Ça fait plaisir de voir quelqu'un traîner par ici 🙂 (je me sentais un peu seule 😏).
Je ne sais pas si tout le monde est débordé ou parti en vacances en ce moment mais il ne se passe vraiment pas grand chose sur VF ces derniers temps 😕
Je ne perds pas une miette de ce périple au fond de la botte !
After a pretty disastrous weather-wise trip to Gran Canaria, we're hoping this time the sun will be out in Puglia.
It’s not looking great since the weather isn’t great across Europe at the start of May.
Saturday, May 16: This time we’re flying from Charleroi (Brussels South): the ticket prices, flight schedules, and proximity all worked for us. The airport (Ryanair) was recently redone... but it’s not very well organized—there are very few seats in the boarding areas, and... the restrooms are pay-to-use!!! The flight goes smoothly, though, and we land in Bari with a slight delay.
We quickly pick up our rental car, a very locally styled Pandina (even more so than the Fiat 500 in this region), and hit the Italian (high)ways... and their unique driving quirks (notably, the countless road signs in towns and along roads seem to be purely decorative 😏, and Italian cars don’t have turn signals 😮... except for rental cars).
About an hour later, we arrive at our first accommodation, right in the middle of the countryside near Monopoli. The owner isn’t there, but they left us a ton of info via messages and even turned on the space heater, which is a nice touch. We check out the property:
And the next morning before breakfast, its immediate surroundings:
Sunday, May 17: After our "seaside" experience in Gran Canaria last weekend (packed with people and locals), we decide to start with the inland areas. After a hearty breakfast,
we head toward Alberobello, a super touristy village famous for its trulli—those stone houses with conical roofs. We easily find free parking on a street near the Aia Piccola district, where some trulli are still lived in year-round.
We almost immediately come across the Trullo Sovrano (the only two-story one), which you can visit (but we skip it—it’s opening time, and there’s already a line).
From there, we head down toward the Basilica of Cosma e Damiano... but we don’t go in because there’s a mass.
Now we’re on the main Piazza del Popolo, which connects the two districts of Alberobello: Rione Aia Piccola and Rione Monti, the more touristy one.
Saturday, May 16: This time we’re flying from Charleroi (Brussels South): the ticket prices, flight schedules, and proximity all worked for us. The airport (Ryanair) was recently redone... but it’s not very well organized—there are very few seats in the boarding areas, and... the restrooms are pay-to-use!!! The flight goes smoothly, though, and we land in Bari with a slight delay.
We quickly pick up our rental car, a very locally styled Pandina (even more so than the Fiat 500 in this region), and hit the Italian (high)ways... and their unique driving quirks (notably, the countless road signs in towns and along roads seem to be purely decorative 😏, and Italian cars don’t have turn signals 😮... except for rental cars).
About an hour later, we arrive at our first accommodation, right in the middle of the countryside near Monopoli. The owner isn’t there, but they left us a ton of info via messages and even turned on the space heater, which is a nice touch. We check out the property:
And the next morning before breakfast, its immediate surroundings:
Sunday, May 17: After our "seaside" experience in Gran Canaria last weekend (packed with people and locals), we decide to start with the inland areas. After a hearty breakfast,
we head toward Alberobello, a super touristy village famous for its trulli—those stone houses with conical roofs. We easily find free parking on a street near the Aia Piccola district, where some trulli are still lived in year-round.
We almost immediately come across the Trullo Sovrano (the only two-story one), which you can visit (but we skip it—it’s opening time, and there’s already a line).
From there, we head down toward the Basilica of Cosma e Damiano... but we don’t go in because there’s a mass.
Now we’re on the main Piazza del Popolo, which connects the two districts of Alberobello: Rione Aia Piccola and Rione Monti, the more touristy one.
The recipe for the cocktail: endless beaches, a dazzling palette of colors, some breathtaking hikes, and excellent cuisine...
For the tasting, follow along in the pages of this travel journal! 😉
Don’t forget your hiking shoes, a swimsuit, sunscreen, but also a sweater, your driver’s license, and your credit card...
Just over 11 hours of flight, and we’ll be setting foot on Mauritian soil!
For the tasting, follow along in the pages of this travel journal! 😉
Don’t forget your hiking shoes, a swimsuit, sunscreen, but also a sweater, your driver’s license, and your credit card...
Just over 11 hours of flight, and we’ll be setting foot on Mauritian soil!
Berlin in May is really nice.
Day 1: Flight from Orly to Berlin. We had a bit of a struggle finding the train or RER to get to "Mitte". The Berliners were quite helpful in trying to guide us. Settled into our hotel, we took some time to explore the northern part of "Mitte". Dinner at a pizzeria and off to bed.
Day 2: A 3-hour guided tour of Berlin East’s must-see spots. Great idea—it helped us plan the rest of our stay. After a quick lunch at a kebab place, we set off on foot to check out the graffitied Berlin Wall, including the Swiss Army Knife mural. We stopped by some cool bars along the way (we love walking). Back by metro—we’re starting to figure out how it works. Dinner near our hotel at a Chinese restaurant.
Day 3: We visited the Jewish quarter, walked to Charlottenburg, and then headed to the Memorial Museum, a must-see. Grabbed a snack with a slightly spicy Berlin sausage and made our way to the Jewish Museum. Since we’re not Jewish, we didn’t fully grasp its content, despite the richness of the exhibits. Walked back and had dinner at a traditional restaurant.
Day 4: Back in 1968, as a high school student, I stayed with a German family to improve my German—which I’ve since forgotten. I wanted to revisit Kurfürstendamm, but it was a mistake. This West Berlin neighborhood, with its bars, nightclubs, and luxury shops, has lost all its charm. It’s now just a residential area. We headed back through one of Berlin’s many beautiful parks.
Day 5: Our last day included a visit to Charlottenburg Palace—a mini Versailles—and a stroll around the Reichstag. The cherry on top of this trip was getting to visit the dome. Luckily, I’d read that you need to book in advance to access it. Three weeks before our departure, I logged on and—surprise—I got two spots for the day before we left at 6:30 PM. I confirmed right away. It’s true that on-site, buses drop off tourists who could crowd the dome, so booking early is *totally* worth it.
Day 6: Heading home. If we’d gotten a 72-hour metro pass, we could’ve saved a day. Sure, we walked a lot, but like in Paris, being outside lets you appreciate the city’s architecture even more.
Day 1: Flight from Orly to Berlin. We had a bit of a struggle finding the train or RER to get to "Mitte". The Berliners were quite helpful in trying to guide us. Settled into our hotel, we took some time to explore the northern part of "Mitte". Dinner at a pizzeria and off to bed.
Day 2: A 3-hour guided tour of Berlin East’s must-see spots. Great idea—it helped us plan the rest of our stay. After a quick lunch at a kebab place, we set off on foot to check out the graffitied Berlin Wall, including the Swiss Army Knife mural. We stopped by some cool bars along the way (we love walking). Back by metro—we’re starting to figure out how it works. Dinner near our hotel at a Chinese restaurant.
Day 3: We visited the Jewish quarter, walked to Charlottenburg, and then headed to the Memorial Museum, a must-see. Grabbed a snack with a slightly spicy Berlin sausage and made our way to the Jewish Museum. Since we’re not Jewish, we didn’t fully grasp its content, despite the richness of the exhibits. Walked back and had dinner at a traditional restaurant.
Day 4: Back in 1968, as a high school student, I stayed with a German family to improve my German—which I’ve since forgotten. I wanted to revisit Kurfürstendamm, but it was a mistake. This West Berlin neighborhood, with its bars, nightclubs, and luxury shops, has lost all its charm. It’s now just a residential area. We headed back through one of Berlin’s many beautiful parks.
Day 5: Our last day included a visit to Charlottenburg Palace—a mini Versailles—and a stroll around the Reichstag. The cherry on top of this trip was getting to visit the dome. Luckily, I’d read that you need to book in advance to access it. Three weeks before our departure, I logged on and—surprise—I got two spots for the day before we left at 6:30 PM. I confirmed right away. It’s true that on-site, buses drop off tourists who could crowd the dome, so booking early is *totally* worth it.
Day 6: Heading home. If we’d gotten a 72-hour metro pass, we could’ve saved a day. Sure, we walked a lot, but like in Paris, being outside lets you appreciate the city’s architecture even more.
Hey there, community! Back this weekend, below is my travel journal from my adventure in Indonesia. Enjoy the read!!!
Day 1 - August 10, 2025 New life downloading for three weeks! And for that, Flo and I launched a public tender... A public tender? What’s that got to do with a travel journal???... Well, when you think about it, few destinations tick all the boxes for an August adventure: Meaning, finding a place that’s exotic in the middle of August, not too expensive, not too packed with tourists, warm but not *too* warm, with postcard-perfect landscapes, dreamy beaches, tasty cuisine with a hint of exoticism, friendly and welcoming locals, where you’re free to sleep under the stars among the mosquitos, take transport surrounded by chickens, and even eat from a pig trough if you feel like it—well, turns out it’s not that easy to find! I’d even say, given how thick the list of requirements is, there’s a big risk the tender could be declared unsuccessful for failing to meet just one criterion. Let’s just say the candidates better submit a rock-solid proposal!
After reviewing all the responses and presentations from the candidates, the obvious choice for us is... Indonesia! Except that trying to explore a country as vast as Indonesia and its 17,504 islands in less than five years is a bit like reading the summary of a Proust novel without taking the time to savor each of its 950 pages! Don’t worry, I won’t name them all here. Besides, do they even all have names? No! Only 7,870 have been named—their parents clearly ran out of ideas for the rest. Anyway, our society, which worships the "work more to earn more" mantra, unfortunately limits our adventure time. So we’ll only get to see a small part of Indonesia, and we’ll have to make a tough choice to head for the best of the best in this archipelago of over seventeen thousand islands. Each one has its own selling points: Sumatra, Sulawesi, Java, the Celebes, Bali, Borneo, Papua, Timor, the Moluccas... So many names that smell of adventure... Another tender, another list of requirements, another review of proposals... Drumroll... Splash splash... And the lucky winner is... Ta-da... Java, Bali’s big sister, where I’ve already been eight years ago... Java the programming language. The Java of Broadway. We’re gonna *do* the Java. Java the coffee. And yes, Java is also an island!
This island, four times smaller than France, is home to 136 million people, making it the most populated island in the world! Fun fact: Indonesia, with its 260 million inhabitants, is just shy of the podium for the world’s most populated countries, after the winning trio of India, China, and the United States. And it’s on this island of Java that you’ll find Jakarta, the (soon-to-be-former) capital and main airport of the country, where we’ll soon land after our nineteen-hour flight! Yep, nineteen hours! I mean, Indonesia in general—and Java in particular—is a *tad* farther than going on vacation to Grandma Yoyo’s! Not sure where it is? Easy. Grab a map. Plant your finger on the big island at the bottom right—aka Australia for those who struggle with geography—move it up two centimeters, and bam, welcome to Indonesia!
Nice transition, right? Because "Welcome to Indonesia" is exactly what the friendly flight attendant just said to me as we got off the plane! That’s it, our chakras are open, we’ve arrived at our (air)port. Time for rest, pool, cocktails, and a beach with our toes spread out... Wait, if you bought that, you clearly don’t know us yet! Since we still have energy to burn and need to adjust to the flight and time difference, we tackle the long administrative formalities to enter Indonesia, just to earn the right to hop in a 45-minute Grab taxi to the train station. The train station? What train station?... What do you usually do at a train station? Take a train, of course! Off we go for a three-hour train ride to Bandung, where we’ll officially start our adventure tomorrow after our first Indonesian night...
Unfortunately, we were a bit slow off the mark, which meant we missed the 6:25 PM train by two minutes. Oh well, we’ll have to wait until 11 PM. We take the opportunity to stretch our legs in Jakarta, soak up the atmosphere, and enjoy the delicious smells wafting from the *warungs*—those little typical street restaurants. A quick stop at the National Monument, a detour to a night market to devour our first *kwetiaw goreng* and *teh manis* for 60,000 rupiahs (that’s 3 € for two), and just like that, our penalty is lifted, and we’re allowed to hit the road again. Off to Bandung, where we arrive at 2 AM for... a *very* short night...
Day 1 - August 10, 2025 New life downloading for three weeks! And for that, Flo and I launched a public tender... A public tender? What’s that got to do with a travel journal???... Well, when you think about it, few destinations tick all the boxes for an August adventure: Meaning, finding a place that’s exotic in the middle of August, not too expensive, not too packed with tourists, warm but not *too* warm, with postcard-perfect landscapes, dreamy beaches, tasty cuisine with a hint of exoticism, friendly and welcoming locals, where you’re free to sleep under the stars among the mosquitos, take transport surrounded by chickens, and even eat from a pig trough if you feel like it—well, turns out it’s not that easy to find! I’d even say, given how thick the list of requirements is, there’s a big risk the tender could be declared unsuccessful for failing to meet just one criterion. Let’s just say the candidates better submit a rock-solid proposal!
After reviewing all the responses and presentations from the candidates, the obvious choice for us is... Indonesia! Except that trying to explore a country as vast as Indonesia and its 17,504 islands in less than five years is a bit like reading the summary of a Proust novel without taking the time to savor each of its 950 pages! Don’t worry, I won’t name them all here. Besides, do they even all have names? No! Only 7,870 have been named—their parents clearly ran out of ideas for the rest. Anyway, our society, which worships the "work more to earn more" mantra, unfortunately limits our adventure time. So we’ll only get to see a small part of Indonesia, and we’ll have to make a tough choice to head for the best of the best in this archipelago of over seventeen thousand islands. Each one has its own selling points: Sumatra, Sulawesi, Java, the Celebes, Bali, Borneo, Papua, Timor, the Moluccas... So many names that smell of adventure... Another tender, another list of requirements, another review of proposals... Drumroll... Splash splash... And the lucky winner is... Ta-da... Java, Bali’s big sister, where I’ve already been eight years ago... Java the programming language. The Java of Broadway. We’re gonna *do* the Java. Java the coffee. And yes, Java is also an island!
This island, four times smaller than France, is home to 136 million people, making it the most populated island in the world! Fun fact: Indonesia, with its 260 million inhabitants, is just shy of the podium for the world’s most populated countries, after the winning trio of India, China, and the United States. And it’s on this island of Java that you’ll find Jakarta, the (soon-to-be-former) capital and main airport of the country, where we’ll soon land after our nineteen-hour flight! Yep, nineteen hours! I mean, Indonesia in general—and Java in particular—is a *tad* farther than going on vacation to Grandma Yoyo’s! Not sure where it is? Easy. Grab a map. Plant your finger on the big island at the bottom right—aka Australia for those who struggle with geography—move it up two centimeters, and bam, welcome to Indonesia!
Nice transition, right? Because "Welcome to Indonesia" is exactly what the friendly flight attendant just said to me as we got off the plane! That’s it, our chakras are open, we’ve arrived at our (air)port. Time for rest, pool, cocktails, and a beach with our toes spread out... Wait, if you bought that, you clearly don’t know us yet! Since we still have energy to burn and need to adjust to the flight and time difference, we tackle the long administrative formalities to enter Indonesia, just to earn the right to hop in a 45-minute Grab taxi to the train station. The train station? What train station?... What do you usually do at a train station? Take a train, of course! Off we go for a three-hour train ride to Bandung, where we’ll officially start our adventure tomorrow after our first Indonesian night...
Unfortunately, we were a bit slow off the mark, which meant we missed the 6:25 PM train by two minutes. Oh well, we’ll have to wait until 11 PM. We take the opportunity to stretch our legs in Jakarta, soak up the atmosphere, and enjoy the delicious smells wafting from the *warungs*—those little typical street restaurants. A quick stop at the National Monument, a detour to a night market to devour our first *kwetiaw goreng* and *teh manis* for 60,000 rupiahs (that’s 3 € for two), and just like that, our penalty is lifted, and we’re allowed to hit the road again. Off to Bandung, where we arrive at 2 AM for... a *very* short night...
Why not Malta? We thought it was an original, off-the-beaten-path destination...
The advantage is there’s a direct flight from Toulouse, our departure city. That’s what convinced us to take a week-long couple’s trip to Malta.
I had booked the accommodations (breakfast included) + an airport/hotel transfer on Booking.
First stop: VILLA DEL PORTO, a very pleasant guest house in a great location. We were welcomed by the owner, who gave us all the info we needed to get around. How to get to Valletta? By ferry shuttle. Valletta Ferry Service - Cospicua.
And for everything else, a brilliant app for the buses that crisscross the island: TALLINJA. I highly recommend this app. We traveled by bus all week without any issues.
The next day, we spent the day in Valletta, the capital. That’s when we realized this destination is actually very popular—streets packed with thousands of tourists! Luckily, we managed to navigate through parallel alleys and find small hostels or bars to eat or grab a drink. The city is stunning and steeped in history.
On the third day, we took the bus to the south of the island: MARSAXLOKK. A charming, authentic fishing port with plenty of waterfront restaurants and souvenir shops. We ate at CAFÉ DE PARIS—a delicious fresh fish, perfectly prepared.
On the way back, we wandered through the beautiful town of Senglea. Then we ordered takeout from D VIRI'S TAKE AWAY near the guest house via email. It was delicious!
On the fourth day, we left Villa del Porto and headed to Valletta by ferry to catch the GOZO FAST FERRY—a 45-minute catamaran ride to the island of Gozo.
After a good lunch by the port, we took the bus to our destination: XLENDI.
A village at the end of a gorgeous bay. We stayed at the San Andrea Hotel—a small room with a balcony and sea view.
