Voici le carnet de mon dernier voyage à vélo: la traversée nord-sud de la Corée du sud. 🙂
Je souhaite le partager avec vous mais je m'excuse par avance.
En effet, par manque de temps, je ne poste que le texte, en espérant que ce ne soit pas trop indigeste.
Si c'est le cas, vous pourrez retrouver le carnet illustré des photos sur mon blog: www.world-blogueur.com
« Pourquoi la Corée du Sud ? » Cent fois posée, cette question appelle toujours la même réponse: « Une piste cyclable ». La Corée du Sud a décidé de mettre sa population à l'exercice physique et a ainsi fait construire une piste cyclable moderne et équipée qui traverse le pays du nord-ouest (Inchéon) au sud-est (Busan). Les deux principales villes du pays sont reliées par une voie verte de 633 km traversant les villes et les campagnes.
Nous sommes le 20 octobre 2018, JP et moi sommes à Roissy, les vélos sont emballés, l'aventure peut commencer...
Quelques jours plus tôt...
« Salut les gars, y a-t-il quelqu'un possédant une voiture familiale qui peut nous emmener à Roissy avec JP et nos vélos ? »
Christophe répond sans plus attendre à cette bouteille jetée à la mer.
20/10/18
Roissy, Christophe nous dépose au moment où le terminal 1 est évacué pour cause d'alerte au bagage abandonné. Nous sommes serrés comme des sardines, difficile de se frayer un chemin parmi les passagers en attente. Nos chariots transportant les vélos embêtent tout le monde...
13h10, le vol d'Air China décolle et propose au passager, en plus d'écouter l'intégrale des albums de Richard Clayderman, de visionner les pires navets cinématographiques des ces trois dernières années. Je termine mon sixième film en 10h30 (!) lorsque nous atterrissons à Chengdu en Chine.
21/10/18
Jour : 52 km Total : 52 km
Un guichet, deux types endormis pour prendre les empreintes pupillaires et digitales de l'ensemble des passagers qui sont en transit. Au bas mot, une centaine de voyageurs, au final 1h30 d'attente.
Il est 6h00 du matin heure locale, nous sommes dimanche et avalons une soupe au bœuf avant d'embarquer pour l'avion à destination de Séoul.
Je m'endors instantanément.
Il est 12h40, l'avion se pose à l'aéroport d'Inchéon, situé sur une ile à une quarantaine de kilomètres de Séoul.
Impossible de quitter l'ile sur nos vélos. Il nous faut prendre un taxi qui nous dépose au kilomètre zéro de cette piste cyclable si convoitée.
Il est 14h40. Nous déballons les vélos, arrangeons les sacoches, regonflons les pneus. Il est 15h30, nous sommes prêts, nous sommes partis depuis plus de 24 heures.
Au centre des visiteurs du « Four rivers bike trail » (le nom de cette piste), il est possible d'acheter un passeport qu'il faut tamponner à intervalle régulier dans des cabines rouges dédiées.
Il nous tarde de démarrer, nous faisons l'impasse sur cette curiosité aussi folklorique qu'inutile. Les coréens y semblent cependant très attachés.
Des dizaines de cyclistes pédalent sur cette voie. Certains sont emmitouflés des pieds à la tête pour protéger chaque millimètre carré de leur peau du soleil pourtant automnal.
Nous avons environ 45 km à parcourir jusqu'au quartier de Séoul où j'ai réservé l'hôtel.
La piste est bonne et les coréens, réunis en nombre en ce dimanche ensoleillé, assurent le spectacle.
Des chanteurs de rue, des musiciens, des familles, des cafés, des mécaniciens prêts à réparer n'importe quelle défaillance vélocipédique, des toilettes publiques tous les 3 kilomètres, des stations de gonflage et évidemment, des centaines de cyclistes de toutes espèces.
La roue libre de JP craque. Changement en 10 minutes sur le bord de la route.
La lumière décline au fur et à mesure que nous approchons de Séoul. Il est 18h00, il fait maintenant complètement nuit.
Disposant d'un plan de Séoul et de quelques captures d'écran, nous repérons sans trop de difficultés le quartier de Gangnam où se trouve l'hôtel.
Plus que 13 ponts, 9 ponts, 8 ponts, 2 ponts...
Les coréens sont de sortie, l'esplanade qui domine le fleuve Han est bondée et parsemée de petites tentes.
Il est 19h30, c'est maintenant mon pédalier qui n'en finit pas de craquer.
Changement de roue libre, essai, bris de chaîne, changement de pédalier, 170 euros.
Il est 20h30, je n'ai qu'une envie : me doucher et m'allonger.
21h00, nous quittons la piste et empruntons les rampes qui permettent de remonter sur les échangeurs menant aux divers quartiers de cette ville de 10 millions d'habitants.
Enfin, l'hôtel. Chambre minuscule et sans fenêtre. Dimanche soir, 22h00. Le quartier est désert, difficile de trouver à dîner.
22/10/18
Jour : 99 km Total : 151 km
Le départ est tardif, les organismes sont fatigués par ces dernières 36 heures.
Pas facile de retrouver la piste, nous n’échapperons pas aux escaliers...
La piste remonte légèrement vers le nord à mesure que nous quittons Séoul.
Des avions de chasse, des hélicoptères, des manœuvres terrestres, aquatiques et subaquatiques. Le voisin nord-coréen est à moins de cinquante kilomètres à vol d'oiseau.
Les arbres sont en feu. L'automne coréen nous offre un cadre particulièrement chaleureux pour pédaler.
Nous découvrons un peu plus encore cette piste si bien aménagée. Celle-ci est bien moins fréquentée désormais. Néanmoins, les infrastructures sont étonnantes : tunnels, passerelles, échangeurs, ralentisseurs, panneaux de signalisation et limite de la vitesse cycliste à 20km/h.
Outre le fait que la circulation automobile est inexistante, il est formidable de pouvoir, avec JP, rouler côte à côte et refaire le monde.
A 25 km de Yeoju, sur les coups de 15h00, une côte à 10%. Dans cette affreuse montée, une tente faisant office de restaurant. Pas de menu, pas d'anglais mais plusieurs assiettes en guise d'introduction à la gastronomie coréenne. Dans ces assiettes, des crudités non identifiables, des raviolis spongieux et une soupe épicée dans laquelle flottent divers aliments inconnus. Ayant en horreur les fruits de mer, je crains mais engloutis sans sourciller le contenu des divers récipients.
La note est bien plus salée que les plats.
La piste longe le fleuve, s'en écarte. Les ponts, édifices immenses construits pour les cyclistes, l'enjambent de temps à autres.
Le soleil décline peu à peu, le vent de face qui nous a accompagnés toute la journée ne faiblit pas.
Nous arrivons à Yeoju et décidons d'y passer la nuit, craignant de nous retrouver en rase campagne si nous poursuivons.
Un type aviné nous propose de le suivre et nous emmène dans un motel miteux que nous nous empressons de fuir.
Nous posons nos sacoches dans un établissement plus central et partons à pied découvrir cette ville qui nous offre une petite zone piétonne animée et un restaurant aux saveurs occidentales réconfortantes.
23/10/18
Jour : 103 km Total 254 km
Hot-dogs et pizza en guise de petit déjeuner.
Un petit temple domine Yeoju. Petite pause dans la brume après moins d'un kilomètre parcouru.
En bordure de piste, les manœuvres militaires nous divertissent. D'énormes camions fumants vont et viennent, déposant des troupes dans et sur les eaux grises du fleuve.
L'itinéraire, évidant et fléché depuis le début de l'aventure, nous pose quelques difficultés. Dans un décor aux couleurs merveilleuses, la piste s'arrête.
Quatre kilomètres, des doutes, demi-tour, quatre kilomètres dans l'autre sens, un cul de sac, re-demi-tour, une route, une côte, un pont, de la circulation et enfin une camionnette qui nous indique le bon chemin.
Nous sommes désormais en fond de vallée, soulagés d'avoir retrouvé cette piste, mais conscients qu'il faudra rester vigilent.
Le soleil apparaît, il est 12h00 et nous avons parcouru 59 km. Le seul restaurant repéré depuis notre départ ce matin nous offre une pause salvatrice. Une soupe et des trucs qui flottent nous remettent sur pied.
Deux autres cyclistes sont présents.
Le plus jeune nous offre une barre chocolatée, nous les retrouverons quelques kilomètres plus loin...
Les nuages noirs au dessus de Chungju annoncent une douche sévère. Il pleut des cordes, nous nous abritons sous un abris-bus en compagnie du jeune cycliste.
Nous repartons, ce dernier manque un virage quelques kilomètres plus loin. Vélo cassé, il nous encourage à poursuivre notre route.
Des travaux nous contraignent à quitter la piste...
Nous poursuivons en longeant ce que nous pensons être la piste. Il se met à pleuvoir. Des cordes.
Nous nous abritons sous le balcon d'une bicoque.
Nous repartons et nous retrouvons le second cycliste rencontré à midi.
« Busan ? »
« Busan, Busan! » nous dit-il en nous montrant que nous sommes sur le bon chemin. Nous le distançons assez rapidement. Les lacs de Chungju sont magnifiques.
On en oublierait presque nous n'avons toujours pas retrouvé la piste et que les panneaux indicateurs ont totalement disparu.
