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).
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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.
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As a supplement, the route track.
Not necessarily ultra-accurate since Google has serious gaps for this destination...
We went to Morocco in April with our children and grandchildren.
We landed in Marrakech around 9 AM and took a bus to our small hotel in the Guéliz district. This was to avoid dealing with taxi drivers who might give our young travelers a very negative impression of Marrakech... The bus drops us off very close to the Hôtel Toulousain, which has always given us the warmest welcome for over 25 years. We settle into our rooms and head to the medina to have lunch first and then wander through the streets of the old city, introducing it to our little group.
Young and old alike are amazed by the craftsmanship and attention to detail in the work done by the various artisans.
The souks also impress first-time visitors, both with their size and the sheer amount of goods on offer. For those visiting for the first time, it’s a real maze.
Colorful chameleons everywhere... Will they survive for long in their cages under the scorching sun?
Another surprise for the kids: the lollipop vendor in Jemaa El Fna Square, with giant lollipops that really whet their appetites...
By late afternoon, little legs are tired, and horse-drawn carriages are a welcome way to get back to the hotel.
We’re excited to share our sixth travel journal with photos from Southeast Asia, this one entirely dedicated to Thailand. As a reminder, our previous travel journals can be accessed directly by clicking on the username "jojoone1" to the left of each post.
For a change, let’s start with the conclusion: our trip left us with an excellent memory. Very often, everything went like clockwork—short wait times, quick problem-solving, and the curious feeling of being pampered. Sometimes, life isn’t so cruel after all.
It’s only fair to admit that day after day, we encountered Thais who were smiling, helpful, kind, funny, and sometimes even touching. There were a few exceptions, but they were just the trees hiding the (tropical) forest.
After this year’s experience, we won’t be the ones to tell you that Thailand isn’t the Land of Smiles or that laughter is just for business. We’ve witnessed so many kind behaviors and gestures that we no longer understand how anyone could complain about the people here—except for bad experiences in ultra-touristy spots packed with travelers lacking any finesse.
It got to the point where it made us reflect. And we concluded that we probably have funny, friendly faces (?). We also know we’re the first to smile at them, and every day there, we show respect to everyone we meet.
In any case, we have fond thoughts for many of the people we crossed paths with. Thanks to them, our trip took on a whole new human dimension.
A quick note about the photos: last year, the VoyageForum team made a change to how photos are uploaded. This gives us the choice between displaying high-definition photos (but losing ownership rights) or non-HD photos (less sharp, but the originals won’t be spread online without compensation or credit).
We opted for the second solution, if only as a matter of principle.
It does leave us with some regrets, especially since Françoise switched to the Canon EOS 7D Mark II, whose performance is notably better than the 7D.
Our first trip with Emirates was satisfying but left a mixed impression. Sure, it was the first time all four of our flights were on an Airbus A380. The crews were super friendly, and the meal trays were the best on the first two flights.
On the return flights, the meals weren’t great and weren’t filling enough. Overall, the crews seemed disorganized and rushed—clearly some new recruits.
The Doha-Paris flight, if memory serves, was on an A380-600, and in that configuration, we were packed in like it hadn’t been in years.
In conclusion, it’s hard to say at this stage whether Qatar or Emirates comes out on top.
From our perspective, the journey from northern Thailand to Bangkok can be done via two different routes. This year, we took one of them, which allowed us to alternate between well-known destinations and original visits.
Note that some of this year’s visits include cities we’ve already been to. So for a more complete view (Bangkok and Chiang Mai, for example), you’ll need to check out our previous travel journals.
We’ve improved our Thai vocabulary with a few more words and hope next year to move from kindergarten to first grade...
For those reading us for the first time, we can only advise against visiting this country on an organized tour or looking for a French-speaking guide. The Thais have organized themselves well—they now have proven tourism practices. Maybe a guidebook for culture, a few basic English words, and a little organization are all you need for a great trip.
CHIANG MAI
Chiang Mai and its region are packed with treasures—so much so that one or two visits might not be enough.
At the airport, you go to a counter that provides a taxi ticket. The fare is 150 baht for a regular car and 200 baht for a larger vehicle. When our turn came, a large vehicle showed up, but we were only charged 150 baht. Okay, fine.
The hotels we’d selected three years ago had significantly increased their rates, so we had to find a new base. In the city center, hotels with large pools are overpriced, and despite the wide selection, it was hard to decide. We ended up at a hotel near the airport, the Baan U Sabai Boutique House. The superior room with a balcony can be negotiated for just under 40 €.
