Hello,

We’re planning to set off at the end of September with our beloved tandem to cycle along the southern coast of Portugal (the Algarve) and the west coast up to Lisbon. One little detail is worrying me a bit: WHAT ABOUT THE WIND? Let’s just say we’re on the Atlantic coast, and there’s nothing worse for a cycle tourist than wind. Basically, we’d just like to avoid a nightmare of battling the wind in Portugal. If you’ve already done this route or know a bit about the wind conditions in the area (strength, direction, etc.), it’d be great to get some more info on that. Also, I’ve read quite a few forums about trains. How’s the rail network between the south and west of Portugal? No issues with taking bikes on board? Thanks in advance for any info you can share! We’re heading into the unknown since we don’t know the region at all, so if you have any useful tips for cycle tourists, please send them our way!!!

Mic

hi there,

I’m just a few days away from my trip to Marrakech—I’m leaving from November 13th to 20th and bringing my parents along! I’d love to plan my stay as best as I can, and I’m sure the forum crew can help. So, here are my questions:

- Where’s the best place to exchange money without getting ripped off? The owner of the riad where we’re staying told us to avoid doing it at the airport because it’s really expensive and to do it in the medina instead, near Jemaa el-Fna square.

- Which traditional hammams do you recommend that are reasonably priced? How much should we budget for one? That’ll help me plan my expenses.

- What are some nice restaurants in the medina?

- I’d also like to know roughly how much to expect for a tea, a meal, a taxi, a djellaba, and babouches. I don’t want to get overcharged and would like to know what to expect.

- What are the must-do activities and places to visit?

Thanks in advance for your help....

Hi there!

For my 60th birthday (yes, I’m jumping the gun a bit!), I’m starting to plan a self-drive trip to Tanzania (in June).

I also considered Zimbabwe but I’m worried it might be a bit chilly at night in June.

I’ve revisited an itinerary I’d thought about before, tweaking it since I’ll have more days to dedicate to this trip. Still no big northern classics for the same reasons as before (too expensive, too crowded, too many tour operators).

Here’s what I’ve got so far:

(Arrival/departure from Kilimanjaro Airport)

Night 1: Arusha

Night 2: Arusha

Night 3: Lake Manyara

Night 4: On the way to Iringa (any ideas???)

Night 5: Iringa

Nights 6–8: Ruaha NP

Nights 9–10: Mikumi NP

Night 11: Bagamoyo

Nights 12–15: Beach Nights 16–17: Lushoto

Nights 18–19: Mkomazi NP

Night 20: Toward Marangu – eastern Kilimanjaro

Night 21: Western Kilimanjaro

End of trip

All your ideas, tweaks, info, and suggestions on this route are welcome!

I could move one beach night somewhere else if needed.

Also, if you have a car rental company to recommend or thoughts on the bandas rented in the parks, I’m all ears!

Finally, what are the roads like in Ruaha in June? The rental company I’m looking at seems to allow this park with a small 4x4. (Off-limits: Serengeti and Natron)

Thanks! :)

Hello... nothing new for several years now... Can you go there independently from the rest of the country? Any recent experiences, either in Kurdistan or the rest of Iraq? Thanks a lot

I've traveled quite a bit in Vietnam over the past few years—from the southern delta to bustling cities and even some small islands—but what really sticks with me is the north, the high mountains. Up there, there's something different—maybe slower, more raw. The morning markets with ethnic groups, women in traditional clothes, the colors... The stilt houses, kids following you and laughing for no reason, the terraced rice fields—it almost feels unreal at times, so vast and quiet, yet so human and simple. You often hear that Sapa has become too touristy, and that's partly true, especially in the center. But as soon as you move a little farther away, everything changes quickly. The landscapes open up, encounters feel more natural, and you rediscover something truly authentic. I think it's that contrast that struck me—the difference between what you imagine before going and what you actually discover when you take the time. And you—what memory do you hold onto from Vietnam? A particular place that touched you more than others?

Hello, With so many agencies out there, we're feeling a bit lost. Could you please share your experience—like recommending your agency if you were happy with them—and tell us why, and if possible, what budget we should expect? Feel free to send it in a private message :)

We’re just the two of us, and ideally, we’d like to go in a 4x4 alone or with another couple, or in a very small group.

Thanks so much in advance!

NAMASTE NEPAL! PRACTICAL INFO AND EXPERIENCE FEEDBACK

Stay from March 25 to April 16, 2025

· Flight tickets Air India (via Delhi) (via Skyscanner) = 1130 € per person · Planned budget (and respected without too many restrictions and while buying a few small gifts) = 2000 € for the stay for two. Buses, taxis, and entrance fees to various sites represent a budget to consider. Meals are cheap. Drinks like beer/Coke, however, are not cheap and cost the equivalent of a meal. · Exchange rate of the rupee during our stay = 0.0064 € (the exchange rate is almost identical everywhere, including at the airport). · At the airport, purchase of two SIM cards (phone) = 1000 NPR x 2 for 28 days. · Kathmandu: we had booked the hotel upon arrival: Kathmandu Boutique Hotel (+977 015 357 446 – email: booking@kathmanduboutiquehotel.com), very well located in a quiet alley off the street, south of Thamel, a 10-minute walk from Durbar Square. A hotel like Nepal knows how to do, where tall people will have to duck. Night + breakfast = 18 € for two. Very warm welcome, great location, excellent value for money. · Bhaktapur: we had also booked a hotel for the end of our stay because the chance of the year 2025 made the Nepali New Year and Bisket Jatra particularly festive in Bhaktapur: Manju Baha Hotel School (+977 976 7234014 – email: manjubahahotel@gmail.com) located in an old monastery. "A social enterprise transforming an old monastery into a charming hotel, offering professional hospitality training to underprivileged Nepali youth." Night + breakfast = 32 € for two. Beautifully decorated room. Very warm welcome. Don’t miss the Changunarayan site (near Bhaktapur), it’s amazing. And if you’re lucky enough to be in Bhaktapur in mid-April for 3 days, there’s the Bisket Jatra festivities (Newari festival), joyful, noisy, fun, and wild… · Pokhara (hotel recommended by the Kathmandu hotel): Hotel Green Tara, Lakeside, 10th street, set back, quiet (Tel. +977 61 462698 – email: greentara_67@hotmail.com) · Trek permit (Lower Mustang, no need for an agency or guide, permits checked at Ghasa and Jomsom) = 2000 NPR per person (2 ID photos) · Bus Kathmandu/Pokhara and return = 2000 NPR per person · Bus Pokhara/Jomsom, 2 one-way tickets = 2800 NPR. · Taxi: negotiation with a driver we recommend, Vicky (+977 984 075 599). You explain what you want, negotiate the price, and he waits for you during the visit. Very charming, we used him several times. For example: departure from our hotel at 10 AM -> Boudhanath/Pashupatinath/Patan return at 5 PM to the hotel = 6500 NPR – Swayambhunath (round trip) = 1200 NPR · Site prices: https://ntb.gov.np/plan-your-trip/before-you-come/heritage-site-entry-fees o Visitor Pass for Kathmandu Durbar Square (for the duration of the stay, show your visa) = 1000 NPR per person (1 ID photo) o Bhaktapur Durbar Square (old town) = 1800 NPR per person o Patan = 1000 NPR per person o Swayambhu Stupa = 200 NPR per person o Boudha Stupa = 200 NPR per person o Pashupatinath Temple = 1000 NPR per person (interesting to take a guide) o Changunarayan Temple (6 km north of Bhaktapur) = 400 NPR per person o Mountain Museum in Pokhara = 750 NPR per person · E-cigarettes: e-cigarettes are banned in India and confiscated whether they’re in carry-on or checked luggage. On the way there, we had kept them in our carry-on, they were confiscated in Delhi. On the way back, learning from our previous experience, we put them in our checked luggage. Someone came to get us to take them out of our bags and confiscate them… You can find e-cigarettes and products in Kathmandu.

* * *

I’m 74 years old. I went to Nepal in 1982, 1983, and the last time in 1986. I wanted to introduce this beautiful and endearing country to my husband, and it was… now or never. So we decided it was now.

I knew the trek starting from Pokhara: Naudanda/Birethanti/Ghorepani/Tatopani/Kalopani. There was no way I was going to do that trek, especially the 1000-meter staircase to reach Ghorepani… You have to stay humble with age.

Back then, the road didn’t exist. I didn’t consider, with the construction of this road (NH48) along the western bank of the Kali Gandaki, doing a trek along a windy and dusty road. Was there an alternative hiking trail on the eastern bank? No one answered my question on VoyageForum, so I did my research online. And I found this site: "Andrées de Ruiter and Prem Rai - Trekking the Annapurna Circuit, including the new NATT trails that avoid the road - A guide to one of the most beautiful trekking regions in Nepal and the world (2011) - NATT = New Annapurna Trekking Trail".

Phew! A solution was emerging. This circuit from 2011 wasn’t fully marked. The idea was to go from Jomsom to Tatopani, so we needed to make sure the path was well-marked all the way, which we did, and the path exists, marked in red and white!

So, with the walking times information, we built our 8-day circuit:

· Jomsom/Thinigaon · Thinigaon/Chimang · Chimang/Saura · Saura/Kokhetanti · Rest day or, if in good shape: loop to Sekong Lake · Kokhetanti/Jhipra Deurali · Jhipra Deurali/Kopchepani · Kopchepani/Tatopani

It’s a senior trek, after all. So the walking times noted on the sites indicated 3 hours or even 4 hours for the two longest stages. That pace suited us fine.