Fifth day: Bus to Victoria. A magnificent citadel, a meal at a small bar in Piazza San Frangisk, then we continued by bus to the north, stopping in Marsalforn for coffee by the sea and a short walk to the natural salt pans carved into the rock. Back to the hotel by bus.
Sixth day: A short walk to Xlendi Tower, a watchtower at the entrance of the bay, beautifully restored. Then we set off on a sea excursion in a small boat for six passengers. Honestly, I recommend it! Two hours cruising along the breathtaking coastline and turquoise sea—20 € per person. www.gozoboathire.com
Delicious lunch on the terrace at "The Boathouse Restaurant."
Seventh day: We packed our bags again and returned to Malta by ferry to Cirkewwa. The terminal isn’t very welcoming—you have to take a bus to find a town.
We had lunch in Mellieha, then continued our journey, still using local buses, to RABAT, next to the ancient fortified city of MDINA. Another stunning city we explored at our own pace once the tourists had left.
Eighth day: Bus to the airport.
In conclusion, we’re thrilled with our trip. Of course, we didn’t see all the sites recommended by guidebooks, but we wandered at our own rhythm and came back with a head full of memories, images, and great moments spent in Malta and Gozo.
Villa Del Porto Address: Marina Street 1, KKR 1521 Kalkara, Malta Phone: +356 2166 8420 GPS Coordinates: N 035° 53.399, E 14° 31.557
Xlendi Bay
the seabeds in the coves
Villa Del Porto Address: Marina Street 1, KKR 1521 Kalkara, Malta Phone: +356 2166 8420 GPS Coordinates: N 035° 53.399, E 14° 31.557
Xlendi Bay
the seabeds in the coves
Hi everyone,
There haven’t been many recent stories about Norway in winter, and since I had trouble finding info on winter hikes, I thought I’d share a little travel journal.
Back in September 2024, while planning our summer 2025 trip to Norway, I joined some Facebook groups dedicated to travel in Scandinavia and started reading travel blogs. Since winter trips were being planned at the time, I came across posts with stunning photos of northern Norway in winter. I’d always pictured monotonous landscapes of pine forests and frozen lakes, so I was pleasantly surprised to see fjords, mountain ranges, and charming colorful cabins—just like in the Lofoten Islands. Turns out, the vast pine forests are more typical of Finnish Lapland. Norway, north of the Arctic Circle, is actually much more diverse. That was all it took to suggest this destination to my three guys for our winter vacation. After some research, early March seemed ideal—good weather, long enough daylight, and great chances for northern lights. A direct flight from Paris to Tromsø sealed the deal. The only downside? The cost of cars, accommodations, and activities nearly made us back out! Everything except flights is really expensive.
Since our oldest son had an important school deadline in June, he decided to skip the trip, so we ended up going as a trio. We took a Transavia round-trip flight from Orly to Tromsø for an amazing trip from March 1st to 8th.
Want to come along?
There haven’t been many recent stories about Norway in winter, and since I had trouble finding info on winter hikes, I thought I’d share a little travel journal.
Back in September 2024, while planning our summer 2025 trip to Norway, I joined some Facebook groups dedicated to travel in Scandinavia and started reading travel blogs. Since winter trips were being planned at the time, I came across posts with stunning photos of northern Norway in winter. I’d always pictured monotonous landscapes of pine forests and frozen lakes, so I was pleasantly surprised to see fjords, mountain ranges, and charming colorful cabins—just like in the Lofoten Islands. Turns out, the vast pine forests are more typical of Finnish Lapland. Norway, north of the Arctic Circle, is actually much more diverse. That was all it took to suggest this destination to my three guys for our winter vacation. After some research, early March seemed ideal—good weather, long enough daylight, and great chances for northern lights. A direct flight from Paris to Tromsø sealed the deal. The only downside? The cost of cars, accommodations, and activities nearly made us back out! Everything except flights is really expensive.
Since our oldest son had an important school deadline in June, he decided to skip the trip, so we ended up going as a trio. We took a Transavia round-trip flight from Orly to Tromsø for an amazing trip from March 1st to 8th.
Want to come along?
A new work assignment means our vacation dates can't stay the same.
We had planned to go to the Canary Islands, but flight prices are skyrocketing with this new holiday schedule.
So, I’m looking for an alternative to Gran Canaria and El Hierro and found two round-trip flights with Wizz Air to Tirana.
398 €, including baggage and seats—perfect!
Plus, the departure and return times are great, which is pretty rare for a low-cost flight!
All that’s left is to rent a car, plan the route, and book accommodations.
With two weeks, we’ll have to make some choices!
Here’s the final itinerary: Shkodra (2 nights), Valbonë (3 nights), Tirana (1 night), Lake Ohrid (1 night), Korçë (1 night), Përmet (1 night), Gjirokastër (1 night), Himarë (2 nights), Berat (2 nights), and Krujë (1 night).
A mix of countryside and small towns, a bit of the Mediterranean, and some mountains!
Late October isn’t the best season, so let’s keep our fingers crossed for the rest...
We had planned to go to the Canary Islands, but flight prices are skyrocketing with this new holiday schedule.
So, I’m looking for an alternative to Gran Canaria and El Hierro and found two round-trip flights with Wizz Air to Tirana.
398 €, including baggage and seats—perfect!
Plus, the departure and return times are great, which is pretty rare for a low-cost flight!
All that’s left is to rent a car, plan the route, and book accommodations.
With two weeks, we’ll have to make some choices!
Here’s the final itinerary: Shkodra (2 nights), Valbonë (3 nights), Tirana (1 night), Lake Ohrid (1 night), Korçë (1 night), Përmet (1 night), Gjirokastër (1 night), Himarë (2 nights), Berat (2 nights), and Krujë (1 night).
A mix of countryside and small towns, a bit of the Mediterranean, and some mountains!
Late October isn’t the best season, so let’s keep our fingers crossed for the rest...
Hey there, forum friends 😉
Some of you have mentioned missing the activity on this Indian "page," so let’s try to liven things up a bit—with joy and good vibes (mandatory with me 😜). Plus, it’ll make Jojoone happy 😊.
As big lovers of India—we’ve been six times—my co-traveler husband and I decided to explore Rajasthan this time around. The reason we waited so long to come here? We were dreading the tourist crowds in this state. But thanks to the timing (late March to early April 2024, which is starting to get pretty hot) and Aleph’s great tips, we were *very* far from mass tourism.
We spent three weeks getting around on our own for transport: mostly taxis and trains.
And I’ll admit, we had a rather "Arabian Nights" experience, far from the "real" India (Marien, if you’re reading this 😉). So this travel journal makes no claims other than to share what we saw, experienced, and felt—with all our ignorance about this country (which I’m fully aware of).
But fair warning: I go overboard with emojis, and this journal is super casual because it’s the one I share, almost in "live" mode, with our loved ones.
So, if you’re here, consider yourself almost part of the family 😄.
See you soon and....
Some of you have mentioned missing the activity on this Indian "page," so let’s try to liven things up a bit—with joy and good vibes (mandatory with me 😜). Plus, it’ll make Jojoone happy 😊.
As big lovers of India—we’ve been six times—my co-traveler husband and I decided to explore Rajasthan this time around. The reason we waited so long to come here? We were dreading the tourist crowds in this state. But thanks to the timing (late March to early April 2024, which is starting to get pretty hot) and Aleph’s great tips, we were *very* far from mass tourism.
We spent three weeks getting around on our own for transport: mostly taxis and trains.
And I’ll admit, we had a rather "Arabian Nights" experience, far from the "real" India (Marien, if you’re reading this 😉). So this travel journal makes no claims other than to share what we saw, experienced, and felt—with all our ignorance about this country (which I’m fully aware of).
But fair warning: I go overboard with emojis, and this journal is super casual because it’s the one I share, almost in "live" mode, with our loved ones.
So, if you’re here, consider yourself almost part of the family 😄.
See you soon and....
Croatia
October 2024
Hi everyone, I wanted to share our family week in Croatia. Alex and I, with Apolline (6), Olympe (4), and Artémis (18 months).
Itinerary
Planning the itinerary was complicated, but in the end, I wouldn’t change a thing. Since we had a round-trip flight from Dubrovnik, I preferred to prioritize proximity, so we skipped Plitvice, which I’d really love to visit—but that’ll be for next time. We had time to... take our time, and it was really nice.
Day 1: Marseille-Dubrovnik flight. Night in Ston.
Day 2: Visit to Ston and Mali Ston. Ferry to Mljet. Night in Pomena (3 nights total).
Days 3 & 4: Walks in Mljet National Park and swimming.
Day 5: Return ferry. Visit to the Trsteno Arboretum. Night in Dubrovnik (3 nights total).
Day 6: Visit to Dubrovnik’s city walls and Old Town.
Day 7: Lokrum.
Day 8: Morning in Dubrovnik, then Cavtat and overnight flight back to Marseille.
Our visits
Ston area:
Ston village, small but charming. We walked the walls from Ston to Mali Ston. It’s a steep climb, but the views over Ston and then Mali Ston are stunning. Easy return by road, and we visited the fort. Stroller impossible on the walls.
Pratpano Beach before taking the ferry. A beautiful beach and our first swim!
Mljet
Everything is beautiful on Mljet—the villages, landscapes, beaches... There are plenty of hiking and biking trails of varying difficulty. We saw lots of bike rental shops (Pomena, Polače, at the dock for St. Mary’s...), with some bikes equipped with child seats (though no baby trailers). In Pomena, there’s a small national park office that provides maps, sells entry tickets, and gives info on possible routes. The trails are well-marked. The boat to St. Mary’s Island is included in the park entry fee.
On the first day, from Pomena, we were 20 minutes’ walk from the small saltwater lake and the dock for St. Mary’s Monastery. We visited the little island, but the monastery interior was closed. We swam in Malo Jezero Lake (but there are plenty of spots to swim in both lakes).
The next day, we did a big loop starting from Pomena, walking through the forest (with beautiful sea views) to Janik (across from the monastery), then returning along the shore paths for a swim. An easy hike with little elevation—Olympe did it without any problems. The route is clearly marked on the bike trail map from the park office.
On our last day before the 3 PM ferry, we swam and had a picnic on one of Saplunara’s gorgeous sandy beaches—we had the whole place to ourselves!
Trsteno Arboretum (30 minutes from Dubrovnik). A stunning botanical garden overlooking the sea, which we visited in the late afternoon. Stroller accessible.
Dubrovnik:
City walls. Very expensive, but worth it! Lets you see the whole Old Town and the port from above. Stroller impossible.
Old Town: lots of beautiful, narrow alleys where laundry dries between buildings. Stroller possible but not practical. We visited the two monasteries and the cathedral inside but skipped the Rector’s Palace and St. Lawrence Fort.
Lokrum: deserves a full day. A beautiful walk circles the island, alternating between coves, historic buildings, and botanical gardens. We were short on time before the last boat left, but there are plenty of great spots to swim. You can’t do the full loop with a stroller, but I think the main sights near the dock are accessible.
Cavtat: a great surprise—I’d recommend it if, like us, you have a late flight. Just 15 minutes from the airport, it’s a charming seaside village with a lovely waterfront promenade (stroller-friendly), several swimming coves, and a cute center with things to see if you have extra time (museum, mausoleum, church...), plus restaurants, gelato shops, and boutiques...
Even though the girls walked a lot and enjoyed the walks, they *loved* swimming almost every day.
Transportation
Flight with Volotea. 1-hour delay on the way back.
Rental car with Goldcar. Office 100m outside the airport (it’s small, so about a 10-minute walk from arrivals). We were first in line, and luckily so—the employee was alone, and the queue behind us got really long, so budget extra time.
Don’t plan on driving in central Dubrovnik—the parking is outrageously expensive (over 5 €/hour near the walls), so book accommodation with parking and be ready for some walking.
Ferry: punctual. This time of year, we didn’t need to be at the dock more than 30 minutes before departure. Booked online.
Accommodation
I won’t talk about our place in Ston—it wasn’t very comfortable—or the one in Pomena, where we were really poorly received. But both locations were great for sightseeing. In Dubrovnik, we spent 3 nights at Natasa’s Airbnb (Apt Kalea), which was well-equipped, comfortable, and well-located—20 minutes’ walk from the center, with parking, a garden, and... a washing machine. All right across from a supermarket and a great bakery. For those with bigger budgets, the Art Deco Hilton in the center had me dreaming for 3 days!
Food
We didn’t eat out much because of the prices, but when we did, the food was great. The cuisine blends Italian and Slavic influences, so expect amazing seafood dishes, cuttlefish ink risotto, and big mixed grilled meats, not to mention pepper sauce. Despite the price, I’d recommend the restaurant in Mali Ston, *Kapetanova Kuća*. The food was great, and the service was friendly. If you have a late flight like we did, don’t hesitate to eat at the bistro almost across from the airport, *Pod Dubom*—good, affordable menu and a smiling waiter!
A great local picnic specialty: *burek*, a delicious savory pie (meat or cheese) you’ll find in bakeries or supermarkets. Also, good dry sheep’s cheese.
For picnics in Dubrovnik, I’d recommend the pine grove at St. Lawrence Fort or the benches above the port (at the end of Dominika Street). Both have amazing views.
Weather
We had beautiful weather—perfect for swimming *and* hiking. A light sweater for mornings and late afternoons, T-shirt and swimsuit during the day. In this part of Croatia, I’d say it’s comparable to southeastern France, so ideal for a fall break.
Gear
We like taking our stroller (Yoyo) for airport trips, but it wasn’t much use otherwise. If you have to choose, a baby carrier is better—between the cobblestones and hiking trails, it’s often the only way to carry a little one. We have the Deuter Pro hiking carrier, and Artémis loves it. We had high chairs in the few restaurants we went to, but not in our accommodations, so I brought a foldable fabric seat that fits on any chair. We had a crib in Ston and Pomena but not in Dubrovnik—Artémis slept on the floor on a folded duvet.
I invested in a Minimax *cabin-sized* suitcase for Apolline for this trip—she was so proud to have her first rolling suitcase! It turned out to be practical and seems sturdy. It let us take just one checked bag for all five of us for the first time.
Good and bad impressions
The swims in Mljet’s stunning, nearly empty nature.
Unfortunately, we felt unwelcome. The guidebook mentioned that Croatians can be standoffish at first, but we never got past that first impression. The constant feeling of being in the way—even though we weren’t there in peak season—was a bit unsettling. On the way back, I found out everyone I talked to (with or without kids) felt the same. Of course, it’s not universal—some people were polite, even warm (yes, really!).
No major issues, but a few things to note:
The car rental company only accepted debit cards, not credit cards. It was clearly stated in the contract, but I didn’t take it seriously. Luckily, Alexandre had a professional debit card, but *double-check yours before you go*.
For the car, despite the super-low rental price, you’ll have to add fees if you plan to take a ferry (50 to 80 € depending on the agency).
On Mljet, the only supermarket in Pomena was closed. We had to drive 10 minutes to Polače for basics. For diapers, we had to go even farther. I only saw formula for newborns in small supermarkets—maybe you can find more in Dubrovnik or at a pharmacy. I ended up using regular milk for Artémis.
Health
No issues, and no one got sick. We swam in very accessible spots given the girls’ ages, but if you’re eyeing a gorgeous little cove, watch out for sea urchins—we saw a lot!
Portable DVD players for the plane and car, but we barely used them. The girls watched cartoons in English on TV.
Kidizoom cameras.
A few toys for Artémis.
Budget
We found Croatia expensive, and I imagine it’s even worse in summer. For restaurants, sightseeing, and groceries, expect to pay the same as—or more than—in France. On the other hand, flights were low-cost, and accommodations were reasonable. The rental car was almost a steal, even with the extra ferry fees.
Round-trip flight from Marseille: 583 €
Car for 8 days: 56 € (+50 € for ferry fees)
Accommodations (7 nights): 509 €
Sightseeing:
Mljet National Park entry: 15 €/adult for 2 days (boat to St. Mary’s included)
Arboretum: 10 €/adult
Dubrovnik walls: 35 €/adult
Ferry Pratpano-Mljet: 60 € round-trip
October 2024
Hi everyone, I wanted to share our family week in Croatia. Alex and I, with Apolline (6), Olympe (4), and Artémis (18 months).
Itinerary
Planning the itinerary was complicated, but in the end, I wouldn’t change a thing. Since we had a round-trip flight from Dubrovnik, I preferred to prioritize proximity, so we skipped Plitvice, which I’d really love to visit—but that’ll be for next time. We had time to... take our time, and it was really nice.
Day 1: Marseille-Dubrovnik flight. Night in Ston.
Day 2: Visit to Ston and Mali Ston. Ferry to Mljet. Night in Pomena (3 nights total).
Days 3 & 4: Walks in Mljet National Park and swimming.
Day 5: Return ferry. Visit to the Trsteno Arboretum. Night in Dubrovnik (3 nights total).
Day 6: Visit to Dubrovnik’s city walls and Old Town.
Day 7: Lokrum.
Day 8: Morning in Dubrovnik, then Cavtat and overnight flight back to Marseille.
Our visits
Ston area:
Ston village, small but charming. We walked the walls from Ston to Mali Ston. It’s a steep climb, but the views over Ston and then Mali Ston are stunning. Easy return by road, and we visited the fort. Stroller impossible on the walls.
Pratpano Beach before taking the ferry. A beautiful beach and our first swim!
Mljet
Everything is beautiful on Mljet—the villages, landscapes, beaches... There are plenty of hiking and biking trails of varying difficulty. We saw lots of bike rental shops (Pomena, Polače, at the dock for St. Mary’s...), with some bikes equipped with child seats (though no baby trailers). In Pomena, there’s a small national park office that provides maps, sells entry tickets, and gives info on possible routes. The trails are well-marked. The boat to St. Mary’s Island is included in the park entry fee.
