During the 60s and 70s, thousands of travelers hit the road to India. Some were backpackers or hippies, but not all. In this collective anthology featuring around twenty contributors (including GeorgesOz), you’ll also find truth-seekers, a couple who went on their honeymoon to get married in Bengal... and "crazy" folks who set off on VéloSolex bikes...

Worth noting: all contributors donated their royalties to support the Céline Hegron clinic in a poor neighborhood of Varanasi.

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 actually interest anyone other than myself (both for the discovery and the writing). But after a few "Are you going to write a journal?" requests and especially the renewed pleasure from reading other travelers’ travel journals about Japan or elsewhere on this forum or elsewhere, I’ve decided to share this 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 this year, as usual.

I regularly check flight prices to track fluctuations for this destination, even without concrete plans. Finding 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 long hesitations between exploring the San’in region (Matsue, Tottori, Yamaguchi) and southern Shikoku, the decision was made—I took the plunge! The tickets are 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 still better than in 2023.

We leave in 2 weeks!! Now it’s just a matter of getting everything ready!

Intense work ahead in these 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 taking time to revisit beloved spots... decide how much time to spend in each selected 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 as we go, but last year, we noticed that last-minute options were pretty expensive, so we’re booking ahead—even if it means keeping a few options open while we decide or see if 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—and whether we’ll be stuck in non-stop rain???

What a tough job, right? Traveling to Japan for a month—such a hard 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 tickets, there were only a few seats left, so we’re only sitting together on the international return flight. Plus, on the outbound flight, we’ve got the 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 almost time to fly!

PS: I’ll be posting slowly and irregularly... so for those interested, be patient or maybe set an alert...

Why Colombia? It's quite simple. For the past few years, my daughter has been living with a Colombian from Bogotá. The idea was to discover his country, meet his family, and do part of the trip all four of us together. We’re heading out first as scouts, then they’ll join us to continue the journey. The itinerary was shared in another post—now it’s time for the impressions. No photos, as for me, it’s video and nothing more!

Day 1: The big departure What was planned: A flight from Lyon Saint-Exupéry late morning heading to Frankfurt. Two hours of waiting in Frankfurt (just enough time to eat a pretzel!!) and then off to Bogotá for an arrival around 7 PM local time. I hadn’t done the Check-Mig (to be done 72 hours before the flight). I did it on my phone, giving a fake arrival date in Colombia, and the attendant told me there wouldn’t be any issues in Bogotá. Actually, two hours of delay at departure in Lyon because a sick passenger was on the plane—they had to evacuate him, and the ambulance that was supposed to be there didn’t have permission to come near the plane. Ah, French administrative formalities!!!!! Flight to Frankfurt with Lufthansa went smoothly. A sprint through the airport—very well organized. Connection secured, so we boarded the plane, and two hours later than scheduled, we took off for an 11-hour flight! Arrival in Bogotá, and the immigration process took over an hour and a half because of the crowds. However, no issues with the Check-Mig—they barely glanced at it. Our daughter’s father-in-law ended up waiting over 3 hours at the airport because of this!!! Surprise: No luggage. Luckily, we had packed essentials in our carry-ons! Quick administrative paperwork, and Lufthansa informed me our bags would be on the next flight, so no big deal. Off to our hotel in La Candelaria and a good night’s rest.

The plus: We’re in Bogotá! The minus: Flight delays are becoming more and more common.

Hi there,

I’m about to take a trip around the region in March. According to the "experts," which cities are really worth the detour? My key criteria: a slightly lively downtown + walkable. I’ve already been to the region a few years ago, but my memories are pretty mixed (Ubon Ratchathani, Udon Thani, Khon Kaen).

Thanks😎

This travel journal is the second part of the trip whose first part you can find here: 1st part...

Sunday, August 7: the day we discover a magical place... Edmaier's Secret...

We got up at 8:00 AM, had breakfast on the terrace of our tiny house, and then set off again toward yesterday’s trail. This time, we stopped after 4.5 miles on House Rock Valley Road at the Buckskin Gulch Trail parking lot. We weren’t interested in that trail today—the slot canyon is muddy anyway after the recent storms...

Instead, we explored a lesser-known area that became our playground. And what a playground it was, folks—an out-of-this-world spot, THE highlight of our trip!!! 😏

Just imagine being in the middle of these landscapes, and the cherry on top... no one else around!!!!! Well, we did meet a couple who were coming back—it was 9:30 AM 😮. Did they camp there? Did they turn back? 🙁

After paying the entry permit online, we set off with plenty of water (6L for the four of us) plus a gallon we hid along the way for the return trip. 😉 After a one-hour approach hike along a wash, we reached the sea of sand.



We had to cross it to reach our goal: a strip about 2 km long and 1 km wide that you can explore freely since there’s no marked trail... We entered a few GPS points into our Garmin Etrex, and off we went!!! 😎 It was... magical, enchanting, a true love-at-first-sight moment!



Brain Rock, waves, fine and brittle rock, colors—it goes up, it goes down.







Just thinking about it gives me chills... I remember sitting still for two minutes, taking in these wonders with such emotion that I teared up...

Hello,

We’re planning a three-week trip to Kenya in January 2020 and wanted to share our itinerary. Maybe some of you have feedback or suggestions.

Our goals: we’re not big safari fans (though we do want to do 3 days of it), and that’s not why we’re going to Kenya. We’re huge nature lovers, into sports, hiking, meeting locals, agriculture, and food. We’d also like a few days of pure relaxation on the beach before heading back to Europe.

Here’s our rough itinerary:

Nairobi – arrive in the evening, overnight stay Travel to Mt. Kenya, start trekking Mt. Kenya Mt. Kenya Mt. Kenya Transfer to Meru? How? Rent a car? Guide (for the next three days?)? Meru safari Meru safari Samburu-Buffalo safari Transfer to Nakuru Nakuru – agriculture and people, members of the international Slow Food association Nakuru, Slow Food Nakuru, Slow Food Kichama, coffee plantations Hells Gate – walking or biking safari (Nairobi) Train to Mombasa, beach time and swimming Mombasa and surrounding area Mombasa and surrounding area Mombasa and surrounding area Mombasa and surrounding area Mombasa and surrounding area Train back to Nairobi

Thanks in advance for your thoughts!

This trip had been on my mind for about fifteen years.

But the discomfort of overnight stays, the difficulty of communication, and the prices of the few car rental options kept making me postpone the project.

And then, everything suddenly fell into place—I told myself, it’s time!

The preparations took longer than usual; the destination is still far from mainstream.

A bit of Kazakhstan? Not in the end.

The south or not the south? Yes, in the end.

Pre-book or go with the flow? Only two stops were a leap into the unknown.

To help me find the ideal route, I made great use of this forum (thanks to everyone for patiently answering my questions!), pored over travel journals and blogs (Christian, Jeff), zoomed in on Google Maps and Yandex, and bought the guide published by OunTravela about this destination (the guide has been updated since).

---/---

You’ve got your passport, international driver’s license, bank cards, and euros?

Off we go to Lyon—just one night left before our early morning flight.

Tomorrow night, we’ll be sleeping in Bishkek! (Steak for my partner’s mischievous nephews...)



You’ll find here a post with some practical information.

And here, the version of the travel journal without comments.

---/---

As a supplement, the route track. Not necessarily ultra-accurate since Google has serious gaps for this destination...

From Bishkek to Karakol:



From Karakol to Kochkor:



From Kochkor to Baetov:



From Baetov to Kara-Köl:



From Kara-Köl to Bishkek:

Hi there,

For our trip to Chile in November, we rented a car from Europcar for our stop in San Pedro de Atacama. We’ll pick up the car at Calama Airport and return it to the agency in San Pedro. We made the reservation through Rentalcars.

The problem is, I just noticed on the booking that it says in the "what you’ll need when picking up the vehicle" section: "Credit card: The card must have sufficient available funds to cover the excess/deposit (which will be blocked on the card for the duration of the rental)." And then it’s written in red: "Cash payments and debit cards are not accepted."

The thing is, we don’t have a credit card—just debit cards (which, by the way, is the case for most people; we just mistakenly call them "credit cards" when they’re actually "debit cards").

I’ve seen cases where the rental company forced people to purchase additional insurance if they didn’t provide a credit card for the deposit, but that was in European countries, and I haven’t found much info about Chile.

Has anyone else run into this issue with Europcar in Calama?

Do you know if they can refuse to give us the car if we don’t have a credit card for the deposit? Just to note, the rental payment has already been debited, and we’ve opted for the "Full Protection" insurance offered by Rentalcars. If they force us to take extra insurance, will it be something beyond this full protection?

Thanks for any insights...

Hello everyone, we’re finishing a cruise from Marseille to Valparaiso on the morning of December 23, and we’re flying out of Santiago on the 27th around noon. What do you recommend we visit in such a short time, and how? Do you also have any tips for accommodation? We were thinking of spending 2 days in Valparaiso and 2 days in Santiago. And what about transportation between the two cities? A little detail: We’re an older couple, 80 and 81 years old! We still walk well, but we’re not polyglots. Luckily, we’ll have Google Translate and an eSIM card! This trip is kind of our 60th wedding anniversary. Thanks to everyone. Mado and Maurice.

Hi everyone,

In this age of zero-commission cards and fee-free accounts, I’m curious why some travelers still prefer to set off with a wallet stuffed with bills and exchange money on the spot.

I get it for those whose income comes from undeclared activities, but what about everyone else?

Between the risk of theft, scams at exchange counters, and fees that often end up being higher, I’m really puzzled.

The last time I traveled with a wad of cash was because I had to pay for accommodation in cash only, the local currency was the dollar (easy to exchange at a very low cost), and I was still paying some fees.

I’m still wondering about my next trip to Argentina because the situation there is very specific, but otherwise?

Is it an allergy to modern payment methods?

A budget so tight that an extra 20 € (the fees some local banks charge for withdrawals) on a 2000 € budget would be impossible to manage?

Thanks for shedding some light on this!

Hello forum,

Did any of you feel the same things we did in China?

We spent a good twenty days there in August. First, we traveled solo around Chengdu, then joined an organized tour for 12 days (Beijing, Pingyao, Xi'an, Guilin, Xingping, Yangshuo, Shanghai, Wuzhen) and extended our stay by 4 extra days to visit Zhangjiajie.

The landscapes were stunning, and we have unforgettable memories... but we were really disappointed by the following points:

- The food: way too spicy. Lacking in flavor, not much taste. I’m speaking "in general" because we did enjoy some good steamed dumplings, smoked pork, and other dumplings... But compared to Thailand, Cambodia, or India, Chinese cuisine didn’t impress us at all.

- The behavior of the Chinese: disrespectful, rushed, agitated. You constantly have to fight—people push, crowd, and overwhelm you... At the entrance to the Terracotta Army (and other sites), it’s a human tidal wave... and I mean that literally. We were carried by the crowd without even touching the ground. It was like a situation where you have one bowl of rice and 20,000 starving people diving for it...

You’re at a ticket counter, and they cut in front of you. You’re in line for boarding, suitcase ready to go on the conveyor belt, and someone shows up out of nowhere to put THEIR suitcase down... even though they have a flight ticket with THEIR seat number and won’t be leaving before you!!!! You’re getting on the bus, and someone shoves past you just so they don’t end up behind you.

It’s like these people only think about themselves. I didn’t see a single person let someone else go first or even ask—it’s as if politeness and respect are completely foreign to them.

It’s honestly exhausting and draining...

- Communication: In every other country we’ve visited, whether in Asia or Europe, we always manage—with English, a few words of Italian, French, or Spanish. In China, I’ll be blunt: if you don’t speak Chinese, you’re screwed. And yet, a pair of kids around ten or twelve years old asked us in English where we were from :)

- Understanding: Here’s the rule. Even if the person you’re talking to speaks a little English and says they understand you... make sure they *really* do, because 9 times out of 10, they don’t. Out of pride or just cluelessness, they’ll give you a big smile and nod, but in reality, they didn’t get what you were saying.