It’s a beautiful, fairly new complex in traditional teak style, with very well-kept rooms and a long pool.
Given the rather stormy weather in early July, it was the first time in Thailand we swam in cool water. It encouraged us to swim rather than just lounge...
At the end of the hotel street, you come out onto a busy main road where you can hail a songthaew (a kind of shared taxi). It’s easy to be offered a ride to the city center for 2 x 20 baht, but getting a return trip for less than 2 x 40 baht is tough, especially in the evening.
Our red songthaew took us straight to Chiang Mai Gate, one of the city’s gates, located southeast of the historic square.
We then took Phra Pok Khlao Road for a few dozen meters and chose the first little restaurant that looked nice. Within minutes, we had our dishes and smoothies for a total of 235 baht. Great quality, despite the place looking very touristy. The owner set the tone by handing out smiles left and right.
There’s an amazing spot in Chiang Mai to grab a coffee: Baan Phor Liang Meun. Once you reach Chiang Mai Gate, take Phra Pok Khlao Road for a few meters, then turn onto soi 2 (alley 2). It’s actually the first on the left.
After a few dozen meters, you’ll find yourself walking alongside what looks like a Khmer temple.
When you enter, you’re in a vast space—like a temple-garden—where you can eat a small dish or sip a good café crème as if you were in Angkor. The tables are far apart, so you’re as close to birds and squirrels as you are to other customers.
In the small building where the staff works, they provide high-quality mosquito repellent for free—something we’ll now buy regularly at 7/11. They’re small plastic bottles, mostly pink or orange, with Thai writing and "floral fragrance" in English. The scent is actually pleasant. Remember to shake the bottle before opening and pressing, or you’ll end up with cream all over your shorts...
The creator of this space has been sculpting terracotta works since the early 1980s using clay from the Lamphun region—the most consistent clay found in all of Thailand.
This café is like visiting an ancient temple, with its abundance of statues, high-reliefs, and bas-reliefs. It’s undeniably a romantic spot for couples—a haven of calm in a very lively city.
My train to Mathura is at 2 PM, and we’ll arrive an hour late—all good. I booked a hotel on booking, but unfortunately, it’s really far from the ghats. Walking there is out of the question—what a shame.
The hotel itself is fine, and there are several restaurants right across the street, which will be handy for dinner. This won’t be an exception, though—starting at 10 PM, they must wake up because I can hear them talking loudly, and music is playing along. My room faces the entrance, so it’s going to be tough. At midnight, I ask them to lower the volume, but they don’t listen. By 1 AM, I lose my temper, and this time, everything stops. Finally, I can get some sleep—until 4 AM, when they start up again for a little while before quiet returns until 6 AM. But when do they sleep? The noise never seems to bother them—it’s unbelievable, and I’m finding it harder and harder to tolerate. It makes a huge difference.
The next morning, as I leave, they tell me they’ll give me another room for the following night. Oh, two nights like that wouldn’t be possible—I’m exhausted.
I head out to explore the ghats and take a rickshaw, which I share with a family, to Vrindavan, a city of temples dedicated to Krishna. I visit several while wandering through the lively streets, surrounded by a crowd of devotees. By 1 PM, I’m near the Bankey Bihari Temple, but I can’t go in—it just closed. Nearby, there are restaurants, so I take the opportunity to grab my usual aloo paratha with a lassi.
The work women do here is incredibly hard, and their pay must be miserable.
I want to leave Vrindavan for Govardhan.
Two young guys on a motorcycle in front of the temple approach me, and the driver offers to take me part of the way. I’m pretty skeptical, but he insists, and I eventually agree. I didn’t fully understand what was happening. Once on the bike, his friend hops on too, and suddenly I’m sandwiched between them for a multi-kilometer ride—*travel Indian-style*. We quickly drop off the friend, and I breathe easier for the rest of the trip. At an intersection, he stops—Govardhan is straight ahead, but to get to his village, he needs to turn right. We wait for the bus for a few minutes, and he flags it down so I can hop on and continue my journey. What an adventure.
Come along, I'm taking you to this country where it's so nice to wander and slow down...
This trip was in 2023, but when I wanted to write my travel journal, VF was still closed to contributions...
So, now that I've just finished my Japan travel journal here, I figured it was high time to honor this destination we came back from so enchanted.
Disclaimer 1: This is a written travel journal. There’ll be text! Too much, for some!
Disclaimer 2: This is an illustrated travel journal. There’ll be photos! Too many, for some!