On the first day, from Pomena, we were 20 minutes’ walk from the small saltwater lake and the dock for St. Mary’s Monastery. We visited the little island, but the monastery interior was closed. We swam in Malo Jezero Lake (but there are plenty of spots to swim in both lakes).
The next day, we did a big loop starting from Pomena, walking through the forest (with beautiful sea views) to Janik (across from the monastery), then returning along the shore paths for a swim. An easy hike with little elevation—Olympe did it without any problems. The route is clearly marked on the bike trail map from the park office.
On our last day before the 3 PM ferry, we swam and had a picnic on one of Saplunara’s gorgeous sandy beaches—we had the whole place to ourselves!
Trsteno Arboretum (30 minutes from Dubrovnik). A stunning botanical garden overlooking the sea, which we visited in the late afternoon. Stroller accessible.
Dubrovnik:
City walls. Very expensive, but worth it! Lets you see the whole Old Town and the port from above. Stroller impossible.
Old Town: lots of beautiful, narrow alleys where laundry dries between buildings. Stroller possible but not practical. We visited the two monasteries and the cathedral inside but skipped the Rector’s Palace and St. Lawrence Fort.
Lokrum: deserves a full day. A beautiful walk circles the island, alternating between coves, historic buildings, and botanical gardens. We were short on time before the last boat left, but there are plenty of great spots to swim. You can’t do the full loop with a stroller, but I think the main sights near the dock are accessible.
Cavtat: a great surprise—I’d recommend it if, like us, you have a late flight. Just 15 minutes from the airport, it’s a charming seaside village with a lovely waterfront promenade (stroller-friendly), several swimming coves, and a cute center with things to see if you have extra time (museum, mausoleum, church...), plus restaurants, gelato shops, and boutiques...
Even though the girls walked a lot and enjoyed the walks, they *loved* swimming almost every day.
Transportation
Flight with Volotea. 1-hour delay on the way back.
Rental car with Goldcar. Office 100m outside the airport (it’s small, so about a 10-minute walk from arrivals). We were first in line, and luckily so—the employee was alone, and the queue behind us got really long, so budget extra time.
Don’t plan on driving in central Dubrovnik—the parking is outrageously expensive (over 5 €/hour near the walls), so book accommodation with parking and be ready for some walking.
Ferry: punctual. This time of year, we didn’t need to be at the dock more than 30 minutes before departure. Booked online.
Accommodation
I won’t talk about our place in Ston—it wasn’t very comfortable—or the one in Pomena, where we were really poorly received. But both locations were great for sightseeing. In Dubrovnik, we spent 3 nights at Natasa’s Airbnb (Apt Kalea), which was well-equipped, comfortable, and well-located—20 minutes’ walk from the center, with parking, a garden, and... a washing machine. All right across from a supermarket and a great bakery. For those with bigger budgets, the Art Deco Hilton in the center had me dreaming for 3 days!
Food
We didn’t eat out much because of the prices, but when we did, the food was great. The cuisine blends Italian and Slavic influences, so expect amazing seafood dishes, cuttlefish ink risotto, and big mixed grilled meats, not to mention pepper sauce. Despite the price, I’d recommend the restaurant in Mali Ston, *Kapetanova Kuća*. The food was great, and the service was friendly. If you have a late flight like we did, don’t hesitate to eat at the bistro almost across from the airport, *Pod Dubom*—good, affordable menu and a smiling waiter!
A great local picnic specialty: *burek*, a delicious savory pie (meat or cheese) you’ll find in bakeries or supermarkets. Also, good dry sheep’s cheese.
For picnics in Dubrovnik, I’d recommend the pine grove at St. Lawrence Fort or the benches above the port (at the end of Dominika Street). Both have amazing views.
Weather
We had beautiful weather—perfect for swimming *and* hiking. A light sweater for mornings and late afternoons, T-shirt and swimsuit during the day. In this part of Croatia, I’d say it’s comparable to southeastern France, so ideal for a fall break.
Gear
We like taking our stroller (Yoyo) for airport trips, but it wasn’t much use otherwise. If you have to choose, a baby carrier is better—between the cobblestones and hiking trails, it’s often the only way to carry a little one. We have the Deuter Pro hiking carrier, and Artémis loves it. We had high chairs in the few restaurants we went to, but not in our accommodations, so I brought a foldable fabric seat that fits on any chair. We had a crib in Ston and Pomena but not in Dubrovnik—Artémis slept on the floor on a folded duvet.
I invested in a Minimax *cabin-sized* suitcase for Apolline for this trip—she was so proud to have her first rolling suitcase! It turned out to be practical and seems sturdy. It let us take just one checked bag for all five of us for the first time.
Good and bad impressions
The swims in Mljet’s stunning, nearly empty nature.
Unfortunately, we felt unwelcome. The guidebook mentioned that Croatians can be standoffish at first, but we never got past that first impression. The constant feeling of being in the way—even though we weren’t there in peak season—was a bit unsettling. On the way back, I found out everyone I talked to (with or without kids) felt the same. Of course, it’s not universal—some people were polite, even warm (yes, really!).
No major issues, but a few things to note:
The car rental company only accepted debit cards, not credit cards. It was clearly stated in the contract, but I didn’t take it seriously. Luckily, Alexandre had a professional debit card, but *double-check yours before you go*.
For the car, despite the super-low rental price, you’ll have to add fees if you plan to take a ferry (50 to 80 € depending on the agency).
On Mljet, the only supermarket in Pomena was closed. We had to drive 10 minutes to Polače for basics. For diapers, we had to go even farther. I only saw formula for newborns in small supermarkets—maybe you can find more in Dubrovnik or at a pharmacy. I ended up using regular milk for Artémis.
Health
No issues, and no one got sick. We swam in very accessible spots given the girls’ ages, but if you’re eyeing a gorgeous little cove, watch out for sea urchins—we saw a lot!
Portable DVD players for the plane and car, but we barely used them. The girls watched cartoons in English on TV.
Kidizoom cameras.
A few toys for Artémis.
Budget
We found Croatia expensive, and I imagine it’s even worse in summer. For restaurants, sightseeing, and groceries, expect to pay the same as—or more than—in France. On the other hand, flights were low-cost, and accommodations were reasonable. The rental car was almost a steal, even with the extra ferry fees.
Round-trip flight from Marseille: 583 €
Car for 8 days: 56 € (+50 € for ferry fees)
Accommodations (7 nights): 509 €
Sightseeing:
Mljet National Park entry: 15 €/adult for 2 days (boat to St. Mary’s included)
Arboretum: 10 €/adult
Dubrovnik walls: 35 €/adult
Ferry Pratpano-Mljet: 60 € round-trip
Things to do in northern Aisne: The Godin Familistère and the stunning fortified churches of Thiérache.
The Familistère is a piece of our industrial history. A realistic utopia worth seeing to understand it better.
The fortified churches (there are 80 of them) are everywhere. We did the route Parfondeval / Jeantes / Bancigny / Plomion.
The Familistère is a piece of our industrial history. A realistic utopia worth seeing to understand it better.
The fortified churches (there are 80 of them) are everywhere. We did the route Parfondeval / Jeantes / Bancigny / Plomion.
Back from a week in the Algarve.
The goal was to get some fresh air, walk at a relaxed pace (80 km in 6 days), and visit friends.
Transavia flight: No issues YorCar rental: No issues (and cheap) B&B 1: Quinta do Mocho Turismo Rural in Estoy: Good, even if a bit remote B&B 2: Casa Luma B&B in Lagos: Disappointed (and really disappointed with room #3)
Day 1: Flight, rental car, stop at São Lourenço in Almancil, and visit to Loulé Day 2: Olhão, walk at Praia do Barril, Tavira, and evening in Faro’s old town (park at São Francisco parking lot) Day 3: Walk on the boardwalks at Quinto do Ludo, Falesia beaches, Carvoeiro Day 4: The boardwalks in Alvor, Praia da Rocha in Portimão, Ferragudo, and the boardwalks around Algar Seco Day 5: Ponta da Piedade in Lagos, walk to Praia de Luz from Praia Camilho Day 6: Burgau, Cape Sagres, Cape St. Vincent, Carrapateira, and Praia da Bordeira Day 7: "Sete Vales Suspensos" hike from Marinha Beach
Our highlights: - The Vincentine Coast (Carrapateira), much nicer than the concrete of the southern coast - The fish restaurants and Cataplana (A Barrigada in Lagos, Ribeira do Poço in Vila do Bispo...) - The boardwalks everywhere (Quinto do Ludo, Alvor, Algar Seco...) - The sun on the cliffs and Falesia Beach (it’s the local Bryce Canyon) - Chatting with the fishermen perched on the cliffs of Carrapateira - The weather (we were lucky for early March)
Our disappointments: - The towns and villages (Tavira and Lagos stand out) - The traffic off the highway - The English, the English, and more English everywhere
The goal was to get some fresh air, walk at a relaxed pace (80 km in 6 days), and visit friends.
Transavia flight: No issues YorCar rental: No issues (and cheap) B&B 1: Quinta do Mocho Turismo Rural in Estoy: Good, even if a bit remote B&B 2: Casa Luma B&B in Lagos: Disappointed (and really disappointed with room #3)
Day 1: Flight, rental car, stop at São Lourenço in Almancil, and visit to Loulé Day 2: Olhão, walk at Praia do Barril, Tavira, and evening in Faro’s old town (park at São Francisco parking lot) Day 3: Walk on the boardwalks at Quinto do Ludo, Falesia beaches, Carvoeiro Day 4: The boardwalks in Alvor, Praia da Rocha in Portimão, Ferragudo, and the boardwalks around Algar Seco Day 5: Ponta da Piedade in Lagos, walk to Praia de Luz from Praia Camilho Day 6: Burgau, Cape Sagres, Cape St. Vincent, Carrapateira, and Praia da Bordeira Day 7: "Sete Vales Suspensos" hike from Marinha Beach
Our highlights: - The Vincentine Coast (Carrapateira), much nicer than the concrete of the southern coast - The fish restaurants and Cataplana (A Barrigada in Lagos, Ribeira do Poço in Vila do Bispo...) - The boardwalks everywhere (Quinto do Ludo, Alvor, Algar Seco...) - The sun on the cliffs and Falesia Beach (it’s the local Bryce Canyon) - Chatting with the fishermen perched on the cliffs of Carrapateira - The weather (we were lucky for early March)
Our disappointments: - The towns and villages (Tavira and Lagos stand out) - The traffic off the highway - The English, the English, and more English everywhere
Carnet voyage Lanzarote
Organisation du voyage Nous partons à 2 ma compagne et moi fin septembre pour un séjour d’une semaine aux Canaries sur l’ile de Lanzarote, nous avons choisi plutôt cette ile qui n’est pas la plus fréquentée pour son coté volcanique et ses nombreuses balades variées. J’ai réservé via le site internet Expédia l’hébergement à l’hôtel, la location de la voiture et les billets d’avion Ryanair au départ de Marseille, c’est la seule solution pour avoir un vol direct Pour faciliter les déplacements pendant le séjour j’ai choisi parmi le grand choix proposé sur le site un hôtel situé au milieu de l’ile, il s’agit d’un hôtel de la chaine Barcelo et plus particulièrement à Teguise Beach l’établissement : « Barceló Teguise Beach Adults Only » qui s’avérera être un très bon choix. Séjour
Dimanche 21 Septembre- Lundi 22 Départ Il est14h15, nous sommes à la gare TGV d'Avignon, Danielle est venue nous chercher plus tôt étant donné la météo. Orages et déluge jusqu'a la gare TGV. Le TGV était à l'heure, juste 30minutes pour arriver à Marseille saint Charles. L'accès à la navette vers l’aéroport est rapide et pratique juste derrière la gare. Le car part pour l'aéroport sous l'orage et un déluge, les routes sont inondées et les voitures ne peuvent pas passer à certains endroits. On à le temps d'étre bien trempé pour rejoindre le terminal. 2 h d'attente avant le vol. Finalement l'avion décolle à minuit et peu de temps avant l'arrivée le pilote nous annonce que l'aéroport d'arrivée est fermé et que nous sommes déroutés à Tenerife et que la compagnie nous réacheminera à destination dès que possible. Il faudra attendre 2H et Ryanair nous a gracieusement offert un bon d'achat de 4€. Nous réembarquons vers 5H15 et décollage à 6H. Environ 45mn pour rejoindre Lanzarote. Une fois les valises récupérées on s'occupe de la location de voiture. Le guichet dans le terminal est fermé et il est indiqué de se rendre au parking P4, on a un peu de mal à le trouver. Je crains un peu la réponse du loueur car la voiture devait être retirée 7H plus tôt, mais ça ne pose pas de probléme. Une dame à coté de nous est furieuse car elle est dans la même situation et on lui a annulé sa location. Anne-Marie fait la traductrice pour elle au niveau de l'agence, mais rien n'y fait. On récupère une Toyota Aigo neuve et on se dirige ensuite vers l'hôtel. Une fois les formalités remplies on traverse le jardin en longeant la vaste piscine pour rejoindre la chambre. Une jolie chambre au 1er étage équipée d'un bain à remous avec vue sur mer. Il est tôt , nous allons ensuite prendre le petit déjeuner, un buffet généreusement garni et diversifié ou l'on peut trouver tout ce que l'on souhaite. Ensuite nous prenons la voiture pour rejoindre le site Cueva de los Verdes mais il y a beaucoup de monde et d'attente. Nous y reviendrons un autre jour. Nous allons ensuite au Mirador Del Rio. Ce mirador rocheux à une extrémité de l'ile avec des a pics vertigineux qui tombent dans l'océan d'une hauteur de 500m, la vue est grandiose et impressionnante. Un bar panoramique permet de se rafraîchir en profitant du décor. Retour à l'hôtel ensuite pour une petite balade dans le quartier et profiter de la belle piscine à la température d'eau agréable. Moment détente, transat, piscine. Le soir buffet trés varié au restaurant. Ensuite coché tôt pour récupérer de la nuit précédente sans sommeil.
Mardi 23 Après une bonne nuit réparatrice, buffet petit déjeuner très varié et copieux, l’installation en terrasse est bien agréable. Ensuite nous prenons la direction d’une route intérieure qui nous mène au parc national des volcans de Timanfaya. La route près du parc longe des vignobles ou les pieds sont entourés de murets en pierre de lave qui les protègent des vents dominants. Un premier arrêt au centre de visites ou l’activité volcanique de l’ile est très documentée. Ensuite arrêt à une aire ou il est possible de faire une petite balade à dos de chameau, 2 sièges de part et d’autre de sa bosse sont installés. Cette petite balade offre une belle vue sur ce décors volcanique en prenant de la hauteur. Prix correct de 11€ par place pour 20minutes de promenade. Nous rejoignons ensuite l’entrée du parc en passant par la voie qui mène au parking d’où partent les bus seul habilités à emprunter le parcours sinueux à l’intérieur du parc. Beaucoup de monde et environ 45 minutes et plusieurs arrêts avant d’atteindre le parking. Ensuite nous prenons le car et le parcours offre de très jolies vues sur cette zone volcanique et ses nombreux cratères. Le parcours est très intéressant avec plusieurs arrêts du car pour prendre des photos. Sur la zone du parking un guide nous montre la chaleur des pierres sous le sol qui permet d’enflammer de la végétation sèche, de méme l’eau versée dans les trous creusés dans le sol provoque immédiatement un geyser et des jets de vapeur. Le bâtiment à coté du parking offre un espace restauration ou la viande est cuite par la chaleur d’un puit creusé dans la roche volcanique. En repartant nous allons jusqu'à la commune de Playa Blanca, une commune du bord de mer qui offre une petite plage de sable.
Ensuite retour à l’hôtel en fin d’après-midi et repas du soir.
Mercredi 24 Lever assez tôt et petit déjeuner matinal, peu de monde à cette heure, nous avons réservé il y a 2 jours la visite à 10H de Los Verdes, des tunnels de lave créés par l’éruption et les coulées de lave jusqu'à la cote des fleuves de lave du volcan La Corona. Au contact de l’air la lave s’est solidifiée en surface et a continué à s’écouler en dessous, les tunnels de lave vont jusqu’au volcan à 8 kilomètres, mais on ne parcourt qu’un kilomètre. L’intérieur de ce tunnel est impressionnant avec des passages étroits et des salles plus vastes. On remarque les traces laissées par l’écoulement de la lave liquide des couleurs variées et des formes tourmentées. A l’extrémité du parcours une vaste salle a été aménagée en salle de concert à l’acoustique parfaite. Ensuite nous allons sur le site de Jameo Del Agua. C’est la continuité du tunnel de lave aménagé par Manrique. Des espaces bar, restaurant joliment aménagés et un lac souterrain ou l’on peut voir de petits crabes blancs aveugles, une espèce protégée dans cette eau très pure. En allant plus haut un bel espace avec un joli bassin au centre qui peut faire office de piscine et des cheminements autour très joliment aménagés d’un blanc pur qui contraste avec le bleu de l’eau de ce bassin. En poursuivant on accède à un vaste espace dans le tunnel de lave aménagé en grande salle de spectacle avec aussi une acoustique parfaite. Des escaliers permettent de découvrir ce bel espace d’en haut. Une trouée dans ce décor de lave avec l’océan à l’horizon. Nous repartons vers le village de Yé, ici nous sommes au pied du volcan La Corona. A 160m de l’église un chemin qui traverse les parcelles de vignes s’élève ensuite vers le haut du cratère du volcan que l’on atteint en 30 minutes environ. Il s’agit du plus haut volcan de l’ile. Arrivé au bord du cratère on constate la grande profondeur de celui-ci et la pente très raide de l’intérieur du cratère qui forme une grande ouverture circulaire. L’endroit est grandiose et impressionnant. Retour à la voiture et à l’hôtel par une route qui s’élève rapidement et offre une très belle vue sur le nord de l’ile.