On March 29, we left Kathmandu (1400m), after visiting the must-see sites, by bus to Pokhara: 200 km and 8.5 hours on a chaotic road under construction. I had a memory of Pokhara where it was the first city where you could see the Himalayan range, especially Machhapuchhare. But the pollution is such, the dust raised by traffic and construction, that no horizon is visible except the first hills around Pokhara.

We stayed 24 hours in Pokhara (820m), and on March 31, we left our luggage at the hotel and set off with our lightest backpacks: change of clothes, toiletries, first aid kit, anti-chafing cream, water bottle, sleeping bag liner, and light shoes for the stages.

We took the bus to Jomsom: 160 km/7.5 hours including stops for bathroom breaks, tea, and lunch. The road is nothing but a chaos of potholes, landslides, construction, dust, rebuilding, and mudslides. In Ghasa, the bus stops, and we’re told we’re at a checkpoint and that the two foreigners in the bus, my husband and I, need to have our permits checked, which takes a few minutes. The driving is rock-and-roll, surprising, and courteous. The drivers have their codes, and on these improbable roads, they’re virtuosos.

We could have chosen the plane, but several reasons dissuaded us: if there’s too much wind, the planes don’t take off; personally, I wasn’t reassured about landing in Jomsom, and this transport has a cost.

We arrived around 2 PM in Jomsom (2720m), and despite the early wake-up, the nearly 8 hours on the bus, and the altitude, we decided to head straight to Thinigaon (2840m). At the Jomsom checkpoint, they told us it was a 30-minute walk. Great! Except we took an hour and a half on an uphill road, bent over to fight a strong wind. But the Himalayan range is there! The Dhaulagiri, the Nilgiri, the Annapurnas as a reward.

In Thinigaon, we found a room at the "Nilgiri View Hotel" run by a didi (big sister in Nepali). From the lodge’s roof, she proudly showed us the different peaks surrounding the village and told us, worried, that it hadn’t snowed here for 3 years. She said there are very few tourists, that the season is rather in September/October/November. It seems there’s not a soul in this village, yet mules pass through the narrow street paved with large flat stones, their bells ringing. We dine at 6 PM and go to bed… Room = 1200 NPR and dinner, breakfast, and drinks = 2560 NPR.

On April 1, we set off at 9 AM, not for Chimang as planned but for Marpha! The didi from the Thinigaon lodge had said it was a 3-hour walk. The first part of this stage is attractive, the mountains are magnificent and imposing, the landscape is superb, there’s no one around, a feeling of being "alone in the world." We follow Dhumbra Tal, this small green lake. The path is a rocky track that climbs steeply. Then, around a hill, we start the big descent that joins the Kali Gandaki. We face the wind head-on, and the violent gusts take our breath away, throw us off balance, and envelop us in dust. We see the road on the other side of the Kali Gandaki. We arrive in the village of Chhairo at 2 PM, completely exhausted and with blistered feet, after 5 hours of walking instead of the planned 3.5 hours.

We’re welcomed by the village nurse, who tells us there’s a lodge in the village. Chhairo is a Tibetan village, a 20-minute walk from Marpha (according to the locals, multiply by 2 or even 3 for us…). We’re going to revise our trek plan and, first of all, spend the night in Chhairo.

The lodge is quite pleasant, and Karma, the hostess, is very friendly. She asks about our plans and suggests we stay in Chhairo the next day, from where we can visit Marpha and also Chimang, a 1-hour walk away, in light mode, meaning without backpacks. She invites us to participate in a village ceremony the next evening.

We immediately accept the proposal, as our feet need rest and the welcome is so warm… Dinner and bed!

We reworked our trek plan, which was too ambitious for our untrained bodies and, let’s face it… no longer in our first youth. In the initial plan, we thought there wouldn’t be too much elevation gain following the Kali Gandaki, but checking the map, we realize there might be significant elevation changes between Sauru and Sirkung. So we plan:

· Tomorrow: visit Marpha (2670m) and Chimang (2744m) · April 3: bus from Chhairo (2700m) to Kalopani (2530m) and continue on foot to Ghasa (2010m) · April 4: Ghasa/Pairataplo (1940m) · April 5: Pairatapla/Gadpar (1580m) · April 6: Gadpar/Narchyang (1510m) · April 7: Narchyang/Tatopani (1190m) · April 8: return to Pokhara.

Normally, it’s all downhill…

April 2, a rest day then… We set off in the morning to explore Marpha. We have to take a temporary bridge because the suspension bridge is closed due to road construction. We join the road and arrive in Marpha, a village famous for its apple orchards, brandy, cider, and apple juice production. This village is magnificent with its stone houses and monastery clinging to the hillside. The road construction spared it. There are people, but very few Western tourists.

We have lunch in Marpha and go back through Chhairo to take the path to Chimang. We cross a fragrant pine forest and find the rocky path; the landscape is splendid. We walk quietly, passing peaceful buffaloes and cows, and arrive at the foot of a stone staircase… 275 steps (which we counted on the way back) leading us to the village of Chimang. Chimang is an isolated Newari village that seems a bit desolate. Despite the slopes, there are crops on every little bit of land. Thankfully, we changed our initial program because there’s no lodge in this village, contrary to what we saw on a map… We wander through the village, which seems very deserted, have coffee in a house from another world, and then head back to Chhairo.

A rest day? = 5 hours of walking!!

Dinner and village ceremony. From what we understand, this ceremony is in honor of the Dalai Lama. Men, women, and children in traditional costumes gather twice a month; they dance, make, and offer small sweet cakes with Tibetan tea (made from tea, yak butter—often rancid—water, and salt). Surprising for first-timers…

Around 10 PM, we leave the ceremony; tomorrow morning, we need to be on the roadside by 7 AM to catch the bus to Kalopani…

This village of Chhairo is very pleasant and welcoming, no tourists, just two motorcyclists who arrived in the evening, one of whom participated in the ceremony and discreetly poured his Tibetan tea outside.

Lodge: "Norsang Tibetan Guesthouse and Restaurant". Total bill for 2 nights, 2 dinners, 2 breakfasts, and drinks = 8000 NPR.

April 3: bus from Chhairo to Kalopani, about 1.5 hours for the 20 km (200 NPR per person). We descend on the right bank of the Kali Gandaki. We find the red and white markings to resume the trek toward Ghasa. We’re in a fragrant pine forest, the Dhaulagiri on one side and the Annapurnas on the other, magnificent, and the path is pleasant and easy. We get a bit lost in this forest, always looking for the markings. Near Lete, two trekkers pass us, and we meet them again a little further on with two very young children, to whom we give the 2 hard-boiled eggs I didn’t eat this morning. They accepted them without hesitation.

We arrive in a village and ask for directions to Ghasa. The young girls point the way. But we come across a forest being logged, trees cut in all directions. We turn back and ask for confirmation. They confirm… But the two young girls catch up with us and clear the way. We have to step over, go around, and cross the felled trees, with no indication at all. Through this pick-up sticks of felled trees, the girls lead us to the top of a stone staircase, indicating that was the path. It’s the only place where we saw rhododendrons in bloom.

We descend the staircase. At the bottom, to the left, there’s a bridge to go toward Choyo, and to the right, a path to Ghasa. We take the right path and join the road. We should normally find the red and white markings, but we don’t… So we continue on the western bank road of the Kali Gandaki.

A little before the village of Misi, we see fumaroles on the opposite bank that seem to come from the ground. We don’t understand. We stopped to eat in the village of Misi (noodle soup = 600 NPR), but it’s hard to communicate with the elderly people running the guesthouse.

We continued on the road, not finding the marked path parallel to the road. Landslides, both on the left and right banks, seem to have taken over the marked routes. It’s a place where the Kali Gandaki gorge narrows, and on the opposite bank, the mountain smokes more and more, and we now hear the crackling of fire. Across from us, the mountain is burning… Our initial plan had us passing on that burning bank right now…

We arrive in Ghasa at 3:30 PM, a 6.5-hour stage but with a 1-hour stop at noon. We’re at the "Florida Guesthouse and Restaurant." From our room, we see the mountain smoking on the other side of the river, and at night, we see the flames. In this village, posters show Himalayan eagles and vultures that seem to be protected species. Indeed, we saw (and heard) 3 eagles circling today.

April 4 – Today, heading to Pairothapla or Kopchepani depending on our feet, accommodation options, and simply our desires.

No more smoke on the mountain this morning. It’s chilly, 7:45 AM, the sky is clear, just a smell of smoke outside.

Price of the lodge = 1000 NPR for the night + 3580 NPR for meals.

We cross Ghasa, which stretches over more than a kilometer. We have a drink at the last guesthouse in the village, and the didi, when she learns our destination, tells us to be careful because the villages we’re going to aren’t safe. Should we distribute our rupees in different pockets? Nah, we kept going.

At the exit of Ghasa, we find the red and white markings and take the suspension bridge to cross the boiling waters of the Kali Gandaki. The passage is impressive because the river is tumultuous. Lots of climbs and even more descents. We’re back on the eastern bank. It’s hot! On the narrow path, we meet a group of buffaloes. Who has the right of way? We decide to stick as close as possible to the rock wall and move forward calmly. The buffaloes look at us, chewing placidly, with no intention of jumping on us. Phew!

