelers come mainly for hiking, but it’s also a prime spot for whale watching. Additionally, the beach resorts of La Gomera—San Sebastián, Santiago, and especially Valle Gran Rey—are famously popular with hippies, especially German ones, ranging from chic boho hippies to old-school vagabonds who’ve been there for decades, much like those you’d find in Goa, Rishikesh, or Paharganj in India. As a result, 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 one checked bag and three seats reserved side by side. - We chose two bases to explore the island: one week in Valle Gran Rey, known as the most pleasant of the three beach resorts, and one week in Hermigua, which is 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 Baleària Canarias, including discounts for children aged 4 and 12, though 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 Cicar agency 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 guides on the Canaries, as there’s little information on La Gomera, but we used the very comprehensive travel guide published by the Canary Islands Tourism Board, a real goldmine of almost exhaustive information on the island.
Alright, off we go for 16 days of adventure discovering La Gomera!

And we start the trip with music!
We start the trip with music!
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 considered 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 out of curiosity than deep interest. From a distance and with a social judgment I acknowledge (it’s not great, but not entirely wrong), I had the image of a destination for party-goers flocking to the sun with no interest in local culture, 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 in the archipelago to see which ones might appeal to us the most. It was La Gomera, the third smallest island in 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 the rest might suggest, I’m not at all addicted to AI, but I use it from time to time to synthesize quick research or just experimentally. 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 family trip. The tool answered first with... La Gomera. So, I tested it and teased it a bit to see if the suggestion was solidly grounded, as the method sometimes makes it contradict itself. But no luck: “You’d appreciate the wild nature of El Hierro, but with family, you’d 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 La Gomera, “you can see it all 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 her parents had just been 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 see 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 in the Canaries is 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 there seemed to be plenty to see in La Gomera due to its very unique culture. After all, we read that some people spend several months a year there, while others never even leave... Finally, these landscapes and this atmosphere, which seemed to us like 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 in the Canaries since La Graciosa was recently recognized as a fully inhabited island. It’s roughly round, 20 to 25 kilometers in diameter, and has just over 20,000 inhabitants, half of whom live 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 in red and black rocky landscapes. Geological activity has shaped the sprawling massifs that end in steep cliffs plunging into the ocean, creating six coastal valleys with tropical vegetation that have fostered human activity. They divide the island like slices of a cake; starting from the north and moving 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 beachside Valle Gran Rey. These make up the six municipalities (more like cantons to our French sensibilities) of the territory.
The large solidified magma massifs that form the heart of the island have created a large depression more protected from the sun at its center, allowing the growth of a vast laurisilva, a forest mainly composed of laurels, now grouped within the Garajonay National Park, La Gomera’s green lung, which has earned it the status of a UNESCO World Biosphere Reserve. Its distinctly European appearance contrasts sharply with the rocky and tropical landscapes of the rest of the island. Thus, the climate varies greatly from one part of the island to another: in summer, you can quickly go from a dry, sunny valley at 35°C to a humid forest area at 18°C in the highlands.La Gomera was populated late. As with the rest of the Canaries, human presence likely began 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 conquest 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 that are still very palpable in Gomeran culture today. It’s in La Gomera, however, that the remnants of Guanche culture seem to have left the most traces—in language, gastronomy, social practices... Moreover, most Gomeros, especially in remote villages, have a distinct and identifiable look and proudly claim their ancestral roots, even making La Gomera seem a bit exotic to other Canarians.
Maybe that’s why it never really wanted to develop its tourist infrastructure too much. If you set aside the tourists who visit for the day by bus or boat from Tenerife on a marked itinerary (and whom you ultimately encounter rarely), 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 aren’t looking for overly developed coastlines. Tourism is therefore limited. Roughly speaking, you’ll find mostly 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 imprint is clearly noticeable in some places—it’s said to be Angela Merkel’s favorite holiday spot), and quite a few French. The presence of other nationalities seemed negligible. Most travelers come mainly for hiking, but it’s also a prime spot for whale watching. Additionally, the beach resorts of La Gomera—San Sebastián, Santiago, and especially Valle Gran Rey—are famously popular with hippies, especially German ones, ranging from chic boho hippies to old-school vagabonds who’ve been there for decades, much like those you’d find in Goa, Rishikesh, or Paharganj in India. As a result, 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 one checked bag and three seats reserved side by side. - We chose two bases to explore the island: one week in Valle Gran Rey, known as the most pleasant of the three beach resorts, and one week in Hermigua, which is 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 Baleària Canarias, including discounts for children aged 4 and 12, though 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 Cicar agency 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 guides on the Canaries, as there’s little information on La Gomera, but we used the very comprehensive travel guide published by the Canary Islands Tourism Board, a real goldmine of almost exhaustive information on the island.
Alright, off we go for 16 days of adventure discovering La Gomera!

And we start the trip with music!
We start the trip with music!
You can post your personal photos in the following thread: https://voyageforum.com/forum/quelque-part-en-thailande-d10655574/
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 a year at most in Thailand, and I’m no great expert. 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 deliver a puzzle, mainly for those who want to get an idea of the country here and for those who feel nostalgic about 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 guardians 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 yard. Be careful at night, and be careful when they’re in packs. It sometimes crosses our minds that Thailand isn’t all that 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? 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 full of holes for years.
You’ll often see dogs sleeping on the roadside, sometimes right on the road. When you approach, they move aside nonchalantly—or not at all. It’s less funny when they suddenly appear from thick vegetation, reminding 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. When you see a small pack roaming freely in the countryside, you think twice about running into them at the edge of a field. A darker side of this is that euthanasia isn’t often practiced. Twice, we saw dogs at death’s door in temples, enduring terrible suffering with no one to help. The image (and the smell) of one of them, agonizing and exuding 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 animal, well-fed, quickly became a happy and 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 there 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 just for fun—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.
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 a year at most in Thailand, and I’m no great expert. 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 deliver a puzzle, mainly for those who want to get an idea of the country here and for those who feel nostalgic about 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 guardians 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 yard. Be careful at night, and be careful when they’re in packs. It sometimes crosses our minds that Thailand isn’t all that 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? 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 full of holes for years.
You’ll often see dogs sleeping on the roadside, sometimes right on the road. When you approach, they move aside nonchalantly—or not at all. It’s less funny when they suddenly appear from thick vegetation, reminding 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. When you see a small pack roaming freely in the countryside, you think twice about running into them at the edge of a field. A darker side of this is that euthanasia isn’t often practiced. Twice, we saw dogs at death’s door in temples, enduring terrible suffering with no one to help. The image (and the smell) of one of them, agonizing and exuding 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 animal, well-fed, quickly became a happy and 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 there 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 just for fun—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.
This trip had been on my mind for about fifteen years.
But the discomfort of overnight stays, the difficulty of communication, and the prices of the few car rental options kept making me postpone the project.
And then, everything suddenly fell into place—I told myself, it’s time!
The preparations took longer than usual; the destination is still far from mainstream.
A bit of Kazakhstan? Not in the end.
The south or not the south? Yes, in the end.
Pre-book or go with the flow? Only two stops were a leap into the unknown.
To help me find the ideal route, I made great use of this forum (thanks to everyone for patiently answering my questions!), pored over travel journals and blogs (Christian, Jeff), zoomed in on Google Maps and Yandex, and bought the guide published by OunTravela about this destination (the guide has been updated since).
---/---
You’ve got your passport, international driver’s license, bank cards, and euros?
Off we go to Lyon—just one night left before our early morning flight.
Tomorrow night, we’ll be sleeping in Bishkek! (Steak for my partner’s mischievous nephews...)

You’ll find here a post with some practical information.
And here, the version of the travel journal without comments.
---/---
As a supplement, the route track. Not necessarily ultra-accurate since Google has serious gaps for this destination...
From Bishkek to Karakol:

From Karakol to Kochkor:

From Kochkor to Baetov:

From Baetov to Kara-Köl:

From Kara-Köl to Bishkek:


But the discomfort of overnight stays, the difficulty of communication, and the prices of the few car rental options kept making me postpone the project.
And then, everything suddenly fell into place—I told myself, it’s time!
The preparations took longer than usual; the destination is still far from mainstream.
A bit of Kazakhstan? Not in the end.
The south or not the south? Yes, in the end.
Pre-book or go with the flow? Only two stops were a leap into the unknown.
To help me find the ideal route, I made great use of this forum (thanks to everyone for patiently answering my questions!), pored over travel journals and blogs (Christian, Jeff), zoomed in on Google Maps and Yandex, and bought the guide published by OunTravela about this destination (the guide has been updated since).
---/---
You’ve got your passport, international driver’s license, bank cards, and euros?
Off we go to Lyon—just one night left before our early morning flight.
Tomorrow night, we’ll be sleeping in Bishkek! (Steak for my partner’s mischievous nephews...)

You’ll find here a post with some practical information.
And here, the version of the travel journal without comments.
---/---
As a supplement, the route track. Not necessarily ultra-accurate since Google has serious gaps for this destination...
From Bishkek to Karakol:

From Karakol to Kochkor:

From Kochkor to Baetov:

From Baetov to Kara-Köl:

From Kara-Köl to Bishkek:


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
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
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
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
From Southern Shikoku, between land and sea, to the blue waters of Miyakojima and finally Tokyo’s megacity
Hi everyone,
I have to admit, I really hesitated before deciding to write this travel journal... Writing one takes a lot of time and energy, and since this is my 4th trip, I wondered if it would even interest anyone other than myself (both for the discovery and the writing). But after a few people asked, "Are you going to write a journal?" and especially after rediscovering the joy of reading other travelers’ journals about Japan or elsewhere on this forum, I’ve decided to share my 4th installment in the Land of the Rising Sun here.
The itinerary: 27 full days, from late May to late June 2025, right in the middle of the rainy season, including:
-->13 days in Shikoku, from Kochi (Kochi Prefecture) to Matsuyama (Ehime Prefecture)

-->7 days in Miyakojima (Okinawa Prefecture)

-->7 days in Tokyo

The trip was decided on fairly last-minute again this year.
Since I regularly check flight prices to track fluctuations for this destination even without concrete plans, stumbling upon a slightly cheaper direct flight (900 €) than what I’d seen in previous months (around 1,200–1,400 € on average) for a Paris-Tokyo route with Japanese airline ANA was too tempting to resist the urge to return to this enchanting country. After much hesitation between exploring the San’in region (Matsue, Tottori, Yamaguchi) and Southern Shikoku, the decision was made—I took the plunge! The ticket is booked: Paris to Kochi with a layover in Tokyo, all with ANA, the airline I’d been dreaming of... for 1,120 € per person. Okay, it’s not cheap, but it’s better than in 2023.
Departure in 2 weeks! Now I just have to get everything ready!
Intense prep work over these next 2 weeks to:
finalize a more precise itinerary and reach an agreement—yep, because even though we both love Japan, our preferences differ slightly, and we have to choose between exploring new places or revisiting beloved spots... decide how much time to spend in each area without rushing while still exploring research places that might interest us and watch videos about Japan book accommodations: yes, it’s possible to do this on the spot, but last year, we realized that last-minute options were pretty expensive, so we’re booking ahead—though we’ll keep a few options open in case better deals pop up later reserve rental cars order yen check the weather regularly and wonder if choosing the *tsuyu* (rainy season) was really a good idea—are we going to be drenched the whole time???
"What hard work," you might say! Going to Japan for a month—what a tough life! Despite this being my 4th trip, the excitement is just as intense as the first time.
The only small downside is that when we booked the flight, there weren’t many seats left, so we’re only sitting together on the international return flight. Plus, on the way there, we have middle seats. Another lingering question: what French-language films will be available? According to the internet, the selection seems limited. Oh well, these are just minor details—it’s already time to fly! PS: I’ll be posting slowly and irregularly... so for those interested, be patient, and maybe set an alert...
Hi everyone,
I have to admit, I really hesitated before deciding to write this travel journal... Writing one takes a lot of time and energy, and since this is my 4th trip, I wondered if it would even interest anyone other than myself (both for the discovery and the writing). But after a few people asked, "Are you going to write a journal?" and especially after rediscovering the joy of reading other travelers’ journals about Japan or elsewhere on this forum, I’ve decided to share my 4th installment in the Land of the Rising Sun here.
The itinerary: 27 full days, from late May to late June 2025, right in the middle of the rainy season, including:
-->13 days in Shikoku, from Kochi (Kochi Prefecture) to Matsuyama (Ehime Prefecture)

-->7 days in Miyakojima (Okinawa Prefecture)