Several times with our group, in the evening at a restaurant, if we hadn’t been helped by someone at another table who spoke a little English, we’d still be there. The classic example: the waiter brings one menu (for 10 people at the table), and we’re all trying to explain that we need 4 or more menus. Five minutes later, he’s still staring at us with that same blank smile...

In 3* or 4* hotels, you go to the front desk for a hot water or AC issue. Three or four staff members just stand there beaming at you. You try to explain with photos or a translator, but in the end, you leave with the problem unresolved.

They don’t speak—they shout... on buses, in hotels...

We were also surprised to find that self-service laundromats were almost nonexistent. We got scammed once at a hotel with an astronomical bill!

As for flights, we flew Air China on the way there and Austrian Airlines on the way back—no comparison. Air China had zero service and food that was "baby food" quality. Austrian Airlines had multiple services, a decent meal, and smiling flight attendants.

I don’t know if any of you had the same experience in this country, but I’m definitely not eager to go back. Whereas if someone offered me India, Thailand, or Vietnam tomorrow, I’d be there in a heartbeat!!!

“Hey, your Marker... - My Marker? - The one you used to make hitchhiking signs.”

The marker in question is sitting proudly on the kitchen table. Marielle found it at the bottom of a moving box.

I’ve been meaning to tell the long story of my love affair with hitchhiking for years. Here we go.

To be honest, I’m not quite sure when it started. My earliest memory goes back to a fair with a bike race in my maternal grandparents’ village. I was with my cousin, my little sister, and three girl cousins. There were six of us, ages ranging from six or seven to thirteen or fourteen. Our parents stayed at the fair, and we’d had enough. So we decided to walk home. Only it was four kilometers away. So we hitchhiked. A guy driving an old car picked us all up and dropped us off at the farm. He probably found it amusing to see us thumbing a ride by the side of the road, but maybe it also worried him a bit. With everything you read in the papers...

Around fifteen or sixteen, I started hitchhiking regularly, alone or with a friend, to go to the nearby town. But it was especially when I started boarding school in Orléans that it became more regular. The first year, I’d leave Monday morning and come back Saturday noon by bus. It was an old, uncomfortable bus where we froze in winter. To make matters worse, I often got motion sickness if, as was too often the case, I ended up sitting in the back. In the spring, a high school friend suggested I hitchhike back. It meant a slight detour, but the advantage was taking only national roads.

So that’s how, from the end of tenth grade to twelfth grade, I’d thumb a ride every Saturday on the Pont de Bourgogne. Drivers were used to seeing young people hitchhiking, and it worked pretty well. Our biggest fear? Soldiers! At that time, military service was still mandatory, and on weekends, it wasn’t rare to see them competing with us. They’d keep their uniforms on to go home. That gave people confidence—with everything you read in the papers—and they’d rarely wait more than five minutes. We, with our long hair, were definitely less popular. From time to time, three big red-faced guys in a van coming back from a construction site would flip us off, yelling things like “go get a haircut, you bums!” Those were the good old days.

We still had a good laugh, though. Patrice, the friend I’d hitchhike back from school with on Saturdays, is a musician—I’d later discover he’s an excellent composer. A die-hard Beatles fan, he knows their repertoire by heart and spends his time singing at the top of his lungs while we thumb a ride. One Saturday late morning, we’d been waiting for a while at the exit of Châteauneuf-sur-Loire when a little lady came up to him and asked if he could please sing a little quieter: a baby was sleeping in the house. He put on the most sorry face: “Oh, sorry ma’am, we didn’t realize.” No sooner had the lady gone back inside than he started again. Luckily, a car stopped just then, sparing me the embarrassment of seeing the lady come back out.

Saturday was also the day when the cigarette pack was dangerously low. So before leaving, we’d go buy some “Parisiennes,” the “P4s” as we called them back then. They were slightly thinner cigarettes with a mix of tobacco scraps. Sometimes they tasted like light tobacco, sometimes like dark. Not great, but by the end of the week, our pocket money was gone. They were sold in small packs of four, hence the name P4. We’d only pay 20 centimes. On Saturdays, it was rare for the two of us to manage to scrape together 1.50 F to buy a whole pack of Gauloises...

The last twenty kilometers, I’d usually do alone, Patrice having reached his destination. From time to time, luck would smile on me: an acquaintance would just happen to pass by and stop. One January Saturday, at the exit of Gien, I ran into another guy from Argenton whom I knew a little. That day, the weather was nice, but the temperature was well below zero. It was around noon, and it was the off-peak hour. We were shivering, stamping our feet by the side of the road, when a Citroën “Tube” arrived: it was his father’s boss’s, a mason. They were both sitting in the front, but since they were obese, they had us climb onto the open back. Even though we huddled against the cab to shelter from the wind, the twenty kilometers felt very long, especially since we were only going sixty kilometers an hour. Our hands and cheeks were blue when we finally arrived.

The year I took my baccalaureate, a friend with a 2CV would take me Monday mornings with one or two others we’d pick up in nearby villages. We’d share the gas costs, but it was still cheaper than the bus. And in winter, the bus was my nightmare. You had to get up at five to catch it at six. Not enough sleep, and outside it was freezing or raining—or both. The 2CV was luxury. Plus, Philippe would pick me up at home. On the other hand, since I didn’t have class Saturday mornings—well, I did, but we only had PE the first two hours and nothing after—I’d skip class and slip out right after breakfast to thumb a ride at the Pont de Bourgogne.

Those three high school years were formative in this optional subject that was hitchhiking. Little by little, I learned the rules of the game. First, you shouldn’t walk along the road while thumbing. Cars go too fast and can’t stop easily. Accepting a ride that’s too short is also a no-go. The guy who offers to take you a little way but drops you off at some vague crossroads in the middle of nowhere? No thanks. You need to get dropped off in a town. If it’s a fairly big city, you often have to cross it from one end to the other, but it’s better. At the exit, you have to choose your spot well. Actually, you have to put yourself in the driver’s shoes: they need to see you early enough, not be going too fast, and be able to stop easily without risking an accident. So when leaving a city, it’s better not to go too far. It’s wiser to find a spot where cars go slowly and can stop easily. And preferably near a café. The café is for when you still have a few coins for a coffee and need to warm up. From time to time, you’d run into someone nice who’d make a detour to drop you off at a better spot to start again. Finally, if possible, avoid hitchhiking on Sundays. Cars are packed with whole families who, most of the time, aren’t going far. And then there’s the little worry of those people who rarely leave home: with everything you read in the papers...

During those high school years, it was only short trips, rarely exceeding a hundred kilometers. Later, I aimed bigger, and things were a bit different. In 1973-74, I crossed part of France for the first time on two or three occasions, coming back from the German border or returning to Bordeaux, where we lived briefly. Since there weren’t many highways back then, we took national roads. It was during these trips that I realized it was better to leave in the evening. As I said earlier, Sunday is to be avoided, but on weekdays, there’s another problem: if you leave in the morning, you only make short hops. First, it often takes longer to get going because drivers are people going to work nearby. Which brings us back to those who drop you off in a bad spot, far from everything. There, you have to know how to refuse. You thank the driver for stopping—oh, if only everyone could be like you—while explaining why you’d rather stay put. People don’t take offense, by the way. Those who pick up hitchhikers often hitchhiked themselves when they were in the military or before they had a car. In the late afternoon, you’d often run into salespeople or truckers, in other words, people who drive a lot. At that time, salespeople no longer had appointments and were more relaxed. They wanted to talk about something other than the merits of their products. On the radio, it was time for *Les Grosses Têtes*. You’d also quite often run into small business owners, professionals, or even hippies. The conversations were pleasant and often enriching. A little later in the evening, truckers would take over. They’d already driven a few hundred kilometers, and the depot or customs was still far away. So they’d gladly take a hitchhiker to stay awake at the wheel and chat. The radio with Max Ménier’s show *Les routiers sont sympas*, you’d eventually get tired of it. So a hitchhiker was a change. Others, who’d hit the road at midnight to be at their destination by morning, were nice and offered to let you lie down on the bunk while they drove. When you’d been hitchhiking since six in the evening, freezing in the wind between two vehicles, you weren’t unhappy to take a little nap.

Speaking of Max Ménier, he’d often make announcements for hitchhikers. One evening, I called him. It was getting late, and I still had quite a way to go. No luck: the show had ended for good the day before!

In short, it’s better not to rush, sleep in, and leave after lunch, or better yet, in the late afternoon. Obviously, I’m talking about when you have several hundred kilometers to cover. That’s when you have to play it pro.

First thing, especially at night, but it also applies in the middle of summer when the light is blinding: dress to be seen from far away. I’ll admit I have an advantage over most other hitchhikers: I’m small and don’t scare people. To balance that out, racist drivers often take me for an Arab and are less likely to pick me up, but overall, the balance tips in my favor. Back to the need to be seen: at night, I wear light-colored clothes. In headlights, you can see me from far away.

Second thing: travel light. Forget the big backpack with a frame. Drivers don’t always have room in the trunk or on the back seat, especially if it’s rained and the ground is wet. Plus, it forces them to get out of the car. If they’re nice enough to pick up a hitchhiker, you shouldn’t ask for too much either.

Third thing: bring a cardboard sign and a big marker—like the ones in the photo at the start of this post—to write the name of your destination. In the early 80s, I ran a tourist house in the Cher, but I lived in the Netherlands. In the off-season, it was only open on weekends. On Fridays, I’d leave Holland and return on Mondays. 1200 km round trip. On the way there, in Paris, I’d stand at Porte de la Chapelle. At that spot, the road is very wide, and drivers could stop easily. Obviously, on the sign, I didn’t write Eindhoven, which not everyone knows, and even less Amsterdam because of its seedy reputation. In that case, you’d expect to see a police car stop and two officers in kepis ask for your papers. So as a first destination, I’d write Compiègne. We were well out of Paris, and since it wasn’t too far, a trucker or salesperson was less reluctant to stop. Once past Compiègne, I’d take out my Lille sign. Once in Belgium, it wasn’t really necessary to use a sign anymore, since everyone was going in the same direction. Usually, the guy who picked me up at Porte de la Chapelle would say he wasn’t going far but could take me a little way. Before that, I’d still ask if there was a gas station on the highway where he could drop me off before exiting. While talking, the guy would realize he wasn’t dealing with a dangerous criminal. He’d pretend to check his watch, think for a moment, then say that actually, he was going to Belgium and could take me to the border or a little beyond. To leave Paris on the way back, I’d take the train to Melun, where it was easier to hitchhike than at Porte d’Italie.

Over all those years, I think I was pretty lucky. Or maybe philosophical enough not to imagine a car would stop after a few minutes. An hour’s wait was average. Sure, I sometimes waited three, four, or five hours. Most often at odd hours and in terrible weather. When it doesn’t work, it doesn’t work. But there’s always a moment when things pick up. Sure, when you’re soaked in freezing rain in the early morning after a sleepless night, you’re less philosophical than when I’m writing these lines comfortably at my computer, but it still holds true.

Earlier, I mentioned clothing and the importance of being well-rested before leaving. When you’ve eaten well and just gotten out of the shower, shaved, you’re in a better mood. And somehow, drivers sense it. Or at least, that’s the impression I’ve always had. It’s better to look in shape than disgusted at standing there, half-heartedly thumbing a ride. In short, when I’d start to get fed up with waiting, I’d go into the first café I saw for a coffee. Coming back out, I’d be refreshed, and most of the time, a car would stop within minutes. I’ve often said that when I stood by the side of the road thumbing a ride, I felt a bit like a gambler in front of a slot machine. It was a matter of giving luck a chance. And well, it worked out pretty well.