After a 5-hour stage (including stops), we arrive in Pairothapla, with hot feet and firm thighs, and decide we won’t go any further. It’s a good thing because there’s a lodge, the most basic so far, but with a great welcome. We have a meal and a short nap. The buffaloes we met on the way belong to this house. They come to drink at the fountain by the path.

Our host, very pleasant, doesn’t know what to do to please us and is very attentive. He wants to chat. He has two children, a 4-year-old girl and a 7-year-old boy. Where do they go to school? Do they go? He tells us that the fires in the mountain are caused by people, but for what reason? We won’t find out, but it’s illegal. From here, we can still see smoke rising in the distance. The wife is a bit less friendly. Corn kernels dry on a woven straw mat on the ground, and the mom sorts them.

From where we are, we overlook the valley and see the road under construction winding along the mountainside on the other bank.

Dinner on the terrace of the house overlooking the path, windbreaker and fleece on: dal bhat chicken for me and chicken curry for my husband: "organic" products, at least local production. There are small vegetable gardens everywhere with all sorts of vegetables.

April 5 – While we’re having breakfast on the terrace of our lodge, 5 porters, straps on their foreheads, heavily loaded, pass by on the path. A few minutes later, a group of 9 people appears. It must be said that since the beginning of our journey, we’ve met very few hikers. Two backpackers in Chhairo, the two hikers near Lete, two female hikers passed us before Pairothapla, a solo female hiker passed us…

The lodge in Pairothapla is called "Bimala Lodge & Thakali Kitchen" – Price for night + 4 meals + 2 breakfasts = 3000 NPR.

The descent toward the Kali Gandaki involves climbs whose steps we didn’t count. Clearly, the landslides on the mountain cause changes to the official ACAP trek marked in red and white, and the marking updates can’t keep up with the pace of these landslides. It’s almost always by chance that we find the markings. Fortunately, we can follow the power line that guides us somewhat.

Drink stop in Kopchepani, the legs are fine, but the feet don’t like being tightly enclosed. A group of trekkers with porters passes on the path. We met buffaloes that we kindly let pass; the path was wide enough, but it was a staircase going up, and we didn’t want to take any risks.

Across, a view of the magnificent Rupse Waterfall on the other bank of the Kali Gandaki, at the bottom, lots of vehicles and people.

Arrival in Gadpar after crossing a rather unwelcoming small village and cultivated gardens between dry stone walls, each better built than the last.

First lodge spotted, first lodge adopted to answer the call of our feet, and a very warm welcome from the owner. Since we hadn’t eaten at noon, we had Tibetan bread/jam. 6-hour stage including 1 hour of stops. Night + dinner + breakfast + drinks = 5060 NPR

April 6 – Today, heading to Narchyang.

For several days, we’ve seen banana trees with their bunches of fruit and even a prickly pear with large fruits ripening.

This stage is quite peaceful and pleasant. We take a suspension bridge to cross a tributary of the Kali Gandaki. While we’re resting for a moment before crossing the bridge, a couple of porters, a man and a woman, arrive and start across the bridge with their wood load in a basket held by a strap on their forehead, making them bend. We set off too… lighter than them.

On the other side of the bridge… a stone staircase, and it climbs steeply. The porter couple didn’t take this staircase; they went right on the path.

At the top of the staircase, we arrive in Narchyang after a 4-hour stage. A magnificent waterfall overlooks the village. We get lost in this fairly large village looking for a lodge. After wandering around for a while, we ask for directions, and an 84-year-old man takes us through the whole village and accompanies us to a very nice lodge run by a woman.

We chat with our hostess, who asks where we’re from and where we’re going. We explain that we want to reach Tatopani the next day and then return to Pokhara. She tells us there are 4x4s going directly to Pokhara and that it would probably be easier than taking a bus that might be full in Tatopani. After a quick consultation, we decide to return to Pokhara the next day by 4x4. She finds us a 4x4 with 2 seats left, departure at 8 AM – 5 hours on the road and 1500 NPR per person. A charming didi who does everything to be pleasant and helpful.

Narchyang community lodge = night + snacks + dinner + breakfast = 3000 NPR.

There you go, our trek ends tomorrow. Many necessary changes and adaptations to our initial trek, but no regrets, it was superb and a great experience that, for my part, I won’t be able to repeat. Always this encounter with the endearing, welcoming, curious, and very kind Nepali people. It was now or never, and we did it!

* * *

In conclusion, 3 full weeks in Nepal is a duration that allows visiting Kathmandu, Patan, and Bhaktapur, enjoying the various sites, and soaking in the atmosphere and urban Nepali life.

The trek, even revised and corrected, allowed us to get close to the impressive Annapurna and Dhaulagiri peaks. One or two acclimatization days might be necessary to get the body in tune with this magical and extraordinary land.

Hello everyone,

After sharing some safari photos from southern Tanzania, I’d like to show you those from our latest safari in Kenya in October 2025.

First, I’d like to thank Sylvie56, whose previous travel journals about this country inspired our trip choices. Thanks also for the info you sent us via PM. THANK YOU!

The following account is from a simple wildlife enthusiast. You won’t find anything here but images of landscapes, mammals, and birds. The stated purpose of this trip was purely and solely wildlife-focused. (It was in no way a discovery of the country or its people).

This stay/safari began (and ended) in Nairobi, with flights between France and Kenya operated by Qatar Airways departing from Nice.

Over two weeks, we first visited the reserves of Tsavo West and Tsavo East, then after a long road trip, the two reserves of Buffalo Springs and Samburu.

= Please wait until the end of the journal to ask any specific questions (or send them via PM) to keep the story flowing without interruptions or off-topic comments.

Thanks for your understanding.

...

Previous Kenya safari trip in 2017, here:

http://www.image-nature.com/forum/viewtopic.php?f=162&t=61119

...

Hi everyone, We’re just back from a month-long trip to Morocco in our camper van. After crossing France (we left from the Nantes area) and Spain, we arrived in Algeciras where we bought our boat tickets to Tangier. When we got to Tangier, as we were going through customs, you can imagine our surprise when the customs officer took our road map of Morocco and pointed out the label "Western Sahara" (just like in the forum’s destination section, by the way!). He wanted it to say "Moroccan Sahara" instead!!! But there was nothing we could do—it was an old map... He wouldn’t listen, and after long discussions with the other (younger) customs officers, he finally gave it back and let us through... Unbelievable! Later, we heard that other travelers had their maps confiscated outright. So, hide it well if you want to keep yours!!!

Anyway, we skirted around Tangier’s suburbs—pretty grim—and finally arrived in Asilah.

Following the coast and the long promenade along the beach, we reached the campsite. It was a bit crowded, not much shade, but it wasn’t far from the medina or the beach, and it wasn’t expensive. There’s some life here: Moroccan families seem to live on-site, in tents or basic bungalows. A woman was cooking tagine on a brazier—we were right in the atmosphere! The night was quiet, and we slept well. We set off on foot, walking along the seafront to the medina... We’d already been here in 2009. It was less touristy back then! Still, at this early hour, the little streets inside were very quiet. The walls had been freshly whitewashed, and there were even more murals than before. Around 11:30 AM, we strolled along the ramparts by the sea. There was a nice breeze! And a lot more people around. We enjoyed a milkshake on the terrace of a café overlooking the beach that stretches out at the foot of the medina. Some young guys were having fun diving off the rocks—and even off the top of the wall!

While planning a trip to the LOFOTEN for summer 2023 using the excellent guide *Hiking in the Lofoten*, we discovered this trek.

Sure, it’s rated as difficult, but it lets you cross the LOFOTEN on foot from north to south in 11 stages, covering 160 km and 9,193 m of elevation gain (or the reverse, of course).

So, it’s a multi-day hike, with wild camping, and no need to rent a car. Perfect...

What’s making us hesitate a bit are the island transfers (okay, I’ll admit, the difficulty is also a factor for me). These transfers require taking public transport and/or hitchhiking. But the stages are designed with this in mind, and the transfers are well explained. Plus, water isn’t an issue, and you can resupply several times, which helps keep the pack weight down.

For Jean Marie, my partner, this will be his first multi-day trek, but he’s an experienced and hardy hiker. As for me, even though I’m not as tough, I’ve already done some multi-day hikes. So, we should complement each other well.

So, are we going for it? Sold!!

