Bonjour tout le monde c'est ma 1ere participation , je suis du maroc , je veux planifier un voyage d'été avec mon mari , nous hésitons entre une semaine à nice ( avec des excursions à monaco et cannes journalières ) Ou partir à lisbonne+ cascais + porto pour 10 jours.
Nous voudrions visiter la france pour " la langue " sauf qu'on a l'impression que la plage sera archi pleine en aout et y'a pas assez d'ambiance en ville , c plutôt froid , une ville habitable non une vraie station balnéaire. Est ce que c vrai aussi qu'en aout le climat est instable ??
Pour le portugal , côté Climat c Bien je pense, en plus c moins cher qu'aux côtes d'azur , sauf qu'on veut un voyage riche multithématique avec une bonne ambiance, d'autant plus plus de 60% des hotels sont reservés donc le choix est trop minim sinn on trouve des trucs avec annulation pas gratuite ou toilette commune...
Vos avis et expériences svp entre ces 2 destinations merciiiiiiiii .
France - Est-ce possible de presque toujours payer les déjeuners, dîners, les taxis, etc. avec la carte de crédit ou nous faut-il du comptant ?
On part pour 10 jours 2 adultes 2 enfants. On ira à Marseille, Nice puis Paris.
Merci 🙂
On part pour 10 jours 2 adultes 2 enfants. On ira à Marseille, Nice puis Paris.
Merci 🙂
🙁 Marseille est à déconseiller 🙁
Nous nous sommes fait voler dans notre auto de location, devant notre hôtel, par des petits voyoux en moto. Ils ont ouvert la portière arrière, et pris notre sac à dos, sous nos yeux, contenant nos passeports, notre argent canadien, le I pad, la caméra, les médicaments etc.. Tout se passe très vite. En plus on a dû passer toute l'après midi au poste de police pour le constat d'infraction.( Les policiers ne se déplacent pas sur les lieux du crime, c'est nous qui devons aller au poste)
Il semblerait que le vol à la tire soit très répendu dans cette ville....et souvent avec violence pour ceux qui résistent. Les voleurs ne se gènent pas. Ils nous volent sous nos yeux, et on ne peut qu'assister impuissants à leur méfait, car si on résiste, les couteaux sortent. Ils sont actifs autant le jour que le soir.
Ils sont bien plus nombreux que les policiers...et leur nombre va en grandissant sans cesse, puisque les forces de l'ordre sont débordés. On pourrait presque dire qu'ils oeuvrent en toute impunité.
Personnellement, je vais éviter cette ville à l'avenir, et être bien plus prudent dans tous mes voyages.
Nous nous sommes fait voler dans notre auto de location, devant notre hôtel, par des petits voyoux en moto. Ils ont ouvert la portière arrière, et pris notre sac à dos, sous nos yeux, contenant nos passeports, notre argent canadien, le I pad, la caméra, les médicaments etc.. Tout se passe très vite. En plus on a dû passer toute l'après midi au poste de police pour le constat d'infraction.( Les policiers ne se déplacent pas sur les lieux du crime, c'est nous qui devons aller au poste)
Il semblerait que le vol à la tire soit très répendu dans cette ville....et souvent avec violence pour ceux qui résistent. Les voleurs ne se gènent pas. Ils nous volent sous nos yeux, et on ne peut qu'assister impuissants à leur méfait, car si on résiste, les couteaux sortent. Ils sont actifs autant le jour que le soir.
Ils sont bien plus nombreux que les policiers...et leur nombre va en grandissant sans cesse, puisque les forces de l'ordre sont débordés. On pourrait presque dire qu'ils oeuvrent en toute impunité.
Personnellement, je vais éviter cette ville à l'avenir, et être bien plus prudent dans tous mes voyages.
Salut à tous,
Histoire de recentraliser toutes les discussions, je résume :
Rencontre programmée sur 2 jours à Marseille : Le 9 septembre Rendez vous à partir de 16 heures 30 pour des boissons raffraîchissantes.🙂 Un pic nic en soirée sur les esplanades des plages du prado près du David.
Le 10 Septembre Pour ceux qui veulent...petite balade dans les calanques, Sugiton ou En vau suivant la motivation des participants. Casse croûte au dessus de la grande bleue.😇
Présence confirmée : Arvie, Alan et France, Marseil, la pirogue, Laffargee, hawkman, Laura 13, Fufute, Naky13, Darkette, Cati13, talassa13 (x2), Nush, Josse1312, Natakwet, Nangadelf, Patou, lolanomade, Titecel, Merylou, Carole13, Janine253 et yann's family soit 27 personnes. A confirmer Fluffy, martine 1021 et Panda06...
Hébergement : Alan et France chez Yann's family.
Besoin d'un hébergement : Pas d'autre demande pour l'instant.
Yann
Histoire de recentraliser toutes les discussions, je résume :
Rencontre programmée sur 2 jours à Marseille : Le 9 septembre Rendez vous à partir de 16 heures 30 pour des boissons raffraîchissantes.🙂 Un pic nic en soirée sur les esplanades des plages du prado près du David.
Le 10 Septembre Pour ceux qui veulent...petite balade dans les calanques, Sugiton ou En vau suivant la motivation des participants. Casse croûte au dessus de la grande bleue.😇
Présence confirmée : Arvie, Alan et France, Marseil, la pirogue, Laffargee, hawkman, Laura 13, Fufute, Naky13, Darkette, Cati13, talassa13 (x2), Nush, Josse1312, Natakwet, Nangadelf, Patou, lolanomade, Titecel, Merylou, Carole13, Janine253 et yann's family soit 27 personnes. A confirmer Fluffy, martine 1021 et Panda06...
Hébergement : Alan et France chez Yann's family.
Besoin d'un hébergement : Pas d'autre demande pour l'instant.
Yann
Salut les VFistes !
Alors voilà, je crois que la rencontre dans les Alpes VF 2004 (photos sur http://VF-meetings.tripod.com/weekendVF ) avait plu à tout le monde donc je remets ça!... Cette fois j’ai pensé à un lieu hautement stratégique : à mi-chemin entre Lyon et Marseille, à côté de Dieulefit, mais la rencontre n’est pas réservée aux seuls VFistes Lyonnais et Marseillais ;-)
J’ai réservé 15 places au Gîte communal de Damian. 15 places seulement car j’ai du verser un acompte de 30% non remboursable, alors j’ai préféré limiter le risque… Mais cela ne veut pas dire que la rencontre sera limitée à 15 personnes: si nous sommes plus de 15, je ferai rajouter des places tant que le gîte aura des places disponibles. 
Le tarif demandé par le gîte sera d’environ 30 euros par personne, incluant nuitée (chambres de 6) + repas du samedi soir + petit déjeuner du dimanche matin + accès à la piscine !...
Activités sur place : - pic-nic samedi midi et dimanche midi - discuter voyages au bord de la piscine ;-) - balades panoramiques autour de Dieulefit (quelques sommets approchent les 1000m) - baptême en ULM : pour ceux qui sont intéressés, je propose de former un groupe ! Voir le site http://www.espace-aerien.com/...mesdelair/index.html
Pour se rendre au Domaine de Damian: - Rendez vous dans la journée du samedi au Domaine de Damian pour ceux qui viennent en voiture, j’y serai en fin de matinée. - Pour ceux qui viennent en train (gîte à 38km de la gare) : on se débrouillera pour que des VFistes voiturés passent par Montélimar.
Pour s’inscrire à cette rencontre, me préciser : - A combien vous venez - Dans quelle tranche horaire vous penser arriver le samedi - Votre moyen de transport - Si vous arrivez en voiture, le nombres de places que vous avez à proposer en covoiturage - Si vous arrivez en train, à quelle heure vous arrivez en gare de Montélimar - Si vous êtes intéressé pour passer votre baptême ULM avec moi 😏 - Comme en 2004, m’envoyer un chèque d’acompte de 10 euros correspondant aux 30% non remboursables que j’ai avancés. Je donnerai mon adresse en message privé. Ces chèques ne seront encaissables qu’à partir du moment où nous sommes sûrs d’être au moins 15, et le solde sera payable au gîte. Désolé ça fait toujours un peu administratif mais organiser ce genre de rencontre ne peut pas être fait à la légère car j'aurai des pénalités à payer en cas d'annulation après le 15 mai . Et puis j'aime po les désistements na 😛
Bien sûr, je sais bien qu’il est encore tôt pour s’inscrire mais comme je m’absente jusqu’au 10 mars, j’ai préféré annoncer la rencontre avant pour que vous puissiez la noter dans vos agendas. Souvenez vous : 1er et 2 juillet à Dieulefit !!
NB : pas ou peu de connections internet du 9 février au 10 mars car je serai en Bolivie 🙂
Alors voilà, je crois que la rencontre dans les Alpes VF 2004 (photos sur http://VF-meetings.tripod.com/weekendVF ) avait plu à tout le monde donc je remets ça!... Cette fois j’ai pensé à un lieu hautement stratégique : à mi-chemin entre Lyon et Marseille, à côté de Dieulefit, mais la rencontre n’est pas réservée aux seuls VFistes Lyonnais et Marseillais ;-)
J’ai réservé 15 places au Gîte communal de Damian. 15 places seulement car j’ai du verser un acompte de 30% non remboursable, alors j’ai préféré limiter le risque… Mais cela ne veut pas dire que la rencontre sera limitée à 15 personnes: si nous sommes plus de 15, je ferai rajouter des places tant que le gîte aura des places disponibles. Le tarif demandé par le gîte sera d’environ 30 euros par personne, incluant nuitée (chambres de 6) + repas du samedi soir + petit déjeuner du dimanche matin + accès à la piscine !...
Activités sur place : - pic-nic samedi midi et dimanche midi - discuter voyages au bord de la piscine ;-) - balades panoramiques autour de Dieulefit (quelques sommets approchent les 1000m) - baptême en ULM : pour ceux qui sont intéressés, je propose de former un groupe ! Voir le site http://www.espace-aerien.com/...mesdelair/index.html
Pour se rendre au Domaine de Damian: - Rendez vous dans la journée du samedi au Domaine de Damian pour ceux qui viennent en voiture, j’y serai en fin de matinée. - Pour ceux qui viennent en train (gîte à 38km de la gare) : on se débrouillera pour que des VFistes voiturés passent par Montélimar.
Pour s’inscrire à cette rencontre, me préciser : - A combien vous venez - Dans quelle tranche horaire vous penser arriver le samedi - Votre moyen de transport - Si vous arrivez en voiture, le nombres de places que vous avez à proposer en covoiturage - Si vous arrivez en train, à quelle heure vous arrivez en gare de Montélimar - Si vous êtes intéressé pour passer votre baptême ULM avec moi 😏 - Comme en 2004, m’envoyer un chèque d’acompte de 10 euros correspondant aux 30% non remboursables que j’ai avancés. Je donnerai mon adresse en message privé. Ces chèques ne seront encaissables qu’à partir du moment où nous sommes sûrs d’être au moins 15, et le solde sera payable au gîte. Désolé ça fait toujours un peu administratif mais organiser ce genre de rencontre ne peut pas être fait à la légère car j'aurai des pénalités à payer en cas d'annulation après le 15 mai . Et puis j'aime po les désistements na 😛
Bien sûr, je sais bien qu’il est encore tôt pour s’inscrire mais comme je m’absente jusqu’au 10 mars, j’ai préféré annoncer la rencontre avant pour que vous puissiez la noter dans vos agendas. Souvenez vous : 1er et 2 juillet à Dieulefit !!
NB : pas ou peu de connections internet du 9 février au 10 mars car je serai en Bolivie 🙂
Cycling Through Provence's Big Climbs
In the autumn of 2011, Provence was hit by apocalyptic weather—torrential rain and a particularly violent east wind, reaching 130 kilometers per hour, whipping up waves as high as seven meters. It wasn’t the best time to venture outside. Yet, I told myself that after the storm, calm would return. I kept an eye on the weather forecast and noticed that starting November 10th, a favorable window should open for a little 600-kilometer cycling trip across Provence. The weather reports promised a high-pressure system that would keep the bad weather at bay over these highlands. That was all I needed to decide to set off. The planned route would take me through Provence’s biggest climbs: Mont Ventoux, Montagne de Lure, the Verdon Gorge, the Massif des Maures, and Sainte-Baume.
And so, despite my doubts, the call of adventure was stronger. The train pulled away, and once again, a journey began at Part-Dieu station. This time, I headed toward Haute-Provence for a cycling adventure. It would be my first solo bike trip. I was a little nervous—cycling with panniers makes you feel vulnerable to theft. I’d already been robbed while traveling in a group in Peru, and that experience left me deeply shaken. Alone, I hesitated. But no need to panic—I’d read accounts from long-distance cyclists who hadn’t been robbed, even if it does happen sometimes. I was particularly thinking of a young schoolteacher who had taken a sabbatical to cycle around the world. Her students had remarked, "Teacher, you’re not sporty—how will you manage to cycle around the world?" This young woman was full of resourcefulness. In South America, before flying to China, she locked her bike to a post to take care of a natural need. When she returned, the post had been torn out, and her bike—along with all her gear—was gone. It was a shock for many, but not for her. She boarded her flight to the Middle Kingdom, bought the essentials (including a new bike) once there, and continued her journey! Remembering this story, I almost felt ashamed of my cowardice. These were the thoughts running through my mind as the Rhône Valley rolled by toward Orange, the starting point of my Provençal adventure through the big climbs.
Day One: Orange to Sault via Mont Ventoux – 90 km
9:30 AM, I stepped off the train. With all my gear, I had to navigate the underground passage—no easy feat, given that my bike and luggage weighed 35 kilos. At this time of year, I expected some areas to be deserted, so I’d packed enough to bivouac comfortably. Once outside the station, the southern light flooded over me. I understood why people dream of retiring in these sun-drenched regions. As always, after disembarking from public transport, I had to get my bearings and decide which way to go. The sun, still low on the horizon, pointed east. The roar of fighter jet engines helped me locate the Air Base 115. That was all I needed to "reset the gyros."