Une belle côte, on doute. Nous arrêtons les automobilistes, mais pas un ne parle anglais et tous nous indiquent avec bienveillance mais sans conviction que nous sommes sur le bon chemin.
Une belle côte et nous sortons la carte peu détaillée que nous possédons.
Notre cycliste apparaît et nous répète que nous sommes sur le chemin.
Cette fois, la route s'éloigne du lac et pique vers le sud. Pas, une côte, un col, long et raide. Nous posons pied à terre et poursuivons à pied.
Une nouvelle fois, nous arrêtons un automobiliste, la carte est sortie. Le cycliste sûr de lui pointe le bout de son nez. Il doute enfin, appelle un ami, c'est son dernier mot Jean Pierre...Je sors mon téléphone pour confirmer ce que nous pensons savoir. J'active mes données pour activer la localisation Google Map.
Le double couperet tombe : nous ne sommes pas du tout dans la bonne direction, l'utilisation d'internet m'a coûté 50 euros.
Il est 15 h30, nous avons parcouru près de 20 kilomètres dans la mauvaise direction et nous avons perdu beaucoup de temps. Dans 2 heures, la nuit tombera.
Demi-tour, retour vers Chungju.
Nous retrouvons une cabine de tamponnage, elle se situe sur un détour sans issue de notre itinéraire.
Un car s'arrête. Des dizaines de coréens en tenue cycliste en descendent et se photographient fièrement le précieux tampon à la main. A croire que ces quelques gouttes d'encre ont davantage d'importance que l'itinéraire gagné à la force des mollets...
La ville est très étendue, nous nous dirigeons vers le centre-ville mais nous ne retrouvons pas la piste cyclable. Nous devons prendre une décision car la ville que nous souhaitions atteindre est désormais inaccessible avant la tombée de la nuit.
Il est 17h30, nous montons dans un bus au terminal de bus de Chungju pou rejoindre Mungyeong.
45 minutes de trajet et j'aperçois enfin le ruban asphalté que nous convoitions tant.
Il fait nuit, les rues sont désertes et les restaurants sont rares et traditionnels. Personne n'y parle anglais. Nous finissons dans un taudis servant des ailes de poulet frit baignant dans une sauce sucrée.
24/10/18
Jour : 115 km Total : 369 km
Je concède que sur le vélo, je regarde souvent la montre et le compteur. J'ai cette obsession, bien que le mot soit un peu fort, d'arriver avant la nuit. Je n'ai surtout pas envie de me retrouver dans la campagne coréenne sans éclairage publique et sans lieu pour dormir. Comme nous n'avons pas de carte précise de l'itinéraire et que nous ne savons jamais où nous allons loger, je me garde une marge suffisante pour éviter la nuit à la belle étoile.
Ainsi, ce matin, nous partons plus tôt, sur les coups de 7h30.
La brume nous enveloppe dès les premiers tours de roue. La piste traverse un petit village traditionnel et endormi. La Corée rurale, l'envers du décor.
Les paysannes et les paysans courbés bêchent, coupent ou ramassent. On comprend aisément pourquoi les mamies rencontrées ici ou là sont bossues et voûtées.
Les quelques kilomètres parcourus, bien qu'agréables, nous soucient. Les indications ont encore une fois disparu et la mésaventure de la veille ne doit rester qu'un lointain souvenir. Un grand-père nous rassure. Il est étonnant de constater que nos interlocuteurs rencontrés quotidiennement ne parlent pas un mot d'anglais, que ce soit en ville, dans les campagnes et même, aux réceptions des hôtels.
Deux vélos avec sacoches. Sans aucun doute, des occidentaux, les premiers croisés depuis notre départ. Des anglais en voyage pendant un an qui possèdent LA carte que nous aurions du nous procurer dès le début : celle qui représente l'intégralité de l'itinéraire. Curieusement, elle n'est pas sous-titrée en anglais mais nous la prenons en photo, elle nous sera utile... cinquante mètres plus loin où une bifurcation indique la suite de l'itinéraire dans deux directions opposées.
La piste suit de près ou de loin les méandres du fleuve. Parfois, elle s'éloigne et la sanction est immédiate : une côte. Celle-ci fait 25 %. Elle nous donne du fil à retordre alors que nous la montons à pied.
Un joli parc aux couleurs automnales et aux statues mystérieuses, un temple surpris au hasard d'un virage et une épicerie de secours nous permettant d'engloutir quelques chips, jalonnent le parcours.
Il nous reste 42 km avant d'atteindre Gumi, une ville où nous trouverons très certainement un motel.
Je presse JP, il faut avancer.
Les premières forêts de buildings se dessinent, la petite pause café à 10 km de l'arrivée nous détend.
Nous nous perdons dans la zone industrielle, nous trouvons un hôtel, seul indice qui puisse nous faire penser que nous avons trouvé le centre ville.
Je suis fatigué.
Nous sortons et tombons par hasard sur un minuscule marché au pied des barres d'immeubles.
JP achète des pommes. Enfin un met simple au goût familier.
25/10/18
Jour : 104 km Total : 473 km
Kilomètre 8, je suis parti devant car JP s'arrête une énième fois pour prendre des photos. J'ai pris un petit kilomètre d'avance, je l'attends, il n'arrive pas, je peste, je fais demi-tour. Je distingue son coupe vent-rouge, immobile.
Lorsque j'arrive à son niveau, je constate que sa roue est en huit. Inutilisable.
Un cycliste coréen l'a percuté. JP, un colosse, n'a pas bougé d'un centimètre. Le coréen a volé, cassé ses lunettes et s'est blessé au visage.
En attendant, il est allé chercher sa voiture pour emmener JP et son vélo chez le vélociste le plus proche.
Il revient, les embarque tous les deux et je reste planté sur le bord de la piste avec mon vélo et celui du coréen malchanceux.
Je regarde les quelques golfeurs, je marche, j'ai froid.
Je reçois un sms : « Il me rachète un vélo à 500 euros ! ».
La roue étant indisponible, le pauvre coréen fautif se confond en excuses et n'en démord pas, il faut un nouveau vélo.
Moins de deux heures après l'accident, ils sont de retour avec un destrier flambant neuf, remplaçant ainsi la vieille machine fatiguée de JP.
Je ne perds pas de vue notre moyenne journalière, il faut maintenant avancer, nous avons pris beaucoup de retard.
C'est un vrai plaisir de pédaler sur cette piste. Bien souvent, elle est surélevée et domine de quelques mètres le paysage environnant. Une piste panoramique.
Nous passons à proximité de Daegu, troisième ville du pays. Encore une forêt de buildings qui se dessine à l'horizon, des barres d'immeubles uniformes et numérotés.
J'achète une petite flasque d'huile, la mienne a explosé ce matin et nous nous arrêtons dans un Seven Eleven, une épicerie de bord de route pour déjeuner. Il est 14h00.
Dans les rayons, quelques aliments occidentaux. Je me précipite sur des bâtonnets blancs. Fromage ou poulpe ?
A nouveau, une intersection où les flèches indiquent à droite et à gauche. Depuis le début de notre périple, les panneaux ne sont pas sous-titrés en anglais. Notre instinct nous guide une nouvelle fois.
90 kilomètres au compteur. La lumière est superbe. Encore une fois, JP s'arrête pour prendre des photos, je trépigne. C'est vrai, c'est beau...
La carte en coréen ne nous aide pas beaucoup, souvent on ne sait pas où on est. Les cabines dédiées au tamponnage des passeports sont nos seuls repères. Il y en a tous les 50 km environ.
Nous laissons une grosse ville sur notre gauche et poursuivons la piste qui s'enfonce dans la campagne. Il est pourtant près de 17h00.
Un pont, un petit village, aucun hôtel. Les riverains ne nous aident pas beaucoup. Nous faisons demi-tour et parcourons 7 ou 8 kilomètres en sens inverse.
Nous trouvons finalement un hôtel planté dans une zone industrielle déserte. Un hôtel luxueux aux chambres à prix modique. A la réception, personne ne parle anglais, mais la venue de deux français suscite un vif engouement et déclenche une séance photo.
Nous ne savons pas où nous sommes, si ce n'est dans une grande ville qui ne figure pas sur la carte. La réceptionniste nous informe que nous sommes à Cussi (orthographe aléatoire)
Nous nous faisons livrer une pizza dans la chambre, une pizza dont la croûte est fourrée à la patate douce, une pizza « italienne » (c'est celle que j'ai choisie ), immangeable, une insulte à l'Italie...
A défaut d'avoir bien mangé, je me détends dans le jacuzzi et le lit chauffant !
26/10/18
Jour : 117 km Total : 590 km
Les premiers 50 kilomètres ne sont que des successions de côtes.
La première, très raide, nous mène à un petit temple dominant le fleuve. Le temps est couvert, l'endroit désert.
Kilomètre 56, nous déjeunons dans un Seven Eleven glauque, écrasé par l'immensité de barres d'immeubles tout aussi glauques.
Il se met à pleuvoir.
On ne profite plus, on pédale.
Nous empruntons l'immense pont qui nous mène à une énième ville verticale. 90 kilomètres. D'une façon hasardeuse, j'estime qu'à 10 kilomètres, nous devrions trouver un hôtel.
Nous poursuivons donc malgré l'heure tardive.
10, 15, 20 kilomètres et pas la moindre trace de ville. Nous quittons la piste et nous parvenons à un village alors que la nuit tombe sur la campagne coréenne.