Here’s the trek map: HERE

03/08 – Day 1 - Delp – Sandsletta 04/08 - Day 2 – Sandsletta – Svolvaer 05/08 - Day 3 – Svolvaer – Kleppstad + transfer to the start of Day 4 06/08 – Day 4 – Vikjorda hamlet – Store Lake 07/08 – Day 5 – Store Lake – Leknes - Transfer to Napp on Flakstadøya Island 08/08 – Day 6 – Napp – Nusfjord 09/08 – Day 7 – Nusfjord – Ramberg 10/08 – Day 8 – Ramberg – Selfjord Bay (Moskenesøya Island) 11/08 – Day 9 - Selfjord – Bunes Beach 12/08 – Day 10 - Bunes Beach - Krokvatnet Lake 13/08 – Day 11 - Krokvatnet Lake – Moskenes (campsite) and round trip to Å by bus 14/08 – Day 12 – Hike up Reinebringen – Reine – Tour of Agvatnet Lake 15/08 – Return to Bodø - flight back to France on 16/08 And here’s the inevitable recap

Prologue

This journal recounts a trip to Rajasthan that’s already over a year old and that I’ve only now found the chance to write about. The summer of 2024 marked my return to India—my tenth trip—after six long years away since my last solo wanderings in Tamil Nadu in 2018 (the journal of which is published on this site). That absence was partly (but not only) due to the long COVID and post-COVID period, which saw a complete halt and then a major slowdown in global tourism. To top it off, Voyage Forum announced its closure in an end-of-the-world atmosphere. A sad time for our favorite social activity…

A few weeks after returning from Rajasthan, I tried to motivate myself to start writing a journal to publish on a forum claiming to be VF’s successor, which I’d eventually signed up for out of desperation. But I kept hesitating and putting the project off because, for one, I no longer have the time I used to. For another, the vibe wasn’t really taking off on that forum—it was overrun with ads and not very active, contrary to what its host’s name suggested. Despite its good intentions and commendable role as a stopgap, it also turned out to be very impractical to use, especially when you don’t have much time like me. I’ll admit I’d occasionally check back on VF to see if anything was happening. But all the discussions remained frozen in time, stuck in that fateful year, 2020. Then, rumors swirled online about shady reasons behind its closure, leaving little room for hope.

And then, one fine morning, I got a message at work from Marien informing me that VF had reopened. What a huge surprise! Even though the forum’s “end” had played out in a somewhat apocalyptic atmosphere, the memories of passionate and heated discussions, the frank debates, and the useful exchanges that made this site a traveler’s goldmine and a unique hub of conviviality all came rushing back to me like a breath of fresh air. I finally saw a sign and tried to motivate myself to find the time to publish the journal of this tenth trip to India and fifth to Rajasthan. But in the end, I got bogged down in professional and family obligations and never managed to find the time to get started. That’s now fixed, though, because I had two reasons for wanting to do it: I find that looking back on a trip to tell others about it is a highly beneficial introspective exercise. Also, I thought this journal could be useful to other travelers on a few points.

Because, “do we really need yet another journal about Rajasthan?” you might rightly ask! Especially in a time when so many journals about the “Land of Kings” have been published since VF’s return, not to mention the countless stories you can already find online about this region, one of India’s most touristy. And I’d add, why go back to Rajasthan for a fifth time, where I’ve already dragged my feet more than enough—through its forts, deserts, temples, cities, villages, bumpy roads, train stations, tasty street food stalls, cheap guesthouses, and more? Where some might see just another overhyped tourist destination full of the same old *Arabian Nights* clichés, worn to a thread, that I mentioned earlier, when there’s so much else to see in India? Well, first because it’s a magnificent country I never tire of, where I started an academic study and made so many connections. It’s also packed with places where you won’t find a single tourist (right, Marie-Jo?), even in the heart of well-trodden paths and classic itineraries. And most importantly, as I said earlier, things have changed in recent years. First, after six years without traveling far, the urge to go back to India was getting stronger. But this time, no more solo trips (often) or duo adventures (sometimes)—now it’s a team of four that has to come along! And even if you can argue with that, what better place than Rajasthan to introduce India to people who’ve never seen it? To kids you want to amaze? Plus, traveling with your new little family to your favorite country isn’t the same as going solo in often spartan conditions that only affect you. It’s a different challenge, but ultimately probably much harder. So, is it really reasonable to take two kids to India, including a two-year-old baby? That’s one of the main goals of this journal (but not the only one)—to try to answer that question.

As you can tell, it’s not so much the destination but the slightly unusual setup of this trip that, in my opinion, will make this journal interesting. Despite my experience and expertise (yes, I dare say it) in India, there were plenty of questions before we finalized the plan and said, “Alright, let’s go!” The questions were flying for us parents. Is it wise to travel to India with a two-year-old? What would we do (it happened) if the kids got very sick? Would they be able to handle a road trip on Rajasthan’s bumpy, dusty roads using public transport? Could they handle the shock of such a different world—the dirt, poverty, pollution, noise (…and the smell, as they say), the spicy food, monkeys, mosquitoes, snakes, tigers, leopards, and so on? In short, all the clichés that I usually joke about suddenly became potential realities. Another concern: as a mixed Franco-African family (not me, but my partner and her oldest), wouldn’t we risk not always being well received, given what you sometimes hear about that in India? How would Indians react to seeing a mixed-race family, the ultimate taboo in a country of purity and social segregation, which would undoubtedly raise many questions for them? Of course, not everything went as expected… Because, as you know, with India—and what makes it charming for some—there are always complications: sometimes where you don’t expect them… and sometimes where you do. I’ll go into detail about that in the journal to come (not right away) and in the final review (even later). These experiences could be useful to travelers who find themselves in similar situations and have the same questions we did before embarking on such a journey. And maybe it’ll spark the curiosity of those who aren’t concerned and will read yet another Rajasthan journal, but with its own unique twists.

Despite my unchanged constraints, which mean I have little time to write this, I don’t want to rush the story, so I’ll take my time. There will probably be lulls. I hope that won’t stop people from coming to react, debate, share their impressions, or ask for information.

It’s vacation time Vacation and silence Silence and absence Absence and latency Latency and silence Silence and vacation Vacation and absence It’s vacation time

I wrote these few words on July 12, 2010, and I can post them again today—nothing’s changed...🙂

Hello everyone!

We're off! After exploring the north, the four friends have now discovered the south. We’re excited to share this new travel journal, dedicated to our little group and our strong friendship, written by Richard and illustrated with Kate’s photos. I’ll chime in from time to time with practical tips.

First of all, a big thank you to everyone on VoyageForum who helped us plan this trip. It would’ve been quite different if we’d just relied on guidebooks.

The itinerary lasted just over 3 weeks: Mahabalipuram, Pondicherry, Thanjavur, the Chettinad region, Madurai, Munnar, Munroe Island, Cochin, and Chennai. We traveled by train, taxi, and private car with a driver, took a domestic flight, and stayed in guesthouses, Airbnb apartments, and hotels. For each of us, including flights, the total budget barely reached 2000 €, and we didn’t hold back—knowing we avoid resorts and love street food and small Indian restaurants.

Hi, I’d like to meet a Mapuche community in the Lake District during my upcoming trip to Chile. I’ve been given several offers, but the prices are way too high (nearly 1100 € for 2 days/3 nights). Even though the advertised program sounds interesting, I’m hoping there are other ways to connect with a Mapuche community. I’m open to any ideas on the topic! Best, Jamet JC

Hi everyone,

This isn’t a travel journal. I’m borrowing an idea from someone else who, a few years ago, thought of starting a thread to share their archived photos of this country.

I’ll be posting here from time to time—some less old, let’s say more or less recent, images. With little or no commentary. Just for the fun of it.

Hi everyone! I’m heading to Morocco for a full 8 days in early November—it’s my first time visiting. I’m traveling solo and arrive in Agadir on Sunday at 10 PM. I plan to rent a car to get around. I’m reaching out to get your advice so I can plan my trip as well as possible... Here are my questions: 1 - Given my late arrival, is it better to stay overnight in Agadir for the first night? If so, do you have any hotel recommendations, and is transportation easy to arrange at that hour? 2 - Do you have any trusted rental car companies to recommend in Agadir? 3 - For 7 days, here’s the route I’ve planned: Agadir → Taroudant → Taliouine → Tafraoute → Tiznit → Agadir. Does this route seem good (not too short, not too long, any spots worth adding?), considering I enjoy driving? 4 - Should I book my accommodations in advance? Thanks in advance for your recommendations! I hope these questions aren’t too repetitive compared to what’s already been asked on the forum. Sébastien

Really disappointed with Costa Rica! Pura vida? The scam of the century! (Costa Rica pure emptiness).

The country where animals are free and people are in cages. 3 weeks in December in this country and never again. Imagine the trailer of a movie that seems interesting, and when you go see it, you realize it’s a flop and the best moments were in the trailer. Well, that’s exactly how we felt with Costa Rica pure emptiness. My wife and I have traveled quite a bit and didn’t expect to be so wrong about a place. On the main routes, we visited: San José Alajuela Limón, Cahuita, Puerto Viejo, Manzanillo (Caribbean side) Jaco, Quepos, Manuel Antonio (Pacific side) And a few short stops in intermediate towns.

Our dissatisfaction grew gradually like this:

When we arrived at the hotel, the taxi dropped us off on a small street in front of a white metal gate with ground-floor windows barred. We looked at it skeptically, but the sign matched. He approached the gate, rang the bell, the buzzer sounded, and the door opened slightly. The hotel wasn’t bad for the price, a 10-minute walk from downtown, but with a "Fleury-Mérogis" vibe guaranteed.

So far, so good.

After showering and regaining our bearings, we headed downtown. What started to unsettle us on the way was seeing houses with bars on the ground-floor windows and even on the second floor. At first, we thought the hotel’s neighborhood wasn’t great.

Downtown San José: It’s a generic city, not very exotic, with a pedestrian street and a small mercado where you can eat local food without frills. Very few tourists—if any—which let you blend in with the locals. We had lunch and struggled to make ourselves understood because, aside from one or two shops, English wasn’t spoken. On the way back to the hotel, we took a different route, and while chatting and strolling, my wife pointed out a beautiful two-story white house completely barricaded like Fort Knox. From that moment, we started noticing the facades of houses and buildings, and wow, it was creepy—most looked like prisons, some even with barbed wire. Though put off, we told ourselves it was probably a big-city thing and the rest of the country couldn’t be like this.