As soon as I started pedaling, all my apprehensions vanished. The joy of discovery and physical effort took over, and euphoria washed over me. It’s amazing how emotions can shift from one moment to the next based on seemingly minor circumstances.
The weather was splendid—the forecast had predicted continuous showers, but it was completely wrong. I quickly left the city behind. Mont Ventoux loomed mysteriously, its dimensions hard to gauge. It was even more enigmatic with its summit hidden beneath swirling, mottled clouds clinging to the ridges. It reminded me of a great South American volcano. I struggled to imagine that in a few hours, I’d be up there under that blanket of mist.
The countryside was shaking off its autumnal nighttime dampness. The vineyards, interspersed with tall cypress hedges, confirmed I was in the magnificent Côtes du Rhône wine region. The distinctive Dentelles de Montmirail were very much in evidence. The air force base wasn’t far. I passed the runway’s end markers. A Mirage 2000 flew overhead in a tight turn, followed by another roaring into takeoff. It came straight at me before climbing sharply with a thunderous roar. Thirty years spent in that captivating world came rushing back. I recalled countless extraordinary human and technical experiences from my time in the service. But the purpose of this post isn’t to promote the air force—though I might post some articles one day about travels among men at war.
I continued on my way, leaving my past loves behind. As I pedaled, delightful names rolled by: Violès, Vacqueyras, Gigondas, Beaumes-de-Venise—the crème de la crème of the Côtes du Rhône Villages appellation. I let myself be enchanted by the vineyards and the little paths crisscrossing them. I started to doubt my route, though the imposing mass of Mont Ventoux in the distance acted like a giant beacon. At a crossroads, a car appeared. I approached to ask the driver for directions, but she didn’t even look at me and sped off, clearly frightened. I’d almost forgotten what a fearful world we live in, no doubt traumatized by all the horrors we see in the news and on TV.
The kilometers started adding up, but was my day’s goal too ambitious? It had been two months since I’d last ridden my bike. True, my last trip had been good training—the Route des Grandes Alpes—but that was two months ago. I can’t just take my bike out for a day trip; I need that sense of adventure to find the courage to exercise.
Two cyclists overtook me. Intrigued by my load, they struck up a conversation. They were skeptical when I told them I planned to cross Mont Ventoux that day. One of them pointed out a small chapel near the summit where I could bivouac sheltered. That motivated me even more to reach the top on this first stage. The chapel also had a mythical name for me—Sainte-Anne, the name of my parents’ villa. It was already noon, and I’d covered 50 kilometers. Malaucène appeared—the sacred village of Ventoux’s mad cyclists. Surprisingly, I didn’t see any other cyclists today. I remembered this place in June, teeming with aspirants for the king of summits. Before tackling the climb ahead, I needed to refuel. I enjoyed a pleasant gastronomic break at Max’s. At 1 PM, I started the most famous climb in cycling—21 kilometers, which would actually be 23. I knew it would be tough, especially with two handicaps: 50 kilometers already in my legs and 20 kilos of luggage. But I was counting on my tiny chainring, which let me climb trees to tackle the steep ramps.
I set off at a brisk pace along a deserted road. My speed held up for the first few kilometers. I quickly rose above the valley, the horizon widening. I was surprised to see no one on this world-renowned route among cycling enthusiasts. During the climb and descent, I’d only see five cyclists—but I’ll come back to that. I passed a sign explaining that the effort would be roughly equivalent to climbing the Col de la Bonnette. Having done the latter in September, I figured I’d be fine. I crossed paths with my first cyclist—a woman speeding downhill. After 12 kilometers, I hit slopes averaging 12%. I don’t know if the number 12 is cursed, but I got such a "bamboo" hit that I’d never experienced before. I thought I wouldn’t make it to the summit today. I stopped. My thighs burned so much I could barely walk—lactic acid overload. I looked for a relatively flat spot to pitch my tent. It was 3:30 PM, with two hours of daylight left. But I found nothing.
I got back on my bike, intending to stop as soon as I found a good bivouac spot. But nothing came up. However, my strength slowly returned, perhaps because the slope eased, though it remained around 10%. I entered the summit mists. A cyclist overtook me. I was in the zone where I had to pass the summit. Dusk caught me in the final difficulties. The atmosphere was downright austere. In the twilight, a kilometer from the summit, a cyclist was fixing his bike. I asked if he needed help. He made it clear he didn’t understand. So I asked, "Do you need some help?" His answer was clear: "No, thank you." He showed me his new inner tube. Inside, I thought, "Phew!" If I’d had to stop, sweating in the falling night with the cold intensifying, I’d have struggled to get going again. But he managed, and I continued into the twilight fog. I could barely make out the summit’s large antennas in the clouds, like immense ghosts trying to evade sight. The bike delivered sensations worthy of mountain racing. My goal was to quickly find the famous chapel in the descent to take shelter. As I glided down the southern slope, two cyclists without lights crossed my path in the night—probably heading to the station above, its lights visible in the fog.
I scanned the roadside in the dark for the chapel but saw nothing. After a kilometer or two, I lost all hope. I stopped to put on more clothes as the cold became intense. I had no idea where I could stop on these steep slopes to set up camp. Between the swirls of mist, I could intermittently see the Rhône Valley below, dotted with illuminated towns and villages. The sight was striking. What was I doing on this mountain at night? Then the miracle happened—the clouds parted, and from the ridge above me to the east, a beautiful full moon emerged, casting enough light to consider a nighttime descent to Sault, 26 kilometers away.
In this eerie atmosphere between the moon’s pale rays and patches of fog, I began my descent through a hazy, almost unreal world. The Ventoux’s characteristic white scree reflected the moonlight faintly, dimmed by the mist. In places, entire mountainsides were plunged into complete darkness, and I lost all sense of the road’s path. Then, around a tight bend caused by a land shift, the light returned. It seemed extreme compared to the darkness I’d left behind. I could once again clearly see the road’s contours, though not its potholes or gravel patches. Still, I let the slope carry me, and the speed felt significant, though the low light prevented me from reading my speedometer. In these moments, concentration was at its peak—all senses alert, reflexes ready to react to the slightest incident that could lead to a fall.
I was relieved to see Sault’s lights growing closer. In less than an hour, I reached it, considering the final little climb that required one last push. This village, bustling in summer, was deserted at this time of year—almost dead. The first hotel I came across was closed. A quick shadow passed in a small sloping street. Before it disappeared into the darkness at a house corner, I chased after it and asked about accommodation options. Very kindly, I was directed to what was probably the only hotel open in November. I quickly found it, and the reception was open. I entered wearing my black balaclava, bought in the Ayacucho region—the birthplace of Peru’s Shining Path. At this late hour, I saw questioning glances directed at me. I prefaced, "This isn’t a hold-up." Clearly, the owners had a sense of humor—they started smiling. I took off my balaclava and asked for a room. No problem, and from that moment, the pressure eased. I really didn’t feel like going back out to find a spot to pitch my tent in the biting cold.
The stage had been nearly 100 kilometers, and it was the first. It had been two months since I’d touched my bike, and I probably lacked even minimal training, even though my last bike trip had been crossing the French Alps. I really had to dig deep to overcome my weakness on Ventoux’s steep section. I don’t remember ever having to search so deeply for the energy to keep going. I knew the stage I’d set for tomorrow was significant, with the climb up Montagne de Lure’s northern slope—Ventoux’s little sister, whose ascent is reputed to be endless, over 25 kilometers. I hoped this first day wouldn’t leave me too sore to avoid suffering excessively tomorrow.
For now, relaxation—a hot shower did me a world of good, followed by a good meal. I ate a delicious andouillette from Troyes, very fine, with a particularly successful herb seasoning. I loved it, and yet I’m from Lyon and pride myself on knowing a thing or two about andouillette—not just a sausage but a whole category! A bit chauvinistic, I had to admit, though reluctantly, that I found it better than the ones I usually eat in the Lyon region!
Day Two: Sault to Forcalquier via Montagne de Lure – 116 km
This morning, the weather was magnificent—the air clear, still, very fresh, and invigorating, as only the late season can offer on these Provençal highlands. In summer, they’re known for their scorching heat and drought, but often overlooked is how harsh they can be with cold and storms. Authors like Giono or Bosco described them and their inhabitants wonderfully in books like "Les Âmes Fortes."
The miracle of the night had worked. I wasn’t sore anywhere and felt in great shape. I set off well-equipped, but the effort and sun soon made me sweat. It was time to shed some layers—hat and gloves. A gentle warmth replaced the cold, making for excellent cycling conditions. On the road to Trinit, there was no traffic—only the occasional hunters’ cars parked in the distance. These vehicles were recognizable by their large cages, used to transport hunting dogs. Sometimes, the silence was broken by a distant gunshot. The deciduous forests were losing their foliage, taking on that dull brown hue of late autumn, though here and there, a tree or shrub still resisted, displaying vivid yellow or red. The meadows, their grass already scorched by the cold, were damp from the night’s heavy humidity. The low sun highlighted thousands of spider webs that had trapped insects during the warm season.
Behind me, Mont Ventoux dominated these vast spaces. As often, its imposing, stony summit was crowned with a blanket of clouds. What an impressive mountain—it’s always so hard to gauge its dimensions. I struggled to realize that last night I’d been at the summit and descended its immense southern ridge in the dark. I hoped to return one day in favorable conditions—daylight and no clouds—to enjoy the vast panorama from this unique summit.
Leaving the very Provençal village of Trinit, I tackled my first climb of the day—the Col de l’Homme Mort. The road rose moderately for five kilometers in gentle warmth. The view over the region widened, and I felt the sheer joy of pedaling. At a good pace, I overcame this first little challenge. Once at the pass, I couldn’t resist the ritual of photographing my bike in front of the sign, giving the name and altitude—1,213 meters.
The northern slope was austere and still in shadow. The cold bit again. The road was wet and covered with leaves in places. It wasn’t impossible that some treacherous patches of black ice lurked around a bend. I descended toward the Jabron Valley with caution. Suddenly, around a bend in a forest clearing, the freshly snow-covered Alps, gleaming in the sun, leapt into view, blocking the horizon. I thought I recognized the distinctive silhouette of the Écrins’ south face above a multitude of jagged peaks.
This snow and these mountains awakened a flood of memories of great joys, but I also thought of the guide and his client who had just lost their lives on the Grandes Jorasses’ north face, at the top of a route called the Linceul. The name comes from the face’s appearance—a great ice slope bordering the Grandes Jorasses’ north wall. It was first climbed by René Desmaison in 1968. He passed away a few years ago and, in his final wishes, asked that his ashes be scattered in the Dévoluy Massif at the foot of Pic de Bure, not far from here in these immense pre-Alpine folds.
At my feet, the Jabron Valley stretched almost endlessly east toward Sisteron. In the distance, the dark mass of Montagne de Lure’s north face loomed. This mountain shares similarities with Mont Ventoux. It has the same summit scree of bright limestone, the same forests climbing up to the final rocky stretch, and that blanket of clouds adding a secretive, austere touch to the scene.
I turned left past the town of Séderon and headed toward the little Col de la Pigière, which in a few kilometers allowed me to truly plunge into the beautiful Jabron Valley. I passed through several villages with charming local names—Saint-Vincent, Noyer-sur-Jabron. The river offered lovely views of its narrow gorges with clear, cold water. Autumn seemed less advanced here than on the plateau I’d just left. Many trees still wore brilliant colors, some revealing extraordinary hues—mixes of crimson, pink, and bright red.
Arriving in Noyer-sur-Jabron, I took a tiny road on the river’s right bank, leading in a few kilometers to the foot of Montagne de Lure. In the village of Valbelle, I picnicked on leftovers I’d brought from home—an old cheese and a somewhat stale loaf of bread. It was 1:30 PM. I began the long climb of about 25 kilometers. According to a friend who’s a cycling expert in the region, this section is tough. No wonder it’s called Ventoux’s little sister—the Mont Blanc of cyclists. The elevation gain on this side is still 1,200 meters, while Ventoux via Malaucène is nearly 1,600 meters.
I hoped to reach the summit before nightfall and avoid reliving a nighttime descent. The route wound through a vast forest, following the terrain’s folds. There was activity—mushroom hunters were busy searching for the coveted chanterelle. The climb, though never very steep (only one kilometer at 9%), was interminable. Though traffic was practically nonexistent, I was overtaken by a group of Harley bikers—I counted about forty. Perched high on their machines, hands in the air on wildly shaped handlebars, some with their feet nearly in the sky due to the high footpegs, they didn’t even glance my way. What’s this idiot doing, unable to ride a motorcycle and forced to climb these mountains on a bike with big bags! I wasn’t offended—real Harley purists often see other motorcyclists as renegades, so bikes are even lower on the totem pole! But I didn’t want to start a debate about motorcycles. In my youth, when I was a wild motorcyclist (22 accidents on two wheels), clans were divided into Japanese, German, Italian, and British bike owners. The latter, on their vibrating, oil-leaking machines, considered themselves the purest. But let’s not fight—there’s a statute of limitations, and it’s been nearly forty years.
As yesterday, a few kilometers below the summit, I entered the fog, and the light dropped suddenly. What a hostile mountain in these conditions! It heightened the sense of living an incredible experience. The conditions we encounter play a major role in how the adventure imprints on our memory. I realized once again that in France, you can feel like you’re very far away. Finally, after this very long climb, the Pas de Graille sign suddenly appeared out of the grayness. Strange! Below the sign, a kilometer marker indicated this same pass was over three kilometers away. Clearly, the climb continued. In these final kilometers through the scree, I gained another 130 meters of elevation. Finally, the road’s high point was reached—1,720 meters. It was cold and damp. I quickly covered up, added my balaclava under my helmet, and put on warm gloves. As I was about to start the descent, a car stopped at the summit, and one of the passengers was surprised to find a bike there in these chilly, twilight conditions.