-->7 days in Tokyo

The trip was decided on fairly last-minute again this year.
Since I regularly check flight prices to track fluctuations for this destination even without concrete plans, stumbling upon a slightly cheaper direct flight (900 €) than what I’d seen in previous months (around 1,200–1,400 € on average) for a Paris-Tokyo route with Japanese airline ANA was too tempting to resist the urge to return to this enchanting country. After much hesitation between exploring the San’in region (Matsue, Tottori, Yamaguchi) and Southern Shikoku, the decision was made—I took the plunge! The ticket is booked: Paris to Kochi with a layover in Tokyo, all with ANA, the airline I’d been dreaming of... for 1,120 € per person. Okay, it’s not cheap, but it’s better than in 2023.
Departure in 2 weeks! Now I just have to get everything ready!
Intense prep work over these next 2 weeks to:
finalize a more precise itinerary and reach an agreement—yep, because even though we both love Japan, our preferences differ slightly, and we have to choose between exploring new places or revisiting beloved spots... decide how much time to spend in each area without rushing while still exploring research places that might interest us and watch videos about Japan book accommodations: yes, it’s possible to do this on the spot, but last year, we realized that last-minute options were pretty expensive, so we’re booking ahead—though we’ll keep a few options open in case better deals pop up later reserve rental cars order yen check the weather regularly and wonder if choosing the *tsuyu* (rainy season) was really a good idea—are we going to be drenched the whole time???
"What hard work," you might say! Going to Japan for a month—what a tough life! Despite this being my 4th trip, the excitement is just as intense as the first time.
The only small downside is that when we booked the flight, there weren’t many seats left, so we’re only sitting together on the international return flight. Plus, on the way there, we have middle seats. Another lingering question: what French-language films will be available? According to the internet, the selection seems limited. Oh well, these are just minor details—it’s already time to fly! PS: I’ll be posting slowly and irregularly... so for those interested, be patient, and maybe set an alert...
Hi everyone!
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!
A little sneak peek?
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!
A little sneak peek?15 days across Gran Canaria, El Hierro, and a dash of Tenerife under the storm Thérèse!
The planned itinerary will be slightly disrupted...
(The version without discussions is here)
The planned itinerary will be slightly disrupted...
(The version without discussions is here)
This travel journal summarizes a trip I took in March to Argentine and Chilean Patagonia. It starts in El Calafate and ends in Ushuaia. During my planning, I considered looking into the Australis cruise from Punta Arenas to Ushuaia, as well as the W trek in Torres del Paine National Park. In both cases, I was put off by the prices. Instead of the cruise, I found two interesting wildlife excursions from Punta Arenas: whale watching in the Strait of Magellan and observing king penguins in Tierra del Fuego. The journey to Ushuaia was by bus. For Torres del Paine, things were a bit confusing, so I reached out to two agencies. In the end, I went with a rental car option, overnight stays on-site, and day hikes. I shared my full itinerary with the agency and ended up being taken care of by a local Argentine agency and a Chilean one.
So, here we go...
Hi everyone,
Way back when, before the internet and all that, there were Larousse encyclopedias, and in the proper names section, I came across a photo of Samarkand. Just the name made me dream. I kept it in the back of my mind for later, and last winter, I revisited the idea. Within a few weeks, I managed to plan our 16-day getaway. Oh, I didn’t do it all by myself—I used a travel agency to handle the flights, accommodations, transportation, and local guide. It was a custom trip for three people, tailored to what we wanted to do, what we wanted to see, within the time we’d chosen, at our own pace.
The main goal of the trip was to visit the three iconic cities of architectural art in Uzbekistan (just for the sheer beauty of it) and, very secondarily, to take a break with a short hike.
We left in early May, flying from Toulouse to Istanbul, then to Tashkent: - One day in Tashkent, 2 nights, - By car (6 hours) to the Fergana region: Margilan (silk and pottery), 2 nights, with a guide, - Back to Tashkent, then a flight to Khiva, 2 nights, 1 day with a guide, 1 day on our own, - Train to Bukhara (6 hours, sleeper cars), 3 nights, 1 day with a guide, 1 day on our own, - Train to Samarkand, 2 nights, 1 day with a guide, - By car to Tersak, 1 night with a local family, short hike, same guide, - By car to Shakhrisabz (Tamerlane’s hometown), then back to Samarkand, - Samarkand, 2 more nights, - Train back to Tashkent, final night, and return home.
What I took away from this Silk Road trip: - A completely safe country in May—don’t go later because of the heat, - The warm welcome and easy connection with Uzbeks, a multicultural people, - A constant puzzle with currency exchange (how much is that in euros? ) 1 € = 14,000 sums, - Logistics handled by a local agency—top-notch, - Delicious meals at a very reasonable price, - Total awe in Khiva and Samarkand (palaces, mausoleums, mosques, madrasas), - The length of the trip, which let us wander and take our time.
A few photos, but not too many—I don’t want to spoil the joy of discovery!
The main goal of the trip was to visit the three iconic cities of architectural art in Uzbekistan (just for the sheer beauty of it) and, very secondarily, to take a break with a short hike.
We left in early May, flying from Toulouse to Istanbul, then to Tashkent: - One day in Tashkent, 2 nights, - By car (6 hours) to the Fergana region: Margilan (silk and pottery), 2 nights, with a guide, - Back to Tashkent, then a flight to Khiva, 2 nights, 1 day with a guide, 1 day on our own, - Train to Bukhara (6 hours, sleeper cars), 3 nights, 1 day with a guide, 1 day on our own, - Train to Samarkand, 2 nights, 1 day with a guide, - By car to Tersak, 1 night with a local family, short hike, same guide, - By car to Shakhrisabz (Tamerlane’s hometown), then back to Samarkand, - Samarkand, 2 more nights, - Train back to Tashkent, final night, and return home.
What I took away from this Silk Road trip: - A completely safe country in May—don’t go later because of the heat, - The warm welcome and easy connection with Uzbeks, a multicultural people, - A constant puzzle with currency exchange (how much is that in euros? ) 1 € = 14,000 sums, - Logistics handled by a local agency—top-notch, - Delicious meals at a very reasonable price, - Total awe in Khiva and Samarkand (palaces, mausoleums, mosques, madrasas), - The length of the trip, which let us wander and take our time.
A few photos, but not too many—I don’t want to spoil the joy of discovery!
After a first trip to South Africa in 2009 that enchanted us, we decided to return to this part of the world this year.
Given how much I enjoy reading others' travel journals, I'm mustering up the courage to try my hand at this kind of exercise (which I'm not used to at all 😕). Thanks, of course, to everyone who answered my questions and helped finalize this trip...
So, it's decided—it'll be Southern Africa... but where, with only two weeks of vacation? Victoria Falls, which we had to cancel in 2009 due to turbulent Zimbabwean elections, was automatically back on the itinerary (yes, I know some say "the falls, meh," but I wanted to see them 😛!). We added South Luangwa and ultimately swapped Chobe and Hwange for Lesotho. We have no experience driving a 4x4, which limited our routes in both countries, especially since it's not yet the dry season... but that didn’t stop us from bringing back amazing memories.
Sunday, April 14: After a smooth flight (and even quite comfortable in BA’s brand-new 747), we land early in the morning in Johannesburg. We pick up the car (a little Micra) and off we go toward Clarens, our first stop. We get back into the swing of driving (moving over to the right—sorry, to the left—to let others pass, flashing lights, hazard signals, "thank you," "you’re welcome"...).
I was expecting a small town, but Clarens looks more like a village: a large grassy square,
a few cars,

and dirt roads as soon as you leave the main street.

Still, we found the same quality of South African B&Bs here. We stayed at Patcham Place (the little white speck in the photo above is our Micra!).

We end the afternoon with a walk around Clarens and its surroundings. No doubt about it—it’s autumn...
Monday, April 15: We set off for Lesotho on nearly deserted roads, heading toward Malealea.

We quickly cross the border at Caledon Poort, and the atmosphere changes: more people on the roadside, animals, scattered huts... and lots of traffic police! We still managed to get stopped four times! Mostly, after checking our driver’s license, it was just to chat for ten minutes or so (police aren’t like that back home!). Well, one officer wanted to fine us for not waiting for him to wave us through after I stopped at a stop sign. After some tough negotiations, he let us go 😇.
We leave the main road and find ourselves in wilder landscapes.

The road narrows until it becomes a dirt track. A short climb to the gates of paradise:
... and then it’s just a matter of descending toward Malealea.
Malealea is like a village within a village. You’ll find different types of accommodations, a canteen-style restaurant (no menu choices, but the food is great, and it’s a fun way to chat with others around big tables), and lots of activities offered in partnership with the locals. We’re shown different rondavels to choose from... we pick this one:

Simple but clean and functional, with a private bathroom. On the bed, "real" Basotho blankets.
We decided to stay two nights to have a full day there.
Tuesday, April 16: We opted for a four-hour pony trek to the waterfall—nothing difficult, everything is done at a walking pace, with just a few "slightly" steep climbs and descents where you have to trust the Basotho ponies (no worries, they’re sure-footed 😏). The landscapes are truly stunning:


We walk down to the waterfall (which isn’t anything special—it’s the trek itself that’s worth it) and take the return path...

... crossing through Malealea village again.

We spend the rest of the day exploring the area, reading in the sun, and sipping marula coffee on the bar terrace. We really loved the family atmosphere in Malealea and how the locals were involved in the activities.
Wednesday, April 17: We hit the road again toward Katse. The owner of Malealea advised us against taking our car through Theba Tseka (I know Chris did it last year around the same time, but since we’re not very adventurous, we’ll go back through Maseru and Leribe—oh well, we’ll just take the same route back from Katse).
Quick aside unrelated to the story: putting together a travel journal is taking even longer than I thought 🤪... so, the rest will come a little later...
Given how much I enjoy reading others' travel journals, I'm mustering up the courage to try my hand at this kind of exercise (which I'm not used to at all 😕). Thanks, of course, to everyone who answered my questions and helped finalize this trip...
So, it's decided—it'll be Southern Africa... but where, with only two weeks of vacation? Victoria Falls, which we had to cancel in 2009 due to turbulent Zimbabwean elections, was automatically back on the itinerary (yes, I know some say "the falls, meh," but I wanted to see them 😛!). We added South Luangwa and ultimately swapped Chobe and Hwange for Lesotho. We have no experience driving a 4x4, which limited our routes in both countries, especially since it's not yet the dry season... but that didn’t stop us from bringing back amazing memories.
Sunday, April 14: After a smooth flight (and even quite comfortable in BA’s brand-new 747), we land early in the morning in Johannesburg. We pick up the car (a little Micra) and off we go toward Clarens, our first stop. We get back into the swing of driving (moving over to the right—sorry, to the left—to let others pass, flashing lights, hazard signals, "thank you," "you’re welcome"...).
I was expecting a small town, but Clarens looks more like a village: a large grassy square,

a few cars,

and dirt roads as soon as you leave the main street.

Still, we found the same quality of South African B&Bs here. We stayed at Patcham Place (the little white speck in the photo above is our Micra!).

We end the afternoon with a walk around Clarens and its surroundings. No doubt about it—it’s autumn...

Monday, April 15: We set off for Lesotho on nearly deserted roads, heading toward Malealea.

We quickly cross the border at Caledon Poort, and the atmosphere changes: more people on the roadside, animals, scattered huts... and lots of traffic police! We still managed to get stopped four times! Mostly, after checking our driver’s license, it was just to chat for ten minutes or so (police aren’t like that back home!). Well, one officer wanted to fine us for not waiting for him to wave us through after I stopped at a stop sign. After some tough negotiations, he let us go 😇.
We leave the main road and find ourselves in wilder landscapes.

The road narrows until it becomes a dirt track. A short climb to the gates of paradise:

... and then it’s just a matter of descending toward Malealea.

Malealea is like a village within a village. You’ll find different types of accommodations, a canteen-style restaurant (no menu choices, but the food is great, and it’s a fun way to chat with others around big tables), and lots of activities offered in partnership with the locals. We’re shown different rondavels to choose from... we pick this one:

Simple but clean and functional, with a private bathroom. On the bed, "real" Basotho blankets.

We decided to stay two nights to have a full day there.
Tuesday, April 16: We opted for a four-hour pony trek to the waterfall—nothing difficult, everything is done at a walking pace, with just a few "slightly" steep climbs and descents where you have to trust the Basotho ponies (no worries, they’re sure-footed 😏). The landscapes are truly stunning:


We walk down to the waterfall (which isn’t anything special—it’s the trek itself that’s worth it) and take the return path...

... crossing through Malealea village again.

We spend the rest of the day exploring the area, reading in the sun, and sipping marula coffee on the bar terrace. We really loved the family atmosphere in Malealea and how the locals were involved in the activities.
Wednesday, April 17: We hit the road again toward Katse. The owner of Malealea advised us against taking our car through Theba Tseka (I know Chris did it last year around the same time, but since we’re not very adventurous, we’ll go back through Maseru and Leribe—oh well, we’ll just take the same route back from Katse).
Quick aside unrelated to the story: putting together a travel journal is taking even longer than I thought 🤪... so, the rest will come a little later...
The story of a trip to Morocco, from the first to the last day—otherwise, it wouldn’t have made sense...
Marrakech... then four days on foot in the desert, alone with a guide, a camel driver, and two dromedaries... and Marrakech again.
Everything mattered, even the smallest details, so this is a (very) long story.
Behind the descriptions and anecdotes, there’s emotion, intimacy, and... soul-searching.
All the things it’s strangely easier to share this way, all the things it’s strangely easier to share with people you don’t know...
I have beautiful images in my eyes, but only a few are visible—if you read carefully, you’ll understand why.
The other photos are imagined, created upon returning with souvenirs and a bit of staging.
But everything is authentic.