So far, so good.

We relaxed at the hotel and had a drink at the bar. Night falls early, around 5:30 PM. By 7:30 PM, we headed back downtown for dinner. A bit unsettling for a capital—downtown was almost deserted, and aside from fast-food chains, very few restaurants were open, with hardly anyone on the streets. Bars with security guards out front. I won’t say we felt unsafe that night, but once it got dark, we realized the bars on the windows weren’t for nothing. First day in, and our impression was already mixed.

The next day, we explored the city and surroundings, and our feelings didn’t change.

So far, so good.

Off to Cahuita by bus—4 hours of travel. The landscapes are very green but quickly become monotonous. The road runs alongside the forest and passes through a few towns and villages, and even in the countryside, there were just as many prison-like houses. The bus dropped us off at Cahuita’s terminal station—only four of us got off. It’s a village, or rather, a small town. Cahuita is basically one straight road and a perpendicular one, and honestly, doubt started to creep in. A few restaurants that add 13% tax and 10% service charge—so 23% extra. We dropped our stuff at the hotel and went to explore. In 20 minutes, we’d seen it all. We had lunch and planned to check out the famous park. Entry is by donation—well, the "entry" is a joke. There’s a path along the forest by the sea, and that’s it.

Nothing’s going right anymore.

We thought it was a total scam, but since we hadn’t gone far, we decided to come back the next day to explore further. We returned to the hotel, relaxed, and around 8:00 PM, we went out for dinner. Only two restaurants were open, and the streets were deserted.

Creepy!

The next day, we explored the so-called park more thoroughly and really got it. A path along the forest by the sea—2 hours there and 2 hours back, where you see animals that feel like showing their faces. A total joke—"all that for this?"

The beach was full of wood debris and coconut husks. We wondered if the photos online were edited because the sea, very rough, wasn’t the azure blue we’d seen in pictures. But calling this a park is a joke—it’s like a new concept.

When we thought about the reviews online, we started to suspect that professionals with interests in the country were monitoring and countering any negative feedback that could harm their business. Too bad we didn’t check the negative reviews beforehand—we did while we were there, and it helped. We wondered if we’d become too demanding after all our travels, but no—when something’s bad, it’s bad.

Manuel Antonio’s park is even more ridiculous—there’s a short path along the sea for about 500 meters, and then nothing. You have to climb through mud and hack your way through the forest. We ended up barefoot because the mud was up to our calves. All that to see a raccoon and a few parrots flying overhead.

We didn’t expect Noah’s Ark, but we’ve seen more animals in Bali, Mexico, and Thailand while visiting temples or just walking around than in these so-called parks!

Puerto Viejo, not far from Cahuita and supposedly livelier—well, it couldn’t be worse! According to Lonely Planet, it had a Caribbean vibe and wild nights, but maybe that was a long time ago. The good reggae music playing everywhere isn’t enough.

In the evening, Puerto Viejo was a bit livelier than Cahuita, but that’s not saying much. Very few tourists—if any—no night market, just two or three shops open selling $20 T-shirts. Same vibe as San José.

No big deal—we enjoyed the beach and the sun, which was reliable. Our itinerary was supposed to include Tortuguero Park, but after talking to other travelers who’d just been, we changed our minds, knowing we’d be visiting Manuel Antonio Park on the Pacific side.

To get back to the Pacific side, you have to take the bus and go through San José again—5 hours this time—then switch bus terminals and another 4.5 hours to Quepos. A stopover town to get to Manuel Antonio’s beach and park! A town just like the others we’d seen—deserted as soon as the sun sets, and not exactly bustling during the day either. (Where are all the tourists?)

Still as many bars on the windows and that feeling of being in the wrong place.

7 km later: Manuel Antonio beach and park. The beach is very beautiful and quite large, but don’t expect turquoise blue water—the waves stir up the sand, giving the water a brownish color. Along the beach, shops and restaurants for about 300 meters, and then nothing. At night, after sunset, the town shuts down too.

Manuel Antonio Park is highly praised for its wildlife, so we were eager to see it. When you express dissatisfaction with Cahuita or Manzanillo parks, the response is always, "But you should’ve gone to Monteverde or Manuel Antonio!" No matter what you do or say, they’ll tell you, "You should’ve gone there or here."

Back to our famous park—entry was about $16, and contrary to what we’d heard, it wasn’t crowded! Guides at the entrance with spotting scopes offered their services for about $30. The park: a mix of boardwalk and dirt paths through the forest, sometimes running alongside beautiful coves and beaches. As soon as we entered, a crowd was taking photos of a deer eating leaves. A little further on, a guide with a group of five stopped. The guide raised his arm and set up his spotting scope! He showed them, about 100 meters away, a hummingbird perched on a branch. Some, looking through the scope, exclaimed, "Oh my God! Amazing! Incredible!" For a moment, we thought they’d discovered a unicorn or were in Jurassic Park and had just crossed paths with a T-Rex! The concept is comical—looking at a bird or another animal through a spotting scope because it’s too far away. Isn’t that what TV is for? For our part, we saw monkeys, ants, an armadillo, an iguana, and the backside of a sloth climbing a tree. Amazing, incredible!

We stayed a few days in Manuel Antonio to enjoy the beach, changing hotels often because prices varied wildly from one day to the next for shameful services. On top of that, they’d quote a price in dollars and convert it at their discretion—thieves!

Alajuela, a city near the airport, has a two-story mall and a local market downtown! No interest except its proximity to the airport.

What we liked:

The climate and, in hindsight, San José—the most authentic city we visited.

What we didn’t like, in addition to what we’ve already mentioned:

Costa Ricans aren’t very friendly or communicative. English is barely spoken, not even by doctors at Quepos Hospital, where my wife ended up with food poisoning (thanks, Google Translate). The widespread obesity among Costa Ricans, who eat like Americans. The insecurity. The eco-hipsters who leave their $150 lodges in minivans with guides to visit parks and other sites, then return to barricade themselves in their fortresses at nightfall (oh my God, amazing, incredible). The blue signs at the entrance of towns that accept this payment method: "We accept American Express." Parking lots that become paid just because a guy is watching your car. Prices displayed in dollars. The cost of living (hotels, restaurants, taxes). Landscapes that are too green and not flowery enough. Beaches—nothing exceptional. Pollution in cities where big American trucks rule. Sewage dumped directly into the sea. Aside from the jungle, there’s nothing to visit—no ruins, monuments, or anything worth seeing.

In short, my wife and I think the hype about this supposedly eco-friendly country is overrated. It’s just the trendy destination of the moment. There are much better, cheaper, and more authentic places. In hindsight, we keep the good memories and our beautiful photos, but if we had to do it over...

Before signing off, a little message to those who don’t like hearing opinions different from theirs: Well, some things aren’t up for debate. And to those who’d have us believe that in 3 weeks, we don’t have the right to criticize a country or express our feelings—how can you praise it in so little time? What a scam. Costa Rica is a money pit. Pura vida? Pure cosmic emptiness.

If you like spending your evenings barricaded in your cozy hotel after dark, this country is for you. For everyone else: run!

Hi everyone, we’re a couple in our thirties and we’ve decided to visit northwest Vietnam with AmicaTravel for their "meet-up in Lolo Land" circuit. I’m currently looking at the itinerary with the Lonely Planet and reading the many posts on this site, especially Lansay’s, which are really inspiring. Here are the stages of the circuit: Day 1: Hanoi – arrival Day 2: Hanoi visit Day 3: Hanoi – Thac Ba Day 4: Thac Ba – Luc Yen – Ha Giang Day 5: Ha Giang – Dong Van Day 6: Dong Van – Meo Vac – Bao Lac Day 7: Bao Lac – Ba Be Lake Day 8: Ba Be visit Day 9: Ba Be – Cao Bang Day 10: Cao Bang – Ban Gioc – Cao Bang Day 11: Cao Bang – Lang Son Day 12: Lang Son – Halong Bay Day 13: Halong Bay – Hanoi Day 14: Hanoi – departure Otherwise, the period would be from April 21, 2012, to May 5, 2012, but this could vary by a day or two if it’s worth it. I haven’t made the reservation yet because I’m trying to find out if all the stages of the circuit are interesting (thanks to this forum). We’d like to stay with locals as much as possible and maybe spend an extra day in one region to avoid just "passing through"—settle in a bit. We’d also like to do some trekking, and I read in Lansay’s posts that Bac Ha would be a good option for that (this stage isn’t included in the initial circuit), unless other stages of the circuit are just as good for trekking.

Finally, regarding the last stage in Halong Bay, what’s the best way to explore it? It seems very crowded (and I don’t know if the junk boat included in the circuit is designed for a small group or very large groups, which we’d prefer to avoid if possible). I read a post here that I can’t find anymore about a couple who did a stage with a small stay on an island or something like that—it sounded paradise-like.

Generally, we’d like to avoid running into too many tourists (yes, I know it’s a bit paradoxical), but it’s mainly to encourage encounters with locals and maybe with a small group of travelers. If others want to do this circuit, why not... but we’re hoping to travel in a very small group (maximum 6 people).

Otherwise, for the flight, I was thinking of booking with Vietnam Airlines—is that a good choice? Thanks in advance for your great tips.

Hi there, I’m planning to visit the Raja Ampat Islands next June. It’s pretty tricky to organize. What’s the best gateway to get there? Do you know of any places to stay if I don’t want to go diving? Which agencies can provide information? Thanks so much for your help!