A 20-kilometer descent led me to the village of Saint-Étienne-les-Orgues. I hoped to find a place to stay for the night. No such luck! Everything was clearly closed—no chance of finding shelter. Tonight was getting complicated. I already had exactly 100 kilometers in my legs and didn’t feel like pedaling anymore, especially at night. But I had even less desire to sleep outside. What to do to avoid it? The town of Forcalquier was 16 kilometers away—I hoped the road would descend. I set off in that direction. The first third was along a beautiful, lightly trafficked departmental road with a slight downhill—I pedaled hard. But it got tougher. I joined a busier road, and night had fallen. A several-kilometer climb finished the journey. I knew my magnetic lights weren’t very powerful—hence the danger. They were even less so on the climb because the slower I went, the less they illuminated. Cars coming the opposite way often saw me late and blinded me with their high beams. After passing, I was plunged into total darkness for a few seconds while my pupils readjusted to the night. I imagined those coming up behind me saw me with little warning, despite my slightly fluorescent jacket. When the roadside was clear, I always positioned myself to quickly jump off the road. But unfortunately, in this long final climb, a guardrail prevented any escape to the right in case of sudden braking behind me. That was even more anxiety-inducing since I was stuck at a snail’s pace. Time seemed long. I pedaled as hard as I could, on the verge of asphyxiation, trying to escape this dangerous situation as quickly as possible. My only reference point was the vehicles in front of me, letting me know the climb wasn’t over. Then suddenly, the ordeal ended—the road’s high point was reached. The town and its lights emerged from the void, and clarity returned. Phew! I glided down toward this little town bathed in light. On November 11th, I hoped to find an open hotel since I’d clearly exceeded 100 kilometers, and the idea of having to leave town to find a bivouac spot somewhat frightened me.
I arrived in the town center. Activity was low. The first hotel was closed, but I spotted a lit sign for another establishment further on. I headed there, got off my bike, and entered. The welcome was immediately friendly—a big cat came to rub against me. For me, that was a very good sign, and the first impression was confirmed. I still had to go out to eat. I covered the minimum distance. A restaurant advertised "Mom’s Cooking." I expected Provençal specialties, but they were Moroccan. I chose a delicious tagine with lime and olives, followed by almond and honey ice cream. Exhausted after this 116-kilometer stage, I returned to my room. As often after intense efforts, it was hard to fall asleep.
Day Three: Forcalquier to Moustiers-Sainte-Marie – 58 km
On this third day, due to the progress made yesterday, the stage would be short. I’d call it a transition between two mountain ranges. Indeed, the next big climb is the Verdon Gorge. I planned to position myself at its foot this evening in preparation for a tough stage tomorrow. I made a few purchases—bread, bananas, and medicine for stomach burns (the midday sausage wasn’t always kind to me). The weather was still perfect. The route began with a long descent toward the Durance. It’s always nice to start a cycling day with a downhill—it boosts morale and allows for a gentle warm-up.
I quickly reached the town of Oraison. Just at its entrance, I crossed the Durance, which still bore traces of last week’s heavy rains along its sandbanks. Indeed, numerous stumps and trunks were scattered along its vast gravel bed, along with less ecological debris like old tires.
A little south of Oraison, I took the D907, a small road heading due east between scrubland and meadows. There it was—the Provence we imagine. This stable autumn weather, with still air, neither hot nor cold, just a fresh feeling when emerging from a shaded valley or a slight warmth under the sun, was ideal for a cyclist. After about ten kilometers at the bottom of a small valley I quickly passed through, the village of Le Brunet appeared on the right. It clung to the slopes leading to the Valensole Plateau. A few steep kilometers along a tiny winding road, and suddenly a vast panorama unfolded as the climb ended.
What a magnificent plateau! Though known for its wind, luckily today was completely calm. Far to the east, the Verdon’s great cliffs blocked the horizon. This allowed me to contemplate part of tomorrow’s stage. This place is full of mysteries—many UFO and extraterrestrial encounter stories are associated with it. Moreover, for about thirty years, France hid its ground-to-ground nuclear ballistic missiles here, grouped in the 1st GMS (Ballistic Missile Group), under the air force. Naturally, these rockets fueled fantasies, and pacifist groups settled in the region to protest this type of armament. This gives many reasons to shroud this austere, deserted land in mystery.
I took a dirt path leading to the heart of this zone and stopped at the forest’s edge for lunch. The silence was total, the view stretched very far. But nothing strange or bizarre manifested. No Martian came to share my frankly moldy cheese, very peppery sausage, or bruised banana—sniff! I resumed my route, and as often when crossing places with strong character, I tended to slow down to enjoy them longer. The immense lavender fields stretched endlessly, not very fragrant at this season. I arrived at a group of truffle oaks protected by a fence, with large red signs warning "Firearm." Clearly, the war for the black diamond was raging in this region. I remembered a novel where an old farmer made buyers believe nothing grew on his land. Every year, he secretly stole the mushrooms from the unsuspecting owners. Then one day, they discovered the truth, catching this "polite" neighbor trying to hide a basket full of beautiful, large truffles!
In these vast spaces, I felt good—a sense of plenitude. It’s strange that I only conceive of cycling through wandering. I struggle to plan a day trip. And if I do, it’s highly likely I won’t get up. I need that sense of adventure to fully appreciate my physical effort. Maybe one day I should get psychoanalyzed, but at my age, it’s probably too late! Today, I had all the time in the world—the stage was half as long as yesterday’s, with very little elevation gain. Not a sound, an impressive calm, a beautiful landscape—I pedaled in a wonderful place. That’s probably happiness!
I reached the village of Puimoisson on the plateau’s eastern edge—only 12 kilometers left to Moustiers. I took my time, sat at a café terrace in the sun, and leisurely enjoyed a coffee while listening to the village come to life. I was delighted by these melodious southern voices, bursting into great laughter. There are places where, despite the anxieties caused by our debt-ridden, dysfunctional societies, some have decided to take life on the bright side and show a saving insouciance.
The rest of the journey was a simple formality—I let the slope carry me toward the pretty little town of Moustiers-Sainte-Marie, clinging to the cliff and famous for its faïence. Arriving early for once, I went to the tourist office to choose a comfortable hotel. Indeed, the Hôtel des Restanques was very comfortable and admirably well-located. But at this time of year, I’d have to return to the village center for dinner. The very kind receptionist reserved a table for me at La Treille Muscate, a restaurant with a magnificently arranged room on the church square. It was only 3:30 PM—I continued to take my time, showering and relaxing in front of the TV. Then I set off to explore—or rather, re-explore—this village I’d visited several times before. But I’d never climbed to its chapel perched in the middle of the great cliff towering over the houses. A stony, aerial path led there. The first mentions of the Notre-Dame de Beauvoir chapel, known in ancient times as Notre-Dame d’Entre-Roches, date back to the 9th century. It’s one of the rare "respite" chapels found in Provence. These are chapels where stillborn children were brought to be revived for a few moments, just long enough to baptize them. They could then be buried religiously, ensuring the salvation of their souls. I was also very moved by reading some ex-votos, like the one from "A mother for her three children returned from the war."
The place was impressive, especially as night fell. I was alone and watched the shadows fill the great cliffs above me. With an old climber’s reflex, I looked for possible climbing routes among these slabs and cracks. But climbing is probably forbidden here, too close to the houses. Then I descended to stroll through the village, admiring the magnificent, finely crafted faïence patterns found in many shops. Finally, dinnertime arrived, and I joined my restaurant, which had been highly recommended. I was delighted by the foie gras ravioli and the pieds et paquets—the chef’s specialty. I’ll come back with family.
Day Four: Moustiers to Fréjus via the Verdon – 122 km
A hearty breakfast prepared me for the day’s tough efforts. Next to me, four Chinese people chatted animatedly. Of course, I didn’t understand a word—it was a language with strange intonations and sounds. I left the dining room and prepared my bike on the terrace. Seeing the volume of my luggage, my Chinese friends rushed over and asked to take turns having their photo taken in front of this funny setup. All laughing, they took photos in front of what they probably considered a French coolie off on some trading business! When they show these photos to their relatives, they’ll likely be perplexed about what motivates some to travel by bike rather than car. For them, the car is a symbol of success—according to an article I read last year, 14,000 cars are registered in China every day!
This morning, the air was fresh. As yesterday, I started with a long descent, this time leading to the edge of Lac de Sainte-Croix. A strong, biting headwind slowed me down. It wouldn’t last, as it was generated by the gorge’s outlet, which I’d reach in a few kilometers. On this cold morning, the lake’s shores exuded great tranquility. The sun was still hidden behind the Verdon’s mountainous mass. Trees with yellow leaves stood out against the water’s pale blue. The bridge marking the gorge’s beginning at the lake’s edge was an ideal spot to admire this natural splendor. At this early hour, the play of light and shadow on the water and the immense cliffs delivered a grandiose spectacle in beautiful harmony. This first contact with the gorges, which I knew well, amazed me.
Once past the bridge, the wind calmed. A little further on, I began the long climb that would take me to the top of this immense natural gash, which water had taken millions of years to carve. I was in good shape and highly motivated by the splendors to come. First, I reached the village of Aiguines, which offered a magnificent viewpoint over the lake. Then I continued toward the Corniche Sublime, where countless breathtaking panoramas unfolded as I progressed. But the climb was sustained and long, requiring effort—though my small chainring worked miracles. I first passed the Col d’Illoire, already 500 meters above the lake. Seeing all these great cliffs, countless climbing memories came flooding back. The classic routes of the Escalès cliff, over 300 meters high, flashed by. Routes with legendary names—La Demande, Les Écureuils, Luna-Bong, and many others. The one that left me with the best memory was ULA—a crack, vertical or even overhanging, of sheer beauty rising above a 40-meter slab in one go for 280 meters of sustained, beautiful climbing on extraordinary rock. It made me want to return to climb there, to immerse myself in the atmosphere of those past times. But climbing habits have changed—now routes are accessed from above by rappel, and people don’t always bother to do these great climbs in their entirety, focusing instead on shorter but technically much more difficult enterprises.
At almost every bend, I stopped and scanned these great cliffs, searching for memories of past experiences and emotions in these secret rock folds. The road climbed well above the pass, exceeding 1,200 meters. It was cool, especially since I was sweating. Finally reaching the high point of the Corniche Sublime, I couldn’t gain speed on the descent—my gaze was always drawn to this astonishing canyon. Around a bend, two cyclists with funny small-wheeled bikes. Wow! It was a couple of Australians doing a year-long tour of France. We chatted passionately about our two-wheeled experiences for a moment. But time was passing, and if I wanted to reach Fréjus before nightfall, I’d have to pedal seriously.
I stopped at the Pont de l’Artuby, where bungee jumping was in full swing. But I quickly set off again toward Comps. The wind was against me, and it was climbing. I started to doubt whether I’d make it to the coast that evening. At 2 PM, I was in Comps-sur-Artuby. I didn’t stop, knowing that before reaching the coast, I’d have no alternative to bivouacking, and I had 70 kilometers left to cover. Sure, it should be downhill, but a few climbs were on the program. After a descent out of the village, I crossed the Artuby River again on the Canjuers military camp. A several-kilometer climb followed, fortunately not too steep. I took the D19 toward Barjols. From there, despite the late hour, I opted for a tiny road passing through Claviers, a small perched village. Time passed quickly, but the kilometers added up. I regained hope. Fifteen kilometers after this last village, I reached Saint-Paul-en-Forêt via a magnificent forested route. I had plenty of time to observe mushroom hunters. I asked one who clearly had some in a plastic bag. He gave me this hilarious answer with a magnificent southern accent: "I only picked the bad ones." No reply was possible. I moved on with a smile. A little further on, another hunter carried a basket. As soon as he saw me, he quickly hid it—just in case I saw what it contained. Arriving at the village involved a steep climb, and I was close to 100 kilometers. I still had a little over 20 kilometers to go before reaching Fréjus. The race against nightfall had begun. Over there to my right, I saw the sun setting behind Roquebrune-sur-Argens’ distinctive rock. The sea appeared. There it was—I was in Fréjus’ industrial zone. On this Sunday evening, traffic was heavy. Indeed, many had taken advantage of the return of good weather after very heavy storms to go for a walk. After quite a few detours, I arrived at the seaside just as night fell. My odometer showed 122 km for the day. I quickly found a simple hotel, ate just as quickly, and went to bed.
Day Five: Fréjus to Solliès-Pont – 92 km
Once again, the night had done its restorative work, and I prepared to cross the Massif des Maures feeling quite fresh. The weather forecast was still favorable for today, but a deterioration was expected tomorrow. I tended to trust it because the east wind was blowing, and in the region, that’s a sign of rain. For now, in the short term, this wind would be very useful—it would push me generously throughout the day.
I started calmly along the harbor quays, looking at the boats. Then I joined the road to Saint-Aygulf and followed the coast for forty kilometers to Port-Grimaud. All these seaside resorts—Saint-Aygulf, Les Issambres, Sainte-Maxime—reminded me of my youth when we spent all our vacations fishing, whether from shore, underwater, or by boat. Looking at the sea roll by, I knew what the seabeds looked like under that surface hiding them. The marine areas we knew best were now under the parking lots and commercial zones of Saint-Raphaël’s new port. In our youth, these infrastructures didn’t exist, and their construction came at the expense of coastal marine areas. Our wonderful fishing spots were permanently buried. I remember seeing the first big trucks that came to dump their loads of earth and rubble, destroying all those wonderful places—sandbanks, seaweed beds, groups of rocky holes teeming with fish that enchanted our youth. Over forty years later, I can still visualize them in my imagination under those parking lots and stores, with the names we gave them—my brothers and I: le casse-croûte, le casse-pipe, les montagnes, la digue, la grille, la mare à mulets, la petite-plage, le trou, etc.
Let’s not be overwhelmed by nostalgia. I left the coast and took the little road through the Maures to Collobrières. The route led from ridge to ridge following the terrain’s movements. At this time of year, the region was admirable. Due to the heavy storms of recent weeks, water was streaming everywhere. Waterfalls and streams murmured all along the way. I didn’t recognize the Maures, which I knew for their dryness causing apocalyptic fires. Indeed, around a bend, I came across a small rest area where a memorial had been erected for three firefighters who lost their lives here while fighting one of those gigantic fires fanned by the mistral.