Since I’ve been back, sometimes at night I open my eyes and don’t know where I am... Sleepless night, starry night, night of communion, connected night... In that suspended moment, between wakefulness and sleep, which makes you so receptive... Communion with whom? Connected to what? Lila gnawa... lila de derdeba.
The desert, a solitary path. You step in, and you’re immediately in the essential...
Wednesday... My companion drops me off at Orly Ouest... There are two hours before boarding. My MP3 player turns on but that’s it. It freezes—no commands work, and nothing fixes it... Smile... A trip without music, then? And the first anchor falls away.
(Photo...) ... Passport, tickets, receipts, labels...
Nose pressed to the window for the entire flight... Descending over Marrakech, at low altitude, a pretty mosaic—shades of pink and ochre dotted with green, but also, to the right, less harmonious, aligned cubes. Housing developments under construction? A bumpy, turbulent landing—the plane circles for a long time before touching down.
Welcomed by the familiar, unchanged sound of creaking doors and seats in the little taxis. In Casablanca, it was red Simca 1000s with meters; here, they’re yellow, and you have to negotiate the price. I have no talent for that, so here’s 100 DH!
Traversed and forgotten
Marrakech... Sunny, luminous, sensual. Torn between tradition and modernity... Shimmering and fragrant, very noisy... rather polluted? On the road, horses and donkeys still mingle with vehicles... and watch out for traffic when crossing! It’s always a strategic—and athletic—adventure: at what exact moment do you sprint to the opposite sidewalk? And why aren’t any street names marked?
Afternoon on foot, heading to the Bab Doukkala bus station... A landmark: the McDonald’s, then a square with a fountain. Then turn left onto Avenue Hassan II. There’s a bus to Zagora Friday morning, but I can only buy the ticket tomorrow. On the way back to the hotel, at a kiosk on the corner, I buy *Tel Quel*, which I read with great interest online.
Thursday... Early morning, walking to Place Jemaa el-Fna, calm and almost deserted... I don’t get a good deal buying two small daggers for my kids. No talent for haggling—it takes more than charm for that... So I’ll pick the rest of my gifts at the artisan center on Avenue Mohammed V, where prices are marked, and it’s a pleasure to watch the craftsmen work... For my daughter, a satchel and earrings. The satchel smells like goat. The earrings are hand-chiseled in front of me by a very young man with nimble fingers—marvels of delicacy and fragility. Then I linger for a long time in the souk alleys. Scents of leather, thuya and cedar wood, wool and copper... Familiar smells... Childhood memories...
Dear daggers
Earrings
Back at the bus station, an unexpected change: no bus Friday morning, but a departure tonight at 8:30 PM... I have a little time before packing, so I take a long detour: Boulevard de Safi, then right onto Avenue El Mansour to the Majorelle Garden... A quiet pause. Rare plants, all kinds of cacti—smooth, fuzzy, bristling with spines... strange, squat, or stretched-out shapes. An infinite variety of greens, and that famous blue... The song of birds, the sun and shadows playing in the water basins... Time flows lazily. I write postcards—they’ll arrive long after I’m back...

Back to the hotel. Avenue El Mansour, Boulevard Zerktouni—okay, but why are the small street names never marked?!! I get a little lost...
I hope you got my MMS, because before leaving, I left something for you at the front desk...
8 PM, night has already fallen. Arriving at the bus station, and then... Then, a step back... A dense crowd, a tangle of buses... Where to go?... Rare woman, lone foreigner, backpack... I’m quickly spotted, surrounded, poorly guided... Someone with a badge finally points me to the right sidewalk. The bus isn’t there, and the sidewalk is already packed, mostly with men. Will I even get a seat?... Three young men are particularly insistent... They want to know where I’m going and why, if someone is with me, if I’m expected... I answer with a smile. A bit tricky—choosing words, staying polite while evasive... Their French is hesitant, my Arabic is more than rudimentary... Actually, I shouldn’t have tried... Their tone becomes a bit... aggressive, and their eyes light up. Uh-oh... They say they’re students, but what of?... Want to know what I think of the Quran and Allah, what I think of holy war, if I’m "for the Americans," "for the Palestinians"... Other travelers intervene... And the bus still isn’t here... The speech turns fanatical... Then, my smile freezes a little... A small wave of panic, so I send a "freaked out" MMS... (But who else could I send it to?) Then, in this dark crowd, a light dressed in white... Nabila, a young student heading to Zagora for vacation, she speaks French... She plants herself in front of them and scolds them thoroughly. I didn’t catch everything, but it worked! The three troublemakers retreat. Plus, they weren’t on the right sidewalk, and their bus is about to leave without them...
Nabila and I manage to board and sit side by side... The bus leaves two hours late. The trip is long, a bit uncomfortable, slowed by many stops—it was very cold...
Friday... A little stiff, a little dazzled, a little chilled, arriving in Zagora at dawn with the sunrise... Magical! Craving something warm... And then, a heartfelt gift—kindness and hospitality—Nabila invites me to her home. Warm welcome from her mother and siblings, not at all surprised to see me show up so early to share their breakfast! A few hours in their company... We exchange addresses, and the youngest brother, Nouamare, gives me a children’s storybook...
Noon, at *La Fibule du Draa* Lahcen Sarti, the owner... I finally put a smile and a face to an email exchange... He shows me the trek route on the map, laughs when I tell him about my night on the bus, and sends me to rest by the pool... No swimsuit, so a lounge chair and a book... A book that will accompany me into the desert and which I’ll finish in Marrakech, in the Koutoubia Garden...

Saturday, Day 1... When I wake up this morning, I know the desert sand will also absorb my blood...
Early departure for four days and three nights, alone, as I wished, with a young guide, Mohammed, and a younger camel driver, Abdou. We’ll be together 24/7, and we won’t see a soul until we reach the fixed campsite on the third evening. Everything we need is loaded onto two dromedaries. And in those baskets, there are miracles—a *Prévert*-style inventory I’ll discover bit by bit, like... a tray for glasses, a basket for bread, a sugar loaf and small glasses for tea, but... large glasses and sugar cubes for coffee, spices, oranges, vegetables, raw eggs!... That won’t break, *La Vache qui Rit*... And so many other unexpected wonders, so surprising in the middle of the desert... (*La Vache qui Rit* is the desert butter. Every morning for breakfast, it was coffee with Nido powdered milk and *kesra* with *La Vache qui Rit* and Aïcha apricot jam... A delight.)

Start of the journey, and the beginning of a long, long walk... We’ll cover 80 km in three days, crossing all kinds of landscapes until the real desert of sand and dunes... I’ll drink water from wells, eat raw vegetables, sleep on a mattress that saddles the dromedaries by day... I’ll forget all the warnings and all my hygiene references... My body will quiet its complaints. No heat, no thirst, no fatigue, no trouble of any kind... just woken by the cold every morning around 6 AM... I take off my watch. Like my companions, I’ll live by the sun’s rhythm...
Abdou leads the dromedaries, so he walks at their pace. Sometimes, we’re grouped together. Sometimes the two guides are together, and I walk behind. Sometimes we talk. Nothing is forced, no discomfort. It’s a simple, harmonious dance—one foot in front of the other, following your shadow as it turns with the sun... Each step leaves behind the useless, the cumbersome, the superfluous... Room for intimacy... Room for silence... Room for the inner self... Facing yourself... I find seashells, and with my eyes closed, I smell the sea...
... One foot in front of the other...
I take out my camera... Capacity for a hundred shots, but it’ll be 10 photos, no more. It freezes—no commands work, and nothing fixes it... Smile... A trip without photos, then? And the second anchor falls... I think of my MP3 player...
... A few photos among the ten...
Noon... Unsaddling the dromedaries, which immediately wander off in search of food. And before the meal cooked by Mohammed, the mint tea ritual, prepared by Abdou in a tiny teapot... Thick, frothy, very sweet tea... He serves it on a tray with dates, peanuts, and raisins... And it’ll be like this every day, noon and night...
We gradually get to know each other... Mohammed, 25 years old... Calm, very introspective, almost ascetic, he knows the desert well and loves it... So at ease that he’ll walk in slippers or barefoot, no matter the terrain... When I’m behind him, the advertisement on the back of his sweatshirt makes me smile... There’s a date: January 8, 2003... A little wink from life? (I have a clear memory of that day.) Abdou, barely 20, with a round, jovial face. The mint tea master... When he hands me my glass, he says "Bismillah," and I respond in kind... A joker and a foodie. Thrilled that I only eat vegetables, he’ll have double the meat!
... Abdou and his teapot...
... Mohammed...
Late afternoon, a well... Abdou waters the dromedaries, and Mohammed fills the canteens. The caps aren’t watertight, so he wedges a piece of plastic bag found in one of the baskets and screws it on top... Forget all hygiene warnings...
First night in a tent at the foot of Jebel Baní...
... Jebel
Sunday, Day 2... Crossing and ascending Jebel Baní... A mineral, lunar landscape—rocks the color of burnt bread and anthracite gray. I pick up pretty pebbles, and Mohammed finds me a fossilized stone... Lunch in a deserted nomad oasis... When we resume our walk, the wind picks up. A wind that only blows in April, violent, terrible—the *Sahli*... Swirls of sand and gravel. Where’s the sky, where’s the earth... everything is dust, everything is yellow and opaque... The gusts are so strong they make us stagger. At times, we even have to crouch to avoid falling. In the acacia forest, Abdou and the dromedaries are only a few meters ahead, yet we can’t see them... We’ll later learn that on that day, planned excursions were canceled... That a group got lost and had to be picked up by 4x4... But Mohammed has a sense of the desert. He’s calm, he guides us... so we continue, and I trust him. He wraps a *chèche* around my head—a fragile barrier against these onslaughts... We have to keep moving, and it’s difficult... But the desert has accepted me, so without resistance, I accept it... And the sand gets everywhere... in my mouth, crunching between my teeth, in my eyes, ears, and nostrils... in my hair... A fine ochre layer covers my face and body, even under my clothes. I’ve become a sand woman... Communion... Fusion with the mineral. I absorb the desert’s prodigious power, just as the desert absorbs my blood...
We walked for four hours, pushed by this furious wind, before stopping for the night under an acacia... There, we had to set up the tent, which they did with difficulty. Then we had to weigh it down... So the utensils and the mint tea tray served as shovels to cover the edges with sand. Then Abdou took care of the dromedaries, holding one of their front legs bent with a rope to keep them from wandering too far... Then we brought everything into the tent and collapsed... but not for long.
Mohammed prepared kingly meals at noon and night with the wonders in the baskets: finely chopped raw vegetable salad, vegetable tagine, soup (and not from a packet!)... Even the canned sardines were garnished with thin orange slices... After this exhausting day for all of us, I told him that bread with *La Vache qui Rit* would be enough... He looked at me with a big smile and said his evening ritual phrase: "Now, Laurence, sit down, take your time, take your book..." He pulled his sand-filled utensils from the miraculous basket, his stove, some vegetables, and made us couscous (and not from a box!), couscous he rolled between his hands... Meanwhile, Abdou took out his sand-filled teapot, his sugar loaf, the peanuts, the dates... The mint tea ritual, like every day, noon and night...
Outside, the wind keeps blowing, stirring up sand whirlwinds... So I won’t go out like the other night to brush my teeth and hair. Just a wipe on my face to remove the dust... Mohammed turns off the gas lamp, and I curl up in my sleeping bag. The dromedaries have moved closer to my side of the tent, and the moonlight stretches their shadows on the canvas. They’ve settled in and make strange noises... We fall asleep very quickly...
Monday, Day 3... My two companions are still asleep when the cold wakes me at 6 AM, like every morning... Everything seems so calm—the wind has stopped... I untie the tent door and... A pure blue sky, gradually tinted with pink and flaming orange. The sun rises before my dazzled eyes. A day of light begins: no trace of yesterday’s storm, except sand... everywhere.
So, breakfast with sand... Then we shake out everything that can be shaken, sending clouds of dust flying... Then Abdou gives the dromedaries back their fourth leg, and we continue the journey.
After the expanses of stones and shrubs on the first day, the rocky ridges of Jebel Baní, and the acacia forest on the second day, the landscape changes, softens... We arrive in the desert as you imagine it, as you dream it, as you’ve seen in thousands of photos: endless golden dunes, in harmonious hollows and curves... The desert of sand... vast, fascinating...
Last meal for the three of us... Tonight, we’ll arrive at the fixed campsite, and we won’t be alone anymore. The break stretches on... So, a little apart on the smooth sand, I write a few words... an obvious truth... entrusting a secret to the desert. In a small box, I’ll bring back some of this magical sand...
.. A secret in the desert...
Abdou grabs my notebook and draws the dunes. Mohammed draws Abdou and his dromedaries... I learn to do dishes with the contents of a single glass of water... A tiny bird lands on my bag... A bird!... in the middle of nowhere!... The dromedaries seem to relish the acacia branches, thorns and all...
Desert drawings
We set off again... The dunes are higher... Easy to climb, the desert has sensual, feminine curves. A giant’s hand would fit its reliefs like a caress on a soft, supple body... The setting sun gives the landscape colors of amber and spices, cinnamon reflections... The sand offers me pink pebbles and pieces of white quartz that sparkle... I also find a black stone... Mystery...
Pink pebbles, fossilized pebbles, sparkling pebbles, and a black stone
Late afternoon, arrival at the fixed campsite at the foot of Erg Lihoudi... The guardian, Lahcen, a whirlwind of chatter and energy, welcomes us with mint tea. He quickly pegs me: "You do yoga, right?" He tells lots of anecdotes about his "clients," ending every sentence with: "No problem! *Machi mouchkil*... *Machi mouchkil*, no problem!" Around the tents, dozens... hundreds of big black beetles swarm on the sand... As I shudder, Lahcen gently picks one up and wants to put it on my hand: "*Machi mouchkil*! It doesn’t sting!"... I hold out a hesitant palm... Despite Lahcen’s infectious enthusiasm, I don’t like this last evening. Two groups arrived by 4x4 to spend a night in the desert... Noise of engines, cameras, voices, and exclamations... An intrusion into my bubble... I keep my distance... They’ll leave very early the next morning...
Memory of beetles
Tuesday, Day 4... Standing still on a sand dune, I see both the full moon and the sun in the same sky... A luminous face-off. Magical, overwhelming... Then the moon paled, and the sun blazed brighter. It wasn’t quite night anymore, but day wasn’t far off... The Sacred, Mystical universe unfolded before me... A moment of grace that made my heart beat a little faster... Something indescribable gradually filled me, with infinite gentleness, to the depths of my soul... Facing this unlikely encounter, hesitations, reluctance, and fears seem so trivial... What are we if not fragments of this universe where everything is united... everything is connected...
Then comes the intention of a new message: "I’d love to put a face to..." But in this exchange scattered with misunderstandings, could you receive the intention without interpreting it?...
I stayed a long time on that dune, under the spell... Standing, barefoot and rooted... heart open... Receptive... in Unity between the infinitely small grain of sand and the infinitely vast universe... I hadn’t come to seek anything, yet the generous Earth offered its energy, its subtle strength to every cell of my body, and filled my soul with light... In exchange for this blood spilled on the sand over these four days?...
Give to Receive... Receive and Give... like a signed pact.
What exiled me from my life, disrupting all my bearings, drew me here... A necessary passage through space, withdrawal, and silence... for another birth?... The real desert after the symbolic desert... Pausing for a moment, as if at a crossroads. Connecting before continuing... If this path leads to the essential, then this path has a heart and will continue...
At the foot of the dune on the way down, I found a little Fatima’s hand made of beads. A gift from the desert...
Gift from the desert, good luck charm?
Mohammed and Abdou leave Erg Lihoudi with other people—our shared adventure ends here... Emotion... looks and gestures speak louder than any words... Thank you, from the bottom of my heart...
Return to Zagora in a rickety, bumpy 4x4... After the track, we cross a vast palm grove... Shimmering colors, lush vegetation, palm trees growing in wheat fields... Tender green of the ears, faded green of the fronds, all shades of green contrast with the ochre and pink stone walls... My eyes rediscover green... My eyes rediscover colors... On a narrow path, the 4x4 finds itself facing a donkey carrying three children on its back... Impossible to pass. Who will back up?... Well, roaring progress bowed to four-legged tradition: in a cloud of dust, the 4x4 reversed for several hundred meters... The donkey passed calmly... On its back, the three children waved their hands...
Noon, arrival at *La Fibule du Draa*... Smiling welcome from Lahcen. He offers me a shower—I refuse... Even if he seems a little surprised, he has the delicacy not to show it too much... Strangely, I don’t feel dirty. Yet my clothes are the same, and my body hasn’t seen a drop of water since the day I left... But I want to keep the warmth and the smell of sand on my skin... reconnecting with forgotten, instinctive, animal sensations... So, I transfer my meticulousness and civilized conditioning to my bag... I take everything out, empty it, shake it... hunting down the smallest grain of sand... Futile effort! (I still find some today...) The afternoon stretches lazily by the pool... I contemplate my pebbles and make a lovely encounter...
The Zagora-Marrakech bus leaves at 7 PM... It’s the night of the full moon, and as soon as night falls, the sky fills with stars... Points of light without beginning, without duration, without end... Tiny lights so distant and so close...
Wanting to share this moment... And with whom else? If you look up, you’re the only one seeing the same sky as me. So, the intention of another message. But in this fragile, stumbling exchange... marked by misunderstandings... could you receive the intention without interpreting it?
The trip is shorter than on the way there, but barely more comfortable. A speaker right above my seat blares music and incantations the whole way... Halfway through, the same unusual stop in a village lit up and bustling as if it were daytime (Taddart, I think...). Along the main street, the ground is checkered black and white. Butcher stalls display entire beef carcasses... Smells of smoke and grilling... People are busy... Others, seated, are eating... in the middle of the night.
Arrival in Marrakech at 2 AM. Taxi strike, no room until tonight... Uh-oh! My backpack draws attention: a car stops and offers to take me for 80 DH... Trust... Five minutes later, I push open the door of *Le Toulousain*... The guard offers to let me finish the night on one of the lobby benches. I unfold my sleeping bag and slip into the desert’s scent... No sleep. But with my eyes closed, I see the stars... You came to pick up my bulky envelope.
Wednesday... Difficult early morning... Now, I feel dirty, my clothes bother me, my shoes hurt... Craving a long hot shower, wanting to find my body, wash my hair, put on cream, do my nails, and... It’ll be a long shower... cold! The hotel is charming but a bit run-down.
Clothes from 4 days...
Afternoon on foot in the quiet Hivernage district, searching for a childhood memory that may have changed names: the *Holiday Inn* hotel... I didn’t find it, or didn’t recognize it. Long stroll in the Menara Gardens, and return to the hotel at sunset...
Thursday... Last day... Wanting to see the Marrakech Museum because the founder was a friend of my father’s... So, the familiar route: the McDonald’s, the square with the fountain, Avenue Hassan II, Bab Doukkala... but this time, I pass through the ramparts, and in the old city—sensual, charming, enchanting—I get lost, found, and lost again... I tracked down the museum and the Ben Youssef Madrasa at the end of a maze of alleys... Followed scents of mint, olives, honey, and cinnamon... Savored, moved, the same donuts as in my childhood—golden fried dough rings with a hole in the middle, tied together with a blade of grass... (I don’t remember the name...) I filled my eyes with pretty things and exchanged smiles... Received, just like that... A gift... a ring for my little finger... Someone called out to me: "Hey, gazelle," and it made me happy...
.. Still lost!...
Afternoon in the sun in the Koutoubia Gardens. I finish my book—sand falls from between the pages...
.. Started on the plane... read in the desert... finished in Marrakech...
Melancholy of the last evening... So, on the way back to the hotel, I buy *kesra* and *La Vache qui Rit*...
Long, long sleepless night... Flight in a few hours... Happy to see the ones I love again, too.
Thoughts, emotions, sensations, images... Questions... One question... So, more than reason, going over and over the question... What there is to live, it’ll have to be lived...
The desert, a solitary path... like all paths that lead to the essential...
3:30 AM, your message, read by the metallic voice of a voicemail. And you, facing physical failure, past mistakes, fear... A solitary path. Also. Like all paths that lead to the essential...