I have to say, every time I try to discipline myself, to keep it shorter, to include fewer photos... I end up adding more. It feels like my dear Aunt Nicole, who exhausted us with her slide-show evenings in the 70s/80s, decided to take her revenge. The upside for you, readers, is that you can slip away anytime without offending Aunt Nicole. I won’t even notice!
Anyway, since I love maps, here’s one to give you an idea of where I’m taking you. As you can see, we only saw a tiny part of Laos (the areas circled in red); we only had 3 weeks for ourselves (my husband’s newly retired, I still work), and we prefer taking our time over rushing around like crazy.
In broad strokes, it was very classic:
First, we “settled in” at Luang Prabang (8 days), because we wanted and needed to.
From there, we took three days to venture a little further north—not far in kilometers, but as we know, distances aren’t just about km!
Then we flew south to Paksé, letting ourselves drift down to the 4,000 Islands while stopping by the pre-Angkorian archaeological sites.
We wrapped up with the Bolaven Plateau.
A few practical notes: We arrived via Bangkok, then took a Bangkok-Luang Prabang flight, having picked up our luggage in Bangkok to check it in for Luang Prabang. No issues—the Bangkok airport, which many of you know, is very well organized.
We got our visas on arrival in Luang Prabang. Quick, but to be fair, we were on a “small” plane, and the big flights had arrived earlier, so we weren’t too crowded in line!
At the end of our trip, we didn’t fly out of Paksé but from the nearby airport in Thailand, Ubon Ratchathani (a 2.5-hour drive from Paksé), then Bangkok and Paris.
You’ll notice we skipped Vientiane to stay longer in Luang Prabang. That said, there’s now a high-speed train between Vientiane and Luang Prabang—good to know—and soon the (Chinese) train will go all the way to Bangkok and even Kuala Lumpur!
With that intro out of the way, let’s dive into the heart of the matter.
To be continued: Slowing down the pace... in Luang Prabang
Before I begin, I’d like to thank Michèle Buisson and her "Misha’s travel journals," which really helped me plan this trip. It’s tough to find information about this part of India, which is quite different from the "more traditional India." I’m so grateful to her for introducing me to a family who hosted me for 4 nights and 3 days. I can’t wait to return the favor and welcome you all to my place in early July!
Thursday, March 20th.
The alarm goes off super early, but I’m already awake—I was too worried I’d sleep through it. I leave the house at 4:00 AM. The rain has stopped, and at this hour, there aren’t many trucks on the road. I arrive at Barcelona Airport easily by 6:20 AM, let the valet know I’m there, and he quickly picks up my car.
This time, I’m flying with Etihad Airways again. I booked the ticket during my trip to Cambodia: Barcelona/Kolkata, Delhi/Barcelona for 567 €. At that price, I didn’t hesitate for long—I knew I had to take it. And I’m glad I did because, by the time I returned, the price had gone up to 700 €. I can already hear the reactions: "Wow, how’d you get a ticket for that price? What site did you use? You’re amazing, MarieJo!" One thing’s for sure—I’m really happy with this deal.
The flights from Barcelona to Abu Dhabi and Abu Dhabi to Kolkata go smoothly, and we arrive on time at 2:55 AM. There aren’t many people at immigration, so I get through quickly. My luggage isn’t on the carousel yet.
After collecting my bag, I check in for my next flight with IndiGo, a 5:40 AM flight to Guwahati, arriving at 7:00 AM. I’m starting to feel pretty tired, so I take a taxi from the airport to Gruham Sojourn Homestay. The house is upstairs, and the neighborhood seems quiet, with restaurants lining the street. The room won’t be ready until 10:00 AM, so I rest on the bench in the meantime.
Once in the room, I take a shower—it really helps me feel refreshed. I need to exchange some euros, so I look up a nearby exchange bureau on Google and head out to find it. I locate it easily, and the staff are super friendly. I get a great rate (1 € = 90 INR).
I wander around the neighborhood. The train station isn’t far, and small markets line the streets.
I head back to my area, walking along the main avenue. About 500 meters from my street, I discover a museum. The visit is fascinating—I see the famous Majuli masks, among other things.
I’m not far from the Brahmaputra River, and the temptation to visit is too strong to resist. I’d hoped to find a promenade along the river, but that doesn’t exist here.
I walk back calmly and notice several restaurants in my street. On the doorstep of my accommodation, I spot a pastry shop with cakes that look more like the ones we have in France than the typical ones here in India. A visit is a must, and I’m not disappointed!
Tonight, I’m dining at a restaurant in the street. The menu is a bit disappointing—burgers, pizzas, pasta—nothing very Indian. So, I’ll go with tomato pasta.