This forest holds treasures—first, the cork oak, then the arbutus, chestnut trees, and of course, mushrooms that love this granitic soil:
The cork oak can be found all along the road. It’s the forest’s essential element. You can recognize it by its light bark (before exploitation), which forms large bulges along the trunk. But after exploitation, the trunks are much smoother, less voluminous, and dark in color. The arbutus is a large berry with red skin covered in small protuberances, growing on the arbutus tree. This fruit, common in Mediterranean areas, ripens in November. That means today, there were plenty around me. Its flesh is orange, with the consistency of firm purée, and it crushes softly in the mouth. The taste of this berry is sweet and excellent. I didn’t hold back—I gorged myself on them, which served as my midday meal. Sometimes I had to climb embankments to get them.
The chestnut tree, a true industry of the region, brings wealth to the surrounding villages. They make candied chestnuts, ice cream, and other products derived from chestnut flour. Be careful not to stop just anywhere to pick this fruit, as the tree owners might not agree. They even make this clear with signs and surround their chestnut trees with fences. Mushrooms—saffron milk caps and porcini—are highly prized in the area. I saw a few hunters, but it clearly wasn’t miraculous. Supposedly, there had been too much rain?
There’s no time to get bored along this little road, from which you can sometimes see the sea. I passed the Col de Taillude at over 400 meters. I began the descent to Collobrières, the chestnut capital, whose festival attracts many people. Before entering, about a hundred meters from the first houses, a cyclist—probably an agricultural worker—came toward me. As he passed, he cheerfully called out, "Go on, little guy! It’s almost there!" We both smiled. At the end of November, the village was cold and almost deserted. Dead leaves swept the wet streets of the town. You could feel winter on the way. I continued my route to Pierrefeu-du-Var, on the western edge of the Massif des Maures. So I gave my last pedal strokes in this pretty little massif so characteristic of Provence.
I looked for a hotel in Cuers but without success. I descended toward Toulon and finally found one on the outskirts of Solliès-Pont. It catered to people coming to work in the region, so nothing very bucolic. But if the weather were to deteriorate tomorrow and turn to rain, I could quickly reach Hyères or Toulon station, which was a significant advantage. Indeed, November rains aren’t usually very pleasant on a bike.
Day Six: Solliès-Pont to Cassis via Sainte-Baume – 85 km
This morning, contrary to the weather forecast, the weather was beautiful, and the latest bulletin seemed to contradict yesterday’s. So no escape to Toulon—I resumed my route toward Sainte-Baume. I left the hotel via a tiny road that, through ups and downs, led me via shortcuts to the road to Belgentier. My body had gotten used to intense daily efforts, and I felt in Olympic form. At a good pace, I launched into a long climb with a moderate slope. The road was busy, but fortunately, the side lane for cyclists often made the exercise more pleasant. The villages rolled by—Méounes, La Roquebrussanne. Near the latter, I observed a Tiger combat helicopter in training. It hovered motionless for long periods—perhaps the pilots were training to master their increasingly sophisticated weapon systems, requiring even more learning?
I left the busy road and headed via an almost deserted route toward the village of Mazaugues. The climbs became steeper. A long descent, and there I was in this pretty village. A grocery store, which besides selling a few ingredients also served as a café. I sat near the electric heater—it was cold, and I was sweaty. I watched customers come and go and listened to the shopkeeper tell me about village life. The name Mazaugues comes from "water mass," which is why drought doesn’t usually affect this area. Apparently, you can even find mushrooms here in summer! I had a good time, and as I was leaving, a local cyclist started a conversation and told me about her dreams of long bike trips, currently limited by her situation as a mother of terrible children. She settled for day trips with her club, which was already good in this very hilly region. I told her the story of a man who, at 73, cycled solo around Morocco. So no panic—she still had thirty or forty years to realize her wildest dreams!
I was warned that it would be a tough climb to reach Sainte-Baume’s northern slope. Indeed, over eight kilometers, the average slope was sustained, but the landscape was wonderful. Here too, water was streaming everywhere. I passed one of those famous icehouses that used to supply Marseille with ice throughout the year. This northern slope of Sainte-Baume is very cold, and this characteristic was exploited in previous centuries to produce ice. Large cylindrical structures, well-protected to the north and semi-buried, received large quantities of water in late autumn, which froze during winter and was kept cool for months until the following winter. Ice blocks were cut and delivered by cart to the city. That’s how, in ancient times, ice was available in summer to keep fish fresh in Marseille. Did pastis exist at that time? If not, the ice cubes must have been bored!
Once the climb was over, the long ridge of Sainte-Baume appeared, and I could see its characteristic antennas. Nestled at the foot of the cliffs, the magnificent millennial forest revealed itself with its autumn colors. I stopped at the monastery. I’d been there several times before and had even slept there during a long walking trip. The welcome had been first-rate by the Dominicans, especially the sisters in their long immaculate robes. They radiated a serenity that was very contagious. Don’t hesitate to stop there for the night. I struggled to get back on my way—some places have a special spirit.
I was soon at the end of my journey. I continued along this magnificent mountain to the Col de l’Espigoulier. To the north, another immense wave of white limestone rose—Montagne Sainte-Victoire, a high place in Provence that painter Cézanne made world-famous. Once at the pass, the entire city of Marseille spread out at my feet, the Mediterranean coast revealed itself from the Calanques to La Ciotat, passing by the famous Cap Canaille, Europe’s highest sea cliff. Above me, bathed in sunlight, Bartagne’s northwest face, very popular among climbers, showed all its reliefs. With an old climber’s reflex, I spotted the many climbs I’d done there. I let myself be carried into a steep, winding descent toward the village of Gémenos in a beautiful setting full of cliffs.
A few more kilometers of climbing toward the Col de l’Ange, then toward Roquefort-la-Bédoule. In this last climb, I raced with two cyclists, admittedly not very young. Then, in a six-kilometer descent, I reached Cassis station, the endpoint of my six-day journey through this wild Provençal land between sea and mountain. I experienced great pleasure during these 570 kilometers through these renowned yet wild French massifs. As always, when a beautiful project comes to an end, you feel a bit orphaned by a beautiful dream come true. You have to quickly envision the next one to avoid a vague sense of emptiness taking over. My next adventure is already taking shape in my mind, but that’s another story.
In the autumn of 2011, Provence was hit by apocalyptic weather—torrential rain and a particularly violent east wind, reaching 130 kilometers per hour, whipping up waves as high as seven meters. It wasn’t the best time to venture outside. Yet, I told myself that after the storm, calm would return. I kept an eye on the weather forecast and noticed that starting November 10th, a favorable window should open for a little 600-kilometer cycling trip across Provence. The weather reports promised a high-pressure system that would keep the bad weather at bay over these highlands. That was all I needed to decide to set off. The planned route would take me through Provence’s biggest climbs: Mont Ventoux, Montagne de Lure, the Verdon Gorge, the Massif des Maures, and Sainte-Baume.
And so, despite my doubts, the call of adventure was stronger. The train pulled away, and once again, a journey began at Part-Dieu station. This time, I headed toward Haute-Provence for a cycling adventure. It would be my first solo bike trip. I was a little nervous—cycling with panniers makes you feel vulnerable to theft. I’d already been robbed while traveling in a group in Peru, and that experience left me deeply shaken. Alone, I hesitated. But no need to panic—I’d read accounts from long-distance cyclists who hadn’t been robbed, even if it does happen sometimes. I was particularly thinking of a young schoolteacher who had taken a sabbatical to cycle around the world. Her students had remarked, "Teacher, you’re not sporty—how will you manage to cycle around the world?" This young woman was full of resourcefulness. In South America, before flying to China, she locked her bike to a post to take care of a natural need. When she returned, the post had been torn out, and her bike—along with all her gear—was gone. It was a shock for many, but not for her. She boarded her flight to the Middle Kingdom, bought the essentials (including a new bike) once there, and continued her journey! Remembering this story, I almost felt ashamed of my cowardice. These were the thoughts running through my mind as the Rhône Valley rolled by toward Orange, the starting point of my Provençal adventure through the big climbs.
Day One: Orange to Sault via Mont Ventoux – 90 km
9:30 AM, I stepped off the train. With all my gear, I had to navigate the underground passage—no easy feat, given that my bike and luggage weighed 35 kilos. At this time of year, I expected some areas to be deserted, so I’d packed enough to bivouac comfortably. Once outside the station, the southern light flooded over me. I understood why people dream of retiring in these sun-drenched regions. As always, after disembarking from public transport, I had to get my bearings and decide which way to go. The sun, still low on the horizon, pointed east. The roar of fighter jet engines helped me locate the Air Base 115. That was all I needed to "reset the gyros."
As soon as I started pedaling, all my apprehensions vanished. The joy of discovery and physical effort took over, and euphoria washed over me. It’s amazing how emotions can shift from one moment to the next based on seemingly minor circumstances.
The weather was splendid—the forecast had predicted continuous showers, but it was completely wrong. I quickly left the city behind. Mont Ventoux loomed mysteriously, its dimensions hard to gauge. It was even more enigmatic with its summit hidden beneath swirling, mottled clouds clinging to the ridges. It reminded me of a great South American volcano. I struggled to imagine that in a few hours, I’d be up there under that blanket of mist.
The countryside was shaking off its autumnal nighttime dampness. The vineyards, interspersed with tall cypress hedges, confirmed I was in the magnificent Côtes du Rhône wine region. The distinctive Dentelles de Montmirail were very much in evidence. The air force base wasn’t far. I passed the runway’s end markers. A Mirage 2000 flew overhead in a tight turn, followed by another roaring into takeoff. It came straight at me before climbing sharply with a thunderous roar. Thirty years spent in that captivating world came rushing back. I recalled countless extraordinary human and technical experiences from my time in the service. But the purpose of this post isn’t to promote the air force—though I might post some articles one day about travels among men at war.
I continued on my way, leaving my past loves behind. As I pedaled, delightful names rolled by: Violès, Vacqueyras, Gigondas, Beaumes-de-Venise—the crème de la crème of the Côtes du Rhône Villages appellation. I let myself be enchanted by the vineyards and the little paths crisscrossing them. I started to doubt my route, though the imposing mass of Mont Ventoux in the distance acted like a giant beacon. At a crossroads, a car appeared. I approached to ask the driver for directions, but she didn’t even look at me and sped off, clearly frightened. I’d almost forgotten what a fearful world we live in, no doubt traumatized by all the horrors we see in the news and on TV.
The kilometers started adding up, but was my day’s goal too ambitious? It had been two months since I’d last ridden my bike. True, my last trip had been good training—the Route des Grandes Alpes—but that was two months ago. I can’t just take my bike out for a day trip; I need that sense of adventure to find the courage to exercise.
Two cyclists overtook me. Intrigued by my load, they struck up a conversation. They were skeptical when I told them I planned to cross Mont Ventoux that day. One of them pointed out a small chapel near the summit where I could bivouac sheltered. That motivated me even more to reach the top on this first stage. The chapel also had a mythical name for me—Sainte-Anne, the name of my parents’ villa. It was already noon, and I’d covered 50 kilometers. Malaucène appeared—the sacred village of Ventoux’s mad cyclists. Surprisingly, I didn’t see any other cyclists today. I remembered this place in June, teeming with aspirants for the king of summits. Before tackling the climb ahead, I needed to refuel. I enjoyed a pleasant gastronomic break at Max’s. At 1 PM, I started the most famous climb in cycling—21 kilometers, which would actually be 23. I knew it would be tough, especially with two handicaps: 50 kilometers already in my legs and 20 kilos of luggage. But I was counting on my tiny chainring, which let me climb trees to tackle the steep ramps.
I set off at a brisk pace along a deserted road. My speed held up for the first few kilometers. I quickly rose above the valley, the horizon widening. I was surprised to see no one on this world-renowned route among cycling enthusiasts. During the climb and descent, I’d only see five cyclists—but I’ll come back to that. I passed a sign explaining that the effort would be roughly equivalent to climbing the Col de la Bonnette. Having done the latter in September, I figured I’d be fine. I crossed paths with my first cyclist—a woman speeding downhill. After 12 kilometers, I hit slopes averaging 12%. I don’t know if the number 12 is cursed, but I got such a "bamboo" hit that I’d never experienced before. I thought I wouldn’t make it to the summit today. I stopped. My thighs burned so much I could barely walk—lactic acid overload. I looked for a relatively flat spot to pitch my tent. It was 3:30 PM, with two hours of daylight left. But I found nothing.
I got back on my bike, intending to stop as soon as I found a good bivouac spot. But nothing came up. However, my strength slowly returned, perhaps because the slope eased, though it remained around 10%. I entered the summit mists. A cyclist overtook me. I was in the zone where I had to pass the summit. Dusk caught me in the final difficulties. The atmosphere was downright austere. In the twilight, a kilometer from the summit, a cyclist was fixing his bike. I asked if he needed help. He made it clear he didn’t understand. So I asked, "Do you need some help?" His answer was clear: "No, thank you." He showed me his new inner tube. Inside, I thought, "Phew!" If I’d had to stop, sweating in the falling night with the cold intensifying, I’d have struggled to get going again. But he managed, and I continued into the twilight fog. I could barely make out the summit’s large antennas in the clouds, like immense ghosts trying to evade sight. The bike delivered sensations worthy of mountain racing. My goal was to quickly find the famous chapel in the descent to take shelter. As I glided down the southern slope, two cyclists without lights crossed my path in the night—probably heading to the station above, its lights visible in the fog.
I scanned the roadside in the dark for the chapel but saw nothing. After a kilometer or two, I lost all hope. I stopped to put on more clothes as the cold became intense. I had no idea where I could stop on these steep slopes to set up camp. Between the swirls of mist, I could intermittently see the Rhône Valley below, dotted with illuminated towns and villages. The sight was striking. What was I doing on this mountain at night? Then the miracle happened—the clouds parted, and from the ridge above me to the east, a beautiful full moon emerged, casting enough light to consider a nighttime descent to Sault, 26 kilometers away.