Since I’ve been back, sometimes at night I open my eyes and don’t know where I am... Sleepless night, starry night, night of communion, connected night... In that suspended moment, between wakefulness and sleep, which makes you so receptive... Communion with whom? Connected to what? Lila gnawa... lila de derdeba.
The desert, a solitary path. You step in, and you’re immediately in the essential...
Wednesday... My companion drops me off at Orly Ouest... There are two hours before boarding. My MP3 player turns on but that’s it. It freezes—no commands work, and nothing fixes it... Smile... A trip without music, then? And the first anchor falls away.
(Photo...) ... Passport, tickets, receipts, labels...
Nose pressed to the window for the entire flight... Descending over Marrakech, at low altitude, a pretty mosaic—shades of pink and ochre dotted with green, but also, to the right, less harmonious, aligned cubes. Housing developments under construction? A bumpy, turbulent landing—the plane circles for a long time before touching down.
Welcomed by the familiar, unchanged sound of creaking doors and seats in the little taxis. In Casablanca, it was red Simca 1000s with meters; here, they’re yellow, and you have to negotiate the price. I have no talent for that, so here’s 100 DH!
Traversed and forgottenMarrakech... Sunny, luminous, sensual. Torn between tradition and modernity... Shimmering and fragrant, very noisy... rather polluted? On the road, horses and donkeys still mingle with vehicles... and watch out for traffic when crossing! It’s always a strategic—and athletic—adventure: at what exact moment do you sprint to the opposite sidewalk? And why aren’t any street names marked?
Afternoon on foot, heading to the Bab Doukkala bus station... A landmark: the McDonald’s, then a square with a fountain. Then turn left onto Avenue Hassan II. There’s a bus to Zagora Friday morning, but I can only buy the ticket tomorrow. On the way back to the hotel, at a kiosk on the corner, I buy *Tel Quel*, which I read with great interest online.
Thursday... Early morning, walking to Place Jemaa el-Fna, calm and almost deserted... I don’t get a good deal buying two small daggers for my kids. No talent for haggling—it takes more than charm for that... So I’ll pick the rest of my gifts at the artisan center on Avenue Mohammed V, where prices are marked, and it’s a pleasure to watch the craftsmen work... For my daughter, a satchel and earrings. The satchel smells like goat. The earrings are hand-chiseled in front of me by a very young man with nimble fingers—marvels of delicacy and fragility. Then I linger for a long time in the souk alleys. Scents of leather, thuya and cedar wood, wool and copper... Familiar smells... Childhood memories...
Dear daggersEarrings
Back at the bus station, an unexpected change: no bus Friday morning, but a departure tonight at 8:30 PM... I have a little time before packing, so I take a long detour: Boulevard de Safi, then right onto Avenue El Mansour to the Majorelle Garden... A quiet pause. Rare plants, all kinds of cacti—smooth, fuzzy, bristling with spines... strange, squat, or stretched-out shapes. An infinite variety of greens, and that famous blue... The song of birds, the sun and shadows playing in the water basins... Time flows lazily. I write postcards—they’ll arrive long after I’m back...

Back to the hotel. Avenue El Mansour, Boulevard Zerktouni—okay, but why are the small street names never marked?!! I get a little lost...
I hope you got my MMS, because before leaving, I left something for you at the front desk...
8 PM, night has already fallen. Arriving at the bus station, and then... Then, a step back... A dense crowd, a tangle of buses... Where to go?... Rare woman, lone foreigner, backpack... I’m quickly spotted, surrounded, poorly guided... Someone with a badge finally points me to the right sidewalk. The bus isn’t there, and the sidewalk is already packed, mostly with men. Will I even get a seat?... Three young men are particularly insistent... They want to know where I’m going and why, if someone is with me, if I’m expected... I answer with a smile. A bit tricky—choosing words, staying polite while evasive... Their French is hesitant, my Arabic is more than rudimentary... Actually, I shouldn’t have tried... Their tone becomes a bit... aggressive, and their eyes light up. Uh-oh... They say they’re students, but what of?... Want to know what I think of the Quran and Allah, what I think of holy war, if I’m "for the Americans," "for the Palestinians"... Other travelers intervene... And the bus still isn’t here... The speech turns fanatical... Then, my smile freezes a little... A small wave of panic, so I send a "freaked out" MMS... (But who else could I send it to?) Then, in this dark crowd, a light dressed in white... Nabila, a young student heading to Zagora for vacation, she speaks French... She plants herself in front of them and scolds them thoroughly. I didn’t catch everything, but it worked! The three troublemakers retreat. Plus, they weren’t on the right sidewalk, and their bus is about to leave without them...
Nabila and I manage to board and sit side by side... The bus leaves two hours late. The trip is long, a bit uncomfortable, slowed by many stops—it was very cold...
Friday... A little stiff, a little dazzled, a little chilled, arriving in Zagora at dawn with the sunrise... Magical! Craving something warm... And then, a heartfelt gift—kindness and hospitality—Nabila invites me to her home. Warm welcome from her mother and siblings, not at all surprised to see me show up so early to share their breakfast! A few hours in their company... We exchange addresses, and the youngest brother, Nouamare, gives me a children’s storybook...
Noon, at *La Fibule du Draa* Lahcen Sarti, the owner... I finally put a smile and a face to an email exchange... He shows me the trek route on the map, laughs when I tell him about my night on the bus, and sends me to rest by the pool... No swimsuit, so a lounge chair and a book... A book that will accompany me into the desert and which I’ll finish in Marrakech, in the Koutoubia Garden...

Saturday, Day 1... When I wake up this morning, I know the desert sand will also absorb my blood...
Early departure for four days and three nights, alone, as I wished, with a young guide, Mohammed, and a younger camel driver, Abdou. We’ll be together 24/7, and we won’t see a soul until we reach the fixed campsite on the third evening. Everything we need is loaded onto two dromedaries. And in those baskets, there are miracles—a *Prévert*-style inventory I’ll discover bit by bit, like... a tray for glasses, a basket for bread, a sugar loaf and small glasses for tea, but... large glasses and sugar cubes for coffee, spices, oranges, vegetables, raw eggs!... That won’t break, *La Vache qui Rit*... And so many other unexpected wonders, so surprising in the middle of the desert... (*La Vache qui Rit* is the desert butter. Every morning for breakfast, it was coffee with Nido powdered milk and *kesra* with *La Vache qui Rit* and Aïcha apricot jam... A delight.)