Une femme, dans l’entrebâillement d'un portail, nous traduit à l'aide de son smartphone que le premier hôtel est à une vingtaine de minutes en voiture.
Il est donc temps d'allumer nos éclairages. Nous décidons de ne pas reprendre la piste, nous ne verrons rien et restons sur les grands axes.
Il fait nuit. Les quelques passants nous indiquent toujours la même direction. Enfin le motel convoité ! Nous sommes trempés.
La chambre est sommaire. Pas de lit, pas de matelas mais elle fera l'affaire. Nous faisons sécher nos affaires et partons à pied pour trouver de quoi dîner.
Nous poussons la porte d'un petit boui-boui. Un genre de grill trône au milieu des tables et nos voisins se font griller des tranches de lard et des rondelles de patate. C'est exactement ce qu'il nous faut.
Avec JP, nous sommes de gros mangeurs. Alors, après 117 kilomètres à vélo, les six rondelles de pommes de terre que l'on nous apporte, nous paraissent bien insuffisantes. Le supplément de quatre rondelles est loin de nous rassasier. L'addition, nous estomaque. Hors de prix.
Nous finissons dans une supérette pour terminer ce repas sur une touche sucrée.
27/10/18
Jour : 62 km Total : 652 km
Journée marathon comme je les aime, mais il faut bien avouer, au moment d'écrire ces lignes, je suis épuisé...
Reprenons...
Il s'agit de notre dernier jour sur le vélo.
Les 47 kilomètres jusqu'à l'arrivée sont rapidement parcourus. D'autant plus que les forêts d'immeubles de Busan, deuxième ville du pays (3,5 millions d'habitants), sont en ligne de mire.
L'arche constituant la ligne d'arrivée est l'occasion de faire quelques photos avec des cyclistes coréens de passage.
Heureux d'avoir parcourus cette belle piste, il nous faut maintenant nous diriger vers Busan et plus précisément vers la gare centrale pour y réserver nos billets de KTX (TGV) pour le lendemain.
10 kilomètres en jungle urbaine avec bus, intersections et feux tricolores. Nous en avions perdu l'habitude.
A suivre les panneaux « Train station », nous empruntons deux tunnels interdits aux vélos. La circulation est dense, il faut jouer les équilibristes.
Je réserve en quelques minutes deux billets pour Séoul, départ 6h30 le lendemain matin.
Quelques kilomètres encore pour trouver l'hôtel.
Personne. Nous partons déjeuner dans une chaîne de burgers (Lotteria).
Retour à l'hôtel. Personne. J'entends du bruit au 4ème étage. A force d'inspecter les chambres, je trouve une petite dame qui nous ouvre notre chambre.
Nous avons besoin d'un véhicule à 5h40 pour le lendemain, d'un grand véhicule pouvant accueillir deux adultes et deux vélos emballés. Pas un mot d'anglais mais avec les gestes, on se met d'accord sur l'heure, le tarif et sur la taille du taxi. Enfin, je l'espère...
Nous partons à pied pour le quartier de Gamchéon, un village aux maison colorées et aux ruelles escarpées. Le lieu, très touristique, a fait l'objet de plusieurs campagnes de restauration et de réhabilitation.
Nous marchons plusieurs heures dans ce labyrinthe, revenons sur nos pas pour photographier à nouveau certains lieux car le soleil a daigné montre le bout de son nez.
Promenade agréable dans un quartier squatté par les artistes. Ici, ce sont des dizaines de coréens qui font la queue pour se prendre en photo à côté d'une statue du Petit Prince et de son renard.
Sur le chemin du retour, nous trouvons de la mousse et du carton entassés sur un trottoir. Ces matériaux nous permettront d'emballer les vélos afin qu'ils soient protégés dans l'avion.
Depuis le début du voyage, JP peine à retirer de l'argent dans les distributeurs. Nous enchainons trois ou quatre banques, mais sans succès.
La rue des livres est étonnante. Dans certaines boutiques, il est impossible d'entrer tellement il y a d'ouvrages.
Nous nous plongeons dans les fumées et les odeurs du marché Gukje et prolongeons jusqu'au marché aux poissons de Jagalchi.
Des anguilles scalpées vivantes tentent de s'échapper des grills sur lesquels on tente désespérément de les faire cuire, des poulpes mangés alors qu'ils gesticulent encore et des tentacules de pieuvres refusant obstinément de se laisser enfermer dans des sacs plastiques. Un tel spectacle ne m'aide pas à apprécier tous ces mollusques et autres fruits de mer que j’exècre déjà...
Derrière ces petites échoppes odorantes où trônent les poissons séchés ou vivants, des petites tables permettent aux coréens de déguster.
Je suis épuisé.
Comme la journée n'était pas assez chargée à notre goût, nous nous engageons dans la station de métro de Jagalchi pour rejoindre la plage de Haeundae . Ce soir, c'est le grand festival international de feu d'artifice de Busan qui rassemble plus de deux millions de spectateurs chaque année.
Neuf stations de métro, un changement, neuf stations de métro et une foule dense canalisée par des force de sécurité quelque peu débordées et nous arrivons sur le front de mer. Un coréen nous annonce que le spectacle débute à 20h00. Il est 19h30, juste le temps d'avaler une pizza plutôt bonne mais comme partout en Corée, hors de prix.
Je n'aime pas particulièrement les feux d'artifice mais nous parvenons à nous frayer une place face à la mer et le spectacle est plutôt agréable.
Il est 20h50, dans 10 minutes les derniers feux seront tirés. Il faut partir pour éviter la foule qui se dirige déjà vers la bouche de métro.
Neuf stations, un changement, neuf stations et un kilomètre à pied pour rejoindre l'hôtel.
Au lit ? Non, pas tout à fait.
Il nous faut encore emballer soigneusement les vélos dans les housses prévues à cet effet, faire nos bagages et prendre une douche.
Il est 23h00, nous nous couchons morts de fatigue.
Pourtant, qu'avons nous fait aujourd'hui ? 62 km à vélo, 15 km à pied, 36 stations de métro, un quartier escarpé, trois marchés, quatre banques, une gare centrale, un festival international rassemblant 2 millions de personnes, un emballage de vélo, 1500 photos et j'en oublie... Les réveils sont programmés à 5h00 du matin...
28/10/18
Nous prenons notre petit déjeuner à la gare de Séoul.
Le KTX part à 6h30. Le suivant est à 6h40
Assis dans le wagon, je repense avec plaisir au film que j'ai vu il y a quelques semaines : « Dernier train pour Busan ». Un film de zombies, le genre de film que je n'apprécie pas particulièrement mais sachant que j'allais prendre ce train, sur la même ligne que le lieu de l'histoire, je me suis laissé emporté.
Donc, il s'agit du KTX Séoul-Busan qui se fait contaminer par des zombies assoiffés de sang. Je suis amusé par ce clin d’œil.
Le paysage défile. Parfois, nous longeons la piste mais difficile de situer les lieux.
Arrivés à 9h00 en gare de Séoul, nos sacs d'une trentaine de kilos nous achèvent. Nous sommes dans le dernier wagon et nous avons tout le quai à parcourir à pied.
Les taxis ne peuvent pas nous prendre faute de place. Je retourne dans la gare et demande au guichet d'information s'il est possible de nous appeler un van. Impossible.
Il nous reste à convaincre deux chauffeurs de taxi de nous prendre séparément et surtout de loger les vélos sur la banquette arrière.
C'est chose faite, nous arrivons à l'auberge de jeunesse réservée dans le quartier de Jongno, quartier central qui nous permettra de ne pas perdre de temps lors des visites.
Il est 10h00, les chambres ne sont pas prêtes, nous partons à pied.
Nous débutons par le Chagdokgung Palace (15ème siècle) et son extraordinaire Secret Garden. Un parc immense, sublimé par les merveilleuses couleurs de l'automne, un petit paradis au cœur de la ville, un des plus beaux parcs que je n'ai jamais vus.
Les touristes, essentiellement asiatiques, visitent les lieux vêtus de costumes traditionnels coréens. Ceux-ci sont proposés à la location à chaque coin de rue. Évidemment, ils leur permettent de faire des milliers de photos et de selfies.
Un riz au bœuf plus loin, nous sommes au Bukchon village, un quartier traditionnel préservé.
Promenade apaisante et étonnamment calme alors que la ville grouillante se trouve à quelques centaines de mètres.
Mais « chut ! », il faut chuchoter pour ne pas troubler le bien-être des habitants.
Nous poursuivons jusqu'au parc du Gyeongbokgung Palace où un spectacle a lieu. JP est extirpé du public pour participer à la démonstration. Il est chaleureusement applaudi par le public malgré, il faut l'avouer, sa piètre prestation....
Nous remontons l'immense Sejong Daero en face du palais.
Une fête, un concert sans public et des ballons. Des manifestations silencieuses ont lieu. Impossible d'en saisir les revendications. Des stands sont montés pour réclamer la réunification des deux Corée. Ceux-là rendent hommage aux victime d'un dramatique naufrage de ferry. Une fête morbide !
Comme partout en Corée, des stands de bouffe.
Une grosse averse nous oblige à nous abriter dans un Starbucks Coffee.
A la faveur d'une accalmie, nous visitons un temple bouddhiste, niché au pied des buildings et orné de milliers de fleurs.
Des caméras surveillent le lieu. Nous en avons vu partout en Corée, aussi bien à la ville qu'à la campagne. Le pays est sous haute surveillance.