In this eerie atmosphere between the moon’s pale rays and patches of fog, I began my descent through a hazy, almost unreal world. The Ventoux’s characteristic white scree reflected the moonlight faintly, dimmed by the mist. In places, entire mountainsides were plunged into complete darkness, and I lost all sense of the road’s path. Then, around a tight bend caused by a land shift, the light returned. It seemed extreme compared to the darkness I’d left behind. I could once again clearly see the road’s contours, though not its potholes or gravel patches. Still, I let the slope carry me, and the speed felt significant, though the low light prevented me from reading my speedometer. In these moments, concentration was at its peak—all senses alert, reflexes ready to react to the slightest incident that could lead to a fall.
I was relieved to see Sault’s lights growing closer. In less than an hour, I reached it, considering the final little climb that required one last push. This village, bustling in summer, was deserted at this time of year—almost dead. The first hotel I came across was closed. A quick shadow passed in a small sloping street. Before it disappeared into the darkness at a house corner, I chased after it and asked about accommodation options. Very kindly, I was directed to what was probably the only hotel open in November. I quickly found it, and the reception was open. I entered wearing my black balaclava, bought in the Ayacucho region—the birthplace of Peru’s Shining Path. At this late hour, I saw questioning glances directed at me. I prefaced, "This isn’t a hold-up." Clearly, the owners had a sense of humor—they started smiling. I took off my balaclava and asked for a room. No problem, and from that moment, the pressure eased. I really didn’t feel like going back out to find a spot to pitch my tent in the biting cold.
The stage had been nearly 100 kilometers, and it was the first. It had been two months since I’d touched my bike, and I probably lacked even minimal training, even though my last bike trip had been crossing the French Alps. I really had to dig deep to overcome my weakness on Ventoux’s steep section. I don’t remember ever having to search so deeply for the energy to keep going. I knew the stage I’d set for tomorrow was significant, with the climb up Montagne de Lure’s northern slope—Ventoux’s little sister, whose ascent is reputed to be endless, over 25 kilometers. I hoped this first day wouldn’t leave me too sore to avoid suffering excessively tomorrow.
For now, relaxation—a hot shower did me a world of good, followed by a good meal. I ate a delicious andouillette from Troyes, very fine, with a particularly successful herb seasoning. I loved it, and yet I’m from Lyon and pride myself on knowing a thing or two about andouillette—not just a sausage but a whole category! A bit chauvinistic, I had to admit, though reluctantly, that I found it better than the ones I usually eat in the Lyon region!
Day Two: Sault to Forcalquier via Montagne de Lure – 116 km
This morning, the weather was magnificent—the air clear, still, very fresh, and invigorating, as only the late season can offer on these Provençal highlands. In summer, they’re known for their scorching heat and drought, but often overlooked is how harsh they can be with cold and storms. Authors like Giono or Bosco described them and their inhabitants wonderfully in books like "Les Âmes Fortes."
The miracle of the night had worked. I wasn’t sore anywhere and felt in great shape. I set off well-equipped, but the effort and sun soon made me sweat. It was time to shed some layers—hat and gloves. A gentle warmth replaced the cold, making for excellent cycling conditions. On the road to Trinit, there was no traffic—only the occasional hunters’ cars parked in the distance. These vehicles were recognizable by their large cages, used to transport hunting dogs. Sometimes, the silence was broken by a distant gunshot. The deciduous forests were losing their foliage, taking on that dull brown hue of late autumn, though here and there, a tree or shrub still resisted, displaying vivid yellow or red. The meadows, their grass already scorched by the cold, were damp from the night’s heavy humidity. The low sun highlighted thousands of spider webs that had trapped insects during the warm season.
Behind me, Mont Ventoux dominated these vast spaces. As often, its imposing, stony summit was crowned with a blanket of clouds. What an impressive mountain—it’s always so hard to gauge its dimensions. I struggled to realize that last night I’d been at the summit and descended its immense southern ridge in the dark. I hoped to return one day in favorable conditions—daylight and no clouds—to enjoy the vast panorama from this unique summit.
Leaving the very Provençal village of Trinit, I tackled my first climb of the day—the Col de l’Homme Mort. The road rose moderately for five kilometers in gentle warmth. The view over the region widened, and I felt the sheer joy of pedaling. At a good pace, I overcame this first little challenge. Once at the pass, I couldn’t resist the ritual of photographing my bike in front of the sign, giving the name and altitude—1,213 meters.
The northern slope was austere and still in shadow. The cold bit again. The road was wet and covered with leaves in places. It wasn’t impossible that some treacherous patches of black ice lurked around a bend. I descended toward the Jabron Valley with caution. Suddenly, around a bend in a forest clearing, the freshly snow-covered Alps, gleaming in the sun, leapt into view, blocking the horizon. I thought I recognized the distinctive silhouette of the Écrins’ south face above a multitude of jagged peaks.
This snow and these mountains awakened a flood of memories of great joys, but I also thought of the guide and his client who had just lost their lives on the Grandes Jorasses’ north face, at the top of a route called the Linceul. The name comes from the face’s appearance—a great ice slope bordering the Grandes Jorasses’ north wall. It was first climbed by René Desmaison in 1968. He passed away a few years ago and, in his final wishes, asked that his ashes be scattered in the Dévoluy Massif at the foot of Pic de Bure, not far from here in these immense pre-Alpine folds.
At my feet, the Jabron Valley stretched almost endlessly east toward Sisteron. In the distance, the dark mass of Montagne de Lure’s north face loomed. This mountain shares similarities with Mont Ventoux. It has the same summit scree of bright limestone, the same forests climbing up to the final rocky stretch, and that blanket of clouds adding a secretive, austere touch to the scene.
I turned left past the town of Séderon and headed toward the little Col de la Pigière, which in a few kilometers allowed me to truly plunge into the beautiful Jabron Valley. I passed through several villages with charming local names—Saint-Vincent, Noyer-sur-Jabron. The river offered lovely views of its narrow gorges with clear, cold water. Autumn seemed less advanced here than on the plateau I’d just left. Many trees still wore brilliant colors, some revealing extraordinary hues—mixes of crimson, pink, and bright red.
Arriving in Noyer-sur-Jabron, I took a tiny road on the river’s right bank, leading in a few kilometers to the foot of Montagne de Lure. In the village of Valbelle, I picnicked on leftovers I’d brought from home—an old cheese and a somewhat stale loaf of bread. It was 1:30 PM. I began the long climb of about 25 kilometers. According to a friend who’s a cycling expert in the region, this section is tough. No wonder it’s called Ventoux’s little sister—the Mont Blanc of cyclists. The elevation gain on this side is still 1,200 meters, while Ventoux via Malaucène is nearly 1,600 meters.
I hoped to reach the summit before nightfall and avoid reliving a nighttime descent. The route wound through a vast forest, following the terrain’s folds. There was activity—mushroom hunters were busy searching for the coveted chanterelle. The climb, though never very steep (only one kilometer at 9%), was interminable. Though traffic was practically nonexistent, I was overtaken by a group of Harley bikers—I counted about forty. Perched high on their machines, hands in the air on wildly shaped handlebars, some with their feet nearly in the sky due to the high footpegs, they didn’t even glance my way. What’s this idiot doing, unable to ride a motorcycle and forced to climb these mountains on a bike with big bags! I wasn’t offended—real Harley purists often see other motorcyclists as renegades, so bikes are even lower on the totem pole! But I didn’t want to start a debate about motorcycles. In my youth, when I was a wild motorcyclist (22 accidents on two wheels), clans were divided into Japanese, German, Italian, and British bike owners. The latter, on their vibrating, oil-leaking machines, considered themselves the purest. But let’s not fight—there’s a statute of limitations, and it’s been nearly forty years.
As yesterday, a few kilometers below the summit, I entered the fog, and the light dropped suddenly. What a hostile mountain in these conditions! It heightened the sense of living an incredible experience. The conditions we encounter play a major role in how the adventure imprints on our memory. I realized once again that in France, you can feel like you’re very far away. Finally, after this very long climb, the Pas de Graille sign suddenly appeared out of the grayness. Strange! Below the sign, a kilometer marker indicated this same pass was over three kilometers away. Clearly, the climb continued. In these final kilometers through the scree, I gained another 130 meters of elevation. Finally, the road’s high point was reached—1,720 meters. It was cold and damp. I quickly covered up, added my balaclava under my helmet, and put on warm gloves. As I was about to start the descent, a car stopped at the summit, and one of the passengers was surprised to find a bike there in these chilly, twilight conditions.
A 20-kilometer descent led me to the village of Saint-Étienne-les-Orgues. I hoped to find a place to stay for the night. No such luck! Everything was clearly closed—no chance of finding shelter. Tonight was getting complicated. I already had exactly 100 kilometers in my legs and didn’t feel like pedaling anymore, especially at night. But I had even less desire to sleep outside. What to do to avoid it? The town of Forcalquier was 16 kilometers away—I hoped the road would descend. I set off in that direction. The first third was along a beautiful, lightly trafficked departmental road with a slight downhill—I pedaled hard. But it got tougher. I joined a busier road, and night had fallen. A several-kilometer climb finished the journey. I knew my magnetic lights weren’t very powerful—hence the danger. They were even less so on the climb because the slower I went, the less they illuminated. Cars coming the opposite way often saw me late and blinded me with their high beams. After passing, I was plunged into total darkness for a few seconds while my pupils readjusted to the night. I imagined those coming up behind me saw me with little warning, despite my slightly fluorescent jacket. When the roadside was clear, I always positioned myself to quickly jump off the road. But unfortunately, in this long final climb, a guardrail prevented any escape to the right in case of sudden braking behind me. That was even more anxiety-inducing since I was stuck at a snail’s pace. Time seemed long. I pedaled as hard as I could, on the verge of asphyxiation, trying to escape this dangerous situation as quickly as possible. My only reference point was the vehicles in front of me, letting me know the climb wasn’t over. Then suddenly, the ordeal ended—the road’s high point was reached. The town and its lights emerged from the void, and clarity returned. Phew! I glided down toward this little town bathed in light. On November 11th, I hoped to find an open hotel since I’d clearly exceeded 100 kilometers, and the idea of having to leave town to find a bivouac spot somewhat frightened me.
I arrived in the town center. Activity was low. The first hotel was closed, but I spotted a lit sign for another establishment further on. I headed there, got off my bike, and entered. The welcome was immediately friendly—a big cat came to rub against me. For me, that was a very good sign, and the first impression was confirmed. I still had to go out to eat. I covered the minimum distance. A restaurant advertised "Mom’s Cooking." I expected Provençal specialties, but they were Moroccan. I chose a delicious tagine with lime and olives, followed by almond and honey ice cream. Exhausted after this 116-kilometer stage, I returned to my room. As often after intense efforts, it was hard to fall asleep.
Day Three: Forcalquier to Moustiers-Sainte-Marie – 58 km
On this third day, due to the progress made yesterday, the stage would be short. I’d call it a transition between two mountain ranges. Indeed, the next big climb is the Verdon Gorge. I planned to position myself at its foot this evening in preparation for a tough stage tomorrow. I made a few purchases—bread, bananas, and medicine for stomach burns (the midday sausage wasn’t always kind to me). The weather was still perfect. The route began with a long descent toward the Durance. It’s always nice to start a cycling day with a downhill—it boosts morale and allows for a gentle warm-up.
I quickly reached the town of Oraison. Just at its entrance, I crossed the Durance, which still bore traces of last week’s heavy rains along its sandbanks. Indeed, numerous stumps and trunks were scattered along its vast gravel bed, along with less ecological debris like old tires.
A little south of Oraison, I took the D907, a small road heading due east between scrubland and meadows. There it was—the Provence we imagine. This stable autumn weather, with still air, neither hot nor cold, just a fresh feeling when emerging from a shaded valley or a slight warmth under the sun, was ideal for a cyclist. After about ten kilometers at the bottom of a small valley I quickly passed through, the village of Le Brunet appeared on the right. It clung to the slopes leading to the Valensole Plateau. A few steep kilometers along a tiny winding road, and suddenly a vast panorama unfolded as the climb ended.
What a magnificent plateau! Though known for its wind, luckily today was completely calm. Far to the east, the Verdon’s great cliffs blocked the horizon. This allowed me to contemplate part of tomorrow’s stage. This place is full of mysteries—many UFO and extraterrestrial encounter stories are associated with it. Moreover, for about thirty years, France hid its ground-to-ground nuclear ballistic missiles here, grouped in the 1st GMS (Ballistic Missile Group), under the air force. Naturally, these rockets fueled fantasies, and pacifist groups settled in the region to protest this type of armament. This gives many reasons to shroud this austere, deserted land in mystery.
I took a dirt path leading to the heart of this zone and stopped at the forest’s edge for lunch. The silence was total, the view stretched very far. But nothing strange or bizarre manifested. No Martian came to share my frankly moldy cheese, very peppery sausage, or bruised banana—sniff! I resumed my route, and as often when crossing places with strong character, I tended to slow down to enjoy them longer. The immense lavender fields stretched endlessly, not very fragrant at this season. I arrived at a group of truffle oaks protected by a fence, with large red signs warning "Firearm." Clearly, the war for the black diamond was raging in this region. I remembered a novel where an old farmer made buyers believe nothing grew on his land. Every year, he secretly stole the mushrooms from the unsuspecting owners. Then one day, they discovered the truth, catching this "polite" neighbor trying to hide a basket full of beautiful, large truffles!
In these vast spaces, I felt good—a sense of plenitude. It’s strange that I only conceive of cycling through wandering. I struggle to plan a day trip. And if I do, it’s highly likely I won’t get up. I need that sense of adventure to fully appreciate my physical effort. Maybe one day I should get psychoanalyzed, but at my age, it’s probably too late! Today, I had all the time in the world—the stage was half as long as yesterday’s, with very little elevation gain. Not a sound, an impressive calm, a beautiful landscape—I pedaled in a wonderful place. That’s probably happiness!
I reached the village of Puimoisson on the plateau’s eastern edge—only 12 kilometers left to Moustiers. I took my time, sat at a café terrace in the sun, and leisurely enjoyed a coffee while listening to the village come to life. I was delighted by these melodious southern voices, bursting into great laughter. There are places where, despite the anxieties caused by our debt-ridden, dysfunctional societies, some have decided to take life on the bright side and show a saving insouciance.