Start of the journey, and the beginning of a long, long walk... We’ll cover 80 km in three days, crossing all kinds of landscapes until the real desert of sand and dunes... I’ll drink water from wells, eat raw vegetables, sleep on a mattress that saddles the dromedaries by day... I’ll forget all the warnings and all my hygiene references... My body will quiet its complaints. No heat, no thirst, no fatigue, no trouble of any kind... just woken by the cold every morning around 6 AM... I take off my watch. Like my companions, I’ll live by the sun’s rhythm...
Abdou leads the dromedaries, so he walks at their pace. Sometimes, we’re grouped together. Sometimes the two guides are together, and I walk behind. Sometimes we talk. Nothing is forced, no discomfort. It’s a simple, harmonious dance—one foot in front of the other, following your shadow as it turns with the sun... Each step leaves behind the useless, the cumbersome, the superfluous... Room for intimacy... Room for silence... Room for the inner self... Facing yourself... I find seashells, and with my eyes closed, I smell the sea...
... One foot in front of the other...I take out my camera... Capacity for a hundred shots, but it’ll be 10 photos, no more. It freezes—no commands work, and nothing fixes it... Smile... A trip without photos, then? And the second anchor falls... I think of my MP3 player...
... A few photos among the ten...Noon... Unsaddling the dromedaries, which immediately wander off in search of food. And before the meal cooked by Mohammed, the mint tea ritual, prepared by Abdou in a tiny teapot... Thick, frothy, very sweet tea... He serves it on a tray with dates, peanuts, and raisins... And it’ll be like this every day, noon and night...
We gradually get to know each other... Mohammed, 25 years old... Calm, very introspective, almost ascetic, he knows the desert well and loves it... So at ease that he’ll walk in slippers or barefoot, no matter the terrain... When I’m behind him, the advertisement on the back of his sweatshirt makes me smile... There’s a date: January 8, 2003... A little wink from life? (I have a clear memory of that day.) Abdou, barely 20, with a round, jovial face. The mint tea master... When he hands me my glass, he says "Bismillah," and I respond in kind... A joker and a foodie. Thrilled that I only eat vegetables, he’ll have double the meat!
... Abdou and his teapot...
... Mohammed...Late afternoon, a well... Abdou waters the dromedaries, and Mohammed fills the canteens. The caps aren’t watertight, so he wedges a piece of plastic bag found in one of the baskets and screws it on top... Forget all hygiene warnings...
First night in a tent at the foot of Jebel Baní...
... JebelSunday, Day 2... Crossing and ascending Jebel Baní... A mineral, lunar landscape—rocks the color of burnt bread and anthracite gray. I pick up pretty pebbles, and Mohammed finds me a fossilized stone... Lunch in a deserted nomad oasis... When we resume our walk, the wind picks up. A wind that only blows in April, violent, terrible—the *Sahli*... Swirls of sand and gravel. Where’s the sky, where’s the earth... everything is dust, everything is yellow and opaque... The gusts are so strong they make us stagger. At times, we even have to crouch to avoid falling. In the acacia forest, Abdou and the dromedaries are only a few meters ahead, yet we can’t see them... We’ll later learn that on that day, planned excursions were canceled... That a group got lost and had to be picked up by 4x4... But Mohammed has a sense of the desert. He’s calm, he guides us... so we continue, and I trust him. He wraps a *chèche* around my head—a fragile barrier against these onslaughts... We have to keep moving, and it’s difficult... But the desert has accepted me, so without resistance, I accept it... And the sand gets everywhere... in my mouth, crunching between my teeth, in my eyes, ears, and nostrils... in my hair... A fine ochre layer covers my face and body, even under my clothes. I’ve become a sand woman... Communion... Fusion with the mineral. I absorb the desert’s prodigious power, just as the desert absorbs my blood...
We walked for four hours, pushed by this furious wind, before stopping for the night under an acacia... There, we had to set up the tent, which they did with difficulty. Then we had to weigh it down... So the utensils and the mint tea tray served as shovels to cover the edges with sand. Then Abdou took care of the dromedaries, holding one of their front legs bent with a rope to keep them from wandering too far... Then we brought everything into the tent and collapsed... but not for long.
Mohammed prepared kingly meals at noon and night with the wonders in the baskets: finely chopped raw vegetable salad, vegetable tagine, soup (and not from a packet!)... Even the canned sardines were garnished with thin orange slices... After this exhausting day for all of us, I told him that bread with *La Vache qui Rit* would be enough... He looked at me with a big smile and said his evening ritual phrase: "Now, Laurence, sit down, take your time, take your book..." He pulled his sand-filled utensils from the miraculous basket, his stove, some vegetables, and made us couscous (and not from a box!), couscous he rolled between his hands... Meanwhile, Abdou took out his sand-filled teapot, his sugar loaf, the peanuts, the dates... The mint tea ritual, like every day, noon and night...
Outside, the wind keeps blowing, stirring up sand whirlwinds... So I won’t go out like the other night to brush my teeth and hair. Just a wipe on my face to remove the dust... Mohammed turns off the gas lamp, and I curl up in my sleeping bag. The dromedaries have moved closer to my side of the tent, and the moonlight stretches their shadows on the canvas. They’ve settled in and make strange noises... We fall asleep very quickly...
Monday, Day 3... My two companions are still asleep when the cold wakes me at 6 AM, like every morning... Everything seems so calm—the wind has stopped... I untie the tent door and... A pure blue sky, gradually tinted with pink and flaming orange. The sun rises before my dazzled eyes. A day of light begins: no trace of yesterday’s storm, except sand... everywhere.
So, breakfast with sand... Then we shake out everything that can be shaken, sending clouds of dust flying... Then Abdou gives the dromedaries back their fourth leg, and we continue the journey.
After the expanses of stones and shrubs on the first day, the rocky ridges of Jebel Baní, and the acacia forest on the second day, the landscape changes, softens... We arrive in the desert as you imagine it, as you dream it, as you’ve seen in thousands of photos: endless golden dunes, in harmonious hollows and curves... The desert of sand... vast, fascinating...
Last meal for the three of us... Tonight, we’ll arrive at the fixed campsite, and we won’t be alone anymore. The break stretches on... So, a little apart on the smooth sand, I write a few words... an obvious truth... entrusting a secret to the desert. In a small box, I’ll bring back some of this magical sand...
.. A secret in the desert...Abdou grabs my notebook and draws the dunes. Mohammed draws Abdou and his dromedaries... I learn to do dishes with the contents of a single glass of water... A tiny bird lands on my bag... A bird!... in the middle of nowhere!... The dromedaries seem to relish the acacia branches, thorns and all...
Desert drawingsWe set off again... The dunes are higher... Easy to climb, the desert has sensual, feminine curves. A giant’s hand would fit its reliefs like a caress on a soft, supple body... The setting sun gives the landscape colors of amber and spices, cinnamon reflections... The sand offers me pink pebbles and pieces of white quartz that sparkle... I also find a black stone... Mystery...
Pink pebbles, fossilized pebbles, sparkling pebbles, and a black stoneLate afternoon, arrival at the fixed campsite at the foot of Erg Lihoudi... The guardian, Lahcen, a whirlwind of chatter and energy, welcomes us with mint tea. He quickly pegs me: "You do yoga, right?" He tells lots of anecdotes about his "clients," ending every sentence with: "No problem! *Machi mouchkil*... *Machi mouchkil*, no problem!" Around the tents, dozens... hundreds of big black beetles swarm on the sand... As I shudder, Lahcen gently picks one up and wants to put it on my hand: "*Machi mouchkil*! It doesn’t sting!"... I hold out a hesitant palm... Despite Lahcen’s infectious enthusiasm, I don’t like this last evening. Two groups arrived by 4x4 to spend a night in the desert... Noise of engines, cameras, voices, and exclamations... An intrusion into my bubble... I keep my distance... They’ll leave very early the next morning...
Memory of beetlesTuesday, Day 4... Standing still on a sand dune, I see both the full moon and the sun in the same sky... A luminous face-off. Magical, overwhelming... Then the moon paled, and the sun blazed brighter. It wasn’t quite night anymore, but day wasn’t far off... The Sacred, Mystical universe unfolded before me... A moment of grace that made my heart beat a little faster... Something indescribable gradually filled me, with infinite gentleness, to the depths of my soul... Facing this unlikely encounter, hesitations, reluctance, and fears seem so trivial... What are we if not fragments of this universe where everything is united... everything is connected...
Then comes the intention of a new message: "I’d love to put a face to..." But in this exchange scattered with misunderstandings, could you receive the intention without interpreting it?...
I stayed a long time on that dune, under the spell... Standing, barefoot and rooted... heart open... Receptive... in Unity between the infinitely small grain of sand and the infinitely vast universe... I hadn’t come to seek anything, yet the generous Earth offered its energy, its subtle strength to every cell of my body, and filled my soul with light... In exchange for this blood spilled on the sand over these four days?...
Give to Receive... Receive and Give... like a signed pact.
What exiled me from my life, disrupting all my bearings, drew me here... A necessary passage through space, withdrawal, and silence... for another birth?... The real desert after the symbolic desert... Pausing for a moment, as if at a crossroads. Connecting before continuing... If this path leads to the essential, then this path has a heart and will continue...
At the foot of the dune on the way down, I found a little Fatima’s hand made of beads. A gift from the desert...
Gift from the desert, good luck charm?Mohammed and Abdou leave Erg Lihoudi with other people—our shared adventure ends here... Emotion... looks and gestures speak louder than any words... Thank you, from the bottom of my heart...
Return to Zagora in a rickety, bumpy 4x4... After the track, we cross a vast palm grove... Shimmering colors, lush vegetation, palm trees growing in wheat fields... Tender green of the ears, faded green of the fronds, all shades of green contrast with the ochre and pink stone walls... My eyes rediscover green... My eyes rediscover colors... On a narrow path, the 4x4 finds itself facing a donkey carrying three children on its back... Impossible to pass. Who will back up?... Well, roaring progress bowed to four-legged tradition: in a cloud of dust, the 4x4 reversed for several hundred meters... The donkey passed calmly... On its back, the three children waved their hands...
Noon, arrival at *La Fibule du Draa*... Smiling welcome from Lahcen. He offers me a shower—I refuse... Even if he seems a little surprised, he has the delicacy not to show it too much... Strangely, I don’t feel dirty. Yet my clothes are the same, and my body hasn’t seen a drop of water since the day I left... But I want to keep the warmth and the smell of sand on my skin... reconnecting with forgotten, instinctive, animal sensations... So, I transfer my meticulousness and civilized conditioning to my bag... I take everything out, empty it, shake it... hunting down the smallest grain of sand... Futile effort! (I still find some today...) The afternoon stretches lazily by the pool... I contemplate my pebbles and make a lovely encounter...
The Zagora-Marrakech bus leaves at 7 PM... It’s the night of the full moon, and as soon as night falls, the sky fills with stars... Points of light without beginning, without duration, without end... Tiny lights so distant and so close...
Wanting to share this moment... And with whom else? If you look up, you’re the only one seeing the same sky as me. So, the intention of another message. But in this fragile, stumbling exchange... marked by misunderstandings... could you receive the intention without interpreting it?
The trip is shorter than on the way there, but barely more comfortable. A speaker right above my seat blares music and incantations the whole way... Halfway through, the same unusual stop in a village lit up and bustling as if it were daytime (Taddart, I think...). Along the main street, the ground is checkered black and white. Butcher stalls display entire beef carcasses... Smells of smoke and grilling... People are busy... Others, seated, are eating... in the middle of the night.
Arrival in Marrakech at 2 AM. Taxi strike, no room until tonight... Uh-oh! My backpack draws attention: a car stops and offers to take me for 80 DH... Trust... Five minutes later, I push open the door of *Le Toulousain*... The guard offers to let me finish the night on one of the lobby benches. I unfold my sleeping bag and slip into the desert’s scent... No sleep. But with my eyes closed, I see the stars... You came to pick up my bulky envelope.
Wednesday... Difficult early morning... Now, I feel dirty, my clothes bother me, my shoes hurt... Craving a long hot shower, wanting to find my body, wash my hair, put on cream, do my nails, and... It’ll be a long shower... cold! The hotel is charming but a bit run-down.
Clothes from 4 days...Afternoon on foot in the quiet Hivernage district, searching for a childhood memory that may have changed names: the *Holiday Inn* hotel... I didn’t find it, or didn’t recognize it. Long stroll in the Menara Gardens, and return to the hotel at sunset...
Thursday... Last day... Wanting to see the Marrakech Museum because the founder was a friend of my father’s... So, the familiar route: the McDonald’s, the square with the fountain, Avenue Hassan II, Bab Doukkala... but this time, I pass through the ramparts, and in the old city—sensual, charming, enchanting—I get lost, found, and lost again... I tracked down the museum and the Ben Youssef Madrasa at the end of a maze of alleys... Followed scents of mint, olives, honey, and cinnamon... Savored, moved, the same donuts as in my childhood—golden fried dough rings with a hole in the middle, tied together with a blade of grass... (I don’t remember the name...) I filled my eyes with pretty things and exchanged smiles... Received, just like that... A gift... a ring for my little finger... Someone called out to me: "Hey, gazelle," and it made me happy...
.. Still lost!...Afternoon in the sun in the Koutoubia Gardens. I finish my book—sand falls from between the pages...
.. Started on the plane... read in the desert... finished in Marrakech...Melancholy of the last evening... So, on the way back to the hotel, I buy *kesra* and *La Vache qui Rit*...
Long, long sleepless night... Flight in a few hours... Happy to see the ones I love again, too.
Thoughts, emotions, sensations, images... Questions... One question... So, more than reason, going over and over the question... What there is to live, it’ll have to be lived...
The desert, a solitary path... like all paths that lead to the essential...
3:30 AM, your message, read by the metallic voice of a voicemail. And you, facing physical failure, past mistakes, fear... A solitary path. Also. Like all paths that lead to the essential...
Wednesday, April 1st
Hazaribagh I’ve got a meet-up with Adam Iman, a guide and painter. He picks me up from the hotel at 10 AM. Another traveler from Bangalore is supposed to join us, but while we wait for him to arrive, Adam takes me to see the paintings his mother and sister created at Hazaribagh station. The town became famous thanks to these murals, which can also be found in several surrounding villages. This art form has earned recognition and is now protected, a sign of its cultural importance. Once the visit is over, we go to pick up the other traveler and then head to our first village: Belwara, where Sohrai art is practiced. At the entrance, a sign proudly announces that we’re entering an artists’ village, where this art is created by women organized into micro-enterprises. Some even offer workshops for those who’d like to learn this tradition.