Encore une quinzaine de kilomètres à pied aujourd'hui...
29/10/18
Nous retournons au petit temple bouddhiste, éclairé désormais pas une jolie lumière matinale.
Nous visitons le Gyeongbokgung Palace où nous assistons par hasard à la relève de la garde. Les gardiens, affublés de fausses barbes, répètent inlassablement le cérémonial.
Encore et toujours, les couleurs automnales enchantent le paysage.
A pied, puis en téléphérique, nous rejoignons l'esplanade qui domine la ville. Depuis le promontoire, on distingue les bâtiments et les montagnes environnantes, mais aussi le fleuve Han au bord duquel nous distinguons cette fameuse piste cyclable.
Nous attendons deux heures que le ciel se découvre. Le soleil en plus, la lumière est moins belle finalement.
Nous redescendons en ville et arpentons sans relâche l'immense marché à la recherche de petits cadeaux pour nos proches et de photos à prendre.
Les petites artères cachent des restaurants minuscules, certains n'ont qu'une seule table. Les rats y grouillent, peut-être finissent-ils dans l'assiette...
Il fait déjà nuit. Nous retournons à pied à l'hôtel. Nous nous perdons évidemment et les coréens rencontrés peinent à comprendre notre prononciation.
Peu avant de rejoindre notre but, nous traversons un petit quartier traditionnel aux maisons basses.
Belle ambiance.
30/10/18
Il est 5h00, je bois mon café sur le perron de l'hôtel en attendant le taxi. La supérette en face est ouverte 24h/24 . En ce petit matin, des coréens poussent des charrettes transportant des cartons.
Le chauffeur de taxi s'évertue à trouver notre numéro de vol sur son smartphone. Fort heureusement car nous nous étions trompés d'aéroport.
2h30 de vol jusqu'à Pékin, 3 heures d'escale, 11h15 de vol jusqu'à Paris, 8 heures de décalage horaire...
Je suis abasourdi à Paris... Des vacances ? Non, un voyage... Et quel voyage !
« Alors pourquoi la Corée du Sud ? »
Pas pour les paysages ni pour la gastronomie assurément... Pour les coréens et leur culture, pour les villes de Séoul ou Busan sans aucun doute. Vous l'avais-je déjà dit ? Il existe une piste cyclable extraordinaire qui traverse le pays du nord au sud...
Un rythme d'enfer que ces 652 kms à vélo qu'on lit avec un même rythme d'enfer et... qui épuise, forcément 😏 !
Alors, encore abasourdie par tant de vitesse -ou de précipitation- au choix, je suis allée flâner au milieu de tes photos pour en ressortir (ouf) apaisée ! Ce qui prouve que parfois les photos, dans un carnet, c'est finalement pas si mal 😉...
Bref, très sympa ta nouvelle aventure dans tout ce qu'elle a de déconcertant et d'original.
Mais qu'est-ce qu'elle est épuisante 😄 !
Dolma
un chemin et la caresse du vent, alors je pars en voyage...
Hé hé je suis allée directement te lire sur ton blog.😏
Bien m’en a pris car c’est quand même plus sympa avec les - très nombreuses - photos illustrant ton récit.
Je te tire mon chapeau, je serais bien incapable de faire un tel voyage !
Je ne parle pas de pédaler 100 bornes par jour, ça, ce n’est même pas envisageable, je n’en aurais pas la capacité physique.
Mais c’est plutôt de faire ce périple à toute allure sans avoir le temps de se poser.
Je me sentirais frustrée.
Mais je comprends bien le but de votre voyage et votre temps forcément limité.
Sympa en tous cas d’avoir pu faire cela avec un bon copain.
Une question : la cuisine coréenne est vraiment mauvaise ? 😮
Ou vous n’avez pas eu de chance ?
" Nous ne saurons jamais tout le bien qu'un simple sourire peut être capable de faire."
Mère Teresa
Mais je comprends bien le but de votre voyage et votre temps forcément limité.
Sympa en tous cas d’avoir pu faire cela avec un bon copain.
Oui, c'est vrai, une belle aventure partagée avec mon pote 🙂
Effectivement, le temps était limité, c'était audacieux mais je nuance un peu en ajoutant que lorsque l'on se déplace à vélo, on ne perçoit pas l'environnement de la même façon. Il ne transparait peut-être pas assez que nous nous déplaçons à 20km/h et non à 70. Ainsi, les ambiances, les odeurs et les paysages sont captés avec douceur et une relative lenteur... 🙂
Il ne transparaît peut-être pas assez que nous nous déplaçons à 20km/h et non à 70
Ah quand même 😉 !!!
Tu sais à 300 m de chez moi, il y a une voie verte très sympa et moins loin que la Corée 😛.
J'ai fait comme Lacalo, suis allé voir ton blog et ses photos, bravo les courageux d'entreprendre un si long voyage pour pédaler, mais contrairement à elle, ça me tenterait bien ! A étudier !
Une question : la cuisine coréenne est vraiment mauvaise ? 😮
Ou vous n’avez pas eu de chance ?
Oublié de répondre à ta question 🙂
Je n'ai pas accroché avec la cuisine coréenne. Pourtant, je suis assez curieux en terme de gastronomie mais là, je ne l'ai pas trouvée terrible du tout.
Après, je n'aime pas trop les produits de la mer, hors, beaucoup de plats en ont...
On n'a peut-être pas eu de chance de manger de la bouffe coréenne 😏...
Bonjour Pierre
Comme dit sur un message dans un autre carnet, j'attendais ton CR avec impatience pour des raisons de liens affectifs avec la Corée du sud
je ne poste que le texte.......vous pourrez retrouver le carnet illustré des photos sur mon blog: www.world-blogueur.com
Perso j'ai adoré cette option et la narration qui laisse la place a l'imaginaire et, ensuite suis allé mettre les (belles) images sur ton ressenti
le quartier de Gangnam
rendu célèbre mondialement par Park Jae-Sang (Psy) qui le caricature allégrement dans son "Gangnam Style"
cuisine
Dans ma ville du nord-et Thaïlande s'est monté une tente comme tu décris, gros succès, pas testé, une file d'attente pas possible
Un restau en dur vient d'ouvrir, même phénomène, dés que çà se calme, nous irons explorer et reviendrais te dire
il y a ici, un certain engouement pour ce pays,
en pj, illustration avec cette photo prise récemment dans un petit Coffee d'Issan
Quant à moi, en + du blog et des superbes photos, c'est la manière, très originale et courageuse, de découvrir ce suprenant pays en si peu de temps qui me plait beaucoup.
Tempted too!
(ps)... et ce nouveau vélo de JP, c'était une bonne affaire au moins ?
et ce nouveau vélo de JP, c'était une bonne affaire au moins ?
Aussi bien que l'ancien qui avait plus de 15 ans ! Une belle affaire donc ! Même si, et je le comprends, laisser l'ancien en Corée lui a fait un pincement au coeur...
Je crois que je viens de comprendre 🙂
J'ai lu ton 1er long message en 2 fois puis je suis allée regarder tes photos. Elles complètent parfaitement ton récit d'un voyage sans répit mais riche en rencontres.
C'est sympa de faire des petits breaks avec un pote et surtout de partager de tels moments.
Jusqu'à 45km/jour sur du plat ça ira. Au delà faut me tirer ou me pousser.
Et pas question de manger des éléments non identifiés qui flottent dans leur jus 😠
Sauf si tu manges une douzaine d'huitres devant moi.
Superbes photos comme d'habitude ! ton carnet m'a confortée dans l'idée que le vélo n'était vraiment pas ma tasse de thé, et ton récit m'a donné envie de manger une bonne côte de boeuf !! 😛
Belle expérience j'imagine, vous avez dû rentrer sur les rotules ! Chapeau bas ! 😮
Tant de mains pour transformer ce monde et si peu de regards pour le contempler...
Corée du Sud, l'autre pays des forêts. Oui il y a beaucoup de forêt (plantées) dans ce pays vallonné et montagneux, entouré par la mer. Si vous traversez le…
J’étais déjà allé une fois en Corée du Sud, en 2002, un an avant de rendre visite à son homologue nordiste, et il faut bien reconnaître que j’avais gardé une…
Voici le résumé de mon voyage en Corée du sud en avril 2014 avec les transports en commun. Comme l'argent est le nerf de la guerre, je vous ai mis tous les…
Et le prochain voyage, ce sera où? - En Corée Devant l’air surpris, voire inquiet de notre interlocuteur, nous ajoutions: - « du sud », et le soulagement se…
Hi everyone, I’m Patrick, 67 years old, a seasoned traveler (already 22 trips outside Europe).
In autumn 2025, I took my first 3-week trip to Japan, with stops in Tokyo, Kamakura, Matsumoto, Kamikochi, Takayama, Kanazawa, Kyoto, Nara, Osaka, Koyasan, Tokyo again, and Nikko.
I wanted to go back in May 2026 and explore some lesser-known places to complement my first trip.
Last year, there were four of us traveling together to discover Japan (a fairly classic itinerary). This time, I’ll be traveling solo for part of the trip and with a couple of French friends for the rest.
The weather was gorgeous in May, averaging around 25°C, with two very hot days in Kyoto and only two rainy days.
As usual, I organized everything myself, gathering plenty of information from various sites, including this one.
Transportation:
An ICOCA card is essential.