This catchy and somewhat mysterious title comes from several questions I’ve been asking myself.
VF has been back open for a reasonable number of weeks and months now.
The number of visitors overall matches past averages, but the number of members online in the last 24 hours seems relatively lower than what we used to see.
Yet, to my surprise, I’m seeing fewer travel journals, way fewer messages, and way fewer questions.
I don’t see many new registered users online, and I notice a number of members who are logged in but either aren’t participating or have stopped participating.
Something’s not adding up for me because, in my opinion, VF is still appealing, and I don’t see which other sites could really compete.
Was there a real break between pre- and post-Covid?
Does it just take more time for some people to discover the site or learn that it’s active again?
Do people now prefer quick consumption on sites like FB or others I’m not familiar with?
Where have the site’s old-timers gone, and what are they doing with their time now?
What’s really going on here?
And there you have it—promise made, promise kept. Here I go! I’m going to try and share our adventure under the Moroccan sun. I’ll do my best to capture how we felt during this trip. And I hope you’ll be kind to a newbie at this!
We planned this trip with the tips we got from this forum, so thank you to everyone who helped us prepare. Thanks to you, we had unforgettable moments.
Here’s our itinerary, which let us see the Atlas Mountains, the oases of the South, the sandy desert, and the Atlantic coast. We landed in Marrakech early in the morning, and our rental car agent was waiting for us at the airport. After sorting out the formalities, we left Marrakech heading toward Ouarzazate.
The heavy traffic in Marrakech quickly gave way to smooth driving. As soon as we left the city, it was calm.
And right outside the city, we came across shepherds grazing their sheep by the roadside... It’s definitely a surprise at first! But yes... We’re in Morocco... No doubt about it... We’re in the thick of it!
As we started gaining altitude, vendors waved at us, offering dried morels. At first, we weren’t sure what they were selling, but we stopped for tea on a terrace to admire the mountain scenery, and they offered us those famous morels again.
We continued our climb toward Tizi N Tichka... Gigantic valleys stretched out before us. With every turn, we discovered breathtaking landscapes.
Villages built into the hillsides blended into the earth. It was strikingly simple yet harmonious.
At the top of the pass, 2200m up, we stopped to soak in the moment, the fresh air, and the view.
And we carried on toward Ouarzazate. The road was under construction. Mechanical giants were tackling the mountain. But the mountain was enormous. We were impressed by the scale of the work.
Then, we left the main road to head left toward Telouet... It was stunning. The colors changed. Maybe we felt less overwhelmed by the imposing Atlas.
Just a personal impression!
Right after passing through Telouet (maybe we’ll shock history buffs—we didn’t visit the kasbah), we went to see the salt mine. It was unexpected. Salt was everywhere. The stream water wound its way between salt crystals and waterfalls. It was really pretty. And then there was the cave. We had a guide for the visit. Stalactites and stalagmites crisscrossed here and there. At the back of the cave, we saw a small lake surrounded by crystals. It was beautiful.
We hit the road again. We drove through stunning landscapes: vast plains for grazing herds, rivers nestled deep in the valleys.
We proudly drove past the ksar Ait Benhaddou without stopping—just long enough to snap a quick photo and keep going so we’d arrive before nightfall.
We made a few small purchases in Ouarzazate and headed straight for the Skoura palm grove, where we’d booked three nights at the guesthouse Kasbah La Palmeraie.
Mohamed, the owner, welcomed us warmly, and we shared tea with the family. We felt right at home. We were made to feel welcome.
Dinner was a hit—a real Moroccan meal, a sweet-and-savory dish with steamed vermicelli and chicken. Delicious! A great surprise for us—we’d never tried it before.
After such a long day that started so early, we were happy to crawl into bed.
But we felt like the trip was off to the best possible start.
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.
Hey there, it's me again—back with my usual travel journal share for our loved ones, from our 15-day trip in October 2019.
"Ah, here it is at last—that sweet scent of elsewhere so dear to Cricri and Lulu’s noses, that mix of apprehension and desire when facing the unknown.
We’re really diving into the unknown this time, taking you to the island of SAO TOMÉ... also known as the island:
*‘Wait, what did you say?’* 😄.
Because apparently, no one’s heard of Sao Tomé—except our Portuguese friends.
It’s an archipelago of three islands smack in the middle of the world, right on the equator, off the coast of Gabon.
No, these aren’t the sun-soaked, Polynesian lagoon islands. Here, *‘it rains, it pours...’* pretty much all the time, it seems.