The rest of the journey was a simple formality—I let the slope carry me toward the pretty little town of Moustiers-Sainte-Marie, clinging to the cliff and famous for its faïence. Arriving early for once, I went to the tourist office to choose a comfortable hotel. Indeed, the Hôtel des Restanques was very comfortable and admirably well-located. But at this time of year, I’d have to return to the village center for dinner. The very kind receptionist reserved a table for me at La Treille Muscate, a restaurant with a magnificently arranged room on the church square. It was only 3:30 PM—I continued to take my time, showering and relaxing in front of the TV. Then I set off to explore—or rather, re-explore—this village I’d visited several times before. But I’d never climbed to its chapel perched in the middle of the great cliff towering over the houses. A stony, aerial path led there. The first mentions of the Notre-Dame de Beauvoir chapel, known in ancient times as Notre-Dame d’Entre-Roches, date back to the 9th century. It’s one of the rare "respite" chapels found in Provence. These are chapels where stillborn children were brought to be revived for a few moments, just long enough to baptize them. They could then be buried religiously, ensuring the salvation of their souls. I was also very moved by reading some ex-votos, like the one from "A mother for her three children returned from the war."
The place was impressive, especially as night fell. I was alone and watched the shadows fill the great cliffs above me. With an old climber’s reflex, I looked for possible climbing routes among these slabs and cracks. But climbing is probably forbidden here, too close to the houses. Then I descended to stroll through the village, admiring the magnificent, finely crafted faïence patterns found in many shops. Finally, dinnertime arrived, and I joined my restaurant, which had been highly recommended. I was delighted by the foie gras ravioli and the pieds et paquets—the chef’s specialty. I’ll come back with family.
Day Four: Moustiers to Fréjus via the Verdon – 122 km
A hearty breakfast prepared me for the day’s tough efforts. Next to me, four Chinese people chatted animatedly. Of course, I didn’t understand a word—it was a language with strange intonations and sounds. I left the dining room and prepared my bike on the terrace. Seeing the volume of my luggage, my Chinese friends rushed over and asked to take turns having their photo taken in front of this funny setup. All laughing, they took photos in front of what they probably considered a French coolie off on some trading business! When they show these photos to their relatives, they’ll likely be perplexed about what motivates some to travel by bike rather than car. For them, the car is a symbol of success—according to an article I read last year, 14,000 cars are registered in China every day!
This morning, the air was fresh. As yesterday, I started with a long descent, this time leading to the edge of Lac de Sainte-Croix. A strong, biting headwind slowed me down. It wouldn’t last, as it was generated by the gorge’s outlet, which I’d reach in a few kilometers. On this cold morning, the lake’s shores exuded great tranquility. The sun was still hidden behind the Verdon’s mountainous mass. Trees with yellow leaves stood out against the water’s pale blue. The bridge marking the gorge’s beginning at the lake’s edge was an ideal spot to admire this natural splendor. At this early hour, the play of light and shadow on the water and the immense cliffs delivered a grandiose spectacle in beautiful harmony. This first contact with the gorges, which I knew well, amazed me.
Once past the bridge, the wind calmed. A little further on, I began the long climb that would take me to the top of this immense natural gash, which water had taken millions of years to carve. I was in good shape and highly motivated by the splendors to come. First, I reached the village of Aiguines, which offered a magnificent viewpoint over the lake. Then I continued toward the Corniche Sublime, where countless breathtaking panoramas unfolded as I progressed. But the climb was sustained and long, requiring effort—though my small chainring worked miracles. I first passed the Col d’Illoire, already 500 meters above the lake. Seeing all these great cliffs, countless climbing memories came flooding back. The classic routes of the Escalès cliff, over 300 meters high, flashed by. Routes with legendary names—La Demande, Les Écureuils, Luna-Bong, and many others. The one that left me with the best memory was ULA—a crack, vertical or even overhanging, of sheer beauty rising above a 40-meter slab in one go for 280 meters of sustained, beautiful climbing on extraordinary rock. It made me want to return to climb there, to immerse myself in the atmosphere of those past times. But climbing habits have changed—now routes are accessed from above by rappel, and people don’t always bother to do these great climbs in their entirety, focusing instead on shorter but technically much more difficult enterprises.
At almost every bend, I stopped and scanned these great cliffs, searching for memories of past experiences and emotions in these secret rock folds. The road climbed well above the pass, exceeding 1,200 meters. It was cool, especially since I was sweating. Finally reaching the high point of the Corniche Sublime, I couldn’t gain speed on the descent—my gaze was always drawn to this astonishing canyon. Around a bend, two cyclists with funny small-wheeled bikes. Wow! It was a couple of Australians doing a year-long tour of France. We chatted passionately about our two-wheeled experiences for a moment. But time was passing, and if I wanted to reach Fréjus before nightfall, I’d have to pedal seriously.
I stopped at the Pont de l’Artuby, where bungee jumping was in full swing. But I quickly set off again toward Comps. The wind was against me, and it was climbing. I started to doubt whether I’d make it to the coast that evening. At 2 PM, I was in Comps-sur-Artuby. I didn’t stop, knowing that before reaching the coast, I’d have no alternative to bivouacking, and I had 70 kilometers left to cover. Sure, it should be downhill, but a few climbs were on the program. After a descent out of the village, I crossed the Artuby River again on the Canjuers military camp. A several-kilometer climb followed, fortunately not too steep. I took the D19 toward Barjols. From there, despite the late hour, I opted for a tiny road passing through Claviers, a small perched village. Time passed quickly, but the kilometers added up. I regained hope. Fifteen kilometers after this last village, I reached Saint-Paul-en-Forêt via a magnificent forested route. I had plenty of time to observe mushroom hunters. I asked one who clearly had some in a plastic bag. He gave me this hilarious answer with a magnificent southern accent: "I only picked the bad ones." No reply was possible. I moved on with a smile. A little further on, another hunter carried a basket. As soon as he saw me, he quickly hid it—just in case I saw what it contained. Arriving at the village involved a steep climb, and I was close to 100 kilometers. I still had a little over 20 kilometers to go before reaching Fréjus. The race against nightfall had begun. Over there to my right, I saw the sun setting behind Roquebrune-sur-Argens’ distinctive rock. The sea appeared. There it was—I was in Fréjus’ industrial zone. On this Sunday evening, traffic was heavy. Indeed, many had taken advantage of the return of good weather after very heavy storms to go for a walk. After quite a few detours, I arrived at the seaside just as night fell. My odometer showed 122 km for the day. I quickly found a simple hotel, ate just as quickly, and went to bed.
Day Five: Fréjus to Solliès-Pont – 92 km
Once again, the night had done its restorative work, and I prepared to cross the Massif des Maures feeling quite fresh. The weather forecast was still favorable for today, but a deterioration was expected tomorrow. I tended to trust it because the east wind was blowing, and in the region, that’s a sign of rain. For now, in the short term, this wind would be very useful—it would push me generously throughout the day.
I started calmly along the harbor quays, looking at the boats. Then I joined the road to Saint-Aygulf and followed the coast for forty kilometers to Port-Grimaud. All these seaside resorts—Saint-Aygulf, Les Issambres, Sainte-Maxime—reminded me of my youth when we spent all our vacations fishing, whether from shore, underwater, or by boat. Looking at the sea roll by, I knew what the seabeds looked like under that surface hiding them. The marine areas we knew best were now under the parking lots and commercial zones of Saint-Raphaël’s new port. In our youth, these infrastructures didn’t exist, and their construction came at the expense of coastal marine areas. Our wonderful fishing spots were permanently buried. I remember seeing the first big trucks that came to dump their loads of earth and rubble, destroying all those wonderful places—sandbanks, seaweed beds, groups of rocky holes teeming with fish that enchanted our youth. Over forty years later, I can still visualize them in my imagination under those parking lots and stores, with the names we gave them—my brothers and I: le casse-croûte, le casse-pipe, les montagnes, la digue, la grille, la mare à mulets, la petite-plage, le trou, etc.
Let’s not be overwhelmed by nostalgia. I left the coast and took the little road through the Maures to Collobrières. The route led from ridge to ridge following the terrain’s movements. At this time of year, the region was admirable. Due to the heavy storms of recent weeks, water was streaming everywhere. Waterfalls and streams murmured all along the way. I didn’t recognize the Maures, which I knew for their dryness causing apocalyptic fires. Indeed, around a bend, I came across a small rest area where a memorial had been erected for three firefighters who lost their lives here while fighting one of those gigantic fires fanned by the mistral.
This forest holds treasures—first, the cork oak, then the arbutus, chestnut trees, and of course, mushrooms that love this granitic soil:
The cork oak can be found all along the road. It’s the forest’s essential element. You can recognize it by its light bark (before exploitation), which forms large bulges along the trunk. But after exploitation, the trunks are much smoother, less voluminous, and dark in color. The arbutus is a large berry with red skin covered in small protuberances, growing on the arbutus tree. This fruit, common in Mediterranean areas, ripens in November. That means today, there were plenty around me. Its flesh is orange, with the consistency of firm purée, and it crushes softly in the mouth. The taste of this berry is sweet and excellent. I didn’t hold back—I gorged myself on them, which served as my midday meal. Sometimes I had to climb embankments to get them.
The chestnut tree, a true industry of the region, brings wealth to the surrounding villages. They make candied chestnuts, ice cream, and other products derived from chestnut flour. Be careful not to stop just anywhere to pick this fruit, as the tree owners might not agree. They even make this clear with signs and surround their chestnut trees with fences. Mushrooms—saffron milk caps and porcini—are highly prized in the area. I saw a few hunters, but it clearly wasn’t miraculous. Supposedly, there had been too much rain?
There’s no time to get bored along this little road, from which you can sometimes see the sea. I passed the Col de Taillude at over 400 meters. I began the descent to Collobrières, the chestnut capital, whose festival attracts many people. Before entering, about a hundred meters from the first houses, a cyclist—probably an agricultural worker—came toward me. As he passed, he cheerfully called out, "Go on, little guy! It’s almost there!" We both smiled. At the end of November, the village was cold and almost deserted. Dead leaves swept the wet streets of the town. You could feel winter on the way. I continued my route to Pierrefeu-du-Var, on the western edge of the Massif des Maures. So I gave my last pedal strokes in this pretty little massif so characteristic of Provence.
I looked for a hotel in Cuers but without success. I descended toward Toulon and finally found one on the outskirts of Solliès-Pont. It catered to people coming to work in the region, so nothing very bucolic. But if the weather were to deteriorate tomorrow and turn to rain, I could quickly reach Hyères or Toulon station, which was a significant advantage. Indeed, November rains aren’t usually very pleasant on a bike.
Day Six: Solliès-Pont to Cassis via Sainte-Baume – 85 km
This morning, contrary to the weather forecast, the weather was beautiful, and the latest bulletin seemed to contradict yesterday’s. So no escape to Toulon—I resumed my route toward Sainte-Baume. I left the hotel via a tiny road that, through ups and downs, led me via shortcuts to the road to Belgentier. My body had gotten used to intense daily efforts, and I felt in Olympic form. At a good pace, I launched into a long climb with a moderate slope. The road was busy, but fortunately, the side lane for cyclists often made the exercise more pleasant. The villages rolled by—Méounes, La Roquebrussanne. Near the latter, I observed a Tiger combat helicopter in training. It hovered motionless for long periods—perhaps the pilots were training to master their increasingly sophisticated weapon systems, requiring even more learning?
I left the busy road and headed via an almost deserted route toward the village of Mazaugues. The climbs became steeper. A long descent, and there I was in this pretty village. A grocery store, which besides selling a few ingredients also served as a café. I sat near the electric heater—it was cold, and I was sweaty. I watched customers come and go and listened to the shopkeeper tell me about village life. The name Mazaugues comes from "water mass," which is why drought doesn’t usually affect this area. Apparently, you can even find mushrooms here in summer! I had a good time, and as I was leaving, a local cyclist started a conversation and told me about her dreams of long bike trips, currently limited by her situation as a mother of terrible children. She settled for day trips with her club, which was already good in this very hilly region. I told her the story of a man who, at 73, cycled solo around Morocco. So no panic—she still had thirty or forty years to realize her wildest dreams!
I was warned that it would be a tough climb to reach Sainte-Baume’s northern slope. Indeed, over eight kilometers, the average slope was sustained, but the landscape was wonderful. Here too, water was streaming everywhere. I passed one of those famous icehouses that used to supply Marseille with ice throughout the year. This northern slope of Sainte-Baume is very cold, and this characteristic was exploited in previous centuries to produce ice. Large cylindrical structures, well-protected to the north and semi-buried, received large quantities of water in late autumn, which froze during winter and was kept cool for months until the following winter. Ice blocks were cut and delivered by cart to the city. That’s how, in ancient times, ice was available in summer to keep fish fresh in Marseille. Did pastis exist at that time? If not, the ice cubes must have been bored!
Once the climb was over, the long ridge of Sainte-Baume appeared, and I could see its characteristic antennas. Nestled at the foot of the cliffs, the magnificent millennial forest revealed itself with its autumn colors. I stopped at the monastery. I’d been there several times before and had even slept there during a long walking trip. The welcome had been first-rate by the Dominicans, especially the sisters in their long immaculate robes. They radiated a serenity that was very contagious. Don’t hesitate to stop there for the night. I struggled to get back on my way—some places have a special spirit.
I was soon at the end of my journey. I continued along this magnificent mountain to the Col de l’Espigoulier. To the north, another immense wave of white limestone rose—Montagne Sainte-Victoire, a high place in Provence that painter Cézanne made world-famous. Once at the pass, the entire city of Marseille spread out at my feet, the Mediterranean coast revealed itself from the Calanques to La Ciotat, passing by the famous Cap Canaille, Europe’s highest sea cliff. Above me, bathed in sunlight, Bartagne’s northwest face, very popular among climbers, showed all its reliefs. With an old climber’s reflex, I spotted the many climbs I’d done there. I let myself be carried into a steep, winding descent toward the village of Gémenos in a beautiful setting full of cliffs.