I got a 5-day Kansai-Hiroshima pass because I took the shinkansen between Hiroshima and Osaka three times, and it paid for itself quickly.
Accommodations:
Mostly through Booking. No issues at all. Average cost was 46 € per night.
Meals:
For breakfast, I alternated between buying food at a konbini to eat in my room or on the train and grabbing something at local cafés.
For lunch and dinner, I tried to vary my meals as much as possible—lots of sashimi, sushi, and ramen.
Okonomiyaki in Osaka and Hiroshima.
Oysters in every form (raw, grilled, fried) in Onomichi and Hiroshima.
A variety of seafood (shrimp, shellfish) in Hiroshima and Matsumoto.
Fish whose names often escaped me, but notably mackerel and eel (unagi).
Tempura and gyoza.
Chicken skewers (yakitori) and one teppanyaki meal.
One omakase meal (9 different dishes).
In the end, not much meat aside from a few yakitori skewers. No splurges on super expensive wagyu or Kobe beef.
Average dinner cost: 4,800 yen, drinks included.
The Itinerary:
Day 1: Departure from Brussels
Day 2: Arrival in Osaka
Day 3: To Himeji, then Kurashiki
Day 4: To Fukuyama, then Tomo no Ura, then Onomichi
Day 5: Cycling the Shimanami Kaido
Day 6: To Takahara, then Hiroshima
Day 7: To Kyoto to attend the Aoi Matsuri parade
Day 8: To Miyajima
Day 9: Hiroshima, then Kyoto
Day 10: Southern Kyoto
Day 11: Northern Kyoto
Day 12: Final day in Kyoto, then to Nagatsugawa
Day 13: Start of the Nakasendo Trail (Magome to Tsumago)
Day 14: Second day of the trail (Kiso Fukushima)
Day 15: Third day of the trail (Narai), then Matsumoto
Day 16: To Mt. Fuji (Kawaguchiko)
Day 17: To Tokyo
Day 18: Excursion to Enoshima and Kamakura
Day 19: Flight home, with a 10-hour layover in Hong Kong
Day 20: Arrival in Brussels
This 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 rentals kept making me postpone the project.
And then, everything fell into place—I told myself, now’s the time!
Preparations took longer than usual; the destination is still far from mainstream.
A bit of Kazakhstan?
Not in the end.
The south or not?
Yes, in the end.
Pre-book or play it by ear?
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 on 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!
(‘Beefsteak’ for my partner’s mischievous nephews...)
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.
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?
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'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 😹
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!
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.
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
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.
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 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...
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...
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!
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.
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
Here’s a little story about my first trip to Japan with my partner.
We went for our first visit from October 29 to November 13, 2024.
I had planned this entire trip back in November 2020, but given the health situation at the time, I had to cancel...
Here’s the classic route we took:
We booked everything ourselves and got a regional pass for the area from Kyoto to Hiroshima.
The hotels were reserved 3 months in advance on Book... and Agod... (1030 € for 2 people for 13 nights = 80 €/night).
For the flight, we chose a Qatar Airways flight with a layover to break up the long journey (950 € per person).
We also got a pass on the same site (Japan-Experience) to take the train connecting Narita Airport to Shibuya Station (the N'EX Narita Express).
Since the airport is 75 km from central Tokyo, we opted for this mode of transport, even though there are cheaper alternatives.
After reading various posts on VoyageForum, I understood how important it was to have a Welcome Suica card to pay for public transport (subway, tram, bus, boat throughout the country), and we were able to buy one at Narita Airport.
It turned out to be super useful!
After a long but smooth journey, we found ourselves at Narita Airport in the evening.
Even though we had a pass for the Narita Express, we had to go to a counter to make a reservation for the train (mandatory).
Then, once we arrived at Shibuya Station, we took the subway for 2 stops and finally reached our hotel, exhausted (Hotel Asia Center of Japan – 270 € for 3 nights with breakfast included).
I’m inviting you on a stroll through my drawings—a completely subjective, far from exhaustive, and totally personal take, since it’s based on my own sketches. I put this travel journal together after returning in late 2024, mostly using felt-tip pens and pencils, with a few collages thrown in. I worked from our personal photos.
Let’s start with the shotengai...
Our first "wow" moment came as we stepped out of the subway in Asakusa, the Tokyo neighborhood where we’d booked our hotel for our first five nights. Exhausted after our long flight, we finally arrived and took an exit that led straight into a shotengai—one of those covered shopping streets that pop up in city centers and flourished between the 1950s and 1980s.
It was an instant aesthetic shock, like a close encounter of the third kind between the modern city, a typical Asian market with its street stalls, the vintage vibe of the arcade, the sheer abundance of goods, and the bustling crowd—a mix of tourists, pilgrims (thanks to nearby Senso-ji Temple), and locals (it’s a very working-class area).
In the end, it set the tone for a feeling we’d experience throughout the trip. Wherever we went, shotengai turned out to be fantastic spots for finding little restaurants, shops, or even fresh produce. Some are like real mazes, like in Kyoto, where we spent ages trying to relocate a restaurant we’d loved ;-)
In Kanazawa, the Omicho Market:
And in Kyoto, Nishiki Market:
With my girlfriend Christelle, we’ve chosen South Africa for our first trip to Southern Africa, focusing on safaris—after a long debate with a Cape Town/Kruger combo.
But that would’ve meant cutting out St Lucia, which would’ve been harder to fit into another trip.
And St Lucia—thanks to Michel and all those travel journals—we really wanted to go there.
So our 11-night itinerary ended up like this, mostly shaped by school holidays:
- 3 nights in St Lucia
- 1 night in Hluhluwe
- 1 night at Mkhaya Game Reserve (Eswatini)
- 1 night at Hlane Royal National Park (Eswatini)
- 3 nights in Kruger (Berg en Dal / Satara / Tamboti)
- 1 night at Shindzela Tented Camp in the Timbavati private reserve
- 1 final night in Kruger at Lower Sabie
All of this in the off-season and rainy season, just a month after catastrophic floods that killed over 150 people and seriously damaged Kruger’s infrastructure.
I’ll jump straight to St Lucia and skip the loooong journey to get there (with a layover in Frankfurt, landing in Johannesburg, a domestic flight to Durban, and the rest by rental SUV—First Car Rental, perfect, no complaints).
To motivate readers—especially some familiar faces here—I’ll drop in a first photo.
We went to Albania in August 2025.
Our itinerary included adventure (sporty activities, site visits), naps on the beach interspersed with swims, incredible natural sites, and a bit of culture.
I booked all our accommodations on Booking.com. Note: almost all places ask to be paid in cash!! You can obviously withdraw from banks, but the fees are pretty high. Luckily, we had plenty of cash, and the country is very safe. You can pay in euros most of the time, which avoids exchange fees.
We started in Tirana. I’d read a really interesting post about Albania’s bunkers (link in my profile). We chose to visit Bunk’Art with a guide from the agency that wrote the post. It was fascinating—not only to better understand the country’s history but also because her grandfather was repressed by the regime, and she shared her family’s experience with us.
Bunkers are everywhere! In Tirana, Bunk’Art is the most interesting and largest. You’ll see the dictator Enver Hoxha’s office, where he would’ve taken refuge in case of an attack on the country. Bring a sweater—it’s really cold in the underground tunnels and their huge corridors.
You can visit other bunkers around the country, in Tirana and elsewhere. Almost all are just abandoned.
The cable car up Mount Dajti is right next to Bunk’Art. The view is stunning—you realize Tirana is so close to the mountains and the sea... But otherwise, it’s not that exciting for older teens (17 and 19) and their parents.
We picked up a rental car in Tirana—it’d be ours for the next three weeks. We used Goalbania’s agency to avoid any hassles. First, there aren’t many cars available in Albania in summer. Second, French credit cards can be a nightmare abroad. So we preferred to sort that out in advance.
After Tirana, we headed to Permet. Just a heads-up: the roads are in great condition except in the mountains. And Albanian drivers aren’t stressful to deal with. Though you might suddenly encounter a herd of goats crossing the road—haha—but if you’re not going too fast, it’s fine.
In Permet, I’d been dreaming of rafting on the Vjosa, one of Europe’s last wild rivers. And we did it with a local agency! It’s beautiful, accessible to everyone, not too physical but still a bit lively—just how we like it. You can even jump into the river in some spots.
In Permet, we also hiked through a canyon and visited a lovely little church.
And we took a workshop to make their local culinary pride: gliko. It’s a jam with whole fruits inside. We’d seen it on Goalbania’s site, and it was really fun. We were with a family where the secret to making gliko has been passed down for generations...
Next, we headed to Gjirokastër. A city we loved: its old traditional houses (Skendulli and Zekate), its grand castle, the Ali Pasha Bridge. Along the way, we stopped for artisanal ice cream at a little shop run by a grandmother who’s been making it herself for ages.
One afternoon, my husband *had* to go to the coast in the south, to Ksamil (he’d read it was better than Sarandë). Verdict: we didn’t like it. Parking is a nightmare, the beaches are super noisy and crowded. The sea is packed with jet skis, boats, pedalos, and ropes. Avoid it.
On the other hand, we really liked Himarë, where we went next. We stayed at a campsite where we rented tents with mattresses and sheets inside. Right by the sea, on a low cliff (about 2 meters high). You can hear the waves at night... Magical!! To swim, you either jump straight into the sea (almost from the tent) or climb down a ladder, which you’ll need to climb back up to get out.