Then, there are countries where hitchhiking works really well and others where it’s harder. In the 70s-80s, it worked best in Germany and England. In the late afternoon, it wasn’t rare to be invited for tea. Well, that was in England. Tea meant being offered room and board. In Germany, they’d offer you coffee. Once there, they’d first show you the guest room and point out the bathroom before sitting you down in front of a big plate of cold cuts. In the evening, they’d go out in town, and the next morning, they’d usually drop you off at a good spot for hitchhiking. On the other hand, in Mediterranean and Scandinavian countries, you’d better be patient. In Spain or Italy, it’s better to take the train, which was dirt cheap back then. However, if you’re a couple traveling light, it’s already easier in most countries.

In 1982, I went on a trip around Turkey with my girlfriend. We only had two small bags, which was plenty. It was November-December, and we wore our warm, bulky clothes. Leaving Eindhoven at nine in the morning, we arrived in Graz, near the Yugoslav border, at eleven at night. 1300 km in a day! In just four or five vehicles. One to the German border, about fifty kilometers from Eindhoven, the second to Hagen in the Ruhr, the third to Salzburg, and the last to Graz at the Yugoslav border. Record broken. During the night crossing of Yugoslavia, we ran into a trucker close to retirement who lent us the truck’s bunk. So we arrived fresh and rested near Skopje the next morning. We continued to Thessaloniki in northern Greece before taking the train to Istanbul. In Turkey, we traveled a good part of the country by hitchhiking too. With truckers in old, overloaded, slow trucks that climbed hills at fifteen kilometers an hour, but also in cars where five or six people were already crammed in. And every time, we were invited for tea. Once, we were even picked up by a big shot in his Mercedes with a chauffeur. Until then, the average speed was around fifty kilometers an hour. There, we were going two hundred. On a national road, not a nice European highway.

I’ve also hitchhiked in Nepal, from Lumbini, Buddha’s birthplace, to a village on the way to Pokhara. It must have been midday. No bus until the next day. I gave it a try. A small truck overloaded with rice sacks, with two or three young people already perched on top, stopped. I rode on the roof of the cab. At fifty kilometers an hour when it was going well, with a breathtaking view. Coming back from India, I also crossed part of Iran by hitchhiking, from Tehran to the Turkish border. I did this trip with an Austrian I met at the hotel who, like me, had to watch his pennies. We gave it a shot. There was almost no traffic, but to our great surprise, the first car that passed in the area would always stop. They’d just ask for a modest contribution for gas, and it cost next to nothing.

Sometimes, you get scared too. After leaving Turkey in early December 82, we spent about two weeks in the southern Peloponnese harvesting olives. A few days before Christmas, we hitchhiked back to Holland. A girl picked us up in her little Fiat 500. We were driving on a mountain road, and that morning there was a bit of black ice. After crossing a pass, we saw the old Ford Taunus ahead of us at fifty meters start to skid. The driver let out a “heeee!” while grabbing my knees. I reflexively grabbed the wheel. Finally, the Taunus got back on track. And we didn’t swerve. But those few seconds felt very long.

In January 77, while I’d been living in Germany for a few months, I decided to spend a few days in Italy. By hitchhiking, of course. I left in the early afternoon, and by ten at night, I wasn’t far from Frankfurt. I saw a big Mercedes stop. The four or five young people crammed inside were listening to Schlager at full volume. Beer cans littered the floor. They didn’t have a precise destination, and as long as they were going south, that was fine with me. They’d finished their military service that very day and had clearly already celebrated their discharge. The driver was going 160, zigzagging dangerously from one side of the highway to the other. I should have realized he wasn’t entirely sober either. Luckily, there was almost no traffic. Finally, I managed to get dropped off at a gas station just before Frankfurt, relieved. I hope their trip didn’t end tragically.

Another time, coming back from Holland with my wife, we were picked up early in the morning near Senlis by two guys from Lille. They were going to work near Tours and could drop us off at Porte d’Italie. Apparently, they were coworkers but barely knew each other. The driver offered us a beer—at six in the morning, sure!—before opening another can for himself. He was clearly having trouble staying in the right lane. We politely declined, the passenger too. Everyone was tense. Luckily, it was rush hour on the ring road, and we were going slowly. When we got out of the car, the passenger said goodbye with the look of a guy being offered the condemned man’s rum and cigarette.

Finally, there are the annoying remarks from drivers who are either gay when you’re alone or turned on by the sight of your girlfriend when you’re a couple. In those cases, I’d get in the back so the guy wouldn’t feel too confident. And if the conversation got a little too suggestive, we’d deflect until we got dropped off.

And luckily, there are the times, not so rare after all, when you run into really nice people who invite you to eat and sleep at their place and drive you to a good spot the next morning. In Germany and England, that was common. And then there are the big strokes of luck, like during our trip to Turkey when we crossed most of Germany in one car, or that other time when some Germans drove me from the exit of Geneva all the way to the Costa Brava.

Going back to “with everything you read in the papers” and its variant “with everything you see on TV”—and now on the internet—it’s always left me perplexed. Personally, I’ve never heard of hitchhikers assaulting drivers, even if it may have happened. On the other hand, what was most common were hitchhikers being assaulted, especially girls. Anyway, even armed, it seems a bit stupid to assault the driver—wouldn’t that risk causing an accident?

Finally, since that time, I’ve occasionally wanted to hitchhike somewhere far away in France. Most often, too busy with work, it never happened, but the nostalgia hasn’t completely disappeared.

* * *

Other Hitchhikers

And then one day, I... settled down to become a driver myself. Ten years had passed, and you saw fewer and fewer hitchhikers. Or maybe I saw fewer because I had a regular job and wasn’t traveling the same way. And then I understood a few things.

Several times, I was tempted to pick up a hitchhiker, but they didn’t meet the required conditions. They were walking along the road instead of staying at the exit of the previous town. Hard to stop without risking an accident. Or the guy looked really scruffy. Or he was sulking, if not both. Then you think of that famous “with everything you read in the papers.” Not that I was scared, but unfortunately, the few hitchhikers I did pick up later were rarely interesting.

A few years ago, we picked up a young guy at the exit of a small town in Sologne. Not an easy spot for hitchhiking. Bad luck, he was a pretentious little jerk. He was barely 20 or 25 and talked like a bitter old man. He was a waiter in a restaurant. According to him, it was lucky he was there, otherwise the boss would have closed up shop long ago. You’d think he had thirty or forty years of professional experience behind him. As we approached Blois, he started ranting about Arabs, blaming them for all evils. And he laid it on thick. That morning, we were going to a teenager’s funeral who had just committed suicide, so he really got on our nerves, Mr. Know-It-All. Out of anger, I dropped him off next to a shopping center a few kilometers from downtown. Not nice, but it felt good.

Some time ago, we were driving around the Limousin on a Sunday to try out the used Twingo we’d just bought. We picked up a guy in his forties. A German who spoke French well. He started talking about the environment. He was a green Khmer. He got worked up all by himself with his pseudo-eco rant and, after a few kilometers, was almost yelling at us. As we were about to leave the main road for a small one, I dropped him off at a crossroads in the middle of nowhere. Normally, I would have made a little detour to take him to a better spot, but this time, I didn’t feel like doing the... eco-warrior a favor.

On the other hand, I’ve still done my good deed a few times. One June morning, coming back from Orléans, I saw a man in his sixties hitchhiking. The poor guy had had a rough time. He was from Montpellier and was coming back from Caen, where he’d been promised a job. Once there, they bluntly told him the position was already taken, and he had to go back. Except he didn’t have enough money left for the train. He’d spent the night hitchhiking without success. I could only take him as far as Lamotte-Beuvron, where I dropped him off near the fire station. Apparently, there was some vague shelter there or something, but it only opened a few hours later. In the meantime, he settled on the grass in a corner to sleep a little. While he was doing that, I quickly went to the train station to check the price of a ticket to Montpellier. It was within my means. Since he was sound asleep, I slipped the train ticket and 100 francs into his pocket. I couldn’t imagine him continuing to hitchhike all the way to Montpellier. And I bet he didn’t even have a piece of cardboard and a marker!

When we go to Brazil, we usually rent a small car. One day, we were coming back from Paracuru to Fortaleza when we saw a whole family hitchhiking. Two adults and two or three small children. Here near the equator, the sun sets very quickly, and it would soon be night. There was little traffic, and trucks wouldn’t stop because there was no room in the cab. As for the rich people driving big 4x4s, they wouldn’t stoop to picking up the lower classes. The only hope for this kind of family was usually a farmer or artisan who’d let them ride in the back of his pickup. Obviously, they were a bit surprised to see us. Everyone crammed in as best they could in the back of our little car. When we dropped them off, we got a whole string of “Deus lhes abençõe”—God bless you.

Still in Brazil, we were on the road from Barreirinhas to São Luís do Maranhão. About 150 km of deserted road with an isolated mud house here and there. A young woman flagged us down. She was very pregnant and had to get to the clinic twenty or thirty kilometers away to give birth. Someone was supposed to drive her, but the first signs of labor started earlier than expected, and the driver was unavailable. Even driving fast, we weren’t feeling great: it would be just our luck if she gave birth in the car!

Today, we’re in the age of smartphones and carpooling apps. Safety. With everything you see on TV... Three or four years ago, we signed up on a platform. Our first, and only, “client” was a little jerk who didn’t say a word the whole trip. No hello, no goodbye, and certainly no thank you. The next day, we found his Ray-Bans in the car. We didn’t run after him to give them back. Ha!

Hello or Guten Tag, Departure planned between 15 and 20/09. Why Austria? For me, it’s a way to escape the 30°C that might still be lingering in southern France—but that’s not the only reason... For budget info, on average, the cost of living in Austria in 2024 is 3% lower than in France. Looking for a female companion living in the Castres/81 area or in 85/Vendée, where I actually plan to move. Her personality? I’d prefer to discuss that in private messages. If she doesn’t have an e-bike (I have an excellent one), we can swap our “rides” from time to time. Oh... She should be around 1.70 m tall (that’s my height), and there’s no adjustment needed (saddle height + handlebars). Don’t take it to mean that anyone under 1.70 m is automatically out—I can fix a flat tire, I’m resourceful, and I’ve got a good sense of initiative. I should mention that we’ll be riding in temperatures between 18 and 21°C. So, if you’re a travel lover who doesn’t mind slightly cooler weather, you’re welcome! I have a “good level of English language pass,” which is essential for communicating with locals, though some will understand French. Personally, I understand about twenty words of German. Some stretches without much interest can be covered by train. I’m thinking Salzburg–Passau. To be discussed... No need to panic, Monique! The elevation gain might seem intimidating, but spread over 802 km, it’s not too bad. Outbound trip: by car, left in a safe place in Constance or at the hotel where we’d have spent 3 nights. To negotiate with the manager... Return by train from Wien (that’s Vienna in German, please!) for between 38 € and 80 €. We’ll see when we’re there... I’m planning 2 to 3 nights in Constance, given the beauty of the lake (water between 22 and 24°C—maybe a swim?) and the interest this city holds. Fancy getting close to Austria’s highest peak (3800 m) after climbing a pass (a pass with a unique feature in Europe) at 2504 m? Want to have fun like a teenager on Europe’s longest summer toboggan run (on rails) for 3535 m? Want to follow the Danube River for about 317 km on the EuroVelo route 6, a path dedicated just to cyclists? Want to explore Tyrol for 3 or 4 days? Want to discover Vienna and its surroundings? FYI: late September, around 20°C. I’ll be equipped with an excellent vocal GPS. So no fumbling to find an address. Why this country? We’re in the Eurozone. Budget? Hard to pin down. It’ll depend on the accommodations we choose. I’m estimating around 60 to 70 € per day per person while there. Lunch as a picnic. In such a setting, it’s a must! Dinner at a restaurant-inn. Oh... One important point. I’m a heavy sleeper. Nearly 10 hours of rest. After that, I’m in a great mood. I also enjoy a nap of at least an hour after lunch if the spot allows (shady and quiet).