Jeudi 25 Après le petit-déj toujours agréable et varié nous partons en direction du centre de l’ile au parc des volcan set nous nous arrêtons à un parking en bord de route d’où part un chemin en direction du volcan Montana Cuervo. Il s’agit d’un cratère ouvert sur le côté. Lors d’une éruption une explosion s’est produite, ouvrant une brèche dans le cratère.
Des énormes blocs de roche ont été projetés à plusieurs dizaines de mètres. Le chemin passe par la brèche et descend dans le cratère et permet de faire le tour de celui-ci. C’est impressionnant et l’on se sent vraiment petit et fragile dans cet univers. Les parois du cratère de différentes couleurs mettent en valeur les blocs de roche. Ce cratère est entouré d’une mer de lave avec une roche aux formes acérées et coupantes. On peut faire le tour extérieur du cratère mais ça n’a pas un grand intérêt. Nous rejoignons ensuite la côte ouest en s’arrêtant à un endroit où se trouve un petit lac vert à côté d’une belle plage de sable noir. Ensuite un arrêt à Salinas de Janubio, un joli point de vue sur les marais salants avec différentes couleurs d’eau. Une petite boutique offre divers produits sur place. Ensuite nous prenons la direction de la célèbre plage de Papagayo. La route s’arrête et on arrive à une guérite qui réclame 3€ pour continuer. A partir d’ici le terrain est privé et il faut payer pour emprunter une longue piste caillouteuse en terre de 3 Kilomètres. Pas mal de voitures y circulent soulevant des nuages de poussière. La voiture est repeinte couleur poussière. On arrive à un vaste espace de stationnement, plusieurs chemins mènent à des petites plages différentes. Nous allons à Papagayo, une petite plage de sable blond entourée de roches rouge. La plage est en pente douce et descend lentement dans l’eau. La température de l’eau est bonne et le cadre sympathique et paisible. Nous restons un moment avant de repartir en direction de l’hôtel.
Vendredi 26 Nous commençons par la visite de la fondation César Manrique à Tahiche. C’ était à l’origine une de ses demeures. La construction est moderne sur plusieurs niveaux et intégrée à la coulée de lave autour en utilisant les trouées pour constituer des espaces de vie. De larges baies vitrées donnent des pièces lumineuses et ouvertes sur le décor. L’endroit est agréable avec les jardins extérieurs fleuris. L’endroit mérite une visite. Ensuite nous prenons la route jusqu'à Las Grietas, un chemin conduit à une faille dans la roche volcanique qui forme un défilé étroit ou seule une personne peut passer à la fois. Ce défilé n’est pas très long et la progression est lente à cause des interminables selfies réalisés ici. Ensuite nous nous arrêtons à la Casa Del Camposino, une ferme rénovée qui accueille plusieurs boutiques d’artisans. Nous y goutons un vin local conseillé par une charmante dame et lui achetons sur ses conseils 2 bouteilles de vin rouge de Lanzarote. Direction maintenant la plage de Tamara, une belle et large plage au pied de hautes falaises. Ici il y a toujours de belles vagues et c’est la plage des surfeurs. Sur la route u retour vers l’hôtel nous nous arrêtons au jardin de cactus, c’est la derniére création de César Manrique créé avec un grand sens de l’esthétique autour d’un ancien moulin à vent il présente 4500 variétés de cactus aux formes diverses dans un très bel espace. Retour en fin d’après-midi à l’hôtel et soirée.
Samedi 27 Le matin après le petit déjeuner toujours copieux nous prenons la direction du nord de l’ile vers Haria. Nous découvrons par hasard une autre maison de César Manrique ou il a longtemps vécu. Cette maison est plus classique que la précédente, mais toujours de vastes pièces et une installation moderne très agréable. Au fond du jardin son vaste atelier, lieu où il réalisait ses œuvres. Ensuite nous allons au marché artisanal, on était venu pour ça initialement. Divers stands proposant des articles locaux, beaucoup de monde à ce marché. Pas de place aux terrasses des cafés pour s’installer. Ensuite nous retournons à la plage de Famara pour un long moment, toujours de belles vagues pour le plaisir des surfeurs. La température de l’eau est agréable et nous en profitons. Retour à l’hôtel mais avant arrêt à une station pour refaire le plein de la voiture qui à été très économique, d’autant plus que l’essence est beaucoup moins chère qu’en France 1,16€ le litre de sp95. Lavage de la voiture aussi qui était très poussiéreuse après la longue piste en terre pour accéder à la plage de Papagayo. A l’hôtel cocktail du dernier soir avant le repas.
Dimanche 28 Matinée à l’hôtel au bord de la piscine avant de libérer la chambre à 12H. Nous allons pour le déjeuner à un restaurant « Dona Lola » proche de l’hôtel avec une terrasse offrant la vue la cote. Nous prenons un carpaccio de thon qui est très bon. Direction l’aéroport ensuite situé à 15 minutes de route. Nous restituons la voiture et rejoignons l’aéroport. Une longue queue pour enregistrer les bagages. Le vol retour est à l’heure. Navette bus jusqu'à la gare Saint Charles. Ensuite nous rejoignons la location pour la nuit. Le boulevard descend, c’est plus facile avec les valises. La location est située entre le vieux port et la gare. Une fois sur place nous récupérons les clés et dernier effort il faut monter les bagages au 3éme étage. Le studio est sympathique, propre avec un équipement simple qui suffit pour une nuit.
Organisation du voyage Nous partons à 2 ma compagne et moi fin septembre pour un séjour d’une semaine aux Canaries sur l’ile de Lanzarote, nous avons choisi plutôt cette ile qui n’est pas la plus fréquentée pour son coté volcanique et ses nombreuses balades variées. J’ai réservé via le site internet Expédia l’hébergement à l’hôtel, la location de la voiture et les billets d’avion Ryanair au départ de Marseille, c’est la seule solution pour avoir un vol direct Pour faciliter les déplacements pendant le séjour j’ai choisi parmi le grand choix proposé sur le site un hôtel situé au milieu de l’ile, il s’agit d’un hôtel de la chaine Barcelo et plus particulièrement à Teguise Beach l’établissement : « Barceló Teguise Beach Adults Only » qui s’avérera être un très bon choix. Séjour
Dimanche 21 Septembre- Lundi 22 Départ Il est14h15, nous sommes à la gare TGV d'Avignon, Danielle est venue nous chercher plus tôt étant donné la météo. Orages et déluge jusqu'a la gare TGV. Le TGV était à l'heure, juste 30minutes pour arriver à Marseille saint Charles. L'accès à la navette vers l’aéroport est rapide et pratique juste derrière la gare. Le car part pour l'aéroport sous l'orage et un déluge, les routes sont inondées et les voitures ne peuvent pas passer à certains endroits. On à le temps d'étre bien trempé pour rejoindre le terminal. 2 h d'attente avant le vol. Finalement l'avion décolle à minuit et peu de temps avant l'arrivée le pilote nous annonce que l'aéroport d'arrivée est fermé et que nous sommes déroutés à Tenerife et que la compagnie nous réacheminera à destination dès que possible. Il faudra attendre 2H et Ryanair nous a gracieusement offert un bon d'achat de 4€. Nous réembarquons vers 5H15 et décollage à 6H. Environ 45mn pour rejoindre Lanzarote. Une fois les valises récupérées on s'occupe de la location de voiture. Le guichet dans le terminal est fermé et il est indiqué de se rendre au parking P4, on a un peu de mal à le trouver. Je crains un peu la réponse du loueur car la voiture devait être retirée 7H plus tôt, mais ça ne pose pas de probléme. Une dame à coté de nous est furieuse car elle est dans la même situation et on lui a annulé sa location. Anne-Marie fait la traductrice pour elle au niveau de l'agence, mais rien n'y fait. On récupère une Toyota Aigo neuve et on se dirige ensuite vers l'hôtel. Une fois les formalités remplies on traverse le jardin en longeant la vaste piscine pour rejoindre la chambre. Une jolie chambre au 1er étage équipée d'un bain à remous avec vue sur mer. Il est tôt , nous allons ensuite prendre le petit déjeuner, un buffet généreusement garni et diversifié ou l'on peut trouver tout ce que l'on souhaite. Ensuite nous prenons la voiture pour rejoindre le site Cueva de los Verdes mais il y a beaucoup de monde et d'attente. Nous y reviendrons un autre jour. Nous allons ensuite au Mirador Del Rio. Ce mirador rocheux à une extrémité de l'ile avec des a pics vertigineux qui tombent dans l'océan d'une hauteur de 500m, la vue est grandiose et impressionnante. Un bar panoramique permet de se rafraîchir en profitant du décor. Retour à l'hôtel ensuite pour une petite balade dans le quartier et profiter de la belle piscine à la température d'eau agréable. Moment détente, transat, piscine. Le soir buffet trés varié au restaurant. Ensuite coché tôt pour récupérer de la nuit précédente sans sommeil.
Mardi 23 Après une bonne nuit réparatrice, buffet petit déjeuner très varié et copieux, l’installation en terrasse est bien agréable. Ensuite nous prenons la direction d’une route intérieure qui nous mène au parc national des volcans de Timanfaya. La route près du parc longe des vignobles ou les pieds sont entourés de murets en pierre de lave qui les protègent des vents dominants. Un premier arrêt au centre de visites ou l’activité volcanique de l’ile est très documentée. Ensuite arrêt à une aire ou il est possible de faire une petite balade à dos de chameau, 2 sièges de part et d’autre de sa bosse sont installés. Cette petite balade offre une belle vue sur ce décors volcanique en prenant de la hauteur. Prix correct de 11€ par place pour 20minutes de promenade. Nous rejoignons ensuite l’entrée du parc en passant par la voie qui mène au parking d’où partent les bus seul habilités à emprunter le parcours sinueux à l’intérieur du parc. Beaucoup de monde et environ 45 minutes et plusieurs arrêts avant d’atteindre le parking. Ensuite nous prenons le car et le parcours offre de très jolies vues sur cette zone volcanique et ses nombreux cratères. Le parcours est très intéressant avec plusieurs arrêts du car pour prendre des photos. Sur la zone du parking un guide nous montre la chaleur des pierres sous le sol qui permet d’enflammer de la végétation sèche, de méme l’eau versée dans les trous creusés dans le sol provoque immédiatement un geyser et des jets de vapeur. Le bâtiment à coté du parking offre un espace restauration ou la viande est cuite par la chaleur d’un puit creusé dans la roche volcanique. En repartant nous allons jusqu'à la commune de Playa Blanca, une commune du bord de mer qui offre une petite plage de sable.
Ensuite retour à l’hôtel en fin d’après-midi et repas du soir.
Mercredi 24 Lever assez tôt et petit déjeuner matinal, peu de monde à cette heure, nous avons réservé il y a 2 jours la visite à 10H de Los Verdes, des tunnels de lave créés par l’éruption et les coulées de lave jusqu'à la cote des fleuves de lave du volcan La Corona. Au contact de l’air la lave s’est solidifiée en surface et a continué à s’écouler en dessous, les tunnels de lave vont jusqu’au volcan à 8 kilomètres, mais on ne parcourt qu’un kilomètre. L’intérieur de ce tunnel est impressionnant avec des passages étroits et des salles plus vastes. On remarque les traces laissées par l’écoulement de la lave liquide des couleurs variées et des formes tourmentées. A l’extrémité du parcours une vaste salle a été aménagée en salle de concert à l’acoustique parfaite. Ensuite nous allons sur le site de Jameo Del Agua. C’est la continuité du tunnel de lave aménagé par Manrique. Des espaces bar, restaurant joliment aménagés et un lac souterrain ou l’on peut voir de petits crabes blancs aveugles, une espèce protégée dans cette eau très pure. En allant plus haut un bel espace avec un joli bassin au centre qui peut faire office de piscine et des cheminements autour très joliment aménagés d’un blanc pur qui contraste avec le bleu de l’eau de ce bassin. En poursuivant on accède à un vaste espace dans le tunnel de lave aménagé en grande salle de spectacle avec aussi une acoustique parfaite. Des escaliers permettent de découvrir ce bel espace d’en haut. Une trouée dans ce décor de lave avec l’océan à l’horizon. Nous repartons vers le village de Yé, ici nous sommes au pied du volcan La Corona. A 160m de l’église un chemin qui traverse les parcelles de vignes s’élève ensuite vers le haut du cratère du volcan que l’on atteint en 30 minutes environ. Il s’agit du plus haut volcan de l’ile. Arrivé au bord du cratère on constate la grande profondeur de celui-ci et la pente très raide de l’intérieur du cratère qui forme une grande ouverture circulaire. L’endroit est grandiose et impressionnant. Retour à la voiture et à l’hôtel par une route qui s’élève rapidement et offre une très belle vue sur le nord de l’ile.
Jeudi 25 Après le petit-déj toujours agréable et varié nous partons en direction du centre de l’ile au parc des volcan set nous nous arrêtons à un parking en bord de route d’où part un chemin en direction du volcan Montana Cuervo. Il s’agit d’un cratère ouvert sur le côté. Lors d’une éruption une explosion s’est produite, ouvrant une brèche dans le cratère.
Des énormes blocs de roche ont été projetés à plusieurs dizaines de mètres. Le chemin passe par la brèche et descend dans le cratère et permet de faire le tour de celui-ci. C’est impressionnant et l’on se sent vraiment petit et fragile dans cet univers. Les parois du cratère de différentes couleurs mettent en valeur les blocs de roche. Ce cratère est entouré d’une mer de lave avec une roche aux formes acérées et coupantes. On peut faire le tour extérieur du cratère mais ça n’a pas un grand intérêt. Nous rejoignons ensuite la côte ouest en s’arrêtant à un endroit où se trouve un petit lac vert à côté d’une belle plage de sable noir. Ensuite un arrêt à Salinas de Janubio, un joli point de vue sur les marais salants avec différentes couleurs d’eau. Une petite boutique offre divers produits sur place. Ensuite nous prenons la direction de la célèbre plage de Papagayo. La route s’arrête et on arrive à une guérite qui réclame 3€ pour continuer. A partir d’ici le terrain est privé et il faut payer pour emprunter une longue piste caillouteuse en terre de 3 Kilomètres. Pas mal de voitures y circulent soulevant des nuages de poussière. La voiture est repeinte couleur poussière. On arrive à un vaste espace de stationnement, plusieurs chemins mènent à des petites plages différentes. Nous allons à Papagayo, une petite plage de sable blond entourée de roches rouge. La plage est en pente douce et descend lentement dans l’eau. La température de l’eau est bonne et le cadre sympathique et paisible. Nous restons un moment avant de repartir en direction de l’hôtel.
Vendredi 26 Nous commençons par la visite de la fondation César Manrique à Tahiche. C’ était à l’origine une de ses demeures. La construction est moderne sur plusieurs niveaux et intégrée à la coulée de lave autour en utilisant les trouées pour constituer des espaces de vie. De larges baies vitrées donnent des pièces lumineuses et ouvertes sur le décor. L’endroit est agréable avec les jardins extérieurs fleuris. L’endroit mérite une visite. Ensuite nous prenons la route jusqu'à Las Grietas, un chemin conduit à une faille dans la roche volcanique qui forme un défilé étroit ou seule une personne peut passer à la fois. Ce défilé n’est pas très long et la progression est lente à cause des interminables selfies réalisés ici. Ensuite nous nous arrêtons à la Casa Del Camposino, une ferme rénovée qui accueille plusieurs boutiques d’artisans. Nous y goutons un vin local conseillé par une charmante dame et lui achetons sur ses conseils 2 bouteilles de vin rouge de Lanzarote. Direction maintenant la plage de Tamara, une belle et large plage au pied de hautes falaises. Ici il y a toujours de belles vagues et c’est la plage des surfeurs. Sur la route u retour vers l’hôtel nous nous arrêtons au jardin de cactus, c’est la derniére création de César Manrique créé avec un grand sens de l’esthétique autour d’un ancien moulin à vent il présente 4500 variétés de cactus aux formes diverses dans un très bel espace. Retour en fin d’après-midi à l’hôtel et soirée.
Samedi 27 Le matin après le petit déjeuner toujours copieux nous prenons la direction du nord de l’ile vers Haria. Nous découvrons par hasard une autre maison de César Manrique ou il a longtemps vécu. Cette maison est plus classique que la précédente, mais toujours de vastes pièces et une installation moderne très agréable. Au fond du jardin son vaste atelier, lieu où il réalisait ses œuvres. Ensuite nous allons au marché artisanal, on était venu pour ça initialement. Divers stands proposant des articles locaux, beaucoup de monde à ce marché. Pas de place aux terrasses des cafés pour s’installer. Ensuite nous retournons à la plage de Famara pour un long moment, toujours de belles vagues pour le plaisir des surfeurs. La température de l’eau est agréable et nous en profitons. Retour à l’hôtel mais avant arrêt à une station pour refaire le plein de la voiture qui à été très économique, d’autant plus que l’essence est beaucoup moins chère qu’en France 1,16€ le litre de sp95. Lavage de la voiture aussi qui était très poussiéreuse après la longue piste en terre pour accéder à la plage de Papagayo. A l’hôtel cocktail du dernier soir avant le repas.