Hi,

We’d like to book a shuttle for a transfer from Lille to Brussels Zaventem. I’ve found several shuttle companies online. Which one should we go with for reliability? We want to be sure someone will pick us up for both the outbound and return trips. We came across Holidays Airport, which offers a round trip for 2 adults and 2 kids at 205 €, and A3 at 180 €. I’m a bit surprised because the price difference is pretty big.

What do you recommend? I’ll also check the rates with Aero-Trans and STNavette (though I’ve heard people had issues with STNavette).

Thanks for your advice and experiences!

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:

Hello, We’ve already traveled to India twice before, but only for two-week stretches (2013, a loop from Mumbai including Hampi, and in 2019, Tamil Nadu). This time, we’re leaving at the end of October for nearly three months of travel—something completely new for us! We’ll arrive in Delhi and depart from Bangalore. Our goal is to explore Northern India and then head down to Kerala, taking a maximum of one flight and prioritizing trains.

Traveling for this long should let us plan longer stops to slow down the pace and fully enjoy our trip...

What are the places you’ve loved with this in mind? I’ve already thought of Gokarna... Do you have any other suggestions, especially in Northern India? Thanks in advance for your tips!

Hello everyone! It's been a year since I've been longing for South Africa. Our first trip in August 2025 amazed us, and—rarely—it was a unanimous hit with our little family! We were touched to the core, and from the moment we got home, we couldn’t stop talking about going back. 😄 I’d like to take this opportunity to thank everyone who gave me advice on the itinerary for that first trip (Johannesburg loop: Blyde, Kruger, Eswatini, St. Lucia, Durban, Drakensberg)! Thanks to you, our trip went like a dream! Since then, I haven’t stopped reading articles and discussions on VoyageForum to keep my head in South Africa a little longer! So, we finally caved and just booked our tickets for January 2027 (from the 3rd to the 26th), with a plan to do a road trip from Cape Town to Johannesburg in about 3 weeks. I’ve got a rough itinerary that seems great based on what I’ve read on various forums, but there are still some uncertain points, and that’s where I could use your advice.

3/01: Arrival in Johannesburg at 11:45 PM 4/01: Flight to Cape Town, pick up rental car. Afternoon sightseeing 5,6,7/01: Cape Town to visit the big classics in the area (any tips for finding accommodation: which neighborhood, a specific place?) 8/01: Overnight stop before Oudtshoorn—but where??? (Is it essential, or is the CT-Oudtshoorn drive manageable? If so, I’d gain a day in Oudtshoorn. Google Maps shows over 5 hours of driving...) 9,10/01: Oudtshoorn (or would 3 nights be better to really enjoy the area?) 11,12/01: Knysna, Plettenberg Bay (to have time for hiking—if you’ve got hiking tips, I’m all ears!) 13,14/01: Tsitsikamma (still to have time for hiking—who knows the must-do hikes in the area? But maybe 4 nights in the Knysna-Tsitsikamma area is too much—I’m not sure) 16,17/01: Addo Elephant (I’m torn between 3 nights at Addo or 3 nights at Mountain Zebra. Based on travel journals, especially Michel’s on MZ, I’ve scheduled 3 nights at MZ 😄...) 18,19,20/01: Mountain Zebra NP 21/01: Camdeboo NP (because it looks so beautiful!) 22/01: Overnight stop (where?) before wrapping up the trip with either 2 or 3 nights at Golden Gate NP or the Lesotho option, which appeals to me, but I don’t know if it’s doable in 3 days to be back in Johannesburg by the afternoon of the 26th.

That’s my trip idea for now... I’m eagerly waiting for your advice, ideas, and comments... Can’t wait to be back there again!

Hi everyone, We’re revising our travel plans for January 2027. Originally, we were considering Uganda for about 14/15 days, but given the current health situation and the restrictions that might affect my partner, who’s American, we’ve decided to switch to Tanzania instead. I’m used to traveling in South Africa and organizing my trips myself, but I get the impression that planning a safari in Tanzania is quite different. I know self-drive isn’t really an option in Tanzania. So my main question is: can you organize your own itinerary and book lodges directly, then hire a local driver-guide? Or is it better to go through a local agency that handles the entire safari? For the itinerary, which parks would you recommend for a first-time visit in January? Serengeti, Ngorongoro, Tarangire, Manyara, Ruaha, Arusha, Selous… We’d also like to include Zanzibar to end the trip with a few days at the beach. Over 14/15 days, does that sound realistic or too ambitious? Finally, for flights, is it better to arrive at Kilimanjaro (JRO) or Dar es Salaam (DAR) based on the itinerary we’re considering? Thanks in advance for your feedback, especially on the best way to organize the safari and which parks to prioritize in January!

Hi there, I’m looking for a French-speaking agency that organizes safaris in Tanzania.

Any recommendations?

I’ve been in touch with Asanterra, but I haven’t found any reviews about this company.

Cheers,

I’m reporting to VF that my message count dropped from around 5,160 to 5,090 over the last three days.

Is there now an issue with the message count, an unintended disappearance, or some kind of pruning?

I’m asking because I haven’t received any info about this.

We're taking a boat to Iceland at the end of June with our 4x4 (HDJ80). The booking was made based on a vehicle not exceeding 1.90 meters in height. The new tire setup might make us slightly exceed this limit. Are they strict about heights? Are they checked at boarding (passing under a gate)? Some of you have probably faced this issue—thanks for your tips. Loading the vehicle carefully and, if needed, deflating the tires a bit should reduce the extra height.

Thanks

hi, We’re thinking of traveling to Tanzania in June (more specifically the first half) and would love to hear about your experiences, especially regarding the Serengeti safari. Is it a good time to see the animals? Would it be better to go later? For those who’ve been there during this period, do you recommend it? thanks in advance

My first trip to Iceland, in 1974.

Yes, you might be surprised: my first trip to Iceland dates back to July 1974. It’s been a little over 50 years since I first set foot on Icelandic soil. I was 23 years old. At the time, I was a geography student. I had just earned my bachelor’s degree and was finishing my master’s (what we’d now call a "master’s 2") in physical geography, with two specialties: glaciology and volcanology. In both fields, professors showed us slides of Iceland—glaciers and volcanoes—and in tutorials, we worked on maps and documents related to the physical geography of Iceland. So there you have it: ice and fire, in Icelandic « ís og eldur », I learned that year that it was Iceland’s national motto, and that’s what drew me there for my first big trip.

Iceland in 1974 was very different from today. It wasn’t a common destination. There were practically no tourists or tourist infrastructure. Some sites now famous and overcrowded were only accessible after hours of hiking on rough, unmarked trails. GPS didn’t exist, but I had managed to get local 1:100,000 maps that were pretty well done. I took my time to circle the entire island, camping in the wild. Most of my meager budget went toward the flight ticket and renting a Volkswagen "Beetle."

There were no paved roads in the country except in central Reykjavík and the main street of Akureyri. What’s now called Route 1 was everywhere dirt and gravel, pretty bumpy in places. According to my maps, this road didn’t allow for a full loop around Iceland: a section of about a hundred kilometers was missing on the south coast. But when I arrived in that area, I learned at a gas station that the last missing section had just been completed, finally allowing a full loop without backtracking. It was the section crossing the vast Skeiðarársandur, southwest of Vatnajökull. The new road was just a bulldozer track through this black ash desert. We crossed the multiple channels of the sandur on long single-lane wooden bridges. On these long pilings, the road was made of roughly nailed thick planks that made an awful racket when the car drove over them.

A nasty surprise: the cost of living. The difference with France seemed huge—everything was two to three times more expensive than back home. Prices were way beyond my tiny budget, and I wondered how I’d manage to get by.

The Icelanders back then were very different from today. From the start, I felt like a real outsider, ostracized, even outright rejected. Several times, when I asked for permission to pitch my small tent near a farm, the door would slam shut as soon as I asked (in English). Without a word… *Bam!*

So I struggled to feed myself, lacking money. I mostly bought loaves of sliced bread and corn flakes (unknown in France at the time), which I ate with cold, sugary milk. It was the cheapest and most filling thing I could find.

In Reykjavík, my only luxury was daring to enter a snack bar. There, I’d treat myself to a coffee or tea, having quickly learned that after paying for a cup once, you could go back to the counter and have it refilled as much as you wanted. I dreaded being asked if I wanted something to eat because I couldn’t afford it. Luckily, no one asked. So, alone in my corner, I’d pull out my loaf of sliced bread from my backpack and make sandwiches with the contents of the two plastic bottles on every table—one red, one yellow: ketchup and sweet mustard. I avoided the sideways glances from other customers. I’d eat my sandwiches and leave, both full and warmed up.