There’s not much to *‘see’* in the traditional tourist sense—EXCEPT for stunning landscapes, lush vegetation, a few beaches with golden or black sand, colonial buildings still in their original state, a single main road, and plenty of *‘tracks’* that are more or less drivable. All this surrounded by an African population that speaks Portuguese and is known for its warm welcome.
Well, that should be enough for our happiness—and hopefully yours too! 😊
"Hi Mamido, it's Clémence."
Clémence, 5 years old, is a giggly, cheerful little girl and the queen of mischief.
"Mom says we're coming to your place until the holidays because we're on vacation tonight."
"Yes, I know. She asked me—do you know why?"
"Because of the croronavirus."
"And do you know what that is?"
"Oh yeah, at school Théo told me it's like a louse that doesn't itch, that doesn't get in your head but in your lungs, that it's all round with red bumps like raspberries, and that it makes old people die."
"Your friend knows a lot of things."
"His dad showed him a microscope picture, and you—are you old?"
"What do you think?"
"Well, yeah, but only a little because you always leave on your motorcycle to travel. Are you going traveling?"
"No, because you're coming with your brother and sister."
"Can we go to the little bridge to look for frog eggs? You remember, there were some last year, and we'll make them grow and put the baby frogs in the washhouse, and we'll also make boats to put in the stream so they can go to the sea."
"That's a great idea."
"And you'll make me the model in print letters so I can write which country my boat is going to."
"Where do you want your boat to go?"
"To the land of pandas—is it far?"
"Oh yes, very far."
"Then we have to make the boat strong so it doesn't sink."
"Promise, we'll have so much fun."
"Mom says in some countries they wear masks. Do you still have the chicken, rabbit, and pig masks in the attic? Can we wear them like that?"
"You know, here there are only trees, birds, and fields—we'll do whatever we want."
First of all, thank you for accepting us into the group. 😊
My name is Gérard, I’m a 77-year-old retiree, and I have a charming young wife of 70 and a sweet little Biewer dog celebrating his first birthday. 🎂🎉
The three of us are planning to leave from Cannes in our motorhome and head to Dakar.
Personally, I know this route very well, having done it three times in a 4x4, the last trip being in 2016.
Regarding Western Sahara, I know it’s not particularly recommended to cross it right now, but I haven’t heard any bad news about it yet.
As for crossing the "no man’s land," I remember it being a very difficult track, impassable with a motorhome. I’ve heard that they’ve recently improved the track and that it might now be possible to cross those 4 km with a motorhome (?)
Actually, I’m reaching out to experienced travelers who could give me their thoughts on crossing at the end of 2025. 🙏
By the way, if other motorhome travelers have the same plan, maybe we could discuss it together? 🤝
As for Mauritania, I know it’s a long stretch of tarmac, and from what I remember—aside from the "Gare du Nord" stop to refuel and enjoy a good tea—you have to switch to "survival mode."
That’s all for my little chat! I hope to gather some useful information.
Thank you all for taking the time to read this, and I wish you a great 14th of July.
Here’s the theme for the lovely month of May—no worries, it won’t be lilies of the valley! 😄
This month’s theme is: “Reflection(s)”
This leaves a pretty wide scope: reflections in water, of course, but also in windows, on buildings... I’ll leave it to your imagination, but the reflection should be clearly visible.
If this theme has been used before, it doesn’t matter. It’s getting tricky to find new themes that can attract as many participants as possible.
I’m currently in northern Finland and don’t have access to my hard drives, so I’ll add a few photos when I return to France.
Here’s just one I took with my smartphone yesterday late afternoon:
Practical details:
Participation:
Each VF member can submit up to 3 photos, until Monday, May 26 at 11:59 PM Paris time.
Each photo must be posted in a separate message, with its number (1, 2, or 3).
Don’t forget to add a little explanation (comment, location, etc.).
Voting:
Each VF member can vote for the 3 photos they consider the best, based on their own criteria and the theme.
Voting will take place from Tuesday, May 27 to Saturday, May 31 at 11:59 PM Paris time.
The selected photos will be ranked in order of preference:
- 1st photo: 3 points
- 2nd: 2 points
- 3rd: 1 point
The winner is the author of the photo with the most points.
Results will be published on June 1.
In case of a tie, the number of first-place votes will decide.
The winner will have the honor of organizing the June 2025 contest.
Photos that have already been nominated (1st, 2nd, or 3rd) in another contest are not eligible for this one.
This thread is exclusively for photos submitted to the contest. Any discussions or comments should be posted in the following thread: https://voyageforum.com/v.f?post=10707526;a=10707526
I’ve been to Morocco about fifteen times, but I’ve never posted a travel journal here on Voyage Forum. Why? I have no idea… Maybe because this section was so active, with lots of stories and photos. I thought sharing my adventures in *al Maghrib* wouldn’t be very original.