Dimanche 28 Matinée à l’hôtel au bord de la piscine avant de libérer la chambre à 12H. Nous allons pour le déjeuner à un restaurant « Dona Lola » proche de l’hôtel avec une terrasse offrant la vue la cote. Nous prenons un carpaccio de thon qui est très bon. Direction l’aéroport ensuite situé à 15 minutes de route. Nous restituons la voiture et rejoignons l’aéroport. Une longue queue pour enregistrer les bagages. Le vol retour est à l’heure. Navette bus jusqu'à la gare Saint Charles. Ensuite nous rejoignons la location pour la nuit. Le boulevard descend, c’est plus facile avec les valises. La location est située entre le vieux port et la gare. Une fois sur place nous récupérons les clés et dernier effort il faut monter les bagages au 3éme étage. Le studio est sympathique, propre avec un équipement simple qui suffit pour une nuit.
Spitsbergen, 80° North latitude. A lost archipelago on the edge of the world, northeast of Greenland, the last lands before the pole. I’m aboard the *Grigoriy Mikheev*, a Russian ship from the Murmansk Polar Research Institute. Russian flag, Russian crew. Chartered by OceanWide Expeditions.
Last night, we were stuck in drifting pack ice in the long Hinlopen Strait. This incident led to an unforgettable barbecue and party on the ship’s foredeck, but we had to abandon our plan to head south and circle Spitsbergen. This summer, there’s too much ice in the strait, and it’s too thick. At dawn, the tide turned, allowing us to break free and head north again. The ship is now moving slowly through sea ice density that satellite maps estimate at around five-tenths. Our progress is punctuated by dull thuds: the ship’s bow constantly shoves and fractures enormous ice floes.
At breakfast, Tarik, our expedition leader, informs us that our program will be significantly altered. Since we can’t cross the strait, we’ll turn back and head north. To kick off our Plan B, Tarik plans a landing tonight on the small island of Låg (Lågøya), at 80°10' North. Last summer, he saw a large walrus colony there and hopes we’ll find them again. The weather is perfect—glorious sunshine—and walruses are truly addicted to sunbathing on the beaches.
We’ve now exited the strait and are sailing far from the coast. In case the walrus colony is there, we don’t want the ship’s approach to scare them into the water before we even see them. So, we scan the shore methodically with binoculars. We pass several bays, round a cape, and examine several shorelines littered with driftwood, but no walruses in sight. Several times, clusters of large rounded rocks trigger false alarms… but no, they’re just rocks…
Suddenly, Tarik spots them through his binoculars! On an isolated peninsula, our expedition leader’s highly trained eye has picked out, among those brown masses, the shape and white color of the enormous tusks of what he calls "the heavyweights of the Arctic!" Now, fifteen or twenty pairs of binoculars are pointed in the indicated direction… Sure enough, I see them now! They’re there, huge, sprawled in the sun on the beach. Without Tarik’s sharp eye, we might have missed them. They’re so tightly packed together that they really look like a mass of brown rocks. Only the white, saber-shaped tusks and the occasional furtive movements hint that they’re animals.
It’s 11 PM, and on the deck of the *Grigoriy Mikheev*, as you can imagine, excitement has ramped up several notches. Several of us have already rushed to our cabins to gear up, pulling on boots and life jackets in anticipation of a landing that promises to be absolutely amazing. Tarik reins in our enthusiasm a bit: Okay, so we were lucky to find them, but now we need to think about how to approach them. Not that they’re dangerous—at least not on land… Their enormous bulk and their pseudo-feet (flippers) only allow for very limited mobility. But when they feel threatened, their first instinct is to head for the water, where their perfect ease keeps them safe. So, the challenge will be not to scare them off, to avoid them bolting into the water in the first few seconds! That’s exactly what would happen if we arrived by Zodiac right in front of them.
So, Tarik decides we’ll make a wide detour to land on the other side of the peninsula where they are. From there, we’ll leave the Zodiacs on the beach and cross the peninsula on foot, about a kilometer and a half. That way, we’ll approach the herd from behind. This approach will also keep us downwind of them. There you go—with a few precautions, they shouldn’t hear us coming or catch our scent.
Everyone is geared up now and practically bursting with impatience… While the Zodiacs are being lowered into the water, Tarik and Delphine recap the approach rules: absolute silence, communication only by signs, no dragging feet on the rocks, watch your step, and strict coordination with slow movements.
Here we go… we’re off now! Spray flying from the Zodiac’s bow, icy air whipping our faces, gloves gripping the side ropes, freezing splashes, pure emotion… Ahh, I love this! We describe a wide curve offshore to round the peninsula. Ahead of us, the magnificent landscape of this intensely blue sea unfolds, with the hills of Lågøya and, in the distance, the ice-covered mountains of Nordaustlandet under the sun. It’s midnight now. In July, at 80 degrees North, the sun is just like midday.
This navigation takes us far from the walruses, on the other side of the cape. Easy landing on a shoreline of large pebbles covered in giant seaweed brought in by the currents. They look like long strips of plastic—sometimes translucent, sometimes white, beige, or orange. In places, there are huge tangled layers of it. Our boots sink into this material, which gives off a strong iodine smell. Unfortunately, there’s also some plastic waste—fishing floats and net debris. Seeing this here is crazy… A little farther on, in a cove, tides and storms have piled up numerous tree trunks from Siberia.
We begin crossing the peninsula on foot, staying close together. We’re walking on a nearly deserted polar tundra. We’re only ten degrees of latitude from the North Pole here. The violent winds and extreme temperatures that dominate this island for nine months of the year allow only a few rare plants to grow, close to the ground, between the rocks. In places, rocks are covered with large patches of black lichen.
Gérard, rifle slung over his shoulder, constantly scans the terrain. Tarik and Delphine are also very vigilant. We know no one ever lands here, and although this environment isn’t ideal for bears, you never know—better to be cautious. The terrain is mostly flat, but whenever a small rise blocks our view, Gérard moves ahead and only signals us to proceed when he’s sure there’s no "big man in fur" (tradition dictates we don’t name the polar bear).
After a few hundred meters, we find an enormous whale vertebra. Judging by the state of the bone, it’s likely a relic from the whaling era that ravaged this area in the 17th century and all over northern Spitsbergen. A little farther on, the remains of a grave catch our attention. The only human trace on this remote island, this burial is surely very old, also likely dating from the whalers’ time. But this whaler’s final resting place didn’t shelter him for long—there’s not much left, just a piece of skull and a few broken bones. Due to the permafrost, the body could only be buried a few dozen centimeters deep, between some planks held in place by large stones. This makeshift grave was probably ravaged by a bear shortly after the burial. Several stone blocks are overturned, the planks are broken open. We only linger for a minute to pay our respects to this whaler, whose poor remains now merge with the mineral landscape.
A slight rise bulges in the center of the peninsula, and here we are at the highest point. If our orientation is correct, we’re heading straight for the walrus colony. A moment of emotion… my heart’s pounding. Yes, they’re there, about three hundred meters ahead of us! They haven’t moved since we spotted them from the *Grigoriy Mikheev*’s deck. They’re sprawled in a heap, packed tightly together in the sun, on the shingle beach. The light breeze blowing in our faces confirms we’re on the right track—not to be sniffed out from afar by the big beasts.
By signs, Tarik tells us we’ll approach slowly, in stages, moving about thirty meters at a time, making as little noise as possible with our boots, then freezing completely for a minute or two, crouching down to let them forget us. This strategy proves excellent. We’re now less than a hundred meters away, and it doesn’t seem like our presence is perceived as a threat by the "heavyweights of the Arctic." At this distance, let’s not kid ourselves: we’re certainly spotted, but our way of approaching must seem reassuring—or at least manageable—since they’re only a few meters from the water and know they could dash into it in seconds if they felt the need.
We now advance in shorter stages—twenty meters at a time, then just ten, crouching, then freezing like statues, our breathing nearly held from emotion and concentration. We’re now thirty meters from the mastodons. Our presence must be starting to stress them because they’re moving more. While still sprawled against each other, some suddenly rear up on their flipper-feet, grunting and snorting like monstrous pigs. Their head shakes make their two enormous ivory sabers sway. They jab them into the fat of their neighbors, who in turn stir and emit irritated snorts.
At Tarik’s signal, we move a few more meters, "on velvet paws"… We’re right there now. I hold my breath, throat tight… Intense emotion, a fantastic spectacle—these enormous Arctic animals sprawled in the sun, with the magnificent backdrop of snow-covered mountains across the sound. I think to myself: *I’m here… this can’t be real!* It’s nearly 2 AM now, the air is crystal clear, and the Arctic sun bathes this scene in what might be the most beautiful light I’ve ever seen. We’re about fifteen meters away now. Tarik signals that we won’t go any closer. The walruses are still lying down, but occasionally, our close presence and the clicking of cameras trigger bouts of agitation that ripple through the herd, causing some jostling. They’re so tightly packed and tangled that it’s a bit hard to count them. In the end, we tally sixteen, plus one "little one," half-crushed in the general mass.
Seen from here, they’re truly impressive! The "sumo wrestlers of the Arctic!" According to Tarik, they must weigh about a ton—slightly more for the males than the females—and the "little one" must already be around 200 kg. When the weather’s nice like today, they love sprawling on the beaches to soak up the sun.
Walruses are marvels of Arctic adaptation. They can modify their blood circulation depending on thermal conditions. They withstand extreme cold by directing most of their circulation to vital organs (heart, lungs) and minimizing peripheral blood flow (skin and limbs) to prevent heat loss. Conversely, when they sunbathe, they direct most of their blood flow to the skin, turning themselves into true solar collectors.
At this latitude, there’s practically no difference in sunlight between day and night. Noon or midnight, the sun’s angle barely changes. Walruses make the most of these fair-weather phases by sprawling in the sun 23 hours out of 24… Enough to make siesta lovers dream, right? Twenty-three hours of lounging… and the twenty-fourth for eating!
And when we say "eating," what a feast! The proverb *"Who sleeps dines"* is fully justified here: when a walrus decides to feed, it gulps down between 50 and 60 kg of shellfish in an hour! Its food consists of large bivalve mollusks, which it tears from the seabed with its tusks and sucks up nonstop! A 50 kg meal certainly justifies a 23-hour nap for digestion, right? And speaking of digestion—it’s what the "big guys" in front of us are doing right now! You might wonder how we know this… Well, I’ll tell you: if you were here, downwind (or should I say *down the winds!*) of these marine giants, you’d have no doubt! Pfft… what flatulence! I can confirm that today’s scent is called *"Morsanus, from the North"* (*"Because I’m worth it!"*). Mmm, yeah… Tarik, you had a great idea putting us upwind… at least *they* can’t smell us, but we sure can!
But… heepp! Delphine discreetly signals to get our attention—she’s just spotted something: in the smooth water of the bay, a small V-shaped ripple runs along the beach, then turns toward the shore… So the colony wasn’t complete on the beach… Here’s an 800 kg bather stepping ashore now, right before our astonished eyes! She lifts her head and stays like that for a long moment, her enormous tusks half out of the water. She looks exhausted, resting a bit before coming out. Or more likely, she’s hesitating to climb onto the beach because she’s seen us… The shapeless head stays still for a moment, then violently snorts like a clogged drain! A misshapen head where you can’t make out anything that usually makes a head! No eyes, no ears, no mouth… A sort of monstrous cabbage! But the temptation to join the warmth of the "sunbathers" is too strong! Here’s our pachyderm bather climbing the few meters of the shore and sprawling right in the middle of her companions, who greet her with jostling, grunts, and tusk jabs! Then everything settles back into order—800 kg of fat and flesh added to the fifteen or so tons of local biomass. Welcome to the club!
It seems the walruses have gotten a bit used to us now. They’re moving and grunting much less. I realize it wasn’t obvious to approach them like this without scaring them into the water… It’s thanks to Tarik and Delphine’s advice that we managed it. It’s also, let’s be honest, because we’re all passionate here, and there’s been total discipline and cohesion from the start of this approach.
It’s past 2 AM now—time to head back… We’ll leave them to their wild world, to their life at the beginning of the world. We’re happy to have disturbed them as little as possible and not to have disrupted their nap too much. We leave stealthily, first backing up a few meters, then turning around and crossing the peninsula again, walking slowly, avoiding making noise with our boots as long as we’re still close.
We find the Zodiacs on the shoreline with the giant kelp. The sea is like a lake—easy boarding. We make another wide loop to round the cape, passing offshore. The sharp cold stings my cheeks and ears again—I put my hat back on. The cold—I hadn’t thought about it at all during our encounter with the walruses. In the Zodiac, with the engine noise, no one speaks. The faces and smiles are those of men and women who’ve just crossed an inner frontier—the one that separates dream from reality. But tonight, that frontier was porous, and the dream entered reality.
We return to the *Grigoriy Mikheev*, waiting at anchor. It’s past 3 AM, but I don’t feel any fatigue. A few minutes later, I’m in my bunk, rocked by a gentle swell and the hum of the engines. In the soft warmth of the blanket, a strange sleep overtakes me… A sleep filled with luminous, icy landscapes, with large beasts bearing saber-like tusks. Large beasts that sleep, snore, snort, grunt, and jostle in their sleep… in *my* sleep. An unforgettable memory. It was July 2004, in Spitsbergen.
Chris51.
Last night, we were stuck in drifting pack ice in the long Hinlopen Strait. This incident led to an unforgettable barbecue and party on the ship’s foredeck, but we had to abandon our plan to head south and circle Spitsbergen. This summer, there’s too much ice in the strait, and it’s too thick. At dawn, the tide turned, allowing us to break free and head north again. The ship is now moving slowly through sea ice density that satellite maps estimate at around five-tenths. Our progress is punctuated by dull thuds: the ship’s bow constantly shoves and fractures enormous ice floes.
At breakfast, Tarik, our expedition leader, informs us that our program will be significantly altered. Since we can’t cross the strait, we’ll turn back and head north. To kick off our Plan B, Tarik plans a landing tonight on the small island of Låg (Lågøya), at 80°10' North. Last summer, he saw a large walrus colony there and hopes we’ll find them again. The weather is perfect—glorious sunshine—and walruses are truly addicted to sunbathing on the beaches.
We’ve now exited the strait and are sailing far from the coast. In case the walrus colony is there, we don’t want the ship’s approach to scare them into the water before we even see them. So, we scan the shore methodically with binoculars. We pass several bays, round a cape, and examine several shorelines littered with driftwood, but no walruses in sight. Several times, clusters of large rounded rocks trigger false alarms… but no, they’re just rocks…
Suddenly, Tarik spots them through his binoculars! On an isolated peninsula, our expedition leader’s highly trained eye has picked out, among those brown masses, the shape and white color of the enormous tusks of what he calls "the heavyweights of the Arctic!" Now, fifteen or twenty pairs of binoculars are pointed in the indicated direction… Sure enough, I see them now! They’re there, huge, sprawled in the sun on the beach. Without Tarik’s sharp eye, we might have missed them. They’re so tightly packed together that they really look like a mass of brown rocks. Only the white, saber-shaped tusks and the occasional furtive movements hint that they’re animals.
It’s 11 PM, and on the deck of the *Grigoriy Mikheev*, as you can imagine, excitement has ramped up several notches. Several of us have already rushed to our cabins to gear up, pulling on boots and life jackets in anticipation of a landing that promises to be absolutely amazing. Tarik reins in our enthusiasm a bit: Okay, so we were lucky to find them, but now we need to think about how to approach them. Not that they’re dangerous—at least not on land… Their enormous bulk and their pseudo-feet (flippers) only allow for very limited mobility. But when they feel threatened, their first instinct is to head for the water, where their perfect ease keeps them safe. So, the challenge will be not to scare them off, to avoid them bolting into the water in the first few seconds! That’s exactly what would happen if we arrived by Zodiac right in front of them.
So, Tarik decides we’ll make a wide detour to land on the other side of the peninsula where they are. From there, we’ll leave the Zodiacs on the beach and cross the peninsula on foot, about a kilometer and a half. That way, we’ll approach the herd from behind. This approach will also keep us downwind of them. There you go—with a few precautions, they shouldn’t hear us coming or catch our scent.
Everyone is geared up now and practically bursting with impatience… While the Zodiacs are being lowered into the water, Tarik and Delphine recap the approach rules: absolute silence, communication only by signs, no dragging feet on the rocks, watch your step, and strict coordination with slow movements.
Here we go… we’re off now! Spray flying from the Zodiac’s bow, icy air whipping our faces, gloves gripping the side ropes, freezing splashes, pure emotion… Ahh, I love this! We describe a wide curve offshore to round the peninsula. Ahead of us, the magnificent landscape of this intensely blue sea unfolds, with the hills of Lågøya and, in the distance, the ice-covered mountains of Nordaustlandet under the sun. It’s midnight now. In July, at 80 degrees North, the sun is just like midday.
This navigation takes us far from the walruses, on the other side of the cape. Easy landing on a shoreline of large pebbles covered in giant seaweed brought in by the currents. They look like long strips of plastic—sometimes translucent, sometimes white, beige, or orange. In places, there are huge tangled layers of it. Our boots sink into this material, which gives off a strong iodine smell. Unfortunately, there’s also some plastic waste—fishing floats and net debris. Seeing this here is crazy… A little farther on, in a cove, tides and storms have piled up numerous tree trunks from Siberia.