We arrive in the evening in Marrakesh, and a taxi arranged by our friendly Riad is waiting for us. The driver takes us to the door, where we’re briefly greeted by our hosts. The room is heated—phew—because it’s really cold on this January 17th for our arrival. Riad Alisma, where we’re staying for 2 nights. The next morning, it’s pouring rain when we wake up, but after a good breakfast, the rain has calmed down. Off we go to the medersa, which allows for a relatively sheltered visit. We’d visited this palace 15 years ago—it’s been renovated since then.





From there, without the rain, we wander aimlessly and eventually end up near the tanneries, but it’s Sunday, and there’s very little activity. Of course, we get hassled by a tout.



Here, the hides after being treated with lime—I love the colors.

We part ways a bit annoyed. He gets a little revenge by giving us bad directions, and we end up outside the city walls. We decide to take a taxi to the new modern art museum—60 dirhams for the 5 km, which is nothing when you think about it. That tout, who we didn’t ask for anything and made it clear we weren’t buying anything, dragged us into a shop supposedly only open that day and demanded 50 dirhams for his "services"! Let’s forget that bad moment and enjoy the exhibition at the MACAL.



The taxi on the way back drops us off at Place des Ferblantiers, not far from our Riad. We’re a little peckish—it’s worth mentioning that at lunchtime, we only ate a plate of beans from a street vendor. So, we buy a bunch of little sweets, each more delicious than the last, at Ajar. We snack while sipping mint tea and watching life go by around us. A final visit to the Museum of Moroccan Cuisine on our way back helps us dodge a few more showers. Then it’s back to the Riad. The atmosphere in the city is heating up—it’s the AFCON final tonight. The temperatures, though? Not so much. We ordered a meal at the Riad, and it was a good call—not only was it really tasty, but the rain also picked up again. Our day in Marrakesh ends under the covers with a good book and some photo sorting. Still, we managed 10,750 steps. View of our Riad



Tomorrow, we’ll pick up our rental car from Medloc and head to Essaouira.

Hi there, it’s been a good 15 years since I last set foot in Thailand.

Back then, I spent 6 weeks there with my partner, traveling backpacker-style without ever booking anything in advance, and we always managed to find a guesthouse. Now we think our son is old enough to travel the same way.

Do you still find it just as easy to snag a guesthouse room everywhere?

What’s the average price range these days in the north and the south?

For our route, we’re thinking roughly BKK / Koh Tao / Koh Samui / Krabi, then the Chiang Mai area. Thanks in advance for your tips!

An 80-Day Tour of Southern Africa

Back in South Africa

January 12, 2013, 5:30 AM, Flight BA043 London-Cape Town

Directly below, Windhoek glittered like a tangle of fairy lights still lit and tossed into a box.

The horizon, edged in purple, was setting up a backup fireworks display, and suddenly, like a cherry on the platter and with unbearable intensity, in less than two minutes the entire sun revealed a gray dam and then a vast, untouched massif.

A few more minutes and the glare to the east of the plane was total. In Africa, the sun is swift.

We still had a France to cross before landing, but it felt as if we were already there. To the west, the raking light revealed what looked like acne and long, swollen scars in a desert region that might be the Swartkloofberg. Further still, straight as far as the eye could see, the two parallel tracks of a dirt road.

At 11,500 meters altitude and 940 km/h, we had a sense of stillness until the Orange River appeared, an incongruous serpent, gray edged with green.

The first South African settlements were dotted with trees providing shade, then rivers highlighted by continuous lines of vegetation.

Water and shade that make life possible.

We’ll return here by the backroads.

Half an hour from Cape Town, the plane tilted toward the sea, crossing plantations (likely citrus) and then an explosion of cultivated greenery in circles on either side of an unruly river. Finally, the coastline was no longer just sand and water—a frothy hem, a suture?

A peninsula came into view, forming two magnificent bays, and... a flight attendant firmly instructed me to return to my seat: we’d arrived!

The Colors of Cape Town

The city was dressed up as I like them—deserted, fluid, free of its vendors.

In the parking lot of the endless beach next to the commercial port north of the city, about two hundred people were unloading their goods in front of their pickups or combis, none of which were from this century: mixed-race, ageless Black people, and white folks who looked like they’d stepped out of another era.

After a few minutes, intrigued, I played a game: first looking at the merchandise, then imagining who was selling it, and finally looking at who was actually manning the stall. Tall Black vendors were selling what they often sell in Europe—leather, sunglasses, watches; mixed-race folks offered discount bundles, and the tanned older white people seemed to have emptied their attics.

We left with an antique tin kettle for morning tea over an open fire, a pack of five exercise books (that’s 600 pages to fill), Bill Bryson’s earliest stories in English, some snoek rillettes (a local fish), and—never seen before—tuna biltong and snoek biltong.

In so-called advanced countries, Sunday is for sports: white cyclists dressed like pros sweating diligently, Black street vendors running in loops at red lights to sell trash bags that day; white golfers losing their balls, which a scantily clad Black man retrieves from the water; under the sails of kite surf boards, it’s all blondes, and in the foam, joyful splashes from a bunch of Black kids.

Searching for an unusual spot for lunch, we drove through the fishing port looking for a dive and, at the end of a dead-end road with no warning, we arrived at the Shimmy Beach Club—quite the program.

The place, open for just three weeks, aims to be ultra-trendy. You could be in San Francisco, Lisbon’s docks, or St. Barth. This time, the "visible" staff was diverse, but the clientele was exclusively white, except for one mixed-race couple.

For this Sunday lunch, the women had pulled out all the stops, and local starlets—who’d make ours look tame—were turning the terrace into a frenzy.

At Cape Town’s port, the girls have *port*. The trend seems to be crochet dresses over swimsuits.

For two hours, a team of employees watered and raked the sand, starting over when they finished. A child in a floaty pink dress and a gold headband, but a future adventurer, stepped onto the freshly raked artificial beach sand for the first time.

A lanky mixed-race man dragged a hose across the ground, followed by a white woman—enchanted?—who then started watering the sand herself, carelessly splashing the glass terrace her colleague had just swept. I suspect a tacit work arrangement to keep everyone employed.

A galleon packed with tourists (are there any in the hold? Does it take tourists to Robben Island?) left the port. A helicopter took off in its wake. Trawlers returned, cutting through a ballet of catamarans, their waterlines well above the water: a bad catch.

If there’s one country where you can’t pretend to ignore skin color, it’s this one. The question is in everyone’s mind, and here more than anywhere else, it’s a decisive economic and political factor.

Columbine of Brittany

200 km north of Cape Town and 9,000 km south of the Breton coast, but on the same cold ocean, we camped on the shore of the Columbine Cape Nature Reserve, sheltered by a rocky chaos that, at first light tomorrow, would transport us to Perros-Guirec.

Our first encounter with wild animals wouldn’t end well for them: it was crayfish season, and they were the size of lobsters at Lorient’s fish market. Bought for R60 (5.5 €) a pair from kids in Pater Noster, they’d end up between two rocks, over a fire. But first, we had to pair the Chenin blanc with some snoek biltong.

With no wood, I lit a fire at dawn with dried seaweed and kelp, as if petrified; it gave off a smell of court-bouillon and... tires. Two hundred fathoms away, on an outpost, an army of cormorants stood at attention, unmoved among the frolicking seals.

At the reserve’s exit, the guard spoke French; Patrick Mwanba had arrived from Congo three years earlier to study, but the cost of living here forced him to drop out. He’d like to return home because life is cheaper there, but the war made him hesitate.

Ding ding dong! Vroom! Arf arf, Woof! Buzz! (A night from hell!)

I’d long planned to visit Calvinia, the center of a region known for extensive sheep farming. An excellent provincial museum, run by an enthusiastic curator, kept us too late to start the drive north.

So we camped in a tiny, charming campsite set up in the garden of a house. A few trees, a patch of resilient grass, and a view of a pretty lit-up steeple—what else?

Well, it turned out to be a sound-and-light show, with the pretty steeple chiming the hours and half-hours. Then suddenly, we were in the VIP stands of the Karoo-Kalahari Truck Race: roaring trucks paraded under our canvas windows, and we realized we were on the main road through town. To top it off, we enjoyed an uninterrupted canine cacophony, from the *arf arf* of little dogs to the *woof* of a mastiff. Oh, and some mosquitoes—the first ones—insisted on keeping us company in the tent, and we hadn’t yet bought the arsenal to neutralize them.

I walked through Calvinia at night; the house gardens weren’t fenced, nor did they have the «Armed Response» signs so common in the country.

The Kalahari Trails

(No, no, I haven’t converted to hiking.)

North of Calvinia, in the south of the Northern Cape, small towns follow one another up to Upington, about a hundred kilometers apart—welcome havens. Between them, with no trees in sight, we stopped in the shade of a motionless cloud: the temperature exceeded 40°C in mid-January.

We were almost out of the High Karoo and into a region of pans drying up, until the first red dunes appeared, precursors of the Kalahari. In the sparse veld vegetation, gatherings of quiver trees in the kopjes, and a caravan of camels without a handler or packs, marching in perfect formation across a pan (no, I hadn’t overdone the Windhoek at the last stop, and no, I wasn’t dehydrated enough to hallucinate).

The historic part of these towns, European in style, was built on the same plans as those in the American Midwest or the Australian Outback: a grid of streets wide enough to turn a wagon pulled by eight pairs of oxen. The architecture was Dutch-inspired, tropicalized with awnings.

Then came more recent housing, functional in style, where the wealthier mixed-race people—who make up the majority of this state—lived, and further on, the township, an assemblage of corrugated iron and plastic, like everywhere else.

Orange, Right Bank

North of Augrabies Falls National Park, on the other side of the Orange River, stretches a rugged and wild territory the size of fifty Groix islands, crisscrossed by a few tracks—the Riemvasmaak.

The inhabitants were driven out half a century ago for a military base, and as soon as President Mandela was elected, he made it a symbol by allowing the exiled populations to return. Several ethnic groups live here on almost nothing, in government-built shacks.

A community camp is set up in a small cirque at the end of a canyon that, while not in the history books, offers a good descent. By mid-afternoon, the air was at 44°C, but luckily there was a spring... except it was a hot spring, with water at 38°C. And they haven’t invented a reversible spring yet. Once the birds and baboons had settled in, in absolute silence and far from any light pollution, we enjoyed the stars like nowhere else (well, that’s what they claim in the region).

The Orange didn’t choose the easy path: arriving from Lesotho, it was almost at the ocean. The terrain to the south and north of this massif seemed easier to cross. Was it to avoid the curse of the Okavango, whose waters disappear into the sands without ever seeing the sea, that it chose this rocky route, thinking that at least the granite wouldn’t steal its water?

I Love You, I Eat You

In the dry bed of the Auob, it lay panting, head raised, alert, between its paws but head-to-tail, a tawny springbok, motionless.

A few minutes earlier, their story had been written in a lightning-fast chase, captured in photos by the driver of the car that alerted us.

It would be a long time before it started eating at the groin without breaking its surveillance.

Earlier, there was a lion lounging in the shade and hundreds of antelopes: springboks and gemsboks (oryx) in herds, hartebeests and steenboks alone. Strange pairs, apart several times, formed by a springbok and a gemsbok.

A few solitary jackals moved slightly sideways, looking furtive. Ostriches, alone, looking a bit dazed.

It was a lucky morning in the Kgalagadi (KTP).

In and Out

Kgalagadi, Nossob Camp.

We were at the very end of the almost-empty camp, ten meters from the fence, whose structure wouldn’t resist an elephant (though there aren’t any here), but it was electrified.

At dusk, on the other side, ten meters away, three lions passed in a row, as if on parade, seemingly focused on their goal and indifferent to the camp, though they glanced at it.