One time, near Selfoss, I saw a truck stop by the road and pick up two large aluminum cans left at the end of a farm track. A little further down the road, two more similar cans. I realized these cans were there to be collected by… well, I didn’t know who. No one in sight for miles. So, I’ll admit it: I stopped and opened one of those large cans, which contained a dairy product—a kind of very dense, compact white cheese (I later learned it was skyr). I scooped a nice layer from the top, smoothed the surface with my spoon, and carefully closed the can again. Yes, I know it wasn’t right, but that was over fifty years ago, and I can admit it now since the statute of limitations has surely passed, right? Another time, I boiled a piece of dried fish, hard as wood, for a long time on my camping stove—fish I’d taken from huge outdoor drying racks by the side of the road. On the road heading north from Reykjavík, the Akranes underwater tunnel didn’t exist yet. To get to Borgarnes and Snæfellsnes, you had to go around Hvalfjörður. Following the shore of this long fjord, I stumbled upon a whaling station in full operation. Intrigued by the plumes of steam and the sounds of machinery from the road, I stopped, and surprisingly, no one stopped me from entering the vast platform where workers were butchering a large whale. I’ll never forget the acrid smell of those huge piles of meat and bones, fat and guts, the screams of saws and winches, the steam from the boilers… A monstrous, hallucinatory sight that would shape a major interest for the rest of my life: whales.

At the end of my journey, I spent three days in the Westman Islands. The famous eruption of the Eldfell volcano had happened just months earlier, in 1973, and was barely over. Visiting Heimaey was one of the goals of my trip to Iceland, given my volcanology studies. Part of the fishing port was filled in by lava flows, and the entrance channel was reduced to just a few meters wide. Most of the village was covered by a layer of black, hot ash eight to ten meters thick. I walked on the roofs of houses—every now and then, a chimney or skylight would stick out. In the rain, this hot ash released intense steam; you couldn’t see twenty meters ahead. It felt like being in a giant outdoor sauna. The entire population had been evacuated during the eruption, but some residents were starting to return. Bulldozers and excavators were gradually clearing this gigantic mass of ash, street by street, layer by layer, avoiding demolishing the buried houses. A constant stream of trucks dumped these millions of tons of ash into the sea from a cliff. To finish clearing the houses, it was done with shovels and wheelbarrows, and this task was left to the homeowners. One day, I had the chance to lend a hand (or rather, a shovel) to a couple finishing clearing their house. They offered to let me pitch my tent near their place, on a thick layer of warm ash (I’d never experienced such comfort through my sleeping mat), and I’ll never forget that they gave me a big bowl of delicious soup they’d just made. The best meal I had during that trip. The next day, climbing the volcano, which was still smoking and spewing furiously, I nearly suffocated from sulfur dioxide and almost melted the soles of my shoes. So it was during this initiatory trip, 50 years ago, that my addiction to Iceland was born. The following year in Paris, by sheer chance—and perhaps helped by the magic of my amazing Kodachrome slides—I met a young woman who would become my wife. Very quickly, she became as hooked as I was on "the island of the world’s creation" (as I called it back then), and later, it was often her who’d say, "So… how about going back to Iceland this year?" We went back many times, in every season, summer and winter, and in every region of the country. And every time, when the plane starts its descent toward Keflavík Airport, we look at each other like kids invited to a birthday party, discovering the cake buffet… "Here we are… we’re back!"

Our travel conditions changed a lot afterward. With a better budget but still traveling independently, renting well-equipped 4x4s that let us go almost anywhere, at our own pace, including the highlands of the country’s interior. But always taking our time, dedicating each trip to fully exploring one region rather than rushing through kilometers. And leaving time for beautiful hikes or simply doing nothing—sitting at a viewpoint and just watching, observing the wild nature, in contemplative mode… Always staying with locals in the countryside, preferably on real farms with animals, thanks to an association of farmers offering accommodations. We speak fluent English and have learned a few common Icelandic phrases and expressions over time. With a bit of experience, we developed our little techniques for starting interesting conversations with Icelanders… who, thankfully, are no longer as distant as they were in 1974! We even made friends there.

We particularly loved the rugged, wild Iceland—not necessarily the desolate highlands of the interior, but rather the isolated regions where a few very old families still cling to their land and roots. With a soft spot for the Snæfellsnes Peninsula and especially the Westfjords, the "Vestfirðir," as the Icelanders call them. But we also love the Northeast, and even the far Northeast, so remote and where almost no one goes. Over time, we’ve done a lot of reading. We’ve learned a great deal about Iceland—its painful history, its tormented geography, its economy, its incredible medieval literature (the Sagas), and some quirks of its culture. And we greatly appreciate its contemporary authors, whose books fill several shelves in our library.

In 2008, on a return trip to Iceland, we went to the Westman Islands, to Heimaey. I hadn’t been back since my first trip in 1974, right after the Eldfell eruption. It was a pilgrimage for me, so many years later! An emotional moment seeing the huge frozen lava flow again. On the trails now set up to explore this vast chaos, people have put up signs indicating the names of the streets buried under the lava and the nature of the crushed buildings fifteen meters below. Plaques mark the locations of public buildings—here was the school, down there was the hospital… The part of the town that was under ash has been cleared, but not entirely—two streets were left partially buried, probably to show tourists. The volcano is still hot at the top. We climbed it, but this time I didn’t melt my soles.

We often talk about Iceland. We still call it "the island of the world’s creation" and tell our traveler friends how much this country fascinated and enchanted us. Those who’ve never been find it a bit odd, but everyone who’s been there understands.

You may have noticed I’m talking about it in the past tense… Indeed, I’ll admit that for several years now, we haven’t been back to Iceland, and I don’t think we’ll return. What we see on social media and in the news puts us off a bit. Mass tourism has arrived, and many developments have been made—not always for the best. Now, with two and a half million visitors a year, Iceland welcomes nearly six times its population. Tourism has become a key source of income for Icelanders. Good for them, maybe, but we don’t like it at all. We’re a bit wild, perhaps. And besides… the world is vast… We loved Iceland passionately, but we’ve always been inveterate travelers in general. So over the past fifty years, we’ve certainly explored all of Iceland’s regions, but also in the North Atlantic—the beautiful Norway, the stunning Lofoten Islands, the Shetland archipelago, the rugged and grand Faroe Islands, and then further north in the Arctic—the icy Greenland, Svalbard at the edge of the world, and even the Sjuøyane, the last islands before the North Pole, with small groups of enthusiasts and scientists on expedition ships. And many other regions of the world, but always with a taste for slightly offbeat places, both in terms of landscapes and nature and ways of life. Central Asia, the Azores, Peru, Bolivia, the Andes, Chile, Argentina, the vast Patagonia, Tierra del Fuego… and other little secret gems we won’t reveal. Not even on Voyage Forum.

But everywhere—yes, I mean everywhere—wherever you are, wherever you go, there’s always a moment when you think of Iceland…

Chris 51 - November 2025.

Spitsbergen, 80° North latitude. A lost archipelago on the edge of the world, northeast of Greenland, the last lands before the pole. I’m aboard the *Grigoriy Mikheev*, a Russian ship from the Murmansk Polar Research Institute. Russian flag, Russian crew. Chartered by OceanWide Expeditions.

Last night, we were stuck in drifting pack ice in the long Hinlopen Strait. This incident led to an unforgettable barbecue and party on the ship’s foredeck, but we had to abandon our plan to head south and circle Spitsbergen. This summer, there’s too much ice in the strait, and it’s too thick. At dawn, the tide turned, allowing us to break free and head north again. The ship is now moving slowly through sea ice density that satellite maps estimate at around five-tenths. Our progress is punctuated by dull thuds: the ship’s bow constantly shoves and fractures enormous ice floes.

At breakfast, Tarik, our expedition leader, informs us that our program will be significantly altered. Since we can’t cross the strait, we’ll turn back and head north. To kick off our Plan B, Tarik plans a landing tonight on the small island of Låg (Lågøya), at 80°10' North. Last summer, he saw a large walrus colony there and hopes we’ll find them again. The weather is perfect—glorious sunshine—and walruses are truly addicted to sunbathing on the beaches.

We’ve now exited the strait and are sailing far from the coast. In case the walrus colony is there, we don’t want the ship’s approach to scare them into the water before we even see them. So, we scan the shore methodically with binoculars. We pass several bays, round a cape, and examine several shorelines littered with driftwood, but no walruses in sight. Several times, clusters of large rounded rocks trigger false alarms… but no, they’re just rocks…

Suddenly, Tarik spots them through his binoculars! On an isolated peninsula, our expedition leader’s highly trained eye has picked out, among those brown masses, the shape and white color of the enormous tusks of what he calls "the heavyweights of the Arctic!" Now, fifteen or twenty pairs of binoculars are pointed in the indicated direction… Sure enough, I see them now! They’re there, huge, sprawled in the sun on the beach. Without Tarik’s sharp eye, we might have missed them. They’re so tightly packed together that they really look like a mass of brown rocks. Only the white, saber-shaped tusks and the occasional furtive movements hint that they’re animals.

It’s 11 PM, and on the deck of the *Grigoriy Mikheev*, as you can imagine, excitement has ramped up several notches. Several of us have already rushed to our cabins to gear up, pulling on boots and life jackets in anticipation of a landing that promises to be absolutely amazing. Tarik reins in our enthusiasm a bit: Okay, so we were lucky to find them, but now we need to think about how to approach them. Not that they’re dangerous—at least not on land… Their enormous bulk and their pseudo-feet (flippers) only allow for very limited mobility. But when they feel threatened, their first instinct is to head for the water, where their perfect ease keeps them safe. So, the challenge will be not to scare them off, to avoid them bolting into the water in the first few seconds! That’s exactly what would happen if we arrived by Zodiac right in front of them.

So, Tarik decides we’ll make a wide detour to land on the other side of the peninsula where they are. From there, we’ll leave the Zodiacs on the beach and cross the peninsula on foot, about a kilometer and a half. That way, we’ll approach the herd from behind. This approach will also keep us downwind of them. There you go—with a few precautions, they shouldn’t hear us coming or catch our scent.