We begin crossing the peninsula on foot, staying close together. We’re walking on a nearly deserted polar tundra. We’re only ten degrees of latitude from the North Pole here. The violent winds and extreme temperatures that dominate this island for nine months of the year allow only a few rare plants to grow, close to the ground, between the rocks. In places, rocks are covered with large patches of black lichen.
Gérard, rifle slung over his shoulder, constantly scans the terrain. Tarik and Delphine are also very vigilant. We know no one ever lands here, and although this environment isn’t ideal for bears, you never know—better to be cautious. The terrain is mostly flat, but whenever a small rise blocks our view, Gérard moves ahead and only signals us to proceed when he’s sure there’s no "big man in fur" (tradition dictates we don’t name the polar bear).
After a few hundred meters, we find an enormous whale vertebra. Judging by the state of the bone, it’s likely a relic from the whaling era that ravaged this area in the 17th century and all over northern Spitsbergen. A little farther on, the remains of a grave catch our attention. The only human trace on this remote island, this burial is surely very old, also likely dating from the whalers’ time. But this whaler’s final resting place didn’t shelter him for long—there’s not much left, just a piece of skull and a few broken bones. Due to the permafrost, the body could only be buried a few dozen centimeters deep, between some planks held in place by large stones. This makeshift grave was probably ravaged by a bear shortly after the burial. Several stone blocks are overturned, the planks are broken open. We only linger for a minute to pay our respects to this whaler, whose poor remains now merge with the mineral landscape.
A slight rise bulges in the center of the peninsula, and here we are at the highest point. If our orientation is correct, we’re heading straight for the walrus colony. A moment of emotion… my heart’s pounding. Yes, they’re there, about three hundred meters ahead of us! They haven’t moved since we spotted them from the *Grigoriy Mikheev*’s deck. They’re sprawled in a heap, packed tightly together in the sun, on the shingle beach. The light breeze blowing in our faces confirms we’re on the right track—not to be sniffed out from afar by the big beasts.
By signs, Tarik tells us we’ll approach slowly, in stages, moving about thirty meters at a time, making as little noise as possible with our boots, then freezing completely for a minute or two, crouching down to let them forget us. This strategy proves excellent. We’re now less than a hundred meters away, and it doesn’t seem like our presence is perceived as a threat by the "heavyweights of the Arctic." At this distance, let’s not kid ourselves: we’re certainly spotted, but our way of approaching must seem reassuring—or at least manageable—since they’re only a few meters from the water and know they could dash into it in seconds if they felt the need.
We now advance in shorter stages—twenty meters at a time, then just ten, crouching, then freezing like statues, our breathing nearly held from emotion and concentration. We’re now thirty meters from the mastodons. Our presence must be starting to stress them because they’re moving more. While still sprawled against each other, some suddenly rear up on their flipper-feet, grunting and snorting like monstrous pigs. Their head shakes make their two enormous ivory sabers sway. They jab them into the fat of their neighbors, who in turn stir and emit irritated snorts.
At Tarik’s signal, we move a few more meters, "on velvet paws"… We’re right there now. I hold my breath, throat tight… Intense emotion, a fantastic spectacle—these enormous Arctic animals sprawled in the sun, with the magnificent backdrop of snow-covered mountains across the sound. I think to myself: *I’m here… this can’t be real!* It’s nearly 2 AM now, the air is crystal clear, and the Arctic sun bathes this scene in what might be the most beautiful light I’ve ever seen. We’re about fifteen meters away now. Tarik signals that we won’t go any closer. The walruses are still lying down, but occasionally, our close presence and the clicking of cameras trigger bouts of agitation that ripple through the herd, causing some jostling. They’re so tightly packed and tangled that it’s a bit hard to count them. In the end, we tally sixteen, plus one "little one," half-crushed in the general mass.
Seen from here, they’re truly impressive! The "sumo wrestlers of the Arctic!" According to Tarik, they must weigh about a ton—slightly more for the males than the females—and the "little one" must already be around 200 kg. When the weather’s nice like today, they love sprawling on the beaches to soak up the sun.
Walruses are marvels of Arctic adaptation. They can modify their blood circulation depending on thermal conditions. They withstand extreme cold by directing most of their circulation to vital organs (heart, lungs) and minimizing peripheral blood flow (skin and limbs) to prevent heat loss. Conversely, when they sunbathe, they direct most of their blood flow to the skin, turning themselves into true solar collectors.
At this latitude, there’s practically no difference in sunlight between day and night. Noon or midnight, the sun’s angle barely changes. Walruses make the most of these fair-weather phases by sprawling in the sun 23 hours out of 24… Enough to make siesta lovers dream, right? Twenty-three hours of lounging… and the twenty-fourth for eating!
And when we say "eating," what a feast! The proverb *"Who sleeps dines"* is fully justified here: when a walrus decides to feed, it gulps down between 50 and 60 kg of shellfish in an hour! Its food consists of large bivalve mollusks, which it tears from the seabed with its tusks and sucks up nonstop! A 50 kg meal certainly justifies a 23-hour nap for digestion, right? And speaking of digestion—it’s what the "big guys" in front of us are doing right now! You might wonder how we know this… Well, I’ll tell you: if you were here, downwind (or should I say *down the winds!*) of these marine giants, you’d have no doubt! Pfft… what flatulence! I can confirm that today’s scent is called *"Morsanus, from the North"* (*"Because I’m worth it!"*). Mmm, yeah… Tarik, you had a great idea putting us upwind… at least *they* can’t smell us, but we sure can!
But… heepp! Delphine discreetly signals to get our attention—she’s just spotted something: in the smooth water of the bay, a small V-shaped ripple runs along the beach, then turns toward the shore… So the colony wasn’t complete on the beach… Here’s an 800 kg bather stepping ashore now, right before our astonished eyes! She lifts her head and stays like that for a long moment, her enormous tusks half out of the water. She looks exhausted, resting a bit before coming out. Or more likely, she’s hesitating to climb onto the beach because she’s seen us… The shapeless head stays still for a moment, then violently snorts like a clogged drain! A misshapen head where you can’t make out anything that usually makes a head! No eyes, no ears, no mouth… A sort of monstrous cabbage! But the temptation to join the warmth of the "sunbathers" is too strong! Here’s our pachyderm bather climbing the few meters of the shore and sprawling right in the middle of her companions, who greet her with jostling, grunts, and tusk jabs! Then everything settles back into order—800 kg of fat and flesh added to the fifteen or so tons of local biomass. Welcome to the club!
It seems the walruses have gotten a bit used to us now. They’re moving and grunting much less. I realize it wasn’t obvious to approach them like this without scaring them into the water… It’s thanks to Tarik and Delphine’s advice that we managed it. It’s also, let’s be honest, because we’re all passionate here, and there’s been total discipline and cohesion from the start of this approach.
It’s past 2 AM now—time to head back… We’ll leave them to their wild world, to their life at the beginning of the world. We’re happy to have disturbed them as little as possible and not to have disrupted their nap too much. We leave stealthily, first backing up a few meters, then turning around and crossing the peninsula again, walking slowly, avoiding making noise with our boots as long as we’re still close.
We find the Zodiacs on the shoreline with the giant kelp. The sea is like a lake—easy boarding. We make another wide loop to round the cape, passing offshore. The sharp cold stings my cheeks and ears again—I put my hat back on. The cold—I hadn’t thought about it at all during our encounter with the walruses. In the Zodiac, with the engine noise, no one speaks. The faces and smiles are those of men and women who’ve just crossed an inner frontier—the one that separates dream from reality. But tonight, that frontier was porous, and the dream entered reality.
We return to the *Grigoriy Mikheev*, waiting at anchor. It’s past 3 AM, but I don’t feel any fatigue. A few minutes later, I’m in my bunk, rocked by a gentle swell and the hum of the engines. In the soft warmth of the blanket, a strange sleep overtakes me… A sleep filled with luminous, icy landscapes, with large beasts bearing saber-like tusks. Large beasts that sleep, snore, snort, grunt, and jostle in their sleep… in *my* sleep. An unforgettable memory. It was July 2004, in Spitsbergen.
Chris51.
Hello everyone,
I’ve been to Morocco about fifteen times, but I’ve never posted a travel journal here on Voyage Forum. Why? I have no idea… Maybe because this section was so active, with lots of stories and photos. I thought sharing my adventures in *al Maghrib* wouldn’t be very original. Today, this space feels quieter, so what if I tried to give it a little life back, modestly? With some help…
This trip will be different. From the start of my relationship with Richard, I was determined to introduce him to *my* Morocco. But he was a bit reluctant… He’ll tell you about our 2022 meeting, and I’ll illustrate it with my photos, just like we did with our India travel journal.
I’ve been to Morocco about fifteen times, but I’ve never posted a travel journal here on Voyage Forum. Why? I have no idea… Maybe because this section was so active, with lots of stories and photos. I thought sharing my adventures in *al Maghrib* wouldn’t be very original. Today, this space feels quieter, so what if I tried to give it a little life back, modestly? With some help…
This trip will be different. From the start of my relationship with Richard, I was determined to introduce him to *my* Morocco. But he was a bit reluctant… He’ll tell you about our 2022 meeting, and I’ll illustrate it with my photos, just like we did with our India travel journal.
4 years... it’s been so long!!!
What a pleasure to be back on VF and, most of all, to see all the forum members again 🙂
And what a joy to read the travel journals of those travel addicts who were quicker than their own shadow to share their discoveries. Their keyboards and mice must’ve been itching
I’ll admit I’m feeling a bit of that itch too, but I’m way too lazy to dive into the story of our latest trip—last summer in the northwest USA. I’ll probably get to it later, but it might take a while! So, I’m jumping into the short recap of our *way* too short trip to Iceland at the end of April 2024. And even though it’s not the done thing, I’m going to spoil it and start with the conclusion: it was *amazing*!!!
Back in February, on the eve of leaving for a few days’ holiday in Alsace, we started wondering what we could do for Easter break. Scotland and Iceland were the top contenders. The boys are growing up, but they still travel with us often, and they tipped the scales in favor of Iceland. Since we decided a bit late, before booking the flights, I took a quick look at available accommodations. There wasn’t much left, and some were at crazy prices, but I managed to line up a decent itinerary with places that seemed like good value for money. I read travel journals on VF and blogs I could find, picked up bits of info from Facebook groups, and the route quickly took shape—even if I struggled with the place names, mixing them up and forgetting them. The dream could begin...
Bookings
Flight tickets bought directly from Fly Play’s website: 1520 € for the four of us (adult fare), with just two checked bags and one carry-on each. It was the compromise we found to keep costs down while still fitting all the bulky clothes we’d need. Late April isn’t quite winter anymore, but it’s not quite spring either, so we packed for chilly weather. Fly Play is Icelandair’s low-cost airline. No complaints: check-in was quick, service was efficient, and the flights were on time.
The car. Booked with Golden Circle car rental, a small family-run business with offices just 5 minutes from the airport. I’d read good things about them, and I can confirm everything went smoothly with our Dacia Duster—it wasn’t brand new, but it was reliable and spacious. We paid 463 € for the week, with full insurance included. The manager picked us up at the airport 10 minutes after I messaged him on WhatsApp to say we’d arrived. For the return trip, since our flight was super early and the agency wasn’t open yet, we agreed to leave the car in the airport parking lot and sent him a photo of the spot so he could find it. Super convenient! I read *so* many questions on Facebook groups about insurance: *Should I get the max coverage or not? I’ve got a Visa Premier, I’ve never had an accident, it adds 100 €...* Between sandstorms that can damage the bodywork and skidding off the road due to bad weather (we saw a few cars in ditches!), we decided to go for the rental company’s max insurance to be safe. It was also a requirement for leaving the car in the airport parking lot on our way back, since we couldn’t do the final inspection.
Accommodations were all booked on Booking.com and Hotels.com: - 2 nights in a cottage at Fossatun Country Hotel, near Borgarnes (we rented the sunset cottage—great spot, with a nice view and separate from the other lodgings) - 1 night in an apartment at Bakki Hostel and Apartments, in Eyrarbakki (top-notch) - 1 night in a gorgeous (and pricey!) apartment at Vik Apartments - 2 nights in a family room at Adventure Hof Hotel (perfect location) - 1 night at Blue Viking Studio near the airport (meh, but fine for a few hours’ sleep before an early flight) Total: 1234 €, averaging 176 € per night for 4-person accommodations.
The itinerary Day 1: Arrival around noon at the airport - Hraunfossar / Night at Fossatun Country Hotel Day 2: Snæfellsnes Peninsula / Night at Fossatun Country Hotel Day 3: Bruarfoss - Geysir - Gullfoss - Reykjadalur hot springs / Night in Eyrarbakki Day 4: Seljalandsfoss and Gljúfrafoss - DC-3 wreck (the one near Seljalandsfoss) - Skógafoss - Kvernufoss - Sólheimajökull (hike to the foot of the glacier) - Dyrhólaey - Reynisfjara Beach / Night in Vík Day 5: Fjaðrárgljúfur Canyon - Vatnajökull (3-hour hike to Svartifoss and Skaftafell) / Night in Hof Day 6: Múlagljúfur Canyon (2h45 hike) - Fjallsárlón - Jökulsárlón and Diamond Beach - Svínafellsjökull / Night in Hof Day 7: Drive back - Reykjavik - Sky Lagoon / Night in Keflavík Day 8: Flight back at 6 AM
That’s the practical side covered. I’ll leave you with a photo of our trusty steed.
And what a joy to read the travel journals of those travel addicts who were quicker than their own shadow to share their discoveries. Their keyboards and mice must’ve been itching
I’ll admit I’m feeling a bit of that itch too, but I’m way too lazy to dive into the story of our latest trip—last summer in the northwest USA. I’ll probably get to it later, but it might take a while! So, I’m jumping into the short recap of our *way* too short trip to Iceland at the end of April 2024. And even though it’s not the done thing, I’m going to spoil it and start with the conclusion: it was *amazing*!!!
Back in February, on the eve of leaving for a few days’ holiday in Alsace, we started wondering what we could do for Easter break. Scotland and Iceland were the top contenders. The boys are growing up, but they still travel with us often, and they tipped the scales in favor of Iceland. Since we decided a bit late, before booking the flights, I took a quick look at available accommodations. There wasn’t much left, and some were at crazy prices, but I managed to line up a decent itinerary with places that seemed like good value for money. I read travel journals on VF and blogs I could find, picked up bits of info from Facebook groups, and the route quickly took shape—even if I struggled with the place names, mixing them up and forgetting them. The dream could begin...
Bookings
Flight tickets bought directly from Fly Play’s website: 1520 € for the four of us (adult fare), with just two checked bags and one carry-on each. It was the compromise we found to keep costs down while still fitting all the bulky clothes we’d need. Late April isn’t quite winter anymore, but it’s not quite spring either, so we packed for chilly weather. Fly Play is Icelandair’s low-cost airline. No complaints: check-in was quick, service was efficient, and the flights were on time.
The car. Booked with Golden Circle car rental, a small family-run business with offices just 5 minutes from the airport. I’d read good things about them, and I can confirm everything went smoothly with our Dacia Duster—it wasn’t brand new, but it was reliable and spacious. We paid 463 € for the week, with full insurance included. The manager picked us up at the airport 10 minutes after I messaged him on WhatsApp to say we’d arrived. For the return trip, since our flight was super early and the agency wasn’t open yet, we agreed to leave the car in the airport parking lot and sent him a photo of the spot so he could find it. Super convenient! I read *so* many questions on Facebook groups about insurance: *Should I get the max coverage or not? I’ve got a Visa Premier, I’ve never had an accident, it adds 100 €...* Between sandstorms that can damage the bodywork and skidding off the road due to bad weather (we saw a few cars in ditches!), we decided to go for the rental company’s max insurance to be safe. It was also a requirement for leaving the car in the airport parking lot on our way back, since we couldn’t do the final inspection.
Accommodations were all booked on Booking.com and Hotels.com: - 2 nights in a cottage at Fossatun Country Hotel, near Borgarnes (we rented the sunset cottage—great spot, with a nice view and separate from the other lodgings) - 1 night in an apartment at Bakki Hostel and Apartments, in Eyrarbakki (top-notch) - 1 night in a gorgeous (and pricey!) apartment at Vik Apartments - 2 nights in a family room at Adventure Hof Hotel (perfect location) - 1 night at Blue Viking Studio near the airport (meh, but fine for a few hours’ sleep before an early flight) Total: 1234 €, averaging 176 € per night for 4-person accommodations.
The itinerary Day 1: Arrival around noon at the airport - Hraunfossar / Night at Fossatun Country Hotel Day 2: Snæfellsnes Peninsula / Night at Fossatun Country Hotel Day 3: Bruarfoss - Geysir - Gullfoss - Reykjadalur hot springs / Night in Eyrarbakki Day 4: Seljalandsfoss and Gljúfrafoss - DC-3 wreck (the one near Seljalandsfoss) - Skógafoss - Kvernufoss - Sólheimajökull (hike to the foot of the glacier) - Dyrhólaey - Reynisfjara Beach / Night in Vík Day 5: Fjaðrárgljúfur Canyon - Vatnajökull (3-hour hike to Svartifoss and Skaftafell) / Night in Hof Day 6: Múlagljúfur Canyon (2h45 hike) - Fjallsárlón - Jökulsárlón and Diamond Beach - Svínafellsjökull / Night in Hof Day 7: Drive back - Reykjavik - Sky Lagoon / Night in Keflavík Day 8: Flight back at 6 AM
That’s the practical side covered. I’ll leave you with a photo of our trusty steed.