I was a little worried the campsite wouldn’t be very comfortable, so afterward, I’d booked a small place in Gjilek. Turns out, the place was really tiny (one room for four, no kitchen) and pretty expensive (over 100 € a night). We’d drive to the beach or restaurants—it’s on a steep slope, so not very accessible. Parking near the sea is tricky. But the (private) beaches were nice—we’d rent an umbrella not too close to the music and spend the day there. We also went to a wilder beach, harder to reach, via a long path. Behind the beach, there’s an amazing canyon where we’d sometimes climb using ropes (already in place, no need to bring your own) over big boulders rolled around by the stream, which must swell a lot in spring.
So, the sea in Albania: it’s nice if you like swimming and relaxing, but it’s not the most interesting part of the country. There are so many other amazing things to see and discover—so many stunning sites! Maybe an agency could’ve helped us find more practical accommodations and avoid Ksamil and its surroundings.
We left the coast to head to the beautiful city of Berat and its "thousand windows." We explored the city, its fortress, and its icon museum.
Then we discovered the Osum Canyon—it’s incredible. The view from the top is breathtaking. And at the bottom, it’s magical. There’s little water in summer, so rafting isn’t an option. We weren’t tempted by the big-tube descent offered by an agency—it looked fun, but the group had 40 people. We preferred hiking on our own as a family of four. We scouted the area on Google Maps... and found where to descend. We walked in the water, then it rose to our waists, then our shoulders... We weren’t moving fast. And how to get back up?? Eventually, we followed a group with a guide—the path was hard to find.
After that unforgettable hike, we visited the Bogovë Waterfalls. It’s pretty, and we swam, but the water was *really* cold.
We passed through Tirana again and then headed to Shkodër. We explored a bit—its charming little streets, the Rozafa Fortress. There’s a tiny museum where you can see *huge* Ottoman stone cannonballs. And they tell you the (charming) story of the young woman who was walled alive in the castle’s foundations to ensure its strength...
Shkodër is mostly a stopover to head into the mountains and discover Theth. Our goal: hiking in the Valbona Valley, from Valbona to Theth. We organized the trip ourselves, without an agency, but it took some time to figure everything out. So I’ll save you the trouble—haha. Book your tickets on the Komanilakeferry website. The ticket includes:
🙂 minibus transfer from downtown Shkodër to Koman
🙂 ferry ticket from Koman to Fierze. This ferry ride is *gorgeous*—between mountain slopes covered in pine trees, and sometimes a little house with a few fields...
🙂 minibus ticket from Fierze to Valbona. Now you’re in the mountains! The minibus drops you off near your accommodation—pick one as close as possible to the start of the hike (if that’s your goal!). The ones at the far end of the village add up to 1.5 hours of walking. Our choice: Guesthouse Dioni. The host is really lovely, it’s in the woods, and it’s basic but great.
After a day of hiking, we arrived in Theth. What beautiful mountains! Then we explored Theth and the surrounding area. It’s pretty busy, but you can still enjoy the Blue Eye of Theth and its swim. It’s *so* cold! But so beautiful!
🙂 minibus ticket from Theth back to Shkodër.
After a night in Shkodër, we drove to Kepi i Rodonit. A guidebook (I forget which one) raved about its beauty. And it *is* beautiful!
But the view is ruined by plastic bottles and other trash in the bushes, along the paths, and of course on the beaches. The only peaceful spot: the private beach at Kepi i Rodonit, which is cleaned. You can rent an umbrella and have lunch there. That’s where we spent our last few days—very relaxing.
In short... Albania turned out to be perfect for us and our teens!
I’m diving into a recap of our loop—pretty classic, really—Denver-Yellowstone-Denver this past summer, from July 24 to August 17. Given the sheer number of trip reports already out there (or in the works), and since I don’t have the writing chops or the photography skills of many of you, I’ll keep it practical—well, I’ll try, at least—to share our take on some of the less-visited parks and spots.
First off, a huge thank you to everyone whose trip reports, blogs, websites, comments, and more helped us put together this itinerary. Looking back, it could’ve been even better optimized: a few disappointments when we missed out on some great discoveries, often because we were short on time. Plenty of reasons to come back to the area!
We’re traveling with our four (almost) teens—18, 16, 14, and nearly 12 years old. To keep the trip enjoyable for everyone, we had to make compromises on both sides: cutting a visit short to spend more time swimming, waking up at dawn, and so on. But logistics also played a big role—things like laundry, grocery shopping, and keeping luggage organized could’ve quickly become time-consuming without a little planning.
And honestly, I think we visited every Walmart along the way! Blame it on the lack of fridges in some accommodations and, more importantly, the *very* limited space in the car, which made it impossible to bring a proper cooler. I’ll come back to the car saga later.
For accommodations, this year we alternated between basic cabins in KOA campgrounds and Yellowstone (when staying more than one night in the same place) and hotels. Always with a pool (except in Yellowstone, of course), which let the kids burn off energy—because they always have reserves, even after packed days!—and, let’s be honest, gave us a chance to relax. No Wi-Fi issues either; we all had plans with 25 GB of data (a big thanks to Gilles for the amazing deal at 0.99 €). It worked perfectly, even for texts and calls between phones—no extra charges.
Now, onto our route: as I mentioned, a classic Denver-Yellowstone-Denver loop. To avoid rushing through the parks or spending all our time on the road, we prioritized staying as close to them as possible, with at least two nights in each place. And I’ve got to say, it’s really nice to settle in, even if it’s just for two nights. It also helped us deal with the weather, which wasn’t always great during this trip. The trade-off? With vacation time being limited, some driving days ended up being long. We knew that going in, but since we kept a relaxed pace with no time constraints (don’t ask me for timings—I don’t keep track of the clock on vacation, except in the morning to get everyone up before noon!), we sometimes ended up with marathon days.
With that said, I’ll dive into the trip itself in the next post.
And we still haven’t seen everything!
Before setting off for new horizons at the end of this year, it’s time for me to share my trip to Cape Verde this summer 2025.
I particularly love these spontaneous trips, and our stay in Cape Verde is one of those because it was only at the beginning of April that we decided on this getaway, which had been catching our eye for a while, given our love for the mountains.
As always—well, when it’s open—I turned to VF, and I want to immediately thank Marie, aka ptitortue, who helped me a lot in planning this trip through her travel journals and our exchanges!
Because Cape Verde is both small and vast! We decided not to rush from one airport to another, to enjoy the places and the people, but also to relax, since the work backlog from being stuck in May (see my previous travel journal 😅) had to be caught up on in June.
So, 4 islands will be our winners from 06/28 to 07/19:
Santiago first for logistical reasons, as round-trip flights from the capital Praia were the cheapest (650 €/person from Lyon via Lisbon with TAP, still!)
São Vicente, because it’s the gateway to the next one but ultimately more than that...
Santo Antão, pretty much the main goal of the trip since Marie (and the photos) had really sold it to me.
And finally, Sal Island, for some rest—a non-negotiable condition for my other half—and we’ll see that I should’ve listened to Marie...
That said, what a chatterbox I am—buckle up, flight attendants at the doors, off we go on new beautiful escapes! (Thanks to Sophie for the easy loan)
Last note for my eager fan club 😏: yes, there will be alcohol—how could there not be in the land of grogue!
Hello,
Since I enjoy not only the countryside but also everything related to rail travel, I’m starting this photo thread dedicated to trains in Thailand (I’d guess most of us have taken one at some point...).
Feel free to post your pictures here as long as they fit the theme: rolling stock**, stations**, platforms, tracks (even without a train on them), technical equipment, engineering structures (bridges, viaducts), etc.—all in Thailand.
For each photo, I’ll (or you can) note the station or line where it was taken.
Comments and questions are welcome.
As I’ve mentioned elsewhere, I inherited my love of travel from my parents and some of my grandparents. A strong passion, but one that was unfortunately limited by our family’s modest resources. Back then, living in northern Alsace, a simple trip to the southern part of the region—with the Wine Route as our destination—felt like an extraordinary journey to a land of plenty for the little boy I was in the late 60s and early 70s.
Everything seemed so huge when you were still just a kid.
Back then, I was overwhelmed by countless sensations—I was already highly sensitive, with a keen mind and a nose and taste buds that were developing like a pro’s. Which, as I’d later realize, wasn’t always an advantage.
Those magical days always began with a gentle late-spring or midsummer morning. The interior of the white Peugeot 404, license plate 210 LZ 67, had already soaked up the sun before the engine purred to life, and the cabin gave off a scent I could still recognize today—a fragrance I found so pleasant. Back then, I had no idea it was just the smell of warm plastic from the car’s interior.
Yes, the scents of the 404 on sunny days became my madeleine de Proust...
What’s more, the whole family was unusually cheerful because those moments of relaxation and leisure were rare. Everyone worked, and no one had an easy job or was well paid. Without the *Trente Glorieuses*, these experiences might never have happened.
Once we crossed the canton’s borders, I felt like I was light-years away from my everyday surroundings, and every kilometer plunged me deeper into *terra incognita*. It was thrilling. Far from my so-called "medium-sized" town, wheat fields, cornfields, and cabbage patches stretched out, punctuated by tall poles connected by long wires and topped with vegetation—like giant clotheslines without laundry, where magical beanstalks might grow to touch the sky. Back then, I was still far from tasting their product, which was simply beer. At the time, there was still a significant local hop production. Fun fact: it wasn’t until 2002 that Anglo-Saxon scientists proved hops and cannabis belong to the same biological family.