A jackal had gotten into the camp and was trying to get out without success while scavenging. I offered it two pieces of snoek biltong (Don’t feed the animals!) from three meters away—it smelled strong and had bones (bones in biltong!). When it passed by again, it sniffed but didn’t dare approach. Curled up in the chair, motionless, by the faint moonlight, I finally saw it come closer, grab the nearest piece, and move ten meters away to enjoy it (how many jackals know the finer points of sea biltong?). A little reassured, it came back for the second piece.

Another Morning

By morning, the jackal was gone, but our luck hadn’t left us. Two cheetahs again, who found me in the way and slowly moved toward a calmer shadow. Enough birds of prey to form a squadron, but they’re solitary hunters. Two ostriches busy with their dozen unruly chicks. And while we’re at it, a group of four Kalahari lions, sprawled under a thorny bush. Lots of oryx crossing the dunes and herds of red hartebeest. Kori bustards and secretary birds.

It was the first time the Kgalagadi had spoiled us so much.

Hello,

After scouring the forum without managing to decide, I thought I’d ask for your advice! Before becoming a mom, we traveled for a year from Iran to Indonesia, and now my partner and I are finally ready to take our first big one-month trip with our kids. We’d like 2 or 3 places to visit, settle in, and explore the surrounding area. We’re looking for a destination that’s fairly easy (since our kids aren’t always easy themselves), but I’m hesitant about Thailand (which I didn’t enjoy because it felt too touristy at the time). I was thinking about Vietnam, which I don’t know at all. Maybe Laos, but spending a few days near a nice beach would be relaxing with two little ones full of energy… We don’t want to rush through crowded, commercial sites—we want to take our time and discover beautiful places.

Thanks for your tips! !

Age (80+) is making us stop our 20 years of bike travel (a good part of Europe), so we're selling (together or separately) our two touring bikes and switching to an electric city bike.🤪 They're already listed on a big national multi-product sales site, but potential buyers don't seem to know what a touring bike equipped with a Rohloff is....🙂 So my question: Do you know of a site where I'd have a better chance?😉 They're ROSE VTC bikes, Black Water III models from 2012.

Five years of an unintended break... The closure of VF, COVID... What a joy to rediscover the pleasure of sharing!

I’ve stayed true to my habits: the following account is a collection of practical tips rather than a travel journal...

Madagascar is as big as France and Belgium combined. In three weeks, choices have to be made! It was the Great Tsingy that inspired our trip. We decided to focus on the southwest and the RN7. We skipped the Deep South and the North. Oh well...

OUR ITINERARY IN 3 WEEKS:

Fri 6 June – Direct AF flight to Tana – Flight arrives at 10:30 PM – Tana Sat – Antsirabe Sun – Miandrivazo Mon – Drive to the Masiakampy pier – Descent of the Tsiribihina River by pirogue - Bivouac Tue – Descent of the Tsiribihina River by pirogue - Bivouac Wed – Descent of the Tsiribihina River by pirogue – Bekopaka Thu – Pirogue on the Manambolo River and Small Tsingy of Bemaraha – Bekopaka Fri – Great Tsingy of Bemaraha – Bekopaka Sat – Avenue of the Baobabs – Morondava Sun – Belo sur Mer Mon – Free day – Belo sur Mer Tue – Manja Wed – Andavadoaka Thu – Free day – Andavadoaka Fri – Salary Lagoon – Mangily Sat – Ranohira Sun – Isalo National Park - Ranohira Mon – Anja Reserve - Ambalavao - Fianarantsoa Tue – FCE train canceled – Visit to a Tanala village - Manakara Wed – Pirogue on the Pangalanes Canal – Ranomafana Thu – Ranomafana NP – Ranomafana Fri – Ambositra – Antsirabe Sat 28 June – AF flight to Paris – Flight departs at 11:55 PM

TRIP ORGANIZATION: I prepared my trip using the usual guides (LP and Rough Guide), the internet, and the Freytag & Berndt map (1:1,000,000). I’m old-school—I still love visualizing my route on a paper map, even though in Madagascar, it’s misleading because some National Roads are only national in name!...

The agency: Since we couldn’t deal directly with a driver-guide (we lacked reliable info to take the plunge), we went through an agency to organize the logistics of our trip. We didn’t feel like using bush taxis (not enough time) or driving a 4x4 ourselves (neither the skills nor the boldness). The French agency connected us with a local agency, to whom I sent my detailed itinerary by email. A few exchanges via email and WhatsApp calls allowed us to finalize everything quickly after some adjustments. As you’ve gathered... we multiplied the commissions, which inflated the budget. That said, in the end, we were thrilled with our decision and our choice. Our trip was booked by the end of 2024, and reservations were made immediately. No bad surprises: the bookings in the planned hotels were honored, often with one of the best rooms. On our last day in Tana, before departure, we were lucky enough to meet the director I’d been communicating with, who helped build and validate our circuit. A very warm debriefing.

The driver-guide: The agency assigned us Faly, 33, a driver-guide for over 10 years. He stayed with us from start to finish: he picked us up at the airport on arrival and dropped us off 23 days later. A very experienced driver (which is important here), an open and cultured guide, reliable, punctual, and a great companion. And a provider of good advice throughout the trip. We made the most of the long stretches on dirt roads or highways to listen to him talk about daily life, rituals, wildlife, and flora... No time wasted! With a great playlist in the background, we combined business with pleasure! Faly’s accommodation and meals were included (quite often, hotels offer free lodging and meals to driver-guides who bring clients), as was the fuel. That didn’t stop us from inviting Faly to share a beer or our evening meal sometimes. He didn’t always accept, wanting to let us "enjoy our romantic evenings," as he put it. Present without being intrusive! Faly is fully capable of organizing a tailor-made trip directly. I recommend him without any hesitation—we were delighted with his service. I’ll gladly share his contact details via PM to anyone who asks.

Local guides: It’s the national guide’s prerogative to choose the local guides (mandatory in the parks). Thanks to his experience, Faly always booked us amazing, competent, and interesting local guides.

Hotels: I told the agency I wanted charming, comfortable accommodations, without falling into flashy luxury. We loved all the hotels (except the Hôtel Kanto in Manja). The rooms, mostly bungalows, were always spacious and clean. Unfortunately, I can’t give the prices—I didn’t get the details. Breakfast is always included, usually fresh and hearty. Very often, a small bottle of water is provided in the room.

Tana Hôtel Les 3 Métis Power cuts are common (!) in Tana. Bring a headlamp.

Antsirabe Ecolodge – Les chambres du voyageur Maybe our favorite! A few bungalows, beautifully arranged in a splendid tropical garden. The dog Kodak welcomes us warmly.

Miandrivazo Hôtel Princesse Tsiribihina Magnificent view of the valley.

Bekopaka Hôtel Orchidée du Bemaraha 2 (yes, 2) beautiful pools, a large open common room.

Morondava Hôtel Baobab Café Brand new or at least, according to Faly, just renovated. Very comfortable but without much charm (international style).

Belo sur Mer Ecolodge du Menabe The bungalows, all made of wood, bamboo, and thatch, are set on the beach. Very spacious and fully equipped! Large open-air restaurant by the sea. No hot water from the tap—it’s available in plastic bottles heated by the sun in front of each bungalow. Actually, we never used it... Another very, very beautiful spot.

Manja Hôtel Kanto The only hotel on this leg of the journey, so no choice. The owner knows it and, as a result, doesn’t bother. It’s a real dive! Tiny, dark room, a sordid bathroom with only a trickle of water—we skipped the shower! Clean sheets, though. Obviously, no Wi-Fi. The only place where I didn’t leave a tip. We were well warned about the discomfort of this stop, both by the agency and Faly. We weren’t surprised, and it even became a running joke during the trip. On the other hand, we found a nice little market in town.

Andavadoaka Manga Lodge What bliss! Especially after the horrible Hôtel Kanto. A paradise-like spot, overlooking three beautiful deserted white-sand beaches. Meals are served on the terrace facing the sea. Stunning sunset. We loved spending a day lounging here! We were the only guests and were pampered.

Mangily (Ifaty) Mangily is the "suburb" of Ifaty. Hôtel Vovo Telo A large beachfront bungalow complex. More touristy but pleasant—we spent a lovely evening there with our feet in the sand.

Ranohira Le Relais de la Reine A splendid resort built by a Frenchman, at the foot of the rocks, very well integrated into the environment. Beautiful marked trail starting from the garden.

Fianarantsoa Villa Sylvestre Contrary to what its name suggests, it’s a hotel right in the city center. Quite decent, though.

Manakara Parthenay Club Pretty bungalows in a large garden by the sea, but swimming isn’t safe—the water is too dangerous and rough.

Ranomafana Hôtel Thermal Very spacious rooms.

Meals: Not all our meals were included. It’s really not expensive. 1 meat or fish dish: around 35,000 Ar 1 full menu (starter, main, dessert): around 70,000 Ar 1 large THB beer (65 cl): between 8,000 and 12,000 Ar 1 piña colada: 15,000 Ar 1 flavored rum: 6,000 Ar (sometimes free) 1 glass of baobab juice (!): 5,000 Ar

We always ate very well. Rice is everywhere, served in large quantities. Zebu meat is quite good if not overcooked. Personally, I prefer fish, and I feasted: grouper, captain, crab, small lobsters...

We happily discovered baobab juice (especially in Belo, on the west coast). And of course, flavored rums!

We bought 2 packs of 6 bottles of mineral water at Carrefour (!) (about 5,000 Ar per large bottle) at the start of our trip. That was enough, especially since we often got water in the bungalows.

We had a few picnics included in our trip. Instead of picking up the hotel’s lunchbox, Faly prepared delicious, fresh, and varied picnics for us: tuna pasta salad, fried rice with eggs, grilled vegetables, and avocado...

An exceptional address not to miss: Mad Zébu – Belo sur Tsiribihina A highly reputed restaurant, a favorite of LP and Rough Guide, and rightly so! Gourmet cuisine, refined and elegant. Barely more expensive than elsewhere, and it’s worth it. We stopped there on our way up to Bekopaka and the Tsingy NP. Fully booked! So Faly reserved for our return, three days later. We’re still thanking him! What a treat!

THE BUDGET: Ariary exchange rate: 5,000 Ar = 1 €

Pre-trip expenses: Direct Air France flights: 930 € per person round trip Cost of the circuit with the agency: 2,880 € per person

The visa: Issued on arrival, very quickly. 35 € per person for a stay under 30 days. Super simple. Super fast.

On-site expenses: As soon as we arrived at the airport (it was nearly midnight), Faly advised us to exchange our euros for all our needs. There are few opportunities on our route to find an ATM or an open bank with a good rate. To be more comfortable, he took us to a small office under military protection just outside the airport. I exchanged 1,200 € (I had asked the agency for advice on the amount to bring) at a rate of 4,750 Ar and became a millionaire. Faly recounted all the stacks. That covered all our expenses (meals, drinks, tips) without ever feeling deprived. Personal purchases were made at the end of the trip. Convenient—it served as an adjustment variable. We spent our last million (200 €) on marquetry and vanilla. Tip: We asked for 200,000 Ar in 5,000 Ar bills for tips. That wasn’t too much—I even ran short of small bills in the last two days.

Tips: Madagascar is a poor country where every service deserves a small reward. While not mandatory, it’s customary. But no one ever demanded or expected it openly. On the contrary, I sometimes had to remind a porter to give them my small bill. We never carried our luggage—porters were always present when the car arrived or waiting at our door to watch for our departure. I gave each of them 5,000 Ar. In restaurants, I rounded up to the nearest ten and left the change. Local guides also expect a tip: I gave around 20,000 Ar per day for the two of us. Finally, the national guide also expects a gratuity. I had read online to budget 5 € per day per person. I added more since we were so happy with his services. The tip was given at the end of the trip, in euros, outside the budget.

Total budget all included (excluding personal purchases): 8,690 € Clearly, Madagascar is a country where life isn’t expensive, but travel costs add up quickly due to the need to rent a 4x4 with a driver.