Here’s my second travel journal since my 2017 one. You can check it out here if you’d like: https://voyageforum.com/forum/densha-otaku-passion-japonaise-d9177495/
This was my first trip back to Japan since the COVID lockdown. Between 2017 (with a short visit in 2018) and 2024, a lot has unfortunately changed. Economic and demographic shifts have led—and will continue to lead—to the closure of many rural railway lines. Fewer residents, fewer travelers, rising operating costs, staffing shortages, and increasingly precarious funding. Then there’s the ever-growing number of tourists who damage everything in their path and frustrate locals. Fortunately, there are still plenty of ways to escape the crowds, even if you do run into groups of Chinese tourists arriving by bus at the Mino Railway Museum or aboard a Kiha 120 crossing the Izumo-Sakane switchback. (Oops, spoiler alert—that’s for my 2025 travel journal.) We’ll see if PM Takaichi has as much success on the ground as he does in his speeches.
I’m lucky to love remote regions and places most tourists don’t know about. Taking public transport—mostly trains—and living like the locals do. That’s what my trips are all about. Those who’ve followed me on these pages know I love trains, especially older ones. These are becoming rarer in regular service, and Japan still isn’t ready to allow even certified museums to run historic trains on public lines, unlike many other countries. I even have my own license to drive historic trams, despite being an IT specialist in my day job. You’ll find some comments that clearly reflect my opinions and experience with the operation and rolling stock of certain lines—sometimes positive, sometimes not.
My trips are always intense. This isn’t about relaxing. It’s about discovering, blending in with locals, being welcomed by associations and museums, and uncovering things most people wouldn’t even imagine exist halfway across the world.
Sorry for the long intro.
This was my first trip back to Japan since the COVID lockdown. Between 2017 (with a short visit in 2018) and 2024, a lot has unfortunately changed. Economic and demographic shifts have led—and will continue to lead—to the closure of many rural railway lines. Fewer residents, fewer travelers, rising operating costs, staffing shortages, and increasingly precarious funding. Then there’s the ever-growing number of tourists who damage everything in their path and frustrate locals. Fortunately, there are still plenty of ways to escape the crowds, even if you do run into groups of Chinese tourists arriving by bus at the Mino Railway Museum or aboard a Kiha 120 crossing the Izumo-Sakane switchback. (Oops, spoiler alert—that’s for my 2025 travel journal.) We’ll see if PM Takaichi has as much success on the ground as he does in his speeches.
I’m lucky to love remote regions and places most tourists don’t know about. Taking public transport—mostly trains—and living like the locals do. That’s what my trips are all about. Those who’ve followed me on these pages know I love trains, especially older ones. These are becoming rarer in regular service, and Japan still isn’t ready to allow even certified museums to run historic trains on public lines, unlike many other countries. I even have my own license to drive historic trams, despite being an IT specialist in my day job. You’ll find some comments that clearly reflect my opinions and experience with the operation and rolling stock of certain lines—sometimes positive, sometimes not.
My trips are always intense. This isn’t about relaxing. It’s about discovering, blending in with locals, being welcomed by associations and museums, and uncovering things most people wouldn’t even imagine exist halfway across the world.
Sorry for the long intro.
Friday, April 18
Night in Guwahati
Before leaving the guesthouse, I drop off a small bag that I’ll pick up when I return.
I take a tuk-tuk at 7:40 AM to get to the sumo departure point for Shillong, the capital of Meghalaya.
My bag is loaded onto the roof, my seat is assigned, and we have to wait for the car to fill up.
While waiting, I watch the street come to life. I have fun photographing the different modes of transport passing by.
Time passes faster when you’re occupied. We leave at 8:20 AM, and the driver does door-to-door service along the way. We make our first stop for 25 minutes at 9:10 AM, then another for breakfast at 10:10 AM. The scenery is very different from Assam and Nagaland. We drive alongside a pine forest and a large lake. There are beautiful viewpoints, but the driver isn’t stopping for sightseeing, so I have to settle for looking through the car windows.
We finally arrive in Shillong at 11:45 AM. The driver stops in the middle of nowhere, so I have to walk up the street to find a taxi. I flag one down, and he agrees to take me to my new guesthouse, the Rockski Boutique Bed & Breakfast. No sooner do I arrive than a storm with a heavy downpour welcomes me. When I arrived in Guwahati at the end of October, I’d booked a guide with a car for this week. There’s no public transport to get from village to village, so I had to take a car to visit. The tourism manager, Sachin, sent me a message to let me know that the driver, Welbis, will pick me up tomorrow morning at 8 AM. The temperature is much cooler here—only 19°C. At 2:30 PM, the rain stops, and I take the opportunity to explore the city. I start with the cathedral. Today is Good Friday, so I’m going to see how it’s celebrated here. Meghalaya is a Catholic state. The cathedral isn’t far from the guesthouse—it’s huge and all blue.
I arrive during mass, and it’s impossible to enter—the faithful are numerous outside in the parking lot. Giant screens broadcast the ceremony.
While waiting, I watch the street come to life. I have fun photographing the different modes of transport passing by.
Time passes faster when you’re occupied. We leave at 8:20 AM, and the driver does door-to-door service along the way. We make our first stop for 25 minutes at 9:10 AM, then another for breakfast at 10:10 AM. The scenery is very different from Assam and Nagaland. We drive alongside a pine forest and a large lake. There are beautiful viewpoints, but the driver isn’t stopping for sightseeing, so I have to settle for looking through the car windows.
We finally arrive in Shillong at 11:45 AM. The driver stops in the middle of nowhere, so I have to walk up the street to find a taxi. I flag one down, and he agrees to take me to my new guesthouse, the Rockski Boutique Bed & Breakfast. No sooner do I arrive than a storm with a heavy downpour welcomes me. When I arrived in Guwahati at the end of October, I’d booked a guide with a car for this week. There’s no public transport to get from village to village, so I had to take a car to visit. The tourism manager, Sachin, sent me a message to let me know that the driver, Welbis, will pick me up tomorrow morning at 8 AM. The temperature is much cooler here—only 19°C. At 2:30 PM, the rain stops, and I take the opportunity to explore the city. I start with the cathedral. Today is Good Friday, so I’m going to see how it’s celebrated here. Meghalaya is a Catholic state. The cathedral isn’t far from the guesthouse—it’s huge and all blue.
I arrive during mass, and it’s impossible to enter—the faithful are numerous outside in the parking lot. Giant screens broadcast the ceremony.
After five trips to the American West, we had planned to switch countries and continents to visit Turkey. However, by the time we made up our minds, flight ticket prices had nearly doubled, reaching 400 € for a round-trip ticket. A bit disappointed, I started looking at transatlantic flight prices and stumbled upon discounted tickets from Basel-Mulhouse to Dallas—at the same price as our tickets to Turkey!
No hesitation needed; we bought the five tickets for a total of 1,860 € excluding baggage!
From Fort Worth Airport, we had two options: - Head west on a loop through Texas, New Mexico, and southern Colorado - Head east to change the scenery and explore East Texas, Louisiana, with a possible detour into Florida.
The latter option won unanimously, so here we are, off to discover new states, mainly Louisiana and Texas.
One of the main post-COVID challenges is finding a reasonably priced car rental. After an initial booking around 1,300 €, we kept an eye on prices a few weeks before departure and managed to snag a better deal at around 900 € for a comfortable sedan.
Yes, this summer will also be a first: no 4x4, no camping, and plenty of restaurants!
As always, I’ve planned a packed itinerary, ready to adjust on the go. A few weeks before departure, we learned we’d be at full capacity—our eldest son, Maxime, got his first-year med school results. By finishing as a top admit, he avoided the mandatory July-August internship that would’ve kept him from joining us. Instead, he wrapped up his internship at the last minute the night before our big departure.
We’ll get to savor these special moments together.
The itinerary: Day 1 - 07/15: Fort Worth Day 2: Dallas Day 3: Jefferson - Caddo Lake Day 4: Black Bayou Lake - Natchez - Stanton Hall and Rosalie Mansion Day 5: St. Francisville - Rosedown Plantation - Cat Island Wildlife Refuge Day 6: Mobile - USS Alabama Battleship Memorial Park Day 7 - 8: Pensacola Beach Day 9: Bellingrath Gardens - New Orleans Day 10 - 11: New Orleans Day 12: Plantation Route Day 13: Jungle Gardens - Tabasco Factory - Vermilionville - Lake Martin Day 14: Baton Rouge - USS Kidd Day 15: Houma - Cajun Man's Swamp Tour Day 16: Galveston, Texas Day 17: Space Center Houston - Painted Churches Day 18: San Antonio Day 19: Texas Hill Country Day 20: Texas Hill Country and evening in San Antonio Day 21: Austin and Waco
Day 0 - 07/14: The departure timing isn’t exactly relaxing. On Thursday late afternoon, we hit the road to Alsace, aiming to drop off our two cockers with family before reaching the airport at 2 AM for a 3-hour power nap. Not exactly fresh, we arrive at the terminal looking for a British Airways counter. None in sight, so we try our luck at a United Airlines counter—who knows, maybe it’ll work out. And bingo! The agent checks us in. We didn’t quite understand why, but maybe there’s some agreement between airlines. For the first time, we’re traveling without checked baggage, so no extra fees. Not a huge feat, given the scorching temperatures awaiting us!
The connecting flight to London goes smoothly.
During the layover, liquid checks get stricter—now requiring small bottles to be in a pre-approved clear bag, with only one bag allowed per passenger. Normally, no big deal, but between deodorant, sunscreen, after-sun lotion, hand sanitizer, contact lens solution, etc., we spend 20 minutes optimizing the arrangement! When we finally succeed, one of the security staff bursts out laughing and congratulates us!
With our stomachs growling, we grab an American breakfast before browsing the airport shops.
We then discover our plane for the long-haul flight and are thrilled to see it’s an A380—a first for Laetitia, though the rest of the family experienced it during our winter getaway. Still just as impressive!
With a hint of uncertainty, we take off for the States—my third trip in barely 12 months. This time, no endless badlands, canyons, slot canyons, hoodoos, or brain rocks, but a journey through five states (Texas, Louisiana, a quick stop in Mississippi, Alabama, and the northwest tip of Florida), where we hope to soak up a unique vibe... with a packed schedule of diverse visits.
Arrival at Fort Worth Airport and customs go smoothly. Since we have no checked baggage, we’re first in line at the Dollar counter. In just 3 minutes, the formalities are done. We decline the Toll Pass, which I don’t think we’ll need based on my "calculations," and head to the Dollar parking lot, where an employee tells us we can pick any car we want!
There are about thirty cars waiting. Too many choices!
After last year’s mishap in Oakland, where our 4x4’s trunk was broken into, we’re looking for a sedan to hide our luggage this time. Unfortunately, there are none—only SUVs. We finally settle on a comfortable 7-seater Ford SUV with a massive trunk when set up for five.
On the road from Fort Worth to Dallas, we accidentally take a toll highway without realizing until it’s too late to exit. Let’s hope Dollar doesn’t charge us a week’s worth of their pricey Toll Pass for a $2 toll. We’ll see... In the meantime, Maxime sets up Google Maps to avoid toll roads.
Since it’s not too late, we stop by the nearest Walmart for groceries before checking into our hotel room for three nights in East Dallas suburb.
No hesitation needed; we bought the five tickets for a total of 1,860 € excluding baggage!
From Fort Worth Airport, we had two options: - Head west on a loop through Texas, New Mexico, and southern Colorado - Head east to change the scenery and explore East Texas, Louisiana, with a possible detour into Florida.
The latter option won unanimously, so here we are, off to discover new states, mainly Louisiana and Texas.
One of the main post-COVID challenges is finding a reasonably priced car rental. After an initial booking around 1,300 €, we kept an eye on prices a few weeks before departure and managed to snag a better deal at around 900 € for a comfortable sedan.
Yes, this summer will also be a first: no 4x4, no camping, and plenty of restaurants!
As always, I’ve planned a packed itinerary, ready to adjust on the go. A few weeks before departure, we learned we’d be at full capacity—our eldest son, Maxime, got his first-year med school results. By finishing as a top admit, he avoided the mandatory July-August internship that would’ve kept him from joining us. Instead, he wrapped up his internship at the last minute the night before our big departure.
We’ll get to savor these special moments together.
The itinerary: Day 1 - 07/15: Fort Worth Day 2: Dallas Day 3: Jefferson - Caddo Lake Day 4: Black Bayou Lake - Natchez - Stanton Hall and Rosalie Mansion Day 5: St. Francisville - Rosedown Plantation - Cat Island Wildlife Refuge Day 6: Mobile - USS Alabama Battleship Memorial Park Day 7 - 8: Pensacola Beach Day 9: Bellingrath Gardens - New Orleans Day 10 - 11: New Orleans Day 12: Plantation Route Day 13: Jungle Gardens - Tabasco Factory - Vermilionville - Lake Martin Day 14: Baton Rouge - USS Kidd Day 15: Houma - Cajun Man's Swamp Tour Day 16: Galveston, Texas Day 17: Space Center Houston - Painted Churches Day 18: San Antonio Day 19: Texas Hill Country Day 20: Texas Hill Country and evening in San Antonio Day 21: Austin and Waco
Day 0 - 07/14: The departure timing isn’t exactly relaxing. On Thursday late afternoon, we hit the road to Alsace, aiming to drop off our two cockers with family before reaching the airport at 2 AM for a 3-hour power nap. Not exactly fresh, we arrive at the terminal looking for a British Airways counter. None in sight, so we try our luck at a United Airlines counter—who knows, maybe it’ll work out. And bingo! The agent checks us in. We didn’t quite understand why, but maybe there’s some agreement between airlines. For the first time, we’re traveling without checked baggage, so no extra fees. Not a huge feat, given the scorching temperatures awaiting us!
The connecting flight to London goes smoothly.
During the layover, liquid checks get stricter—now requiring small bottles to be in a pre-approved clear bag, with only one bag allowed per passenger. Normally, no big deal, but between deodorant, sunscreen, after-sun lotion, hand sanitizer, contact lens solution, etc., we spend 20 minutes optimizing the arrangement! When we finally succeed, one of the security staff bursts out laughing and congratulates us!
With our stomachs growling, we grab an American breakfast before browsing the airport shops.
We then discover our plane for the long-haul flight and are thrilled to see it’s an A380—a first for Laetitia, though the rest of the family experienced it during our winter getaway. Still just as impressive!
With a hint of uncertainty, we take off for the States—my third trip in barely 12 months. This time, no endless badlands, canyons, slot canyons, hoodoos, or brain rocks, but a journey through five states (Texas, Louisiana, a quick stop in Mississippi, Alabama, and the northwest tip of Florida), where we hope to soak up a unique vibe... with a packed schedule of diverse visits.
Arrival at Fort Worth Airport and customs go smoothly. Since we have no checked baggage, we’re first in line at the Dollar counter. In just 3 minutes, the formalities are done. We decline the Toll Pass, which I don’t think we’ll need based on my "calculations," and head to the Dollar parking lot, where an employee tells us we can pick any car we want!
There are about thirty cars waiting. Too many choices!
After last year’s mishap in Oakland, where our 4x4’s trunk was broken into, we’re looking for a sedan to hide our luggage this time. Unfortunately, there are none—only SUVs. We finally settle on a comfortable 7-seater Ford SUV with a massive trunk when set up for five.
On the road from Fort Worth to Dallas, we accidentally take a toll highway without realizing until it’s too late to exit. Let’s hope Dollar doesn’t charge us a week’s worth of their pricey Toll Pass for a $2 toll. We’ll see... In the meantime, Maxime sets up Google Maps to avoid toll roads.
Since it’s not too late, we stop by the nearest Walmart for groceries before checking into our hotel room for three nights in East Dallas suburb.
Une belle manière de découvrir ces magnifiques chutes .
la cambrure de leurs reins.
Moi je ne crois que ce que je vois 😉
la cambrure de leurs reins.
Moi je ne crois que ce que je vois 😉
A horseback ride by the sea on the Caribbean island of Saint Martin
or ... on the beach, but at a walk and trot!
It was probably these visions that gave me the irresistible urge to do this horseback trek—to walk on the sand, but as a rider, and also enjoy a swim that was anything but ordinary.
From wish to reality ... all it took was heading to Ranch du Galion. Here we are, on the heights of the east coast of the charming island of Saint Martin, in the heart of the Caribbean.
After a first horseback ride that we really enjoyed, with a simple trip to the beach, it didn’t take much to make us want to repeat the pleasant experience. My daughter Emma had been dreaming of it too—so why not share this change of scenery, but this time opting for a slightly longer trek? It’s the big day. And Jess is there to greet us this morning with a big smile. Jess—or Jessica—is the one who runs this tropical ranch with passion; she looks after a whole little family of horses. This morning, she’ll be our guide and companion for this seaside horseback ride.
So, we set off along the wild shores of the stunning Anse du Galion.
In the enclosures, behind the fences and ropes, some stallions already seem impatient to stretch their legs! They know the place, the routines, and the trails ... and the soothing reward halfway through—a dip in the sea. Maybe that’s what’s causing a little excitement among these mounts!
Horses and ... an iguana slipping into the bushes. Given its appearance—its crest, its parched skin, and the dewlap hanging under its head—you’d think it wasn’t exactly young.
Anyway, back to the horses. Among the mares and stallions, I try to spot "Avenir" and his elegant gait—he was "my" horse during my last trek here, on the trails and sands of Galion. Well, spotting him isn’t going to be easy! My memories are a bit fuzzy, and several of these horses look like him ... -- Before setting off on the trek, it’s time for Jess to choose our mounts. For riders with little experience ... it’ll be calm horses, well-used to trekking—definitely easier and more enjoyable. Titia, a beautiful white mare for my daughter, and Prince, a gentle stallion for me. A little anecdote along the way: we’re really staying in the family for this horseback ride—these two horses are actually related: "my" Prince is the son of the lovely Titia!
to be continued -->
From wish to reality ... all it took was heading to Ranch du Galion. Here we are, on the heights of the east coast of the charming island of Saint Martin, in the heart of the Caribbean.