After the fields, the landscape took another step up as it rolled past the little boy’s eyes, often glued to the windows. First came modest hills, then a succession of rolling slopes that soon formed an unbroken chain. Their 700 meters in altitude felt like Himalayan peaks to me—impressive, inert giants, a whole new world. Gazing at them, an intense emotion welled up somewhere between my stomach and lungs, nearly taking my breath away. What mysteries, what treasures did these heights hold?
And then there were the cherries on top—the crowning touch that made the scene even more magical: proud, majestic castles perched on the summits like impassive sentinels. Monuments from the past, yet firmly rooted in the present on their rocky spurs.
The little boy’s eyes sparkled—he’d been given a castle for Christmas, complete with battlements, towers, a drawbridge, and fully armed knights. He’d watched and lived *Ivanhoe* on the only French TV channel that existed back then.
Only once did my paternal grandfather join us on one of these trips. A tall, intelligent man with a face that could shift from stern to mischievous, clearly full of humor and charisma. Sadly, his relationship with alcohol had taken a toll on his life and, by extension, those of his loved ones. He had a strong personality—if his boss crossed the line, he wouldn’t hesitate to punch him, which meant he went through a lot of different jobs. Back then, you could quit one job and easily find another. It was quite something to see him in his final stages, hallucinating pink elephants and even drinking perfume when he had nothing else left. The last time I saw him, he’d slipped away from the doctors and nurses while hospitalized in pretty bad shape—at least, I assume his liver was the issue. We were sitting down for a family lunch when the door burst open, and there he stood in his pajamas, eyes twinkling with mischief, clearly pleased with the dramatic entrance. That theatrical moment didn’t spare us from burying him a few months later at the age of 71. One day, my mother told me the family doctor had quietly remarked that it was a shame—with his robust constitution, he could’ve lived to be a hundred. Yes, the family doctor—this was the man who’d come treat you any day, at almost any hour, just for a phone call. It really existed, it’s not a myth!
That day, his wife—my paternal grandmother—was also along for the ride. Everyone agreed that Jeannette was a good woman. She worked as a waitress at *Le Tigre*, the biggest brasserie in town, right in the center. Most customers preferred to be served by her, including local dignitaries and even the mayor. As a kid, I didn’t find her very fun, open, or warm—she seemed a bit stern. Back then, women in their fifties already had the face and build of grandmothers. Same went for men, don’t get me wrong. I had no idea about the struggles she faced because of her husband. I didn’t know that 30 years earlier, she’d had to flee Alsace while pregnant, under threat from Nazi fighter-bombers. I didn’t know she’d had several miscarriages, and that my father—her only surviving child, born prematurely in March 1940 at the other end of France—weighed less than a kilo at birth and was so tiny he could fit in a shoebox. Hard to imagine he’d grow into a strapping man nearly 1.80 meters tall, tipping the scales at 100 kilos.
When you come back from summer camp in early August and ask why she didn’t pick you up with your parents, and they gently tell you she’s "in heaven," you don’t realize she passed away at 54 after suffering greatly from stomach cancer that had spread.
Back to that family outing, that enchanted parenthesis. I even remembered where we’d had lunch when I passed through Dambach-la-Ville decades later. One of those charming, flower-filled towns Alsace produces in abundance—and preserves so well. This one sits high on a hill, and I was a bit stunned on the parking lot because the view stretched far, revealing the Alsace plain below—its fields, villages, hills, and forests. The world seemed so vast and enticing that day, even though I was only glimpsing a tiny fraction of it.
The region was already very touristy, but I wouldn’t notice the downsides until much later. That Sunday noon, I discovered a large restaurant filled with diners. I can still see the enormous piece of meat they served me, decorated with a little wooden skewer topped with a flag. I kept that one for a long time. Those were the golden days of rich, flowing, thick sauces—so flavorful—and the era of the world’s best fries, made on the spot with the best potatoes. To top it off, I was *exceptionally* allowed a small bottle of apple juice, Orangina, or—even better if possible—Sinalco. Yes, Sinalco—like Orangina, but better. A brand that must’ve disappeared in the 70s, but why, and what a shame! Since then, Orangina’s little bubbles have taken the brand to the other side of the planet—it’s now Japanese.
Year after year, I’d eagerly await that ecstatic moment when the most beautiful castle in Alsace, the Haut-Koenigsbourg, appeared in my field of vision. The perfect model, the archetype that blended into the landscape at the height of a child’s dreams.
The trip home always felt like a reality check—less jarring than an alarm clock, but more diffuse and melancholic. From then on, there was only one wish: *When do we leave again?*
Hi there,
Here’s a recap of a trek through the Balkans covering three countries: Albania, Montenegro, and Kosovo. I was with a friend, and we didn’t do the full route (only one day in Kosovo).
It was a wonderful trek through snow-capped mountains and vast flower-filled meadows, meeting incredibly welcoming people.
At the end of the travel journal, I’ll share what I loved and what I liked less.
Day 1: Flight from Paris-Beauvais to Tirana with Wizz Air.
Since Albania isn’t part of Europe when it comes to phone service (at least not yet! :-)), we had to buy a physical SIM card—otherwise, the bill would’ve been sky-high if we’d used our French plan! We got one from Vodafone AL at the airport. You can buy online before leaving with a virtual SIM (e-SIM) for compatible phones, so you don’t have to swap cards. But given the uncertainty about choosing a plan online, we preferred buying one directly at Tirana Airport. Cost: 31 € for 100 GB. That’s way too much—100 GB is overkill. For 40 GB, it’s 27 €, and the plan lasts 21 days. The price difference isn’t huge, and it was cheaper than online. This plan covers all the countries along the Balkan range.
Money tip: All guesthouses and accommodations accept euros. The local currency in Albania is the LEK. In Montenegro, it’s the euro. Bank fees for withdrawing money from an ATM in Albania are pretty steep: 8 € for a withdrawal of 600–700 LEK (about 200 €)! So it’s better to withdraw cash (euros) in France. Oh, and we booked all our accommodations before leaving, but payment is always in cash. Budget around 400–500 € for 9 days of trekking.
Then, a transfer the same day to Shköder, about a 2-hour bus ride. Cost: 10 € per person. Tickets bought directly on the bus. We spent the night in Shköder at a very clean guesthouse, Open Doors B&B. It had a small balcony overlooking the city.
I really liked Shköder, especially its pedestrian street lined with restaurants and lit up at night. It’s a great place to stroll and eat. The food isn’t expensive—two big salads and two beers: 14 € :-) . Fruit prices are also very reasonable: 3 € for a kilo of cherries, compared to 9–10 € in France.
Religions coexist peacefully in these countries—Catholics and Muslims. From our balcony, my friend heard the call to prayer for the first time, coming from one of the city’s mosques.
Day 2: Bus ride to Theth, about 1,100 meters in elevation gain, the starting point for our hike the next day.
The trip took 2 hours and 40 minutes with a break in the middle. The bus was affordable, but taxis also make the trip—though they’re very expensive.
We slept in the heights of Theth at a new guesthouse, "Mountain Vista Shkafi," with an amazing view.
The family was adorable. The husband is a handyman and built almost everything himself. Their baby is named "Sky"—such a cute name, right? :-) Throughout the trek, I found the guesthouses very clean, and the hosts think of everything—no need to bring soap or shampoo; they provide it.
Lunch in Theth at a traditional restaurant on the main road. We tried "Tave Dheu," an Albanian dish with beef, cabbage (very common), and cottage cheese. Delicious but not quite filling enough. For dessert, a honey cake that was perfectly moist—such a treat! Desserts like this are rare; sometimes they serve watermelon instead.
We took a small private bus for 5 € to the "Blue Eye" parking lot, then walked for about 45 minutes to reach a stunning natural site—a kind of lagoon with incredibly blue water. The bravest can swim, but the water’s freezing!
That evening, we dined at "La Montagne Blanche"—excellent! A delightful mix of grilled meats with potatoes and grilled peppers. Some watermelon slices (which I’m not a fan of) and the famous Raki, a brandy served in Turkey and the Balkans! It was my first time drinking brandy "bottoms up." 😉
I’d like to share my family trip to Colombia with kids aged 8. After spending hours browsing the forum and only having two weeks there, we decided to focus on two regions: the Coffee Zone for one week and the Caribbean coast for another. We traveled from August 8 to 23.
Day 1 – First stop: Bogotá
We arrived in Bogotá in the evening on an Air France flight—nothing to complain about, decent service, comfortable, and on time. However, the first night was a miss. We’d booked a hotel near the airport (Abitel Prime) for convenience, but the soundproofing was almost nonexistent; we heard planes as if we were on the runway. Luckily, exhaustion helped us sleep well anyway.
Day 2 – Off to the Coffee Zone and Salento
The next morning, we headed to the airport for a domestic flight to Pereira with LATAM. No issues: punctual and efficient, and in 30 minutes, we landed in Pereira. The landing already set a different mood: lush valleys, endless plantations, and humid air.
We picked up our rental car from Localiza. Unfortunately, the experience wasn’t smooth—the paperwork took forever, and the wait tested our patience. Finally free, we hit the road to Salento, one of Quindío’s gems.