HIGHLIGHTS:

· The dirt roads Yes, I’m listing them among the highlights! We loved those long hours spent driving at 20 km/h on rocky, muddy, white, red, or gray sand tracks... surrounded by tropical vegetation, palm trees, pandanus, mango trees... The experiences were sometimes thrilling: crossing a river on a ferry (just planks of wood fixed on two motorized pirogues side by side) or crossing a river without a ferry, with just a kid running ahead of the 4x4 to show the way; soft sand where the 4x4 easily gets stuck... The tracks are quite narrow, and crossing paths with a bush taxi, a zebu cart, or a herd of goats is always epic. So many beautiful images, so many beautiful photos! Much more beautiful than on asphalt. So yes, we loved those long stretches on dirt roads. For us, it was clearly part of the journey. Faly was particularly careful, and the 4x4 was comfortable. No injuries, no fatigue, even after 7 or 8 hours on rough tracks. The national roads (including the famous RN7) are badly damaged by cyclones, huge trucks, and lack of maintenance. Potholes have turned into ostrich nests, and we didn’t drive much faster than on the dirt roads.

· The landscapes, villages, encounters... We crossed a variety of stunning landscapes: mountains with slopes covered in terraced crops, rice fields from apple green to emerald green, sugarcane fields, then tropical forests, baobab forests (they deserve a special paragraph below), traveler’s tree forests. And then coastlines with white sand dunes against a backdrop of blue hues!... Magical! We also passed through many villages with houses whose architecture varied by region. The Betsileo houses display beautiful decorative brick reliefs. On the west coast, the houses are more precarious, made of bamboo with palm-thatched roofs. In the Highlands region, we found solid houses with pastel plaster. Each region has its own landscape, crops, habitat, and clothing. Zebu carts are often the only means of transport in remote villages. We saw them very frequently. Again, the cart’s decoration depends on the region. And then, we met many villagers coming out of the bush and walking to the next market, carrying their crops on their heads or shoulders. More beautiful photos!

· The descent of the Tsiribihina River We boarded around 9 AM in a long pirogue with Gana, the local guide, and two pirogue men. So, five of us. The pirogue is long but narrow, about 65 cm wide. We sat one behind the other at the front on seats padded with what would become our mattresses during the bivouacs. We only took the bare essentials for two nights. A little goodbye to Faly, whom we’d see again in three days! Don’t forget us! The river is silty—meaning orange, opaque but clean. We glided along silently. Gana showed us the trees, birds, crocodiles (we saw five—apparently, we were lucky). The pirogue men rowed to get us as close as possible to these crocs sunbathing on the roots of big trees. Yeah, right!... as soon as we got too close, *splash*, they disappeared into the water. We marveled at the mini rice fields lining the river. Every tiny plot, no matter how small, is cultivated. Above them, banana fields. And on the water, a whole life of fishermen and villagers living with and from the river. Gana warned us we’d eat on the pirogue because the journey was long. So, I expected chips... But no—fried rice and zebu steak, cooked right in the pirogue!! Incredible! In the middle of the afternoon, we reached a small beach where we disembarked. Gana led us about a hundred meters to a sublime waterfall. We were alone there. We had time to swim. We’d brought our swimsuits and a towel (bought at the Carrefour in Antsirabe on Faly’s wise advice!). This swim in this paradise-like spot remains one of our best memories. We found our pirogue again and set off until our first bivouac. We’d sailed for 7 hours today. The tents were set up on a wide beach, without a single tree. A moment of solitude... Uh, where can we go to the bathroom?... Especially since it was a full moon, so we felt like we were in the spotlight. Anyway... we did as everyone else—walked away, dug a hole, and the others turned their backs. A hearty meal on the beach before a comfortable and silent night. The next day, same program, with slightly different landscapes. The gorges widened, the trees were different. But still many colorful birds. Again, we ate on the pirogue: grilled chicken and vegetables. 9 hours of sailing. A similar bivouac. This time, we got it. On the third day, we finished the descent with 5 hours of sailing. So, 7 hours, 9 hours, 5 hours... doing nothing. It might sound boring... but it wasn’t. Like the dirt roads, these were contemplative moments. It glides, it’s calm, relaxing, and there’s a lot of life on this river, animal and human. Contemplation. Suspended time. On arrival, we disembarked at a sort of joyful, bustling river port. Of course, Faly was already there to pick us up.

· The Tsingy de Bemaraha NP (Small and Great) I have vertigo. During my research, several agencies advised me against visiting the Great Tsingy. "Stick to the Small ones," they said. Grrr, no, not what I wanted—we’ve dreamed of this for years! The agency we chose also warned me but didn’t discourage me. So we started with the Small Tsingy, quite close to Bekopaka, guided by Alisha. This forest of sharp limestone rocks is impressive. No vertigo issues here. The day was completed with a short pirogue ride on the Manambolo River and a visit to two caves with pretty formations. The next day, Faly and Alisha drove us to the Great Tsingy (a good hour on a terrible track). Arriving at the park entrance, Alisha equipped us with harnesses, carabiners, and gave us some safety instructions. Faly was also equipped. Wait? He’s coming with us? I quickly understood he was there for me—if I got stuck, he could go back with me, and Philippe could continue with Alisha. A wise precaution that delighted and reassured me. In the end, it was unnecessary since the famous bridge crossing was fully secured by the harness and carabiners. 18 meters on planks, one by one, it didn’t sway too much—I walked looking straight ahead, not a glance down. I even managed to smile in the middle of the crossing—I have a photo to prove it! I was overjoyed! The circuit in the Great Tsingy is a loop, so we didn’t have to cross the bridge again. We climbed to viewpoints offering breathtaking panoramic views. It’s extraordinary, unique, incredible. All this to say that if you have vertigo, don’t hesitate! It’s doable! It’s completely safe and really worth pushing your limits a bit! For those who’ve done treetop adventure courses, it’s similar. Also, no need to be a great athlete—just a bit of agility to climb a few ladders and high steps. Don’t censor yourself! I even had a small regret—the loop was a bit short (about 2 hours). I would’ve liked to continue or even redo it, with less apprehension. Tip: Do the Small Tsingy before the Great ones, or not at all. And if you can only do one, do the Great ones without hesitation.

· Canoeing in the Belo mangrove The Belo sur Mer ecolodge lends small individual canoes for free to go to the mangrove. We left at high tide, paddled for about twenty minutes to reach a fairly sparse forest where we could easily venture in. Very shallow water, crystal clear—we could see the roots of all these trees, schools of tiny fish... It was quite surprising. Until then, I only knew impenetrable, tangled mangroves. Here, nothing like that—we walked through an aquatic forest. We loved this adventure so much we left a bit late. The tide had gone out, and we had to carry our canoes for the last few meters... Of course, the staff came to help (probably laughing silently!). The lodge owners gave all the necessary explanations and lent a waterproof bag for the phone (because yes, it’s worth taking photos!). A very useful precaution—the canoes are small, low in the water, and paddling quickly soaks you. Again, this isn’t just for Tony Estanguet! It didn’t cause us any problems, not even sore muscles the next day. A great experience. It’ll take about 2 hours.

· Isalo NP Big surprise when we saw this huge rocky massif appear on the RN7! A massif of colored sandstone, carved with crevasses giving it a ruined look. Le Relais de la Reine is a little gem cleverly nestled in the heart of these rocks. A small marked trail starts from the garden. We picked up the description at reception and set off. Without a guide, alone following the markers, it took us 2 hours to complete this magnificent little trail, giving us a first glimpse of the massif before the hike the next day. And we enjoyed being completely alone for this walk. It’s free, easy, and well-signposted. Don’t miss it. In the evening, Faly took us to the so-called Isalo Window site—a hole in a wall through which we could see the sunset. We met all the tourists in the area here. We weren’t blown away by the show... The next day, we left early to reach the start of the hike. We met Zozoly at the guides’ office in the small town of Ranohira. During this hike, we climbed through the rocks to a viewpoint offering stunning 360° views of the massif. Then we reached a site called the "natural pool," breathtakingly beautiful, especially since we were alone again. A sort of oasis, a cascading waterfall, palm trees and tree ferns, fine sand, all nestled at the bottom of a small canyon. Paradise-like. We resisted swimming, but it was really tempting. A long walk on the plateaus then led us to a well-equipped picnic site where a local team prepared grills. Concrete tables were tiered in a spacious, shady clearing where a whole family of ring-tailed lemurs frolicked. They knew the tourists’ habits and tried to snatch food. Playful and not very shy, they amused us with their antics! We had to resist not luring them with a piece of banana!! Thousands of photos!! After the meal, we set off again with Zozoly for another landscape. This time, we were by a small river at the bottom of a canyon with high walls covered in vegetation. The trail was narrow and slippery, on a ledge of the wall. We progressed carefully. No danger, though. We first reached the Blue Pool, which only turns blue in photos (surprise!), then the Black Pool fed by a shower of waterfalls. Two magnificent spots that showed us a completely different aspect of the massif.

· Anja Reserve This ficus forest is home to many groups of lemurs. Used to humans, whom they don’t fear, they move around us, ignoring us completely. It’s almost annoying... The best place on our trip to see lemurs.

· The FCE train To the great regret of Manakara’s inhabitants, the FCE train hasn’t reached here for over a year and a half. As a result, there are far fewer tourists—the train was part of the experience. We drove there and didn’t regret coming to this port on the east coast.

· Visit to a Tanala village This visit wasn’t part of our program—it was added by the agency to compensate for the train not running. Which was the case. Not big fans of this kind of visit, where we feel like we’re at a zoo, voyeuristic, lacking authenticity, we followed the local guide with some skepticism and exchanged dubious looks. And yet... the guide’s explanations about village life and the warm, smiling welcome from the villagers charmed us and dispelled all our concerns. We learned a lot, met smiling families, and were able to enter these beautiful bamboo houses. A very pleasant surprise, rich in lessons.

· The Pangalanes Canal Arriving in Manakara, we crossed a bridge overlooking the Pangalanes Canal. A cry of surprise: the water is turquoise! We took a short pirogue ride with a team of three pirogue men and Joël, a local guide who explained the drama caused by the train’s halt. We stopped in a fishing village where Joël bought fish for the barbecue. We ended up on a beach where the team prepared the meal while we went to watch the fishermen return on the nearby beach. We admired the fishermen’s dexterity in untangling their nets, sorting their fish, cleaning their gear. On our return, we found a small table set up on the beach, in the shade of palm trees and casuarinas. Lobsters, captain fish, grilled vegetables, sautéed potatoes. A real feast (included in the trip cost).

· Ranomafana NP A 4-5 hour hike (some climbing) in a dense secondary forest to look for lemurs. As usual, we were accompanied by a local guide who, while waiting to find our furry friends, gave us lots of info on the vegetation, birds, and Tanala ethnic rituals. In the forest, we met 4 or 5 trackers, armed with radios to alert guides of their findings. In the end, we saw several lemurs of different types. Quite far, quite high... A nice complement to our lemur encounters in Isalo. Here, it rains 200 days a year. We started the hike in thick fog, but the forest’s density protected us from the humidity. Be careful—it can be a bit frustrating to see the lemurs so far away, so high. Nothing like the Anja Reserve or Isalo NP. Here, what’s fun is the hunt.

· The baobabs We were captivated by these kings of the forest, noble, imposing, majestic. We spotted them from very far away, towering over the rest of the vegetation. Alone, in small groups, or in forests, our trip allowed us to see hundreds of them! Mainly on the west coast. All different—bald, hairy, shaggy, short and stout, tall and thin, like Laurel and Hardy. Philippe took to naming them. Respectfully!

OUR FAVORITES: · The variety of landscapes. · The Tsingy NP.