Sohrai art is tied to the harvest season, from October to mid-November. The motifs, in natural colors, celebrate fertility and abundance. The artists use pigments from the earth: red oxides, ochre, white kaolin, and black manganese. On the walls, you’ll see animals, fish, birds—all symbols of life and prosperity. As I look closer at the murals, I start to realize that each motif tells a story. Large animals like cows or bulls often take center stage. Their bodies are filled with intricate, almost hypnotic patterns. They symbolize wealth and prosperity for the household, as well as the deep respect for cattle, which are essential to daily life. On some facades, elephants stand out—massive and decorated with the same precision. They evoke quiet strength and protection. But it’s when I stop in front of one of the houses that I really take the time to look. The wall, a soft ochre, is entirely covered in murals. Two large animals stretch out on either side of the door, their elongated bodies fitting the length of the wall. Their silhouettes are filled with geometric patterns and incredibly fine curved lines, as if every space was patiently filled. Around them, stylized plants, flowers, and small decorative elements fill every gap. The door, dark and worn, becomes almost the silent center of the composition, framed by these living, protective forms. To the right, a more colorful motif catches the eye—a flower or a stylized lamp—like a touch of light on the earth. The whole thing gives an impression of perfect balance, between the rigor of the patterns and the freedom of the gesture.

Elsewhere, birds and freer forms bring movement. Peacocks, recognizable by their stylized silhouettes, embody beauty and vitality, while fish symbolize water, fertility, and the continuity of life.
On some paintings, the scenes become almost narrative: you can make out figures, everyday gestures, like a memory of the village inscribed in the walls. The decorative frames around the doors aren’t left to chance either—they symbolically protect the house, like a boundary between the inside and the outside world.



During the Sohrai festival, cattle are led into the jungle in the morning. Meanwhile, the women finish the *aripans*—these floor paintings—and continue the wall murals. Around noon, the animals return to the village, and the bulls’ horns are anointed with oil and vermilion in a gesture of gratitude, amid the vibrant colors adorning the houses. We visit several artists, including Parvat Devi, a well-known woman who has received many awards. Her arms are adorned with intriguing tattoos, which I’ll talk about in more detail later.

On another wall, the style changes completely. Here, no massive animals—just birds occupying the space, light and graceful, as if caught in mid-movement. Two silhouettes face each other, their long necks arched almost like mirrors, while their outstretched wings seem to vibrate with the patterns that compose them.

The design is more graphic, almost airy. The lines are smoother, more fluid, as if drawn in one confident stroke. The birds’ bodies aren’t solid—they’re filled with repetitive motifs like scales, stylized feathers, and spirals, giving a sense of continuous movement. Around them, everything comes to life: flowers burst open, arabesques swirl, and even the simplest shapes seem alive. What strikes me here is the sense of lightness. Where the large animals evoked stability and grounding, these birds bring something freer, almost joyful. They seem to embody movement, the circulation of life, like a breath flowing through the village.

The colors remain the same—deep reds, intense blacks, and chalky white—but the rhythm is different. Faster, more spontaneous. As if each wall had its own personality, while still speaking the same language.
That’s probably why I’m so moved. I’d heard about these paintings from my friend Raja, and last year, I saw an exhibition in a village near my home. That first encounter made me want to come here. But seeing them in person is a whole different experience. These paintings are unique. This ancient art is passed down from mother to daughter, or mother-in-law to daughter-in-law, in a quiet, deeply living continuity. At first glance, it might seem almost childlike in its simplicity and pared-down forms. And yet, everything is thought out, balanced, mastered. Nothing is left to chance.

That apparent simplicity, combined with such rich symbolism, touches me deeply. There’s something sincere and essential in these walls—and that’s what moves me.
Hazaribagh I’ve got a meet-up with Adam Iman, a guide and painter. He picks me up from the hotel at 10 AM. Another traveler from Bangalore is supposed to join us, but while we wait for him to arrive, Adam takes me to see the paintings his mother and sister created at Hazaribagh station. The town became famous thanks to these murals, which can also be found in several surrounding villages. This art form has earned recognition and is now protected, a sign of its cultural importance. Once the visit is over, we go to pick up the other traveler and then head to our first village: Belwara, where Sohrai art is practiced. At the entrance, a sign proudly announces that we’re entering an artists’ village, where this art is created by women organized into micro-enterprises. Some even offer workshops for those who’d like to learn this tradition.

Sohrai art is tied to the harvest season, from October to mid-November. The motifs, in natural colors, celebrate fertility and abundance. The artists use pigments from the earth: red oxides, ochre, white kaolin, and black manganese. On the walls, you’ll see animals, fish, birds—all symbols of life and prosperity. As I look closer at the murals, I start to realize that each motif tells a story. Large animals like cows or bulls often take center stage. Their bodies are filled with intricate, almost hypnotic patterns. They symbolize wealth and prosperity for the household, as well as the deep respect for cattle, which are essential to daily life. On some facades, elephants stand out—massive and decorated with the same precision. They evoke quiet strength and protection. But it’s when I stop in front of one of the houses that I really take the time to look. The wall, a soft ochre, is entirely covered in murals. Two large animals stretch out on either side of the door, their elongated bodies fitting the length of the wall. Their silhouettes are filled with geometric patterns and incredibly fine curved lines, as if every space was patiently filled. Around them, stylized plants, flowers, and small decorative elements fill every gap. The door, dark and worn, becomes almost the silent center of the composition, framed by these living, protective forms. To the right, a more colorful motif catches the eye—a flower or a stylized lamp—like a touch of light on the earth. The whole thing gives an impression of perfect balance, between the rigor of the patterns and the freedom of the gesture.

Elsewhere, birds and freer forms bring movement. Peacocks, recognizable by their stylized silhouettes, embody beauty and vitality, while fish symbolize water, fertility, and the continuity of life.
On some paintings, the scenes become almost narrative: you can make out figures, everyday gestures, like a memory of the village inscribed in the walls. The decorative frames around the doors aren’t left to chance either—they symbolically protect the house, like a boundary between the inside and the outside world.


During the Sohrai festival, cattle are led into the jungle in the morning. Meanwhile, the women finish the *aripans*—these floor paintings—and continue the wall murals. Around noon, the animals return to the village, and the bulls’ horns are anointed with oil and vermilion in a gesture of gratitude, amid the vibrant colors adorning the houses. We visit several artists, including Parvat Devi, a well-known woman who has received many awards. Her arms are adorned with intriguing tattoos, which I’ll talk about in more detail later.

On another wall, the style changes completely. Here, no massive animals—just birds occupying the space, light and graceful, as if caught in mid-movement. Two silhouettes face each other, their long necks arched almost like mirrors, while their outstretched wings seem to vibrate with the patterns that compose them.

The design is more graphic, almost airy. The lines are smoother, more fluid, as if drawn in one confident stroke. The birds’ bodies aren’t solid—they’re filled with repetitive motifs like scales, stylized feathers, and spirals, giving a sense of continuous movement. Around them, everything comes to life: flowers burst open, arabesques swirl, and even the simplest shapes seem alive. What strikes me here is the sense of lightness. Where the large animals evoked stability and grounding, these birds bring something freer, almost joyful. They seem to embody movement, the circulation of life, like a breath flowing through the village.

The colors remain the same—deep reds, intense blacks, and chalky white—but the rhythm is different. Faster, more spontaneous. As if each wall had its own personality, while still speaking the same language.
That’s probably why I’m so moved. I’d heard about these paintings from my friend Raja, and last year, I saw an exhibition in a village near my home. That first encounter made me want to come here. But seeing them in person is a whole different experience. These paintings are unique. This ancient art is passed down from mother to daughter, or mother-in-law to daughter-in-law, in a quiet, deeply living continuity. At first glance, it might seem almost childlike in its simplicity and pared-down forms. And yet, everything is thought out, balanced, mastered. Nothing is left to chance.

That apparent simplicity, combined with such rich symbolism, touches me deeply. There’s something sincere and essential in these walls—and that’s what moves me.
Here’s a little clip we filmed in November–December 2019 (just before Covid) of a trip from Hanoi to Cat Ba Bay and then on to Xishuangbanna via Luang Namtha.
https://youtu.be/suZYN3LvgkQ
https://youtu.be/suZYN3LvgkQ
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.
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.
March 2nd — Departure by bus from Latour at 6:50 AM. The journey isn’t direct: we pass through Elne then Corneilla. In Perpignan, I switch to a BlablaBus heading to Barcelona’s northern bus station. Before reaching Le Perthus, French police stop us to check IDs. Several people aren’t in order, but after about fifteen minutes, we’re on our way again. We’re checked again at La Jonquera: this time, the wait lasts almost forty-five minutes while police identify those in violation and wait for a vehicle to pick them up. The driver then tries to make up for lost time; we finally arrive at our destination half an hour late.
I quickly head to the Arc de Triomphe metro station, located 200 meters away: you have to cross the bridge along the bus parking lot, then walk through a large garden; the station is on the right before the garden entrance. The trip to the airport isn’t direct: I have to change at Tomasso and take the line to the airport, where I arrive at 1 PM.
At the Emirates counter, I learn my flight was just canceled due to the war in Iran; they offer me another flight for the next day. I have to wait at the airport until 7 PM before being taken to a hotel; the next morning, I’ll take a flight to Vienna (with an 8-hour layover), then an Air India flight to Delhi, and finally a flight to Kolkata. I agree: I don’t know Vienna, so it’ll be an unexpected discovery.
At 7 PM, a small group is taken to the hotel, 35 minutes from the airport, where we’re served a light dinner upon arrival.
March 3rd — A taxi picks me up at 6:30 AM; the flight to Vienna takes off at 9:30 AM and arrives at noon. I’m free until 7 PM; the metro is direct to the city center. The weather is pleasant and not too cold, luckily, since my clothes are light.
When I exit the metro, I spot the St. Stephen’s Cathedral tower in the distance and approach it: the roof, made of glazed tiles, is remarkable.

Entry is free, and the interior, a mix of Gothic and Baroque styles in the center, is stunning.

Not far from there is St. Anne’s Church

, also Baroque, adorned with beautiful frescoes

—a music concert adds an enchanting atmosphere to the visit. I continue my walk at random through the pedestrian streets lined with magnificent buildings: I’m charmed by the city.



Before heading back to the airport, I stop at a lovely tea salon. My flight will eventually leave with a delay.
Wednesday, March 4th — Delhi and a little luggage scare We arrive in Delhi shortly after noon. Immigration is quick, and good news: my bag was checked through from Barcelona to Kolkata. I head to the connecting terminal and arrive half an hour before boarding: the flight goes smoothly. Upon arrival, the luggage comes out quickly… except mine. After filing a report, I’m told my bag is in Delhi—I have to retrieve it before taking another flight. I didn’t know (or had forgotten): with the delays, I wouldn’t have had time to pick it up and make the connection.
I take a taxi to the Ichamati Hotel. The welcome is warm, and the room is clean but very small. Without my bag, I feel a bit lost—I have nothing to change into.
Tonight, I’m dining with Raja and his friends at a beautiful restaurant, an old colonial house turned into a hotel.