A few more kilometers of climbing toward the Col de l’Ange, then toward Roquefort-la-Bédoule. In this last climb, I raced with two cyclists, admittedly not very young. Then, in a six-kilometer descent, I reached Cassis station, the endpoint of my six-day journey through this wild Provençal land between sea and mountain. I experienced great pleasure during these 570 kilometers through these renowned yet wild French massifs. As always, when a beautiful project comes to an end, you feel a bit orphaned by a beautiful dream come true. You have to quickly envision the next one to avoid a vague sense of emptiness taking over. My next adventure is already taking shape in my mind, but that’s another story.
En revenant de croisière hier nous avons eu la surprise de découvrir une navette gratuite entre le port de croisières MSC, Costa...(à peu près à 500m en partant vers Marseille)) et la ville, plus exactement jusqu'à l'arrêt de bus "HangarJ1" en face de l'ambassade de Belgique. Actuellement elle ne fonctionne que le week-end et d'après nos renseignements elle pourrait être quotidienne cet été. Il y a un bus toutes les 1/2h. Bien sûr il y a du monde, mais on a apprécié d'en profiter! Et comme seuls les italiens étaient au courant du "tuyau", les veinards, autant en faire profiter les copains de Voyageforum. A suivre, donc...
Bonjour à tous,
Nous partons sur le MSC Fantasia le 08/07/12 de Génes. Nous sommes une famille donc 2 adultes - 1 enfant de 4 ans - 1 ado de 15 ans.
Nous avons fait notre premiére croisiére l'année derniere sur le costa magica et donc nous connaissons un peu pres le fonctionnement d 'une croisiere.
Ne voulant pas prendre les excursions organisés (trés couteuses et surtout tres contaignantes au niveau des horaires), je souhaiterais avoir votre avis pour les différentes escales et les "trucs" sympa à faire en famille au cours de celles-ci.
merci d'avance
Nous partons sur le MSC Fantasia le 08/07/12 de Génes. Nous sommes une famille donc 2 adultes - 1 enfant de 4 ans - 1 ado de 15 ans.
Nous avons fait notre premiére croisiére l'année derniere sur le costa magica et donc nous connaissons un peu pres le fonctionnement d 'une croisiere.
Ne voulant pas prendre les excursions organisés (trés couteuses et surtout tres contaignantes au niveau des horaires), je souhaiterais avoir votre avis pour les différentes escales et les "trucs" sympa à faire en famille au cours de celles-ci.
merci d'avance
Bonjour à tous,
OUAH!!!! on vient de rentrer de notre première croisière et on pense déjà à la prochaine...
Ça y est, avons nous attrapé le virus??? il semblerait, même les enfants ont adoré!!!
Nous étions en couple avec 2 enfants 6 et binetôt 12 ans.
Départ prévu à 20h00, embarquement prévu à 16h00 Finalement, nous garons la voiture sur le parking extérieur vers 13h30. Le bateau est juste magnifique, impressionnant... encore plus beau que dans nos rêves les plus fous. nous restons là à le contempler pendant 5 minutes, puis il est temps de sortir les bagages du coffre, le temps de présenter les papiers, puis vérifier les étiquettes, douane, puis on est accueillis et on nous présente les extras... Nous avons eu la promotion avec le forfait CHEERS : boissons pendant les repas. En discutant avec des habitués, ils nous conseillent de payer la différence pour obtenir le forfait ALLEGRISSIMO; ce que nous faisons, et nous ne le regretterons pas... Entre les cappuccinos et vrais expressos au bar le matin, ainsi que les jus de fruits, car ce sont des jus de chaussettes (tant café et jus) au restaurant ou cafétéria, puis les cocktails, les bouteilles d'eau On l ' a plus que rentabilisé!! j'ai fait les calculs en gardant les tickets. On a juste le temps de glaner quelques infos auprès des 2 couples à côté de nous, tant au niveau excursions, spectacles, bars, etc....
On commence à embarquer vers 14h15-14h30, soit 1h30 avant l'heure prévue. On arrive sur le pont 6 puis directement le bureau des familles pour un bracelet pour la petite de 6 ans. Inscrite au club enfant, elle n'a jamais voulu y aller, par contre, le grand de 11 ans, presque 12 ans a été accepté au club ado; il a adoré. Ses journées et ses soirées étaient bien remplies après les excursions.
Puis direction la cabine 13218; on se débrouille, on ne se perd pas! pourtant, que de chemin pour y aller!! les cartes nous attendent sur le lit ainsi que le gilet pour la petite, car petite taille spécifique aux enfants, ainsi que le daily programm, notre bible pour les 7 prochains jours. notre cabine 13218 est une cabine balcon, belle salle d'eau, avec fil à linge dans la douche, avec gel douche, mouchoirs papiers, les serviettes de bains changées 2 fois par jour.
Nous avons au moins 3 heures avant l'exercice de sécurité obligatoire pour tous. donc nous partons découvrir ce magnifique navire, et essayer de se repérer, car tous les ascenseurs ou escaliers ne vont pas au même endroit, notre cabine étant située à l'arrière du bateau, nous avions un accès direct à la cafétéria, (pont 14) ou restaurant ARABESQUE(pont 6) par contre, il fallait prendre les ascenseurs du milieu pour aller à la réception(pont 5)
Donc direction la piscine à débordement située à l"arrière du bateau avec superbe vue sur Marseille, jacuzzis, et toboggan pour le grand, on doit d'abord signer une autorisation valable pour la semaine. A cette heure là, il y a encore peu de monde (tout est relatif) mais dès 16h-17h, le bruit devient incessant, les gens reviennent d’excursion et le transats sont pris d'asaut. Il faut déjà retourner à la cabine prendre les gilets de sauvetage. Les valises sont arrivées sauf celle de ma petite. Pas grave, on va patienter... RDV au théâtre, près de l'animateur point rassemblement I A 18h20, on a enfin une petite vidéo pour attacher le gilet puis on nous amène au point de rassemblement I près du restaurant.... heureusement car étant du 1er service, à 18h30, on se doit d'arriver au maximum avec 15 minutes de retard, sinon on nous refuse l'accès. Puis vers 20h00, on commence à ranger les affaires dans les rangements prévus, c'est un peu juste pour 4, même très très justes. Puis on laisse les enfants dans la cabine, ils sont assez fatigués, nous avons faits beaucoup de route depuis Metz!! Pendant ce temps, on va au spectacle, ASTERIX VS CLEOPATRE, très bon spectacle de 30 minutes, puis cocktail bien mérité au bar Precioza près des escaliers SWAROSWKI, piano et DODO!!!
Les enfants n'ont pas mis longtemps à s'endormir, après une journée aussi remplie!! piscine, jacuzzis et toboggan, ils s'y sont donnés à cœur joie! d'ailleurs, les serviettes de piscine sont à disposition dans la chambre et seront changées tous les soirs, et non pas à la piscine. j'ai beaucoup apprécié la cabine balcon, surtout lors des arrivées à Malte, Marseille ... l'arrivée à La Valette est incontournable, superbe moment.
nous avons profité aussi du petit déjeuner en cabine. La veille, nous avons rempli et laissé sur la porte notre commande : thé, café, chocolat, différents pains, blanc, seigle... pains chocolat, croissant, pain toasté, confitures, miel, mais pas de salé ni de chaud Heureusement qu'on avait le balcon, car la cabine est un peu petite pour 4!! Nous avons aimé aller au restaurant GOLDEN LOBSTER le matin, entre 7h et 9h selon les jours, car nous avons pris le temps et avons pu commander saumon fumé, oeufs à la minute ou oeufs bénédectine.... gauffre, pancakes.....La cafétéria peut être très très très bruyante!
J'essaierai de mettre quelques photos Et continuerai ce CR un peu plus tard
helene
Départ prévu à 20h00, embarquement prévu à 16h00 Finalement, nous garons la voiture sur le parking extérieur vers 13h30. Le bateau est juste magnifique, impressionnant... encore plus beau que dans nos rêves les plus fous. nous restons là à le contempler pendant 5 minutes, puis il est temps de sortir les bagages du coffre, le temps de présenter les papiers, puis vérifier les étiquettes, douane, puis on est accueillis et on nous présente les extras... Nous avons eu la promotion avec le forfait CHEERS : boissons pendant les repas. En discutant avec des habitués, ils nous conseillent de payer la différence pour obtenir le forfait ALLEGRISSIMO; ce que nous faisons, et nous ne le regretterons pas... Entre les cappuccinos et vrais expressos au bar le matin, ainsi que les jus de fruits, car ce sont des jus de chaussettes (tant café et jus) au restaurant ou cafétéria, puis les cocktails, les bouteilles d'eau On l ' a plus que rentabilisé!! j'ai fait les calculs en gardant les tickets. On a juste le temps de glaner quelques infos auprès des 2 couples à côté de nous, tant au niveau excursions, spectacles, bars, etc....
On commence à embarquer vers 14h15-14h30, soit 1h30 avant l'heure prévue. On arrive sur le pont 6 puis directement le bureau des familles pour un bracelet pour la petite de 6 ans. Inscrite au club enfant, elle n'a jamais voulu y aller, par contre, le grand de 11 ans, presque 12 ans a été accepté au club ado; il a adoré. Ses journées et ses soirées étaient bien remplies après les excursions.
Puis direction la cabine 13218; on se débrouille, on ne se perd pas! pourtant, que de chemin pour y aller!! les cartes nous attendent sur le lit ainsi que le gilet pour la petite, car petite taille spécifique aux enfants, ainsi que le daily programm, notre bible pour les 7 prochains jours. notre cabine 13218 est une cabine balcon, belle salle d'eau, avec fil à linge dans la douche, avec gel douche, mouchoirs papiers, les serviettes de bains changées 2 fois par jour.
Nous avons au moins 3 heures avant l'exercice de sécurité obligatoire pour tous. donc nous partons découvrir ce magnifique navire, et essayer de se repérer, car tous les ascenseurs ou escaliers ne vont pas au même endroit, notre cabine étant située à l'arrière du bateau, nous avions un accès direct à la cafétéria, (pont 14) ou restaurant ARABESQUE(pont 6) par contre, il fallait prendre les ascenseurs du milieu pour aller à la réception(pont 5)
Donc direction la piscine à débordement située à l"arrière du bateau avec superbe vue sur Marseille, jacuzzis, et toboggan pour le grand, on doit d'abord signer une autorisation valable pour la semaine. A cette heure là, il y a encore peu de monde (tout est relatif) mais dès 16h-17h, le bruit devient incessant, les gens reviennent d’excursion et le transats sont pris d'asaut. Il faut déjà retourner à la cabine prendre les gilets de sauvetage. Les valises sont arrivées sauf celle de ma petite. Pas grave, on va patienter... RDV au théâtre, près de l'animateur point rassemblement I A 18h20, on a enfin une petite vidéo pour attacher le gilet puis on nous amène au point de rassemblement I près du restaurant.... heureusement car étant du 1er service, à 18h30, on se doit d'arriver au maximum avec 15 minutes de retard, sinon on nous refuse l'accès. Puis vers 20h00, on commence à ranger les affaires dans les rangements prévus, c'est un peu juste pour 4, même très très justes. Puis on laisse les enfants dans la cabine, ils sont assez fatigués, nous avons faits beaucoup de route depuis Metz!! Pendant ce temps, on va au spectacle, ASTERIX VS CLEOPATRE, très bon spectacle de 30 minutes, puis cocktail bien mérité au bar Precioza près des escaliers SWAROSWKI, piano et DODO!!!
Les enfants n'ont pas mis longtemps à s'endormir, après une journée aussi remplie!! piscine, jacuzzis et toboggan, ils s'y sont donnés à cœur joie! d'ailleurs, les serviettes de piscine sont à disposition dans la chambre et seront changées tous les soirs, et non pas à la piscine. j'ai beaucoup apprécié la cabine balcon, surtout lors des arrivées à Malte, Marseille ... l'arrivée à La Valette est incontournable, superbe moment.
nous avons profité aussi du petit déjeuner en cabine. La veille, nous avons rempli et laissé sur la porte notre commande : thé, café, chocolat, différents pains, blanc, seigle... pains chocolat, croissant, pain toasté, confitures, miel, mais pas de salé ni de chaud Heureusement qu'on avait le balcon, car la cabine est un peu petite pour 4!! Nous avons aimé aller au restaurant GOLDEN LOBSTER le matin, entre 7h et 9h selon les jours, car nous avons pris le temps et avons pu commander saumon fumé, oeufs à la minute ou oeufs bénédectine.... gauffre, pancakes.....La cafétéria peut être très très très bruyante!
J'essaierai de mettre quelques photos Et continuerai ce CR un peu plus tard
helene
Avec 1,5 million de passagers et environ 450 escales envisagés pour cette année, Marseille devient le cinquième port méditerranéen et entre au Top 15 mondial au niveau de la croisière. Prochain objectif : 2 millions de croisièristes en 2020.
Avec 1,5 million de passagers et environ 450 escales envisagés pour cette année, Marseille devient le cinquième port méditerranéen et entre au Top 15 mondial au niveau de la croisière. Prochain objectif : 2 millions de croisièristes en 2020.
Lire la suite...
Bonjour
nous aimerions faire Lille-Marseille à vélo cet été avec 16jours. Avez vous des bons conseils surtout entre Lille et Dijon? Les routes calmes ou voix verte.
Le sud je trouve plus d'info mais pas trop pour le nord. 😐
Et également si certains l'ont fait en combien de temps cette traversée NORD-SUD???
Bien sur on rentre en train :-) ! 😛
Merci de vos conseils
Dorothée
nous aimerions faire Lille-Marseille à vélo cet été avec 16jours. Avez vous des bons conseils surtout entre Lille et Dijon? Les routes calmes ou voix verte.
Le sud je trouve plus d'info mais pas trop pour le nord. 😐
Et également si certains l'ont fait en combien de temps cette traversée NORD-SUD???