OUR DISAPPOINTMENTS: · The Avenue of the Baobabs, very overrated and the only place where we saw crowds. We saw many other "forests" of baobabs that were much more impressive. · It’s hard to approach the population calmly as swarms of children run up as soon as we arrive, asking for sweets. Without any aggression, their smiles and laughter quickly made us forget this small inconvenience. We never gave out candy, clothes, or money. We left pens at a school and clothes with Faly.

IF WE WERE TO DO IT AGAIN: · Same period, same duration, same pace, same itinerary, but if we were to do it again today, I’d go through Faly directly! · Maybe we should’ve stayed in Ambalavao instead of Fianarantsoa. · Plan a longer loop in the Great Tsingy—it felt a bit too short.

MISCELLANEOUS: The welcome: ‘Samala Vazaha,’ there are many, many kids, sometimes overwhelming, never aggressive. We were impressed by the villagers’ smiles and good humor, towards us or even among themselves—laughter was everywhere. Safety: No problems. Out of (excessive?) caution, we spread all our money across several bags that we padlocked whenever we left the hotel. Bribes: We were stopped several times on the road by police or gendarmes. They checked our papers, sometimes our passports. Faly was perfectly in order. No discussion, no bribes, a cordial greeting from the officers. However, several times we found ourselves at small "tolls" on the tracks for villagers who had leveled the road or filled a hole, or for the young guy who ran through the river to show the way... Faly complied without discussion: every service deserves a small bill. Language: French is still widely spoken. Credit card: Unused. Cash: You need it! The climate at this time: Ideal—blue skies, sunshine, and mild temperatures (20-25°C) throughout our trip. Temperatures started to drop by our departure—winter was setting in. Clothing: T-shirt or polo and a vest sometimes in the evening, sandals on our feet, hiking shoes for all the hikes. Tip: We left a bag in the car (completely safe) with things we didn’t need daily and dirty laundry. The two bags to take out at each stop were much lighter. Before leaving, we left several polos and T-shirts with Faly, which, once washed, will make a few people happy. Tourist crowds at this time: Low—we were sometimes the only guests at the hotel. Faly explained that at the Isalo picnic site, in high season, you have to queue for a table, whereas we had our pick. Photos: Lots! Too many! That’s the problem with digital—we take so many! Health issues: Nothing serious, just the usual mild traveler’s diarrhea. Mosquitoes: They’re voracious. We took anti-malaria treatment. I’m still not sure if it was the right thing to do... I’m always very skeptical about such precautions. Internet: Free Wi-Fi at the lodges’ reception (except at Hôtel Kanto!), sometimes (rarely) in the bungalows. Phone: We didn’t try to get a local SIM card—the evening Wi-Fi was enough for us to make calls and send messages via WhatsApp. Make sure to turn off mobile data and switch to airplane mode (I activated it a bit late—received calls, spam ones at that, were charged...). Electricity: French plugs. Personal purchases: Beautiful wooden objects (sculptures and marquetry) or zebu horn items in Ambositra. 1 kg of vanilla (400,000 Ar – 80 € per kg) in Tana.

IN CONCLUSION: A trip of contemplation. A pause for admiration, as our local guide in Isalo NP said. Nothing else to do but walk, look, and enjoy. Here, there are no old stones, no museums—it’s a trip where nature reigns supreme. And what nature!

Hi everyone, It’s been 6 years since we last went on a cruise... We’re heading back to sea on April 26th on the Lirica (MSC). For those who’ve recently sailed with MSC, could you let me know if there are still dress codes for the evenings and, if so, what they are? Thanks in advance. Have a great day

4 years... it’s been so long!!! What a pleasure to be back on VF and, most of all, to see all the forum members again 🙂

And what a joy to read the travel journals of those travel addicts who were quicker than their own shadow to share their discoveries. Their keyboards and mice must’ve been itching

I’ll admit I’m feeling a bit of that itch too, but I’m way too lazy to dive into the story of our latest trip—last summer in the northwest USA. I’ll probably get to it later, but it might take a while! So, I’m jumping into the short recap of our *way* too short trip to Iceland at the end of April 2024. And even though it’s not the done thing, I’m going to spoil it and start with the conclusion: it was *amazing*!!!

Back in February, on the eve of leaving for a few days’ holiday in Alsace, we started wondering what we could do for Easter break. Scotland and Iceland were the top contenders. The boys are growing up, but they still travel with us often, and they tipped the scales in favor of Iceland. Since we decided a bit late, before booking the flights, I took a quick look at available accommodations. There wasn’t much left, and some were at crazy prices, but I managed to line up a decent itinerary with places that seemed like good value for money. I read travel journals on VF and blogs I could find, picked up bits of info from Facebook groups, and the route quickly took shape—even if I struggled with the place names, mixing them up and forgetting them. The dream could begin...



Bookings

Flight tickets bought directly from Fly Play’s website: 1520 € for the four of us (adult fare), with just two checked bags and one carry-on each. It was the compromise we found to keep costs down while still fitting all the bulky clothes we’d need. Late April isn’t quite winter anymore, but it’s not quite spring either, so we packed for chilly weather. Fly Play is Icelandair’s low-cost airline. No complaints: check-in was quick, service was efficient, and the flights were on time.

The car. Booked with Golden Circle car rental, a small family-run business with offices just 5 minutes from the airport. I’d read good things about them, and I can confirm everything went smoothly with our Dacia Duster—it wasn’t brand new, but it was reliable and spacious. We paid 463 € for the week, with full insurance included. The manager picked us up at the airport 10 minutes after I messaged him on WhatsApp to say we’d arrived. For the return trip, since our flight was super early and the agency wasn’t open yet, we agreed to leave the car in the airport parking lot and sent him a photo of the spot so he could find it. Super convenient! I read *so* many questions on Facebook groups about insurance: *Should I get the max coverage or not? I’ve got a Visa Premier, I’ve never had an accident, it adds 100 €...* Between sandstorms that can damage the bodywork and skidding off the road due to bad weather (we saw a few cars in ditches!), we decided to go for the rental company’s max insurance to be safe. It was also a requirement for leaving the car in the airport parking lot on our way back, since we couldn’t do the final inspection.

Accommodations were all booked on Booking.com and Hotels.com: - 2 nights in a cottage at Fossatun Country Hotel, near Borgarnes (we rented the sunset cottage—great spot, with a nice view and separate from the other lodgings) - 1 night in an apartment at Bakki Hostel and Apartments, in Eyrarbakki (top-notch) - 1 night in a gorgeous (and pricey!) apartment at Vik Apartments - 2 nights in a family room at Adventure Hof Hotel (perfect location) - 1 night at Blue Viking Studio near the airport (meh, but fine for a few hours’ sleep before an early flight) Total: 1234 €, averaging 176 € per night for 4-person accommodations.

The itinerary Day 1: Arrival around noon at the airport - Hraunfossar / Night at Fossatun Country Hotel Day 2: Snæfellsnes Peninsula / Night at Fossatun Country Hotel Day 3: Bruarfoss - Geysir - Gullfoss - Reykjadalur hot springs / Night in Eyrarbakki Day 4: Seljalandsfoss and Gljúfrafoss - DC-3 wreck (the one near Seljalandsfoss) - Skógafoss - Kvernufoss - Sólheimajökull (hike to the foot of the glacier) - Dyrhólaey - Reynisfjara Beach / Night in Vík Day 5: Fjaðrárgljúfur Canyon - Vatnajökull (3-hour hike to Svartifoss and Skaftafell) / Night in Hof Day 6: Múlagljúfur Canyon (2h45 hike) - Fjallsárlón - Jökulsárlón and Diamond Beach - Svínafellsjökull / Night in Hof Day 7: Drive back - Reykjavik - Sky Lagoon / Night in Keflavík Day 8: Flight back at 6 AM

That’s the practical side covered. I’ll leave you with a photo of our trusty steed.

Hi there, I’ve been traveling for 18 years now, at least 6 months a year, and as the years go by, I actually enjoy coming back to France more and more—a feeling I struggled with at first. I mean, we always think the grass is greener elsewhere. But in the end, I find meaning in that saying about how there’s no place like home. I still love traveling just as much, but now my trips are shorter, and I enjoy spending more time in our beautiful country, even though I don’t hesitate to criticize it. How about you? How do you handle coming back from your travels?

Hi everyone, Two years ago, I got a 5-year visa. But I had to change my plans and haven’t used it yet. Do you think it’s still valid? I’d like to go to India at the beginning of the year. I’ve got a big doubt. Do you know where I can find this info? Thanks a bunch!

After nearly 2 years of waiting (yeah, like many of you, we wanted to hit the road again as soon as we got back to France... but first, we had to fill up the piggy bank!), here we are at last—July, the month we’ve been waiting for! We’ve got 30 days of exploring new places ahead of us, as well as revisiting some spots we loved back in 2012.

Here’s the plan: - Joshua Tree NP - Las Vegas - Valley of Fire SP - Yant Flat - Zion NP (Angel’s Landing) - Bryce Canyon NP (Fairyland Loop trail) - Devils Garden on the HITTR - Capitol Reef NP - Grand Teton NP - Yellowstone NP: Old Faithful - Yellowstone NP: Norris Geyser Basin and Mammoth Hot Springs - Yellowstone NP: Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone - West Thumb and Grand Teton NP - Flaming Gorge - Colorado NM and Fisher Towers - Moab: Arches - Moab: Canyonlands and Corona Arch - Moab: Canyonlands - Moab: rafting and Dead Horse Point SP - Natural Bridges NM and Valley of the Gods - Monument Valley and Horseshoe Bend - Coyote Buttes South - Grand Canyon NP (North Rim) - Grand Canyon NP (North Rim) and Navajo Bridge - Sedona - From Sedona to Tucson - Arizona-Sonora Desert Museum and Saguaro NP - Tombstone

Practical details:

- I’d read that it was better to book flight tickets directly on an airline’s website rather than through a comparison site. So, I spent months searching for reasonably priced tickets for two adults and two kids from Paris to Las Vegas for the outbound trip and from Tucson to Paris for the return. I mostly checked Air France, KLM, and British Airways, but prices were always around 4600 €. Not finding anything, we eventually went through a comparison site: Ebookers. We bought our tickets in mid-December: Paris/Atlanta with Air France, then Atlanta/Los Angeles with Delta for the outbound trip, and Tucson/Atlanta with Delta, then Atlanta/Paris with Air France for the return. Total cost: 4300 €. The layover on the outbound trip made me a little nervous because it was only 2 hours and 15 minutes. A month later, we got an email from Ebookers saying the layover had been reduced to 1 hour and 40 minutes! And a few months after that, it was down to just 1 hour and 30 minutes... So, we called Air France directly (we didn’t go through Ebookers, and it wasn’t a problem), and they put us on different flights. The new layover was 2 hours and 10 minutes—still not a ton of time, but I felt better than with 1 hour and 30 minutes. And anyway, we figured we’d see how it went!

- For the car, we tried several comparison sites, and in the end, AutoEurope won this year: 808 € for a 30-day rental of a Chevrolet Impala through Thrifty. The second driver was free for the entire trip since we picked up the car in California.

- We didn’t rent a GPS or buy one—we just downloaded Sygic on our two phones and bought the US map. I don’t remember the exact amount, but it cost us around 30 €.

- For hotels, I either booked directly on the sites (Xanterra, Grand Canyon Lodge, etc.) or used Hotels.com (to earn nights through their Welcome Rewards program) or Booking.com (when hotels weren’t available on Hotels.com). I always compared the price on Hotels.com with the hotel’s direct rate, but they were usually the same. So, for the same price, I’d rather earn a night with Welcome Rewards! We’d set a budget of 100 € per night on average, and we stuck to it pretty well—the final average came out to 101.20 € when including everything (nights + taxes + any nightly fees + parking fees + bank fees).