Everyone is geared up now and practically bursting with impatience… While the Zodiacs are being lowered into the water, Tarik and Delphine recap the approach rules: absolute silence, communication only by signs, no dragging feet on the rocks, watch your step, and strict coordination with slow movements.

Here we go… we’re off now! Spray flying from the Zodiac’s bow, icy air whipping our faces, gloves gripping the side ropes, freezing splashes, pure emotion… Ahh, I love this! We describe a wide curve offshore to round the peninsula. Ahead of us, the magnificent landscape of this intensely blue sea unfolds, with the hills of Lågøya and, in the distance, the ice-covered mountains of Nordaustlandet under the sun. It’s midnight now. In July, at 80 degrees North, the sun is just like midday.

This navigation takes us far from the walruses, on the other side of the cape. Easy landing on a shoreline of large pebbles covered in giant seaweed brought in by the currents. They look like long strips of plastic—sometimes translucent, sometimes white, beige, or orange. In places, there are huge tangled layers of it. Our boots sink into this material, which gives off a strong iodine smell. Unfortunately, there’s also some plastic waste—fishing floats and net debris. Seeing this here is crazy… A little farther on, in a cove, tides and storms have piled up numerous tree trunks from Siberia.

We begin crossing the peninsula on foot, staying close together. We’re walking on a nearly deserted polar tundra. We’re only ten degrees of latitude from the North Pole here. The violent winds and extreme temperatures that dominate this island for nine months of the year allow only a few rare plants to grow, close to the ground, between the rocks. In places, rocks are covered with large patches of black lichen.

Gérard, rifle slung over his shoulder, constantly scans the terrain. Tarik and Delphine are also very vigilant. We know no one ever lands here, and although this environment isn’t ideal for bears, you never know—better to be cautious. The terrain is mostly flat, but whenever a small rise blocks our view, Gérard moves ahead and only signals us to proceed when he’s sure there’s no "big man in fur" (tradition dictates we don’t name the polar bear).

After a few hundred meters, we find an enormous whale vertebra. Judging by the state of the bone, it’s likely a relic from the whaling era that ravaged this area in the 17th century and all over northern Spitsbergen. A little farther on, the remains of a grave catch our attention. The only human trace on this remote island, this burial is surely very old, also likely dating from the whalers’ time. But this whaler’s final resting place didn’t shelter him for long—there’s not much left, just a piece of skull and a few broken bones. Due to the permafrost, the body could only be buried a few dozen centimeters deep, between some planks held in place by large stones. This makeshift grave was probably ravaged by a bear shortly after the burial. Several stone blocks are overturned, the planks are broken open. We only linger for a minute to pay our respects to this whaler, whose poor remains now merge with the mineral landscape.

A slight rise bulges in the center of the peninsula, and here we are at the highest point. If our orientation is correct, we’re heading straight for the walrus colony. A moment of emotion… my heart’s pounding. Yes, they’re there, about three hundred meters ahead of us! They haven’t moved since we spotted them from the *Grigoriy Mikheev*’s deck. They’re sprawled in a heap, packed tightly together in the sun, on the shingle beach. The light breeze blowing in our faces confirms we’re on the right track—not to be sniffed out from afar by the big beasts.

By signs, Tarik tells us we’ll approach slowly, in stages, moving about thirty meters at a time, making as little noise as possible with our boots, then freezing completely for a minute or two, crouching down to let them forget us. This strategy proves excellent. We’re now less than a hundred meters away, and it doesn’t seem like our presence is perceived as a threat by the "heavyweights of the Arctic." At this distance, let’s not kid ourselves: we’re certainly spotted, but our way of approaching must seem reassuring—or at least manageable—since they’re only a few meters from the water and know they could dash into it in seconds if they felt the need.

We now advance in shorter stages—twenty meters at a time, then just ten, crouching, then freezing like statues, our breathing nearly held from emotion and concentration. We’re now thirty meters from the mastodons. Our presence must be starting to stress them because they’re moving more. While still sprawled against each other, some suddenly rear up on their flipper-feet, grunting and snorting like monstrous pigs. Their head shakes make their two enormous ivory sabers sway. They jab them into the fat of their neighbors, who in turn stir and emit irritated snorts.

At Tarik’s signal, we move a few more meters, "on velvet paws"… We’re right there now. I hold my breath, throat tight… Intense emotion, a fantastic spectacle—these enormous Arctic animals sprawled in the sun, with the magnificent backdrop of snow-covered mountains across the sound. I think to myself: *I’m here… this can’t be real!* It’s nearly 2 AM now, the air is crystal clear, and the Arctic sun bathes this scene in what might be the most beautiful light I’ve ever seen. We’re about fifteen meters away now. Tarik signals that we won’t go any closer. The walruses are still lying down, but occasionally, our close presence and the clicking of cameras trigger bouts of agitation that ripple through the herd, causing some jostling. They’re so tightly packed and tangled that it’s a bit hard to count them. In the end, we tally sixteen, plus one "little one," half-crushed in the general mass.

Seen from here, they’re truly impressive! The "sumo wrestlers of the Arctic!" According to Tarik, they must weigh about a ton—slightly more for the males than the females—and the "little one" must already be around 200 kg. When the weather’s nice like today, they love sprawling on the beaches to soak up the sun.

Walruses are marvels of Arctic adaptation. They can modify their blood circulation depending on thermal conditions. They withstand extreme cold by directing most of their circulation to vital organs (heart, lungs) and minimizing peripheral blood flow (skin and limbs) to prevent heat loss. Conversely, when they sunbathe, they direct most of their blood flow to the skin, turning themselves into true solar collectors.

At this latitude, there’s practically no difference in sunlight between day and night. Noon or midnight, the sun’s angle barely changes. Walruses make the most of these fair-weather phases by sprawling in the sun 23 hours out of 24… Enough to make siesta lovers dream, right? Twenty-three hours of lounging… and the twenty-fourth for eating!

And when we say "eating," what a feast! The proverb *"Who sleeps dines"* is fully justified here: when a walrus decides to feed, it gulps down between 50 and 60 kg of shellfish in an hour! Its food consists of large bivalve mollusks, which it tears from the seabed with its tusks and sucks up nonstop! A 50 kg meal certainly justifies a 23-hour nap for digestion, right? And speaking of digestion—it’s what the "big guys" in front of us are doing right now! You might wonder how we know this… Well, I’ll tell you: if you were here, downwind (or should I say *down the winds!*) of these marine giants, you’d have no doubt! Pfft… what flatulence! I can confirm that today’s scent is called *"Morsanus, from the North"* (*"Because I’m worth it!"*). Mmm, yeah… Tarik, you had a great idea putting us upwind… at least *they* can’t smell us, but we sure can!

But… heepp! Delphine discreetly signals to get our attention—she’s just spotted something: in the smooth water of the bay, a small V-shaped ripple runs along the beach, then turns toward the shore… So the colony wasn’t complete on the beach… Here’s an 800 kg bather stepping ashore now, right before our astonished eyes! She lifts her head and stays like that for a long moment, her enormous tusks half out of the water. She looks exhausted, resting a bit before coming out. Or more likely, she’s hesitating to climb onto the beach because she’s seen us… The shapeless head stays still for a moment, then violently snorts like a clogged drain! A misshapen head where you can’t make out anything that usually makes a head! No eyes, no ears, no mouth… A sort of monstrous cabbage! But the temptation to join the warmth of the "sunbathers" is too strong! Here’s our pachyderm bather climbing the few meters of the shore and sprawling right in the middle of her companions, who greet her with jostling, grunts, and tusk jabs! Then everything settles back into order—800 kg of fat and flesh added to the fifteen or so tons of local biomass. Welcome to the club!

It seems the walruses have gotten a bit used to us now. They’re moving and grunting much less. I realize it wasn’t obvious to approach them like this without scaring them into the water… It’s thanks to Tarik and Delphine’s advice that we managed it. It’s also, let’s be honest, because we’re all passionate here, and there’s been total discipline and cohesion from the start of this approach.

It’s past 2 AM now—time to head back… We’ll leave them to their wild world, to their life at the beginning of the world. We’re happy to have disturbed them as little as possible and not to have disrupted their nap too much. We leave stealthily, first backing up a few meters, then turning around and crossing the peninsula again, walking slowly, avoiding making noise with our boots as long as we’re still close.

We find the Zodiacs on the shoreline with the giant kelp. The sea is like a lake—easy boarding. We make another wide loop to round the cape, passing offshore. The sharp cold stings my cheeks and ears again—I put my hat back on. The cold—I hadn’t thought about it at all during our encounter with the walruses. In the Zodiac, with the engine noise, no one speaks. The faces and smiles are those of men and women who’ve just crossed an inner frontier—the one that separates dream from reality. But tonight, that frontier was porous, and the dream entered reality.

We return to the *Grigoriy Mikheev*, waiting at anchor. It’s past 3 AM, but I don’t feel any fatigue. A few minutes later, I’m in my bunk, rocked by a gentle swell and the hum of the engines. In the soft warmth of the blanket, a strange sleep overtakes me… A sleep filled with luminous, icy landscapes, with large beasts bearing saber-like tusks. Large beasts that sleep, snore, snort, grunt, and jostle in their sleep… in *my* sleep. An unforgettable memory. It was July 2004, in Spitsbergen.

Chris51.