Bien sur on rentre en train :-) ! 😛
Merci de vos conseils
Dorothée
Bonjour à tous
Je recherche des informations sur cet itinéraire Grenoble --> Marseille
Si l'un d'entre vous peut me conseiller (je passe par Lus la Croix haute)
Merci d'avance, prenez soin de vous
Merci d'avance, prenez soin de vous
bonjour
j ai la chance de pouvoir passer 2 a Marseille le 7 et 8 décembre
suis preneur de bonne adresse et de lieux a visiter
merci a vous et bonne fin de wk
Francis
Nous sommes 5 adultes et un enfant de 2ans, nous arriverons à la gare de Marseille vers 12h30 le 25 juin et nous devons nous rendre au port d'embarquement pour faire une croisière sur le Séréna.
Quelqu'un peut-il nous conseiller la meilleure façon de nous y rendre . Merci
Bonjour à tous,
Alors voilà je suis très très impatiente car je viens en effet de réserver mon billet d'avion pour aller à marseille au mois d'avril. Je rêve de visiter cette ville depuis des années alors là comme mon rêve devient réalité bah je veux organiser mon très court séjour au mieux. J'arrive à l'aéroport à 9h30 le matin, et je me suis déja renseignée pour la navette me conduisant jusqu'à la gare saint charles no problem ^^ J'ai ensuite réservé une chambre d'hotel pas très loin du vieux port donc je pense que sa devrait le faire. Et je reprend l'avion le ledendemain à 21h donc en gros j'ai deux jours pour visiter la ville. Je suis accompagnée de ma mère et ma soeur alors la première question que je vous pose est: à votre avis que dois-je prendre comme titre de transport? Ce qui me semble le mieux est le pass pour la journée à 4, 50 euros mais il y a d'autres tarifs où je n'ai pas trop compris la nuance donc si quelqu'un pourrait m'éclairer. Ensuite voici à peu près les lieux où j'aimerais aller, ensuite je n'aurais surement pas le temps de tout faire alors si vous pensez que certains sont moins bien que d'autres ou encore que j'en oublie dites le moi:notre dame de la gardele vieux port la cannebière fort saint-nicolas fort saint-jeancathédrale sainte Marie Majeure corniche kennedy plage du prado parc borély vallon des auffes quartier du pannier
Enfin ma dernière question concerne le pôle média, car si j'ai bien compris c'est où est tourné plus belle la vie. Alors désolé je risque de me faire huer mais je suis une très très très rande fan de PBLV, alors je voulais savoir s'il y avait possibilité si par exemple on arrive en début ou fin de journée de croiser des acteurs, ou bien la seule chose qu'on va faire est perdre son temps à voir de triste batîments? Mais me connaissant je serais même ravie de voir un bâtiments si je sais qu'à l'intérieur se tourne ma ptite série, alors dernière question est-ce un quartier de Marseille qui craint?
Je remercie toute personne qui a eu le courage de me lire jusqu'au bout, et je remercie celle qui pourront répondre à mes questions 😉
En attendant il se fait tard alors je vais allez rêver de Marseille ^^
Alors voilà je suis très très impatiente car je viens en effet de réserver mon billet d'avion pour aller à marseille au mois d'avril. Je rêve de visiter cette ville depuis des années alors là comme mon rêve devient réalité bah je veux organiser mon très court séjour au mieux. J'arrive à l'aéroport à 9h30 le matin, et je me suis déja renseignée pour la navette me conduisant jusqu'à la gare saint charles no problem ^^ J'ai ensuite réservé une chambre d'hotel pas très loin du vieux port donc je pense que sa devrait le faire. Et je reprend l'avion le ledendemain à 21h donc en gros j'ai deux jours pour visiter la ville. Je suis accompagnée de ma mère et ma soeur alors la première question que je vous pose est: à votre avis que dois-je prendre comme titre de transport? Ce qui me semble le mieux est le pass pour la journée à 4, 50 euros mais il y a d'autres tarifs où je n'ai pas trop compris la nuance donc si quelqu'un pourrait m'éclairer. Ensuite voici à peu près les lieux où j'aimerais aller, ensuite je n'aurais surement pas le temps de tout faire alors si vous pensez que certains sont moins bien que d'autres ou encore que j'en oublie dites le moi:notre dame de la gardele vieux port la cannebière fort saint-nicolas fort saint-jeancathédrale sainte Marie Majeure corniche kennedy plage du prado parc borély vallon des auffes quartier du pannier
Enfin ma dernière question concerne le pôle média, car si j'ai bien compris c'est où est tourné plus belle la vie. Alors désolé je risque de me faire huer mais je suis une très très très rande fan de PBLV, alors je voulais savoir s'il y avait possibilité si par exemple on arrive en début ou fin de journée de croiser des acteurs, ou bien la seule chose qu'on va faire est perdre son temps à voir de triste batîments? Mais me connaissant je serais même ravie de voir un bâtiments si je sais qu'à l'intérieur se tourne ma ptite série, alors dernière question est-ce un quartier de Marseille qui craint?
Je remercie toute personne qui a eu le courage de me lire jusqu'au bout, et je remercie celle qui pourront répondre à mes questions 😉
En attendant il se fait tard alors je vais allez rêver de Marseille ^^
Nous avons prévu de faire, sur une semaine, Perpignan - Marseille à vélo, en bivouaquant. L'objectif est de suivre le plus possible la côte (tant qu'elle a un intérêt) et les seules étapes arrêtées sont gruissant et la camargue. Nous sommes un couple d'une trentaine d'année en bonne forme physique mais sans aucun entraînement particulier, si ce n'est en camping sauvage !
Nous avons plusieurs questions : Nous n'avons vu aucune discussion sur cet itinéraire, est-il digne d'intérêt ? Dans quel sens faut-il mieux le faire, pour ne pas être trop embêté par le vent ? Y'a t-il des portions de routes qu'il vaut mieux éviter ? (grosses nationales, étapes sans intérêt, d'autant plus au mois d'août !) Et des portions qu'il ne faut, au contraire, absolument pas rater, quitte à s'éloigner un peu de la mer ?
merci d'avance pour vos réponses !
Bonsoir
J’ai fait quelques recherches sur la page mais la majorité des établissements que j’ai trouvés ont fermé leurs portes. Donc je cherche un hôtel à Marseille ( voire une location!) dans un quartier sécurisé (voyage solo avec des enfants) pas loin des attractions principales, plages etc...j’ai vraiment du mal à choisir un quartier car les avis des voyageurs divergent. Je compte utiliser uniquement les transports en commun et nos jambes. Merci de vos conseils et votre aide !
bonjour
Une amie nous prête son appartement dans le 6ème à Marseille et nous y restons une semaine (dernière semaine de juillet). Pas la période idéale mais bon une belle occasion pour nous de découvrir cette ville et ses alentours. Nous serons à pieds, mais la marche de nous fait pas peur et il y a certainement des bus ou bateaux pour explorer le coin. Je recherche de bonnes adresses de restau, de quartiers à visiter, marchés à voir, belles terrasses pour boire un coup, ... Merci pour tout ce que vous pourrez me faire partager
cette croisiere en mediterranee nous l'avons choisie pour les dates qui permettent a notre petite fille de six ans et demi de faire sa seconde croisiere , ce dont elle reve depuis le retour de la premiere il y aura trois ans
Je suis choquee car je viens de lire sur un autre post que ce n'est pas la place d'un enfants sur un bateau de croisiere , pour moi ce n'est pas non plus la place de pas mal d'adultes !
Bonjour
Je pense effectuer ce voyage entre Bordeaux et Marseille, avec a priori juste une petite partie en autocar pour finir la journée entre Millau et Montpellier.
Si vous connaissez des choses à ne pas louper le long du chemin, n'hésitez pas :-)
Merci.
Je pense effectuer ce voyage entre Bordeaux et Marseille, avec a priori juste une petite partie en autocar pour finir la journée entre Millau et Montpellier.
Si vous connaissez des choses à ne pas louper le long du chemin, n'hésitez pas :-)
Merci.
Bonjour,
J'ai décidé de commencé à m’entraîner pour un grand voyage à vélo. Jusqu'à présent je pratique le vélo régulièrement pour faire des balades aux alentours de Montpellier, mais pour commencer l'entrainement j'aimerais prendre mon temps et pousser jusqu'à Marseille. Auriez-vous des conseils d'itinéraires à suivre avec un vélo de route? J'ai lu une annonce concernant ce voyage, mais j'ai peur que les routes plus tranquilles en Camargue soient difficilement praticables en vélo de route.
Autre question: pour quelqu'un qui ne fait pas souvent de grandes distances, à combien estimez-vous le temps de trajet?
Je suis prête à recevoir tous les conseils possibles pour ce petit périple 🙂
Merci et à bientôt,
Céline
J'ai décidé de commencé à m’entraîner pour un grand voyage à vélo. Jusqu'à présent je pratique le vélo régulièrement pour faire des balades aux alentours de Montpellier, mais pour commencer l'entrainement j'aimerais prendre mon temps et pousser jusqu'à Marseille. Auriez-vous des conseils d'itinéraires à suivre avec un vélo de route? J'ai lu une annonce concernant ce voyage, mais j'ai peur que les routes plus tranquilles en Camargue soient difficilement praticables en vélo de route.
Autre question: pour quelqu'un qui ne fait pas souvent de grandes distances, à combien estimez-vous le temps de trajet?
Je suis prête à recevoir tous les conseils possibles pour ce petit périple 🙂
Merci et à bientôt,
Céline
La compagnie Air France suspendra cet hiver quatre routes à Marseille, autant à Toulouse et une à Nice; soit des ajustements dans ses bases de province similaires à ceux pratiqués couramment par les spécialistes du vol low cost.
Lire la suite...
Salut tout le monde,
J'envisage de parcourir la Via Rhona entre Lyon et Marseille début février pour me rendre à un stage de voile. Je cherche un maximum d'info sur l'état des tronçons (traffic, état de la route, il semble que la Via Rhona n'est pas complète) et sur l'offre d'hébergement (je n'envisage pas de camper mais de passer la nuit bien au chaud en gite ou airbnb, et en hiver l'offre est assez réduite).
Ce serait top si il y en a parmi vous qui ont parcouru la Via Rhona récemment et aurait quelques conseils à me donner à ce sujet!
Merci et bonne journée!!
Marion
J'envisage de parcourir la Via Rhona entre Lyon et Marseille début février pour me rendre à un stage de voile. Je cherche un maximum d'info sur l'état des tronçons (traffic, état de la route, il semble que la Via Rhona n'est pas complète) et sur l'offre d'hébergement (je n'envisage pas de camper mais de passer la nuit bien au chaud en gite ou airbnb, et en hiver l'offre est assez réduite).
Ce serait top si il y en a parmi vous qui ont parcouru la Via Rhona récemment et aurait quelques conseils à me donner à ce sujet!
Merci et bonne journée!!
Marion
Voici les détails :
Vol Rome Marseille (mp2) avec Ryanair arrivé à Marseille : 11h05
Vol de correspondance Marseille (Hall1) vers Montréal Airtransat , départ 13h45
J’ai besoin de votre avis.
Est-ce que 2h45 est suffisant pour réussir à attraper le vol pour Montréal , ou est-ce trop peu de temps ?
Mon agent de voyage ne me conseille pas de tenter le coup.
Merci pour votre aide
Robin
Vol Rome Marseille (mp2) avec Ryanair arrivé à Marseille : 11h05
Vol de correspondance Marseille (Hall1) vers Montréal Airtransat , départ 13h45
J’ai besoin de votre avis.
Est-ce que 2h45 est suffisant pour réussir à attraper le vol pour Montréal , ou est-ce trop peu de temps ?
Mon agent de voyage ne me conseille pas de tenter le coup.
Merci pour votre aide
Robin
Bonjour,
Je compte faire la Dolce vita avec Costa le 03 septembre Qui peux me dire le nom exact du port d'embarquement à Marseille? Merci
Je compte faire la Dolce vita avec Costa le 03 septembre Qui peux me dire le nom exact du port d'embarquement à Marseille? Merci
Amis voyageuses et voyageurs,
seriez-vous branchés pour une rencontre discussion et partage sur le thème du voyage à Marseille. Quelqu'un avait déjà lançé l'idée et nous étions nombreux à être intéressés, malheureusement cela ne s'est pas fait. En tout cas, je veux bien reprendre l'idée et l'organiser si ça vous tente. Alors à vos claviers et au plaisir de vous lire bientôt. Bon vent... 😉
seriez-vous branchés pour une rencontre discussion et partage sur le thème du voyage à Marseille. Quelqu'un avait déjà lançé l'idée et nous étions nombreux à être intéressés, malheureusement cela ne s'est pas fait. En tout cas, je veux bien reprendre l'idée et l'organiser si ça vous tente. Alors à vos claviers et au plaisir de vous lire bientôt. Bon vent... 😉
Bonjour,
Nous partons le 16 mars 2014, du port de Marseille pour notre première croisière sur le costa pacifica. Nous partons à 2 adultes et un enfant de 2 ans,
Étant donnée que c'est notre première croisière, nous avons pleins d'interrogations sur celle-ci.
Tout d'abord, je souhaiterais savoir le prix pour un transfert en taxi de la gare de Marseille jusqu'au port de croisière de Marseille.
Ensuite, durant la croisière je voudrais savoir si il y a des forfaits boisons alcoolisés autre que le forfait all inclusive. En ce qui concerne le boys and girls, quel est son tarif ?
Je souhaiterais également savoir si lors de l'excursion à Palma, il y a possibilité de trouver une belle plage à côté du port.
Durant un séjour hors période, la piscine est-elle chauffée ou pas ?
Nous avons eu un tarif flash, pour cette croisière, et par conséquent notre agence nous a indiqué que nous ne pouvons choisir notre du soir pour le dîner et j'aurais voulu savoir, si il y avait possibilité de changer.
Pour ceux qui sont expert, pouvez-vous nous donner des astuces pour la vie à bord et pour les excursions (visites à ne manquer).
Merci
Annonce faite aujourd'hui par MOL. (source europe1) suite a la mise en examen de la compagnie dans le cadre de travail dissimulé.