We’re happy to see each other and have a comforting evening together.
I quickly head to the Arc de Triomphe metro station, located 200 meters away: you have to cross the bridge along the bus parking lot, then walk through a large garden; the station is on the right before the garden entrance. The trip to the airport isn’t direct: I have to change at Tomasso and take the line to the airport, where I arrive at 1 PM.
At the Emirates counter, I learn my flight was just canceled due to the war in Iran; they offer me another flight for the next day. I have to wait at the airport until 7 PM before being taken to a hotel; the next morning, I’ll take a flight to Vienna (with an 8-hour layover), then an Air India flight to Delhi, and finally a flight to Kolkata. I agree: I don’t know Vienna, so it’ll be an unexpected discovery.
At 7 PM, a small group is taken to the hotel, 35 minutes from the airport, where we’re served a light dinner upon arrival.
March 3rd — A taxi picks me up at 6:30 AM; the flight to Vienna takes off at 9:30 AM and arrives at noon. I’m free until 7 PM; the metro is direct to the city center. The weather is pleasant and not too cold, luckily, since my clothes are light.
When I exit the metro, I spot the St. Stephen’s Cathedral tower in the distance and approach it: the roof, made of glazed tiles, is remarkable.

Entry is free, and the interior, a mix of Gothic and Baroque styles in the center, is stunning.

Not far from there is St. Anne’s Church

, also Baroque, adorned with beautiful frescoes

—a music concert adds an enchanting atmosphere to the visit. I continue my walk at random through the pedestrian streets lined with magnificent buildings: I’m charmed by the city.



Before heading back to the airport, I stop at a lovely tea salon. My flight will eventually leave with a delay.
Wednesday, March 4th — Delhi and a little luggage scare We arrive in Delhi shortly after noon. Immigration is quick, and good news: my bag was checked through from Barcelona to Kolkata. I head to the connecting terminal and arrive half an hour before boarding: the flight goes smoothly. Upon arrival, the luggage comes out quickly… except mine. After filing a report, I’m told my bag is in Delhi—I have to retrieve it before taking another flight. I didn’t know (or had forgotten): with the delays, I wouldn’t have had time to pick it up and make the connection.
I take a taxi to the Ichamati Hotel. The welcome is warm, and the room is clean but very small. Without my bag, I feel a bit lost—I have nothing to change into.
Tonight, I’m dining with Raja and his friends at a beautiful restaurant, an old colonial house turned into a hotel.


We’re happy to see each other and have a comforting evening together.
I’m sharing our three-week trip to Japan from late October to mid-November 2025. There were four of us—my partner and a couple of friends.
I’ve traveled often with my friend Christian (Bolivia, Argentina, Costa Rica, Namibia, Laos), but this time our partners joined us.
The rough itinerary:
Arrival in Tokyo. Visiting Shinjuku/Shibuya districts + day trip to Kamakura
5 days in the Japanese Alps, from Matsumoto to Kanazawa (via Kamikochi, Hirayu Onsen, and Takayama)
5 days in Kyoto
Nara, Osaka, Koyasan
Return to Tokyo (Asakusa district), with a day trip to Nikko
We booked our flights well in advance (9 months ahead): the flight cost 1086 € per person. Compared to over 2000 € if we’d booked for the same dates just 3 months prior.
For accommodations, we mostly used Booking.com. The onsen was booked via Japanican, and in Kyoto, we stayed in an Airbnb.
We also made 5 train reservations a month in advance on Klook or directly on the train’s website.
Day 1: Departure from Brussels (October 24, 2025) Early morning takeoff at 6 AM to Munich (1.5-hour layover) with Lufthansa, then a 12-hour flight with ANA, arriving the next morning at 7 AM at Tokyo Haneda.
Day 2: Arrival in Tokyo Airport formalities were quick. The eSIM we bought before leaving activated as soon as we landed (10 GB plan with Saily—more than enough for our mobile internet needs, mainly Google Maps and Google Translate). We’d received 4 ICOCA cards from our neighbors, which we loaded with 15000 ¥ each. We took the Keihin train, then the Yamanote Line. It’s easy to navigate since everything is in English, and each station is announced on scrolling displays in English too.
We got off the Yamanote Line at the station just after Shinjuku because it’s easier to exit that massive station with our luggage. So we ended up in Shin-Okubo, right in the Korean district. A 10-minute walk took us to Villa Fontaine Hotel. A great hotel, well-located north of the Kabukichō district. The room even seemed bigger than we’d expected.
It was 15°C, but it rained—and kept raining on and off all day. Belgian weather, basically.
We went for a walk in Shinjuku Gyoen Park. Not as pretty in the rain, but the big greenhouse was interesting.

Then our first ramen (hearty and for 1000 ¥—pretty much the price of all our ramen during the trip). We headed back to the hotel since check-in was after 3 PM. Shower and relax before going out for dinner. Dinner was barbecue at Shichirin Yakiniku Anan (1700 ¥ each—good and cheap). Ordering via tablet wasn’t easy, but luckily it was in English.
We ended the evening with a stroll through Kabukichō before a well-deserved sleep.

Day 1: Departure from Brussels (October 24, 2025) Early morning takeoff at 6 AM to Munich (1.5-hour layover) with Lufthansa, then a 12-hour flight with ANA, arriving the next morning at 7 AM at Tokyo Haneda.
Day 2: Arrival in Tokyo Airport formalities were quick. The eSIM we bought before leaving activated as soon as we landed (10 GB plan with Saily—more than enough for our mobile internet needs, mainly Google Maps and Google Translate). We’d received 4 ICOCA cards from our neighbors, which we loaded with 15000 ¥ each. We took the Keihin train, then the Yamanote Line. It’s easy to navigate since everything is in English, and each station is announced on scrolling displays in English too.

We got off the Yamanote Line at the station just after Shinjuku because it’s easier to exit that massive station with our luggage. So we ended up in Shin-Okubo, right in the Korean district. A 10-minute walk took us to Villa Fontaine Hotel. A great hotel, well-located north of the Kabukichō district. The room even seemed bigger than we’d expected.

It was 15°C, but it rained—and kept raining on and off all day. Belgian weather, basically.
We went for a walk in Shinjuku Gyoen Park. Not as pretty in the rain, but the big greenhouse was interesting.

Then our first ramen (hearty and for 1000 ¥—pretty much the price of all our ramen during the trip). We headed back to the hotel since check-in was after 3 PM. Shower and relax before going out for dinner. Dinner was barbecue at Shichirin Yakiniku Anan (1700 ¥ each—good and cheap). Ordering via tablet wasn’t easy, but luckily it was in English.

We ended the evening with a stroll through Kabukichō before a well-deserved sleep.


Namaste!
Here I am live from Delhi, past midnight, at least 30 degrees....
I wanted to post the start of this France travel journal but couldn’t find the time, so here it is live!
Off we go for a third trip, but this time for double the duration—6 weeks with the goal of discovering Ladakh and Spiti, starting with a detour to Varanasi to meet up with Babeli and her family.
Phir milenge for the rest of the adventures...
Phir milenge for the rest of the adventures...
I'm starting my first travel journal since VF reopened!
This will mostly be to share my impressions and some photos, with a few days' delay, but I'm starting this journal while I'm still here.
First, I'd like to thank those who helped me prepare for this trip.
I was able to organize this stay in one of the most expensive countries in the world thanks to the home-exchange principle. Not necessarily a direct swap, but through a points system, which is more practical for choosing where you want to go without it having to be a reciprocal exchange.
For this trip, there will already be two different accommodations. We'll see how it goes after that.
The first place is near Yverdon-les-Bains, close to Lake Neuchâtel.
So, we're going to explore this area!
We arrived under capricious weather that won’t leave us for the next few days!
We had dinner at a pizzeria recommended by *Le Routard* in Yverdon, then took a little nighttime stroll through the town center before heading inland to settle into our accommodation.
We discovered a very large, quiet house—and especially the cat that stayed behind! Funny for a couple of mice! He’ll be sleeping with us 😹
This will mostly be to share my impressions and some photos, with a few days' delay, but I'm starting this journal while I'm still here.
First, I'd like to thank those who helped me prepare for this trip.
I was able to organize this stay in one of the most expensive countries in the world thanks to the home-exchange principle. Not necessarily a direct swap, but through a points system, which is more practical for choosing where you want to go without it having to be a reciprocal exchange.
For this trip, there will already be two different accommodations. We'll see how it goes after that.
The first place is near Yverdon-les-Bains, close to Lake Neuchâtel.
So, we're going to explore this area!
We arrived under capricious weather that won’t leave us for the next few days!
We had dinner at a pizzeria recommended by *Le Routard* in Yverdon, then took a little nighttime stroll through the town center before heading inland to settle into our accommodation.
We discovered a very large, quiet house—and especially the cat that stayed behind! Funny for a couple of mice! He’ll be sleeping with us 😹
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.
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.
Summer 2022 left me with a sense of unfinished business, so here I am back in Swedish Lapland for summer 2024, ready to attempt the Sarek crossing again—and this time, tackle part of the Kungsleden too.
After much hesitation, my partner Jean Marie and I decided to start with the Kungsleden, which is, from what we’ve read, stunning but very busy (and it really is!!), and finish with the wilder option: SAREK! This park is known as Europe’s last true wilderness—sounds like a dream, right?! The downside of this plan is that there’s no way to resupply in Sarek, and the Kungsleden isn’t exactly set up for long-distance trekking either, so we’ll have to carry a lot of food for the first part of the trip with Sarek in mind. Oh well, we’re motivated!
Our plan is to start in Abisko (the classic route), head to Vakkotavare (also classic, but with some variations to avoid the official trail and the crowds), then continue the Kungsleden from Saltoluokta. Before reaching Aktse, we’ll set off on an east-to-west crossing of Sarek (weather-dependent, since aside from the Skarja hut in the center of the park, there’s no shelter if conditions turn bad). At least we’ll be on the right side of the park to climb Skierfe and enjoy the jaw-dropping view of Rappaladen if we have to bail on Sarek.
All in all, that’s 17 days of trekking, including 1 rest day and 1 buffer day for weather delays.
So if you’re interested, I invite you to follow our fully packed backpacks!
08/03 - Abisko – 5km before Abiskojaure Some info (guides we used for prep, SFT map, sending food to Saltoluokta) 08/04 – 5km before Abiskojaure - on the east shore of Lake Alisjavri 08/05 – East shore of Lake Alisjavri – just before Tjaktja 08/06 – Just before Tjaktja – above the Salka hut via Nallo 08/07 - Salka – just past Singi + side trip to Djalson Lake 08/08 - Singi – Teusajaure 08/09 - Teusajaure - Vakkotavare (end of the first section of the Kungsleden) 08/10 – rest day in Saltoluokta + round trip to the Sámi village of Pietjaure 08/11 – Saltoluokta – Sitojaure 08/12 - Sitojaure - Skierfe - Sarek or no Sarek? 08/13 – Skierfe – somewhere above Rapadalen 08/14 – Somewhere above Rapadalen – above the Skarki hut 08/15 – Above the Skarki hut - Skarja 08/16 – Camping at Skarja 08/17 – Ruohtesvagge 08/18 – Ruohtesvagge - Padjelantaleden 08/19 – Padjelantaleden - Ritsem – End of the trek 08/20–24 - End of the trip (Lullea - Stockholm) And of course, the recap
After much hesitation, my partner Jean Marie and I decided to start with the Kungsleden, which is, from what we’ve read, stunning but very busy (and it really is!!), and finish with the wilder option: SAREK! This park is known as Europe’s last true wilderness—sounds like a dream, right?! The downside of this plan is that there’s no way to resupply in Sarek, and the Kungsleden isn’t exactly set up for long-distance trekking either, so we’ll have to carry a lot of food for the first part of the trip with Sarek in mind. Oh well, we’re motivated!
Our plan is to start in Abisko (the classic route), head to Vakkotavare (also classic, but with some variations to avoid the official trail and the crowds), then continue the Kungsleden from Saltoluokta. Before reaching Aktse, we’ll set off on an east-to-west crossing of Sarek (weather-dependent, since aside from the Skarja hut in the center of the park, there’s no shelter if conditions turn bad). At least we’ll be on the right side of the park to climb Skierfe and enjoy the jaw-dropping view of Rappaladen if we have to bail on Sarek.
All in all, that’s 17 days of trekking, including 1 rest day and 1 buffer day for weather delays.
So if you’re interested, I invite you to follow our fully packed backpacks!
08/03 - Abisko – 5km before Abiskojaure Some info (guides we used for prep, SFT map, sending food to Saltoluokta) 08/04 – 5km before Abiskojaure - on the east shore of Lake Alisjavri 08/05 – East shore of Lake Alisjavri – just before Tjaktja 08/06 – Just before Tjaktja – above the Salka hut via Nallo 08/07 - Salka – just past Singi + side trip to Djalson Lake 08/08 - Singi – Teusajaure 08/09 - Teusajaure - Vakkotavare (end of the first section of the Kungsleden) 08/10 – rest day in Saltoluokta + round trip to the Sámi village of Pietjaure 08/11 – Saltoluokta – Sitojaure 08/12 - Sitojaure - Skierfe - Sarek or no Sarek? 08/13 – Skierfe – somewhere above Rapadalen 08/14 – Somewhere above Rapadalen – above the Skarki hut 08/15 – Above the Skarki hut - Skarja 08/16 – Camping at Skarja 08/17 – Ruohtesvagge 08/18 – Ruohtesvagge - Padjelantaleden 08/19 – Padjelantaleden - Ritsem – End of the trek 08/20–24 - End of the trip (Lullea - Stockholm) And of course, the recap
Preamble
June 2024. While hiking with my brother on the GR 36 Tour du Morvan, I catch sight now and then of strange rectangular markers fixed to tree trunks. Against a bright orange background, a deep black Greek tau topped with a white dove. My first encounter with the Assisi Way. The Way of St. Francis: a pilgrimage route linking Vézelay in Burgundy to Assisi in Italy, covering nearly 1,800 km. It felt like an obvious next step—I immediately knew I’d take it on, attempt the adventure solo.