Today, this space feels quieter, so what if I tried to give it a little life back, modestly? With some help…
This trip will be different. From the start of my relationship with Richard, I was determined to introduce him to *my* Morocco. But he was a bit reluctant…
He’ll tell you about our 2022 meeting, and I’ll illustrate it with my photos, just like we did with our India travel journal.
I find myself feeling more and more jaded when I travel these days.
Boredom sets in. I’m not saying I don’t like boredom, but long-term...
So, I end up thinking traveling doesn’t really make much sense anymore.
Do you ever feel this way?
Maybe you already use it in your recipes? Just to let you know that here in Quebec, the maple water harvest has started in several regions. The next step will be to boil this water to turn it into syrup. A sweet nectar, it works well in salad dressings, desserts, with salmon, and more. 😋
If you ever pass through here, don’t miss the chance to visit one of our wonderful sugar shacks. You can taste maple taffy on snow, among other things. 😄
Four days of beach relaxation in this truly curious place let me unwind 15 years ago after trekking through Asia or Africa: swimming in clear, clean water and easing jet lag was my goal; seeing that mirage in the middle of the desert also piqued my curiosity... And then Dubai developed, and now I go there once a year for 15 days without ever getting bored!! My backpacker budget doesn’t stop me from enjoying what I love about travel: discovering cultures, architecture, and beaches with turquoise waters.
I’m sharing my favorite spots here for those who love simplicity and the thrill of being amazed!
Dubai stretches over 50 km long. I stay in the historic Bur Dubai neighborhood, which is very "Indian" and separated from Deira (the more "Arab/African" district) by a creek.
You cross from one side to the other on abras, small traditional wooden boats that run all day. My hotel is 4 minutes from the Al Ghubaiba bus station, 5 minutes from the Al Ghubaiba metro, and 6 minutes from the Al Ghubaiba boat station!!! It’s easy to get around from here, and at night, it’s lively—safe to go out, with few tourists but mostly the local middle class who built (and are still building) Dubai. It’s simple and very international.
- **Transport:**
...**Getting there:** I fly with Emirates from Paris. Taking the 9:30 PM flight, I sleep on the plane, land at 6:35 AM, exchange 200 euros once I’ve picked up my luggage, change in the restroom, grab a taxi to the hotel, drop off my suitcase, and head straight to the beach!
...**On the ground:** I buy a silver NOL card, which works for buses, metro, and boats. I top it up as needed—it’s valid for 2 years.
...**Taxis:** They have reliable meters. Pink ones are driven by women. Airport-to-hotel fare: 12 €. You’ll find them everywhere, and they don’t complain about short trips. Between 3 PM and 4 PM, it’s trickier because of shift changes.
- **Best times to visit:**
For me, it’s April-May and October-November: not too hot for walking but warm enough to swim! Watch out for air conditioning—your worst enemy. It’s everywhere, even at bus stops. Bring a big scarf or sarong to cover your throat and head—going from 32°C to 16°C when you enter a mall, bus, or taxi is pretty harsh!
- **Hotel:**
I stay at the Grand Astoria (Fahidi Street) because the value for price and location is great. It’s very clean, and I skip breakfast because near the bus station, there’s a big Carrefour hypermarket where I buy breakfast supplies, water, camel milk, and picnic snacks.
There are two nightclubs downstairs—bring earplugs if you want to sleep before 2 AM. Wi-Fi is spotty; you have to change the password every two days. The staff is lovely. Rooms have a TV (4 Indian channels + BBC), a kettle with tea/coffee sachets, and a mini-fridge you fill yourself.
- **Bur Dubai: "My neighborhood"**
In the morning, you can see kids in uniforms waiting for the school bus with their parents—second-generation migrants who’ve settled here. They speak English, Arabic, and their mother tongue, have great education, and are in high demand (I see job ads in the local newspapers in the hotel lobby). From the U.S. to the Middle East, Singapore to South Africa, they have bright futures. In the evenings, families stroll along the creek, and it’s common for bench neighbors to ask where you’re from. The whole world crosses paths here. Even with basic English, it’s friendly and warm—the "take care" as people go their separate ways is a nice touch.
Bur Dubai has plenty to explore if you don’t feel like going far: along the creek, there’s a cluster of reconstructed houses forming the Al Shindagha Museum. One ticket lets you visit all the houses, each with a theme tied to the history of the seven emirates (Dubai is one). It takes a full day, but if you stop for lunch, there are tons of restaurants for all budgets, some right by the water.