We arrived in the late afternoon and discovered a colorful village bustling with artisan shops and cafés. Our first stroll helped us soak in the atmosphere before dinner at Bambú restaurant—a great surprise with careful cooking and local flavors. We spent the night at Casa Serafín, a charming little hotel, nicely decorated and well-located… but unfortunately very noisy.
Day 3 – The magic of Cocora Valley
This was one of the trip’s highlights. We set off early for Cocora Valley, famous for its giant wax palms, Colombia’s emblem. We chose the 12 km loop recommended by the *Routard*. The landscapes were spectacular: towering palms, rivers, suspension bridges. It felt like walking through a postcard. The weather was perfect.
That evening, we dined at Barnabé restaurant—pleasant setting, decent food, but the bill was a bit steep for what it was. Back to Casa Serafín.
Day 4 – Coffee and panoramic views
The plan was a visit to Finca El Ocaso. For 1.5 hours, we followed a passionate guide who explained the entire coffee process, from harvest to cup. Very educational, accessible for both kids and adults, all in a stunning setting. The tour was in English for us, and we translated for our kids, who aren’t bilingual yet.
In the afternoon, we climbed to Salento’s viewpoint. The valley view was superb. That evening, we ate at Veggie Garden, a simple and pleasant spot that was a nice change from the heavier meals of previous days.
Day 5 – Horseback ride to Santa Rita Waterfall
We booked a horseback ride with Cocora Magic. It was a real success: calm horses, a beautiful trail, mountain and meadow landscapes, and finally the refreshing and wild Santa Rita Waterfall. Without a doubt, one of the best moments of our time in the region. We even got a bonus ride up a 300-meter hill.
We then headed to Filandia, less known than Salento but just as charming. We spent the late afternoon enjoying the pool at MuchoSur Filandia. The hotel is beautiful, in an idyllic setting. However, we also had soundproofing issues and could hear our neighbors.
Day 6 – Rainy detour through Filandia and Manizales
Rain caught up with us in the early morning: torrents of water made it impossible to go out. We stayed at the hotel, reading quietly. By noon, the rain let up: a quick walk in Filandia, a quick lunch, then off to Manizales. We chose to stay at El Otoño hot springs. Great choice: as soon as we arrived, we plunged into the hot pools, perfect after hours on the road.
Day 7 – Hiking and hot springs
In the morning, we hiked the Camino de Super Coco (found somewhat randomly on Google). A pleasant trail with mountain views and a peaceful atmosphere. The afternoon was spent in the hotel’s thermal pools, with a short marked hike down to the river. Dinner on-site at the hot springs’ restaurant. A simple but very relaxing day.
Day 8 – Rain, jacuzzi, and games
We continued to Finca Los Alpes. The rain greeted us again, but this time it turned into an asset: nothing like a steaming jacuzzi with a view of the misty mountains. The kids enjoyed the facilities too: mini-golf, ping-pong, billiards. Dinner and night at the hotel, cozy vibes.
Day 9 – Off to the Caribbean coast
Back to the airport to return the car (still a bit long). Flight to Cartagena with Avianca: punctual and comfortable. Upon arrival, we picked up another car and headed straight to the Hyatt Regency, a modern hotel with a pool. That evening, we dined at the hotel—practical after a travel day.
Day 10 – Colonial Cartagena
We set off to explore Cartagena’s old town. It was enchanting: colorful facades, flowered balconies, colonial charm—just magical. However, the heat was stifling and very humid. Afternoon relaxation by the pool. Dinner at Gestlani, a good restaurant in town.
Day 11 – Road to Barú
A hearty breakfast, then one last swim in the pool before heading to Barú. We checked into Las Islas Hotel. The setting was enchanting: wooden cabins nestled in the vegetation, a private beach, turquoise sea, impeccable service. Dinner at the hotel’s restaurant.
Day 12 – Beach and relaxation
A full beach day in Barú. Warm water, white sand, coconut trees, peace and quiet. A real postcard scene with iguanas and birds.
Day 13 – On to Santa Marta
Another morning at the beach before hitting the road to Santa Marta. The drive was a bit long (6 hours), especially with traffic jams in Barranquilla. It was the longest car ride of the trip. We spent the night at Villa María Tayrona, a beautiful place near the park.
Day 14 – Tayrona Park
We left early for Tayrona Park. We entered through **El Zaino**, parked the car, and set off on a hike to La Piscina (about 2 hours). We stopped along the way at Playa Arenilla, a stunning little beach, to rest. Lunch on-site, a swim, then back by 4 PM. The hike was a bit tiring, but the nature was spectacular: dense jungle, the sound of waves, and even a monkey encounter along the way. Evening and dinner at the hotel.
Day 15 – Last swim and return flight to Bogotá
Our last morning was split between the pool and the beach (the hotel has direct access via a 7-minute trail through vegetation and flowers)—hard to leave this paradise. We drove to Santa Marta’s airport to return the car, then flew back to Bogotá. We spent the night at Casa Dann Carlton, a comfortable hotel. We simply ordered room service, arriving too late to go out.
Day 16 – Bogotá and the end of the trip
Our last day in Colombia. After a good breakfast, we explored La Candelaria. Its cobbled streets and colorful houses were worth the visit. We visited the Botero Museum (free) and the Gold Museum, both fascinating. Back to the airport for our 11:55 PM Air France flight.
That’s a wrap on a varied trip—lush mountains, colorful villages, dream beaches, and tropical jungle.
The pace was pretty relaxed, well-suited for our kids. They absolutely loved the trip to Colombia.
Driving in Colombia was very easy, and we didn’t regret renting a car at all—it gave us more freedom to get around.
If I were to do it again, here’s what I’d change:
- I’d spend less time in the Coffee Zone to stay a bit longer on the Caribbean coast, which was more relaxing for the kids. Or I’d head to Medellín, but I didn’t think the city was very kid-friendly.
- Bogotá is a city that deserves a day’s visit, but it’s not a must-see. Maybe I’d have taken the KLM flight from Cartagena to Amsterdam instead.
Since I didn’t have time to write a proper travel journal, I thought I’d share a few photos of Bologna—a really lovely city I discovered in 2017 while stopping on my way to Tuscany.
Around Piazza Maggiore, which was packed with a stage and chairs for a show, stands the Basilica of San Petronio, massive and Gothic in style, with an unfinished façade (a common sight in Italy).
Another building near the square:
But Bologna’s real charm lies in its porticoes, which were added to the UNESCO World Heritage list in 2021: 62 km of arcades running along buildings, letting you walk sheltered from the sun or rain. Back in 1288, the city required houses to include private arcades for public use. In the city center, you can stroll under 32 km of porticoes in all sorts of styles—some plain, some ornate—with a strong presence of red tones.
La Corée nous a enchantésFR
La Corée du Sud, du nord au sudFR
Corée du Sud, l'autre pays des forêtsFR
Trois semaines en Corée du Sud en transports locauxFR
Corée du Sud, découverte d'une cultureFR
Devant le Rideau de BambouFR
Trois semaines en CoréeFR
Kyoto, Shinkansen, Tokyo: three first-timers in Japan via Air China
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.
A little sneak peek?
Come along, I'm taking you to this country where it's so nice to wander and slow down...
I’m inviting you on a stroll through my drawings—a completely subjective, far from exhaustive, and totally personal take, since it’s based on my own sketches. I put this travel journal together after returning in late 2024, mostly using felt-tip pens and pencils, with a few collages thrown in. I worked from our personal photos.
And in Kyoto, Nishiki Market:
Since Albania isn’t part of Europe when it comes to phone service (at least not yet! :-)), we had to buy a physical SIM card—otherwise, the bill would’ve been sky-high if we’d used our French plan! We got one from Vodafone AL at the airport. You can buy online before leaving with a virtual SIM (e-SIM) for compatible phones, so you don’t have to swap cards. But given the uncertainty about choosing a plan online, we preferred buying one directly at Tirana Airport. Cost: 31 € for 100 GB. That’s way too much—100 GB is overkill. For 40 GB, it’s 27 €, and the plan lasts 21 days. The price difference isn’t huge, and it was cheaper than online. This plan covers all the countries along the Balkan range.
Money tip: All guesthouses and accommodations accept euros. The local currency in Albania is the LEK. In Montenegro, it’s the euro. Bank fees for withdrawing money from an ATM in Albania are pretty steep: 8 € for a withdrawal of 600–700 LEK (about 200 €)! So it’s better to withdraw cash (euros) in France. Oh, and we booked all our accommodations before leaving, but payment is always in cash. Budget around 400–500 € for 9 days of trekking.
I really liked Shköder, especially its pedestrian street lined with restaurants and lit up at night. It’s a great place to stroll and eat. The food isn’t expensive—two big salads and two beers: 14 € :-) . Fruit prices are also very reasonable: 3 € for a kilo of cherries, compared to 9–10 € in France.
Religions coexist peacefully in these countries—Catholics and Muslims. From our balcony, my friend heard the call to prayer for the first time, coming from one of the city’s mosques.
We slept in the heights of Theth at a new guesthouse, "Mountain Vista Shkafi," with an amazing view.
But Bologna’s real charm lies in its porticoes, which were added to the UNESCO World Heritage list in 2021: 62 km of arcades running along buildings, letting you walk sheltered from the sun or rain. Back in 1288, the city required houses to include private arcades for public use. In the city center, you can stroll under 32 km of porticoes in all sorts of styles—some plain, some ornate—with a strong presence of red tones.