In the months that followed, I talked about my project to everyone—family, friends, my partner. An avalanche of comments, more or less the same but varying depending on each person’s character and life experiences. But deep down, it all boiled down to one legitimate question: why?
And the answers? Hesitant, awkward, partial, even confused. I quickly realized they weren’t so easy to find. It was as if my project seemed more like a whim, a kind of intimate caprice, rather than a well-thought-out plan. Of course, I knew the reasons that pushed me to leave—you always have to give some. Loved ones need to understand to feel reassured, and that’s understandable. But I fear that when I list them, they’ll sound like the same old checklist anyone embarking on this kind of journey might give. Of all the reasons I could mention, I’ll highlight just one here: the call of the road, the solo adventure that brings a powerful sense of freedom. A bit like Monsieur Seguin’s goat, who from her comfortable pen gazes longingly at the unconstrained horizon of the mountain. But if I’m being honest, I think I didn’t really know what I was looking for—or, more importantly, what I’d find. Deep down, when I reflect on it, one word keeps coming up that explains nothing and everything at once: desire.
Now well past sixty, I know that when I ask myself who I am or where I’m going, two things bring me fully back to myself: hiking and writing. And my intention was also to anchor this adventure through words, day by day. Writing down my feelings, emotions, discoveries, and reflections each evening. The famous travel journal that grounds the daily experience in reality. When I discovered the app "Polarstep," which was initially just meant to keep my loved ones updated and reassured, inform them of my progress, and maintain a connection, I found an opportunity to do it a little differently than usual. No retrospective notes polished up after returning, but spontaneous writing—recounting everything that crossed my mind during the day and publishing it immediately. A journey lived in real time.
This text is the exact transcription of my daily writings. Rereading them, I didn’t change a thing—just corrected a few mistakes and tweaked some awkward phrasing here and there. Short texts, fitting the format imposed by this kind of app. Writing as if addressing others.
Now, all that was left was to walk. April 18, 2026 – Vézelay.

June 2024. While hiking with my brother on the GR 36 Tour du Morvan, I catch sight now and then of strange rectangular markers fixed to tree trunks. Against a bright orange background, a deep black Greek tau topped with a white dove. My first encounter with the Assisi Way. The Way of St. Francis: a pilgrimage route linking Vézelay in Burgundy to Assisi in Italy, covering nearly 1,800 km. It felt like an obvious next step—I immediately knew I’d take it on, attempt the adventure solo.

In the months that followed, I talked about my project to everyone—family, friends, my partner. An avalanche of comments, more or less the same but varying depending on each person’s character and life experiences. But deep down, it all boiled down to one legitimate question: why?
And the answers? Hesitant, awkward, partial, even confused. I quickly realized they weren’t so easy to find. It was as if my project seemed more like a whim, a kind of intimate caprice, rather than a well-thought-out plan. Of course, I knew the reasons that pushed me to leave—you always have to give some. Loved ones need to understand to feel reassured, and that’s understandable. But I fear that when I list them, they’ll sound like the same old checklist anyone embarking on this kind of journey might give. Of all the reasons I could mention, I’ll highlight just one here: the call of the road, the solo adventure that brings a powerful sense of freedom. A bit like Monsieur Seguin’s goat, who from her comfortable pen gazes longingly at the unconstrained horizon of the mountain. But if I’m being honest, I think I didn’t really know what I was looking for—or, more importantly, what I’d find. Deep down, when I reflect on it, one word keeps coming up that explains nothing and everything at once: desire.
Now well past sixty, I know that when I ask myself who I am or where I’m going, two things bring me fully back to myself: hiking and writing. And my intention was also to anchor this adventure through words, day by day. Writing down my feelings, emotions, discoveries, and reflections each evening. The famous travel journal that grounds the daily experience in reality. When I discovered the app "Polarstep," which was initially just meant to keep my loved ones updated and reassured, inform them of my progress, and maintain a connection, I found an opportunity to do it a little differently than usual. No retrospective notes polished up after returning, but spontaneous writing—recounting everything that crossed my mind during the day and publishing it immediately. A journey lived in real time.
This text is the exact transcription of my daily writings. Rereading them, I didn’t change a thing—just corrected a few mistakes and tweaked some awkward phrasing here and there. Short texts, fitting the format imposed by this kind of app. Writing as if addressing others.
Now, all that was left was to walk. April 18, 2026 – Vézelay.

Kattegat isn’t just the name of the village in the TV series *Vikings*—it’s also the stretch of water separating Denmark from Sweden... the sea, basically! And further north, you’ve got Norway and its fjords!
Originally, I’d planned to just do a loop around Kattegat, with the *Under* restaurant in Lindesnes as our anniversary treat... but along the way, we thought, why not "push" a little further north, keeping an eye on the budget since we’d chosen to travel by car in June 2025 through Scandinavia.

Why by car when most travelers opt for a camper van, while others prefer the comfort of cruises? Well, because we don’t own a camper van, renting one is pricey, and then you’ve got to add fuel costs (those things guzzle gas!), ferry fees, and other "tolls." All things considered, we went for mostly rentals—especially since there were four of us at the start of the trip. We spent the first week in Denmark with our daughter and son-in-law. Then they flew back to Belgium, and we continued our adventure as a couple. For accommodation, we mainly booked Airbnb apartments, which helped keep costs down and, most importantly, let us prepare our own meals (diet, diet!). In this travel journal, you’ll discover (or rediscover, for those who followed my older ones) our unbridled love for theme parks, museums, unique experiences, and—especially in Denmark—Legos! Unfortunately, we didn’t do any hikes this year because the unpredictable weather had made the trails slippery, and since I’d already taken three tumbles during the trip, I didn’t want to risk another! In the end, we traveled for 32 days, covered 6,200 km, and most importantly, discovered the charming country of Denmark, marveled at Norway’s breathtaking fjords—all without suffering the heatwave that hit France and Belgium that June! If you’ve got any questions, don’t hesitate to ask!

Why by car when most travelers opt for a camper van, while others prefer the comfort of cruises? Well, because we don’t own a camper van, renting one is pricey, and then you’ve got to add fuel costs (those things guzzle gas!), ferry fees, and other "tolls." All things considered, we went for mostly rentals—especially since there were four of us at the start of the trip. We spent the first week in Denmark with our daughter and son-in-law. Then they flew back to Belgium, and we continued our adventure as a couple. For accommodation, we mainly booked Airbnb apartments, which helped keep costs down and, most importantly, let us prepare our own meals (diet, diet!). In this travel journal, you’ll discover (or rediscover, for those who followed my older ones) our unbridled love for theme parks, museums, unique experiences, and—especially in Denmark—Legos! Unfortunately, we didn’t do any hikes this year because the unpredictable weather had made the trails slippery, and since I’d already taken three tumbles during the trip, I didn’t want to risk another! In the end, we traveled for 32 days, covered 6,200 km, and most importantly, discovered the charming country of Denmark, marveled at Norway’s breathtaking fjords—all without suffering the heatwave that hit France and Belgium that June! If you’ve got any questions, don’t hesitate to ask!

Hi there,
Here’s our account of our trip to Malaysia from September 11th to 27th. I hope our tips can help others as much as this forum has helped us!
Day 0:
Departure from Nantes with a transfer in Amsterdam via KLM (720 €).
Day 1:
We arrive at KLIA1 in the early afternoon. First challenge: figuring out where to pick up our luggage. Turns out the answer is right under our noses—we need to take the airport’s internal metro! Once we’ve got our bags, we withdraw some cash from a Maybank ATM right there. Next up: SIM card! Just outside the arrivals hall, several kiosks offer them. We go for a Celcom 5 GB card (70 RM). Then it’s taxi time to get to KL, in the Bukit Bintang area—about 85 RM in a slightly old taxi with weak air conditioning. We check into our Airbnb apartment, which is clean, more spacious than a hotel room, and—best of all—has a charming balcony with a gorgeous nighttime view!

We end up hanging out on that balcony, reviewing our plans for the next day. After dark, we take the monorail just a short walk away to enjoy our first evening on a rooftop at the 34th floor: Hélipad (Raja Chulan station—you have to enter the Menara Tower at the base of the station) with a panoramic view of the city and its iconic towers.


Finally, we head to Jalan Alor to grab a bite in this super busy street. Big sleep ahead! 😴
Here’s our account of our trip to Malaysia from September 11th to 27th. I hope our tips can help others as much as this forum has helped us!
Day 0:
Departure from Nantes with a transfer in Amsterdam via KLM (720 €).
Day 1:
We arrive at KLIA1 in the early afternoon. First challenge: figuring out where to pick up our luggage. Turns out the answer is right under our noses—we need to take the airport’s internal metro! Once we’ve got our bags, we withdraw some cash from a Maybank ATM right there. Next up: SIM card! Just outside the arrivals hall, several kiosks offer them. We go for a Celcom 5 GB card (70 RM). Then it’s taxi time to get to KL, in the Bukit Bintang area—about 85 RM in a slightly old taxi with weak air conditioning. We check into our Airbnb apartment, which is clean, more spacious than a hotel room, and—best of all—has a charming balcony with a gorgeous nighttime view!

We end up hanging out on that balcony, reviewing our plans for the next day. After dark, we take the monorail just a short walk away to enjoy our first evening on a rooftop at the 34th floor: Hélipad (Raja Chulan station—you have to enter the Menara Tower at the base of the station) with a panoramic view of the city and its iconic towers.


Finally, we head to Jalan Alor to grab a bite in this super busy street. Big sleep ahead! 😴
After a pretty disastrous weather-wise trip to Gran Canaria, we’re hoping this time the sun will shine in Puglia.
It’s not a sure thing, though—the weather’s been awful all over Europe in early May.
For those who’d like to (re)read the story without the digressions, it’s here.
Saturday, May 16: This time we’re flying out of Charleroi (Brussels South): the ticket prices, flight times, and proximity all worked for us. The airport (Ryanair) was recently renovated... but it’s still not very well organized. There are hardly any seats in the boarding areas, and... the restrooms cost money!!! The flight goes smoothly, though, and we land in Bari a little late.
We quickly pick up our rental car, a very local-looking Pandina (even more so than the Fiat 500 in this region), and hit the Italian roads... and their unique driving quirks (like the fact that the countless road signs along the streets and in towns are purely decorative 😏, and that Italian cars don’t have turn signals 😮... except for rental cars).
About an hour later, we arrive at our first accommodation, right in the middle of the countryside near Monopoli. The owner isn’t there, but they’ve left us a ton of info via messages and even turned on the space heater, which is a nice touch. We explore the property:

And the next morning before breakfast, its immediate surroundings:


Sunday, May 17: After our "seaside" experience in Gran Canaria last weekend (packed with people and locals), we decide to start inland. After a hearty breakfast,

we head toward Alberobello, a super touristy village famous for its trulli—those stone houses with conical roofs. We easily find a free parking spot on a street near the Aia Piccola district, where some trulli are still lived in year-round.


We almost immediately come across the Trullo Sovrano (the only two-story one), which you can visit (but we skip it—it’s opening time, and there’s already a line).

From there, we head down toward the Basilica of Cosma e Damiano... but we don’t go in because there’s a mass.

Now we’re on the main Piazza del Popolo, which connects the two districts of Alberobello: Rione Aia Piccola and Rione Monti, the more touristy one.
For those who’d like to (re)read the story without the digressions, it’s here.
Saturday, May 16: This time we’re flying out of Charleroi (Brussels South): the ticket prices, flight times, and proximity all worked for us. The airport (Ryanair) was recently renovated... but it’s still not very well organized. There are hardly any seats in the boarding areas, and... the restrooms cost money!!! The flight goes smoothly, though, and we land in Bari a little late.
We quickly pick up our rental car, a very local-looking Pandina (even more so than the Fiat 500 in this region), and hit the Italian roads... and their unique driving quirks (like the fact that the countless road signs along the streets and in towns are purely decorative 😏, and that Italian cars don’t have turn signals 😮... except for rental cars).
About an hour later, we arrive at our first accommodation, right in the middle of the countryside near Monopoli. The owner isn’t there, but they’ve left us a ton of info via messages and even turned on the space heater, which is a nice touch. We explore the property:

And the next morning before breakfast, its immediate surroundings:


Sunday, May 17: After our "seaside" experience in Gran Canaria last weekend (packed with people and locals), we decide to start inland. After a hearty breakfast,

we head toward Alberobello, a super touristy village famous for its trulli—those stone houses with conical roofs. We easily find a free parking spot on a street near the Aia Piccola district, where some trulli are still lived in year-round.


We almost immediately come across the Trullo Sovrano (the only two-story one), which you can visit (but we skip it—it’s opening time, and there’s already a line).

From there, we head down toward the Basilica of Cosma e Damiano... but we don’t go in because there’s a mass.

Now we’re on the main Piazza del Popolo, which connects the two districts of Alberobello: Rione Aia Piccola and Rione Monti, the more touristy one.

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