Walking in the opposite direction, you reach Al Seef, a reconstruction of old Dubai as a small pearl-fishing port. The architecture is lovely, with souvenir shops. My favorite is the Iranian grocery store, where you’ll find camel milk chocolate, black lemon, and sweets with rose, pistachio, and candied apricot. It’s peaceful to walk around here, even as a solo woman. There are free restrooms everywhere, wooden or stone benches, and a nice breeze in the evening. Plenty of waterfront restaurants or places to grab a drink, plus a few towers across the way—nothing spectacular, but they’re prettily lit. There’s a souk with souvenir shops for those who like that!
- **Restaurants:**
Bur Dubai has restaurants representing regions of India and the Indian subcontinent. My favorites:
Across from the hotel, Paklyari—a Pakistani spot with excellent mutton biryani for 5 €. At Al Seef, Nablus has a great setting by the water.
Across in Deira, the Italian restaurant on the 18th floor of the Rotana—go half an hour before sunset for an amazing view of the creek and skyline. The truffle pizza is 24 €. You can take a taxi from Bur, and after dinner, get dropped off at Al Seef to walk back along the creek.
For a great thali, Kathhiyawadi is a 10-minute walk from Burjuman metro.
My latest discovery: Bordomavi (near the Rashid Al Hadees Masjid 1 bus stop). One of the servers is Algerian and speaks French. You can swim at the small beach with showers/toilets, then have lunch at the restaurant (57 € for two, with starter, main, dessert, and drinks). The setting is peaceful, in a little fishing port with a cool photo op—traditional boats with the modern skyline in the background!
- **Sunset drinks:**
The terrace at Concorde Creek View (Bur Dubai) has a creek view, and Canopy by Hilton (Al Seef) overlooks the creek and skyline. You can get a day pass for the pool, including meals and drinks.
- **Lassi:** Near the hotel, SreeRaj Lassi Bar has great ice cream and lassi.
*Tip: Everything is takeout-friendly, including leftovers—great for a picnic the next day.
- **Market:**
Don’t miss the Waterfront Market—a huge hall where locals buy fish, meat, fruits, and vegetables from all over the world. I love buying fish, shrimp, and cuttlefish, then having it prepared at Yahya’s waterfront restaurant (grilled, in sauce, fried, etc.) with salad, hummus, tabbouleh, and rice. It’s on the way between "my" beach and the hotel, so I stop by easily. I stock up on fruit, and at the Lulu supermarket upstairs, I grab yogurt, water, etc. No need to carry everything—a taxi (available at the main exit) will drop me right at the hotel!
- **Beach:**
My favorite: Al Mamzar Park (15-minute taxi ride, 9 €). It has four lifeguarded beaches with showers and restrooms. Opens at 8 AM, but note: Mondays and Wednesdays are for women and young children only! Entry is 1.50 €. On Beach #2, you can rent sun loungers and umbrellas. Beach #3 (the prettiest) has stone tables with benches under big umbrellas—free! I arrive at 8 AM, set up, and walk for an hour along the water, spotting starfish, colorful fish, birds, and occasionally small jellyfish. From bikinis to burkinis, everyone swims as they like! Dubai is judgment-free—no side-eye, just smiles and greetings. I love seeing joyful, full-figured women on women-only days, playing darbuka and singing. Indian women do yoga (even headstands!), Chinese women practice tai chi... I read a lot and swim far out to the buoy limits. Lifeguards keep watch. It’s safe on land too. Once, a 4x4 driver gave me a dirty look for "serving whisky" to my mom from a plastic bottle—until I made him smell it. It was mint tea! Embarrassed, he immediately called his brother, a gym teacher in Poitiers, to apologize in French! People in Dubai are smiley, polite, and very respectful of elders. On weekends, the park is packed with groups and families barbecuing—joyful chaos in every language!
By 1:30 PM, depending on my mood, I’ll get dropped off at the Waterfront Market for fish or a thali restaurant. Sometimes I take the bus—it stops near the abras on the Deira side. Just cross by boat, then it’s a 3-minute walk to the hotel. Takes 45 minutes (vs. 15 by taxi).
For a treat, try Kite Beach (Abu Manara Masjid bus stop). The SoleMio section offers comfy sun loungers, fluffy towels, and umbrellas for 80 € for two in the front row. Go early—you’ll feel like you have the place to yourself, with the Burj Al Arab in the background. It gets busy on weekends.