- As for luggage, we didn’t want to overpack! So, we left with one medium suitcase for Calista, one for me, one large suitcase for Hugo and Yannick, and a sports bag with Calista’s booster seat (we could’ve taken it on the plane with us, but I didn’t want to lug it around the airport during the layover). That sports bag came in handy on the way back, too—because, as everyone knows, you always come back with more than you left with! Each of us also had a backpack as a carry-on.

Before wrapping up this intro and getting into the real details, I’d like to thank everyone who contributed to my discussions and helped me improve our itinerary!

Quick intro for those who don’t know us: Yannick (36), Peggy (36), Hugo (11), and Calista (8).

Hi there! It’s been nearly 6 years since I last posted here or on my travel blog. But I’m back, at least for one post! I’m returning with a dream trip we took in April 2023: a stay at Walt Disney World in Florida. We went for 10 days. Ten days at an amusement park might seem like a lot, but you should know that Disney isn’t just one park—it’s 4 parks and 2 water parks (only one was open during our trip). So we split those 10 days across 5 parks, which worked out to about 2 days per park. The four main parks each have a different vibe:

Magic Kingdom: The most famous one, the one that most resembles our Disneyland Paris. It’s home to several "lands" (Adventureland, Frontierland, Fantasyland, Tomorrowland, Liberty Square, and Main Street USA). This is the park where you’ll find the iconic castle, the symbol of the parks. Disney’s Hollywood Studios: It’s a bit like the studios at Disneyland Paris, with the well-known Tower of Terror and Toy Story Land. It also features the stunning Star Wars: Galaxy’s Edge (a must-see, even if you’re not a Star Wars fan). Animal Kingdom: A very nature-focused park, divided into several sections, including representations of Africa and Asia, as well as the breathtaking Pandora – The World of Avatar. Epcot: The park of countries, where different nations are represented around a large circular lake—including France!

The water park that was open during our stay was Typhoon Lagoon. We spent a morning there lounging and swimming before heading to Disney Springs (the equivalent of Disney Village in France). We’re not big on pools or chilling out, so we didn’t stay long, but there was no time limit.

We chose to stay at the Disney’s Art of Animation hotel, a Resort (huge, like everything there!) with 4 themed areas: Nemo, Cars, The Lion King, and The Little Mermaid (where the rooms for 4 people or fewer are located).



Here’s the itinerary we followed for those 10 days:

Day 1: Flight at 7:35 AM–4:40 PM (with a layover in London), stroller pickup, then shuttle bus to our hotel Day 2: Day at Magic Kingdom Day 3: Day at Hollywood Studios Day 4: Day at Animal Kingdom Day 5: Day at Epcot Day 6: Day at Hollywood Studios Day 7: Relaxing day at Typhoon Lagoon and Disney Springs Day 8: Day at Magic Kingdom Day 9: Day at Epcot Day 10: Day at Magic Kingdom Day 11: Morning at Hollywood Studios, then shuttle bus to the airport, stroller return at the airport, flight at 7:05 PM–1:50 PM (next day)

We rented the stroller from Kingdom Stroller. The rental process was super easy—everything was done online. On the day we arrived and the day we left, there was no staff at the counter, but the stroller was ready with a tag bearing our name. When we left, we just dropped it off at the designated spot, still with no one checking... We used the Mears Connect shuttle: you pick a day and time for them to pick you up at the airport and your hotel. Everything went smoothly, no surprises.

For planning, you’ll need to decide in advance which parks you’ll visit each day because a reservation is required (just like in Paris now). I’d recommend making a schedule ahead of time. Same goes for restaurants—figure out which ones you’d like to eat at beforehand. Some work like fast food and don’t require reservations, while others, the "Table Service" restaurants, operate like traditional restaurants and need to be booked in advance to guarantee a spot. These can be reserved 60 days before the first day of your visit, and that applies to all the restaurants for your entire stay (e.g., if you’re going from February 1st to 11th, you can make reservations for the whole trip 60 days before February 1st).

Not essential, but we found them super handy: MagicBands. These are connected bracelets you buy on-site (not cheap, of course) that let you, once linked to your account in the app, open your hotel room, enter the parks, validate Lightning Lane reservations at attraction entrances, and even make purchases (if you’ve linked a credit card). We got the cheapest ones and loved them!

As for the trip’s wrap-up, if I were to do it again, ... I’d do almost everything the same: The schedule and restaurant reservations I planned were perfect! ... I’d change one thing: Maybe I wouldn’t plan two full days at Epcot because it was the park we enjoyed the least. Some attractions (like the amazing Guardians of the Galaxy: Cosmic Rewind) were great, but it was really hot, the park isn’t shaded, and it felt stifling when the weather was scorching. That said, I don’t regret it because a big storm hit on our second day, forcing us back to the hotel.

That’s all for now—I’ll be back soon with photos from each park and the hotel. You’ll see, it was incredible! See you soon! :)

I traveled for a long time with a DSLR equipped with an 18-250mm zoom, but I gave it up two years ago and replaced it with my smartphone, which is lighter and less "intimidating" for street photography. The photo quality is good enough for nice enlargements (up to 80 cm).

Our trip to Norway was two years ago already, but I thought it might still be of interest—and it’ll let me relive it a bit by proxy.

Before booking our flight tickets, we debated the route: should we prioritize the north with the Lofoten and Senja islands, or the south with its countless fjords? I was tempted to stay in the south—the country is so vast, and the drive north is long... but my husband really didn’t want to miss the Lofoten. In the end, we figured that since Norway is known for being expensive, we might only visit once (funny how we said the same thing before our first trip to the American West, and look how that turned out 😎), so we didn’t want to skip anything. That meant a 2–3 day drive up north. With 22 days on the ground, it was doable. Especially since, as usual, we skip big cities and gave Oslo a pass.

Practical details: - Flight tickets: 1195 € for 4 with Air France (Paris–Oslo outbound, Tromsø–Bergen–Paris return) - Car rental: 2020 € for 21 days (including the outrageous drop-off fee between Oslo and Tromsø—about 1000 €) - Tolls and ferries: 250 € for the portion billed directly by the rental company. Some ferries required advance booking and payment at the time of reservation—I’ll note their prices as I go through the story. - Hotels: 4135 €, averaging 188 € per night. We blew past our usual budgets from trips to the U.S., but oh well... - Food: 1570 €, averaging 71 € per day for 4 in a country where everything’s expensive... How’d we manage? We rarely ate out, mostly grocery shopped, and even packed half a suitcase with non-perishables: pasta, rice, a few cans, and even some cured sausage! We also stayed 3 nights at Clarion Collection hotels, where an evening buffet was included in the room rate.

Hello,

My daughter (22) and I set off to explore a bit of her grandfather’s homeland. We left on July 26 from Roissy and arrived in Rabat with Air France. We had a few hiccups retrieving our luggage—1.5 hours of waiting and a mini interrogation at customs about our host’s address (they asked for a reference) and questions about a Moroccan ID card I’ve never applied for. Next time, I’d better have it—dual nationals get extra scrutiny.

We headed to the ONCF station to catch the train to Marrakech. First-class tickets cost 195 MAD, with assigned seats and decent comfort… the catch? The train was delayed, so we arrived at 2:50 AM instead of 12:10 AM.

We chose the Ibis Gare, located between the ONCF station and the Supratours bus terminal. We booked two nights from France for 79.85 €. To avoid the premium-rate call, just dial the hotel directly—they’ll handle the reservation. I’d signed up on the Ibis website beforehand for a discount (free and comes with perks).

On-site, we added 44 MAD for the tourist tax (11 MAD x 4 nights). We skipped breakfast—too pricey at 6.50 € per person. The hotel has a nice pool and a pleasant setting. The shower seals weren’t perfect, but the bedding was comfy, the linens soft, and the AC worked (though it was noisy). We were overall happy with it.

We had breakfast and lunch at a café/restaurant right across from the hotel—affordable and tasty.

For phones, we bought two Inwi SIM cards for 30 MAD each and a 5 GB internet top-up for 50 MAD—more than enough for our 16-day trip. Later, we added two 20 MAD call top-ups. Total phone budget for both of us: 150 MAD.

Taxis in Marrakech: No issues. We always asked for the meter—if a driver refused, we’d just move on. No haggling for us!

Day 1: We visited the Majorelle Garden (70 MAD per person). It was beautiful and peaceful. We walked there. In the afternoon, we took a taxi to Jemaa el-Fnaa square. The constant solicitations were exhausting—I felt like a guard dog fending people off. The worst part? We got lured deep into the medina to some sketchy spot under the pretense of seeing "Berber tanneries"—"last day!"—then had a guy grab our arms, demanding 200 MAD. I offered 50 MAD max since we hadn’t asked for anything. When he insisted, I threatened to go to the police. He finally let go for the 50 MAD. We headed back to the hotel to enjoy the pool before returning to the square for the evening. It was lively but noisy, and I found the vendors *way* too pushy. We walked back to the hotel—an hour-long stroll that was actually really nice. We kept no more than 150 MAD in our wallet at a time. We stuffed ourselves with smoothies—they’re *so* good.

Day 2: We left at 8:30 AM for Tinghir with Supratours, arriving at 4:45 PM instead of 4:00 PM (lots of roadwork). Tickets were 130 MAD per person + 5 MAD per checked bag. We stayed one night at the "Retour au Calme" hostel—super cozy! 150 MAD for a room with a private shower and toilet. AC was an extra 80 MAD per night (not mandatory) but worked great. Phone: +212 5248-34924. Breakfast was 30 MAD, and they offer tons of options, including budget-friendly choices like a couch for 80 MAD per person with shared showers/toilets. Half-board and full-board are also available. Mohamed and Alexandra are lovely. I booked by phone and paid on-site—they even picked us up from the bus station!

We took a taxi to the Todra Gorge—a breath of fresh air! It’s stunning and humbling. You feel tiny there. Shared taxis cost 8 MAD per person (fixed price). The organization was impressive. To get from the city center to the bus station: 3 MAD per person.

Day 3: We left at 4:00 PM for Merzouga, arriving at 9:30 PM. Tickets were 80 MAD per person + 5 MAD per checked bag. Upon arrival, we were greeted by Houssein, one of five brothers running the "Auberge Océan des Dunes." We had a lovely room with a private bathroom and kitchen access. Two rooms are available in this unit for 190 MAD per night for two, including breakfast.

Hello, We’re a family of four with two teens aged 16 and 18. We’re heading to Thailand this summer. We’ll arrive in Bangkok and plan to take a flight to Luang Prabang. I’ve seen there are some great visits and excursions to do (temples, markets, waterfalls) and maybe even venture a bit north to places like Nong Khiaw, Muang Xay, Muang Ngoy, or Oudom Xay. But I’ve also heard about the Bokeo region with the Gibbon Experience. Since we won’t be able to do everything, I’d love to hear about your experiences, impressions, and advice on the two options I’m considering, especially since we’ll be meeting family in Chiang Mai, Thailand, afterward.

Option 1: A loop from Luang Prabang heading slightly north, then a flight from Luang Prabang to Chiang Mai.

Option 2: A few days in Luang Prabang, exploring within a few dozen kilometers around, then heading to Bokeo province for the 2-day/1-night Gibbon Experience. For this option, I saw on Rome2Rio that it’s possible to book a ferry trip on the Mekong from Luang Prabang to Huay Xay—they mention about 8 hours. But is that realistic? What type of boat is it? Then, to get to Chiang Mai, there aren’t many options—bus or minivan—but how does crossing the border work?

Finally, for those of you who’ve been to Laos in August, what was the weather like? We’ve already visited Thailand, Vietnam, and Cambodia during the same period over the past four years and weren’t really bothered by bad weather.

Thanks for your feedback! Best regards, Aurélien

Hi,

For my trip to Thailand with two teens aged 13 and 16, do you have any info or tips to share? I’d like to go jet skiing, either in Phuket or Koh Samui, but I’d need at least two jet skis since there are three of us. Can my 16-year-old ride alone? Is it better to rent on-site or book an all-inclusive excursion online or in person?

Thanks