From there, you can take a taxi to Dubai Mall (not far) to check out the dancing fountains at sunset, for example.
You can also buy day passes at some hotels with sun loungers, towels, pool access, and lunch credit. I tried the Ritz-Carlton—decent (170 € for two, including meals). Lunch was fine, and the view of the lit-up towers at sunset, with the giant wheel, was stunning. I took the metro back in the evening.
There are plenty of free beaches too, like La Mer—worth seeing more for the decor than the beach itself.
- **Even though my main "sightseeing" involves walking around with my head up, admiring the towers in DIFC (amazing), visiting the stunning Mohammed bin Rashid Library (near Creek metro), wandering the souks (including Little India in Bur and the Iranian mosque), or the spice souks in Deira (go early when it’s quiet),**
A day trip to Abu Dhabi is worth it. Take the Bur Dubai-Abu Dhabi bus (pay with your NOL card). If you leave early, you’ll see the sunrise over the desert. At the station, buy a bus ticket to the Louvre, cross the footbridge over the highway, and wait for the bus. After the museum, take a taxi to the Grand Mosque, then another taxi back to the bus station. A full but doable day—no need to stay overnight!
In the evening, I love taking the metro (mostly above ground) and passing between the towering, lit-up skyscrapers—it feels like a sci-fi movie. Just missing flying taxis (they’re in the works!)
Sharjah, the closest emirate, has a fantastic Orientalist museum. From Bur Dubai’s maritime station, boats go to Sharjah in 30 minutes, near the aquarium and maritime museum.
- **Shopping:**
I buy Indian chai tea spices, incense, camel milk chocolate, Iranian sweets, and fabric from Indian shops selling saris and fabric by the meter. I have a tailor make shirts, tunics, etc. Some shops sell buttons and trimmings to jazz things up.
- **Malls:**
To attract customers, mall owners come up with wild ideas: a ski slope at Dubai Mall (worth seeing once), pretty wooden souks at Madinat, and a giant aquarium at Dubai Mall. At sunset, you can watch the dancing fountains to popular global tunes at the foot of the world’s tallest tower. At its base, there’s an excellent Iraqi restaurant, Samad Al Iraki, where the tea server is Tunisian and speaks French! The Ibn Battuta Mall is unique—you can go there straight from Abu Dhabi by bus, for example. Malls have plenty of dining options and are a place to (finally) see locals... though they’re not that interesting. Malls are served by the metro, while buses run along the coast. In Burjuman Mall, there’s a cybercafé on the ground floor where you can print.
A few helpful sites:
Visit Dubai - Official Tourism Site
RTA (Roads and Transport Authority) - RTA Services
"But what do *you* do in Dubai?" my friends ask, surprised... Yes, I love traveling to countries where I ride on bumpy roads in buses that break down, sleep in places with mosquitoes and cockroaches, and swelter in heat and humidity. But even far from that kind of travel, Dubai has an exotic charm. There’s something for every taste and budget—once you get past the flight ticket (around 680 €, probably cheaper with a layover). Dubai is about relaxing, swimming, being amazed, chatting, and tasting... A safe, clean vacation with no rudeness, and as a woman, it’s a relief to let your guard down. You come back refreshed and at peace!
Hope my experience helps...
Next trip: March 2026, with plans to visit the Guggenheim in Abu Dhabi and whatever other curiosities pop up like magic...
Feel free to add to my experience with your own!
Happy travels,
Laurence
Hello,
I’m planning a trip to South India for 5 or 6 weeks. If there are three or four of us, we could rent a car, which would make things faster, and the planned route might only take a month instead of a month and a half.
Since it’s impossible to do everything, I’m prioritizing ** and *** backpacker spots, as well as UNESCO sites.
I’m not really into beach destinations. I’m thinking of skipping Madras (Chennai) from the itinerary since there isn’t much that’s amazing to see there.
As for GOA, I’m much more interested in Old Goa (monuments and atmosphere) than the beaches of Goa.
The dates aren’t set in stone yet. I don’t have my flight ticket yet either.
I’d like to leave around January 15th and return in mid or late February 2025.
Don’t hesitate to reach out if the project appeals to you. We can then chat via personal email and later on WhatsApp video.
I’m not looking for people who talk non-stop, are overly sensitive, or high-strung. Might as well be upfront about it to avoid any disappointments. 😉
Best regards,
Régine from Lyon. (66 years young but 45 in my head 😏)
Another surprise for the kids: the lollipop vendor in Jemaa El Fna Square, with giant lollipops that really whet their appetites...
Come along, I'm taking you to this country where it's so nice to wander and slow down...