After a first horseback ride that we really enjoyed, with a simple trip to the beach, it didn’t take much to make us want to repeat the pleasant experience. My daughter Emma had been dreaming of it too—so why not share this change of scenery, but this time opting for a slightly longer trek? It’s the big day. And Jess is there to greet us this morning with a big smile. Jess—or Jessica—is the one who runs this tropical ranch with passion; she looks after a whole little family of horses. This morning, she’ll be our guide and companion for this seaside horseback ride.
So, we set off along the wild shores of the stunning Anse du Galion.
In the enclosures, behind the fences and ropes, some stallions already seem impatient to stretch their legs! They know the place, the routines, and the trails ... and the soothing reward halfway through—a dip in the sea. Maybe that’s what’s causing a little excitement among these mounts!
Horses and ... an iguana slipping into the bushes. Given its appearance—its crest, its parched skin, and the dewlap hanging under its head—you’d think it wasn’t exactly young.
Anyway, back to the horses. Among the mares and stallions, I try to spot "Avenir" and his elegant gait—he was "my" horse during my last trek here, on the trails and sands of Galion. Well, spotting him isn’t going to be easy! My memories are a bit fuzzy, and several of these horses look like him ... -- Before setting off on the trek, it’s time for Jess to choose our mounts. For riders with little experience ... it’ll be calm horses, well-used to trekking—definitely easier and more enjoyable. Titia, a beautiful white mare for my daughter, and Prince, a gentle stallion for me. A little anecdote along the way: we’re really staying in the family for this horseback ride—these two horses are actually related: "my" Prince is the son of the lovely Titia!
to be continued -->
For once, given the destination, the author can’t set aside their religious beliefs, which inevitably shape this kind of journey.
The Trip
Early in the morning at Orly Airport, in the departure lounge for Tel Aviv, a group of about forty young men arrives, all looking identical! The same neatly trimmed beards, the same identical haircuts, the same outfits with a touch of whimsy… The effect of seeing these forty “clones” is striking and raises questions! Why such perfect uniformity among this group of guys? Do they belong to the same family, sports club, cultural association, or religious group? A mystery! At the same time, the waiting area fills up with men who are more expected, given our destination: they wear large felt hats and dress in black suits with white shirts—Hassidim? The ones I’ve glimpsed fleetingly in Paris or New York, who have always been a mystery to me. More discreet-looking women accompany them.
I’m already in Israel without even setting foot there! Plus, I witness the preparations for an improvised show.
The “clones” start a flash mob at seven in the morning in a Paris airport departure lounge! Some pull out musical instruments, others begin singing and dancing. A music with strange, unfamiliar sounds enchants the waiting passengers.
The flight crew finally arrives, cutting through the flash mob, bringing us back to the reality of the moment: waiting to take off soon for this so troubling and mysterious Middle East. We go through passport control, presenting our faces to the scanners that operate the exit gate. The group of “identical” young men gets held up by the system: logically, a scanner let the first one through but blocked the second because of his perfect resemblance to the first. To the machine, the same person shouldn’t be able to cross the border twice? But eventually, the whole group makes it through the glass doors, leaving the Republic behind. My simplistic explanation is left looking ridiculous.
At every new destination, I ask myself countless questions, revealing a certain anxiety tied to the unknown: fear of attacks (one just happened at a bus station in Jerusalem), possible police pressure, unexpected events. Israel isn’t known for being a relaxing destination. In reality, if I did face a serious difficulty in this country, it wasn’t one I had anticipated—and it wasn’t particularly tied to Israel!
I take my seat by the window, which is already occupied by a little girl. Her father, a Hassidic man, politely asks if I’d be willing to give up my seat for his daughter. I tell him I’d be happy to make her happy. Seeing me masked, he asks if I’d like him and his daughter to wear masks too. In response, I take off my mask so as not to impose any constraints on them and wish them a good flight.
It was the first time I’d approached and spoken to a Hassidic man. He didn’t speak the way I might have expected after watching *Rabbi Jacob* with Louis de Funès; he spoke perfectly without an accent, just like you and me! Beware of stereotypes! Throughout the flight, I sneak glances at my strange neighbor: he prayed silently without stopping for a minute. His daughter, as good as gold, never interrupted him. He used several religious accessories during his three-hour continuous prayer: a kippa, a prayer shawl, and a rosary?… I left that plane deeply impressed, me, who has a very distant relationship with my Creator and only prays now and then.
The Trip
Early in the morning at Orly Airport, in the departure lounge for Tel Aviv, a group of about forty young men arrives, all looking identical! The same neatly trimmed beards, the same identical haircuts, the same outfits with a touch of whimsy… The effect of seeing these forty “clones” is striking and raises questions! Why such perfect uniformity among this group of guys? Do they belong to the same family, sports club, cultural association, or religious group? A mystery! At the same time, the waiting area fills up with men who are more expected, given our destination: they wear large felt hats and dress in black suits with white shirts—Hassidim? The ones I’ve glimpsed fleetingly in Paris or New York, who have always been a mystery to me. More discreet-looking women accompany them.
I’m already in Israel without even setting foot there! Plus, I witness the preparations for an improvised show.
The “clones” start a flash mob at seven in the morning in a Paris airport departure lounge! Some pull out musical instruments, others begin singing and dancing. A music with strange, unfamiliar sounds enchants the waiting passengers.
The flight crew finally arrives, cutting through the flash mob, bringing us back to the reality of the moment: waiting to take off soon for this so troubling and mysterious Middle East. We go through passport control, presenting our faces to the scanners that operate the exit gate. The group of “identical” young men gets held up by the system: logically, a scanner let the first one through but blocked the second because of his perfect resemblance to the first. To the machine, the same person shouldn’t be able to cross the border twice? But eventually, the whole group makes it through the glass doors, leaving the Republic behind. My simplistic explanation is left looking ridiculous.
At every new destination, I ask myself countless questions, revealing a certain anxiety tied to the unknown: fear of attacks (one just happened at a bus station in Jerusalem), possible police pressure, unexpected events. Israel isn’t known for being a relaxing destination. In reality, if I did face a serious difficulty in this country, it wasn’t one I had anticipated—and it wasn’t particularly tied to Israel!
I take my seat by the window, which is already occupied by a little girl. Her father, a Hassidic man, politely asks if I’d be willing to give up my seat for his daughter. I tell him I’d be happy to make her happy. Seeing me masked, he asks if I’d like him and his daughter to wear masks too. In response, I take off my mask so as not to impose any constraints on them and wish them a good flight.
It was the first time I’d approached and spoken to a Hassidic man. He didn’t speak the way I might have expected after watching *Rabbi Jacob* with Louis de Funès; he spoke perfectly without an accent, just like you and me! Beware of stereotypes! Throughout the flight, I sneak glances at my strange neighbor: he prayed silently without stopping for a minute. His daughter, as good as gold, never interrupted him. He used several religious accessories during his three-hour continuous prayer: a kippa, a prayer shawl, and a rosary?… I left that plane deeply impressed, me, who has a very distant relationship with my Creator and only prays now and then.
Mid-June, two Auvergnats on the starting blocks—off we go to the former Yugoslavia!
We’d already explored some nooks and crannies of northern Croatia back in 2019, so we’re keeping the momentum going by planning a trip to the south of the country and then Montenegro.
On the way back, we’ll drift into Bosnia-Herzegovina just to mix things up a bit!
We’re a little unsure about what to expect in terms of tourist crowds.
Dubrovnik has a reputation for being the hardest-hit city by overtourism, and Kotor and the whole Dalmatian coast aren’t exactly empty...
Luckily, most European countries haven’t started school holidays yet, and some measures seem to have been put in place to limit the flow (like restrictions on the number of cruise ships allowed to dock at the same time).
Maybe we’ll manage to escape the promised hell?
For now, we’re slamming the doors of the Scirocco and heading off to our first stop: northern Italy!
On the way back, we’ll drift into Bosnia-Herzegovina just to mix things up a bit!
We’re a little unsure about what to expect in terms of tourist crowds.
Dubrovnik has a reputation for being the hardest-hit city by overtourism, and Kotor and the whole Dalmatian coast aren’t exactly empty...
Luckily, most European countries haven’t started school holidays yet, and some measures seem to have been put in place to limit the flow (like restrictions on the number of cruise ships allowed to dock at the same time).
Maybe we’ll manage to escape the promised hell?
For now, we’re slamming the doors of the Scirocco and heading off to our first stop: northern Italy!
Aruba is a small island in the Dutch Caribbean located off the coast of Venezuela. It’s part of the ABC islands (Aruba, Bonaire, Curaçao).
After visiting the island of Curaçao a few years earlier, we decided to explore Aruba in November 2023.
We stayed for three weeks in an Airbnb-style accommodation and rented a vehicle for the entire period to visit the various tourist attractions on the island.
These are listed below.
You’ll find several supermarkets (Carrefour, Super Food, Jumbo, etc.) as well as a wide variety of restaurants.
*****
Note:
Please be aware that since July 2024, Aruba has implemented a $20 sustainable development tax for visitors arriving by air.
This tax is payable via the online ED Card platform during the ED card application process to enter Aruba.
I invite you to continue reading this travel journal and watch the videos that will help you discover this sunny destination.
*****
Videos are embedded throughout the summary. Click on the image to start the video.
To jump to a specific post, here are the relevant links:
Noord - California Lighthouse Noord - Bubali Bird Sanctuary Paradera - Casibari Rock Formations Santa Cruz - Ayo Rock Formations Bushiribana - New Natural Pool (Cave Pool) Noord - Bushiribana Gold Mill Ruins Santa Cruz - Natural Bridge Oranjestad - Hooiberg San Nicolas - Seroe Colorado Natural Bridge Spanish Lagoon Mangrove Trail Shoco Habitat - Spanish Lagoon Oranjestad - Balashi Gold Mill Ruins San Nicolas - Lourdes Grotto Arikok National Park - Daimari Beach, Boka Keto Beach (Moro), Conchi Natural Pool Arikok National Park - Boca Prins Beach Arikok National Park - Fontein Cave Arikok National Park – Quadirikiri Cave Arikok National Park – Hike to Sero Arikok Oranjestad & Noord - Walking tour San Nicolas and its murals San Nicolas and its mosaic street benches The famous seafood restaurant Zeerover Noord - Snorkeling around the Baboo shipwreck Noord - Arashi Beach Noord - Boca Catalina Beach Noord - Boca Catalina Beach - Snorkeling Noord - Snorkeling at Tres Tapi - Turtle and Ray Noord - Snorkeling at Malmok Beach - Flying gurnards Noord - Hadicurari Beach (Fishermen's Huts) Noord - Palm Beach Noord - Eagle Beach Noord – Manchebo Beach Oranjestad - Divi Beach Oranjestad - Druif Beach Oranjestad - Surfside Beach Pos Chiquito - Mangel Halto Beach Savaneta - Santo Largo Beach Savaneta - Battata Beach San Nicolas - Rodgers Beach San Nicolas - Baby Beach San Nicolas - Baby Beach - Snorkeling San Nicolas - Bachelor’s Beach (Boca Tabla) San Nicolas - Boca Grandi Beach San Nicolas - Colorado Point - Snorkeling at Bachelors Beach San Nicolas - Grapefield Beach Hike - Blackstone Beach via Natural Bridge Noord - Wariruri Beach
After visiting the island of Curaçao a few years earlier, we decided to explore Aruba in November 2023.
We stayed for three weeks in an Airbnb-style accommodation and rented a vehicle for the entire period to visit the various tourist attractions on the island.
These are listed below.
You’ll find several supermarkets (Carrefour, Super Food, Jumbo, etc.) as well as a wide variety of restaurants.
*****
Note:
Please be aware that since July 2024, Aruba has implemented a $20 sustainable development tax for visitors arriving by air.
This tax is payable via the online ED Card platform during the ED card application process to enter Aruba.
I invite you to continue reading this travel journal and watch the videos that will help you discover this sunny destination.
*****
Videos are embedded throughout the summary. Click on the image to start the video.
To jump to a specific post, here are the relevant links:
Noord - California Lighthouse Noord - Bubali Bird Sanctuary Paradera - Casibari Rock Formations Santa Cruz - Ayo Rock Formations Bushiribana - New Natural Pool (Cave Pool) Noord - Bushiribana Gold Mill Ruins Santa Cruz - Natural Bridge Oranjestad - Hooiberg San Nicolas - Seroe Colorado Natural Bridge Spanish Lagoon Mangrove Trail Shoco Habitat - Spanish Lagoon Oranjestad - Balashi Gold Mill Ruins San Nicolas - Lourdes Grotto Arikok National Park - Daimari Beach, Boka Keto Beach (Moro), Conchi Natural Pool Arikok National Park - Boca Prins Beach Arikok National Park - Fontein Cave Arikok National Park – Quadirikiri Cave Arikok National Park – Hike to Sero Arikok Oranjestad & Noord - Walking tour San Nicolas and its murals San Nicolas and its mosaic street benches The famous seafood restaurant Zeerover Noord - Snorkeling around the Baboo shipwreck Noord - Arashi Beach Noord - Boca Catalina Beach Noord - Boca Catalina Beach - Snorkeling Noord - Snorkeling at Tres Tapi - Turtle and Ray Noord - Snorkeling at Malmok Beach - Flying gurnards Noord - Hadicurari Beach (Fishermen's Huts) Noord - Palm Beach Noord - Eagle Beach Noord – Manchebo Beach Oranjestad - Divi Beach Oranjestad - Druif Beach Oranjestad - Surfside Beach Pos Chiquito - Mangel Halto Beach Savaneta - Santo Largo Beach Savaneta - Battata Beach San Nicolas - Rodgers Beach San Nicolas - Baby Beach San Nicolas - Baby Beach - Snorkeling San Nicolas - Bachelor’s Beach (Boca Tabla) San Nicolas - Boca Grandi Beach San Nicolas - Colorado Point - Snorkeling at Bachelors Beach San Nicolas - Grapefield Beach Hike - Blackstone Beach via Natural Bridge Noord - Wariruri Beach
After our first trip discovering the American West with our teens, Cécile asked me to go back for a romantic getaway to this wonderful destination. Whatever my wife wants, so here we are on a plane in September 2022, heading to San Francisco. Since we’d already visited the main parks two years earlier, this time we took the scenic route:
We arrived late in the evening, spent a short night at the hotel, and picked up our rental car to hit Highway 1 and the Pacific coast. The sky was gray, foggy, and a bit disappointing for now.
As Brittany lovers, we know coastal weather can change quickly... but no! Bixby Bridge was just a quick view from the car, and it was only 11°C outside.
We had a quick picnic on the spot, quickly bothered by the local wildlife.
And then—miracle! This charming animal made the wind shift and brought us sunshine. So this coast is absolutely worth the trip—it’s just stunning.
Only the sound of the wind and the seals’ calls disturbed the tranquility of the moment.
But even the best things come to an end, and we turned inland toward the sequoias. We drove through a long plain with fruit trees, vineyards, and endless straight roads.
First night at the hotel, tired but happy! !
We arrived late in the evening, spent a short night at the hotel, and picked up our rental car to hit Highway 1 and the Pacific coast. The sky was gray, foggy, and a bit disappointing for now.
As Brittany lovers, we know coastal weather can change quickly... but no! Bixby Bridge was just a quick view from the car, and it was only 11°C outside.
We had a quick picnic on the spot, quickly bothered by the local wildlife.
And then—miracle! This charming animal made the wind shift and brought us sunshine. So this coast is absolutely worth the trip—it’s just stunning.
Only the sound of the wind and the seals’ calls disturbed the tranquility of the moment.
But even the best things come to an end, and we turned inland toward the sequoias. We drove through a long plain with fruit trees, vineyards, and endless straight roads.
First night at the hotel, tired but happy! !
Quick recap of a getaway to Sicily (June 3–13, 2022).
Day 1: Transavia flight to Palermo from Lyon Day 2: Zingaro Reserve (14 km coastal trail round-trip, about 4 hours of hiking + coves) / Evening in Scopello Day 3: Segesta + Erice via cable car + evening in Trapani (free parking at Piazza Vit. Emmanuele) Day 3: Bike day in Favignana (Cala Rosa, Cala Azzurra) Day 4: Marsala (quick stop at the salt flats), Selinunte, and sleepover in Agrigento Day 5: Day in Agrigento: Valley of the Temples, Temple of Concordia, Temple of Hercules, Temple of Juno, Temple of Castor and Pollux Day 6: Villa Romana del Casale and Cefalù in the late afternoon Day 7: Relaxing beach day in Cefalù Day 8: Mosaics in Monreale Cathedral, then Palermo Day 9: Palermo Day 10: Return to Lyon
8 days on the ground covering 650 km, scorching heat all week (37°C in Zingaro), and a ridiculously expensive car rental (Sicily by Car).
Some truly great accommodations:
- Tre Giummare in Scopello (despite the AC breaking down the night before) - Laurus Apartments in Trapani (perfect for the Favignana ferry) - Terrazze di Montelusa in Agrigento (worth seeing—very unique!) - Rurale, Via Lancenia 22 in Cefalù (for the pool view!) - Il Giardino di Ballarò in Palermo (charming and right in the heart of the city)
Our top picks:
- Favignana (by far the highlight of the trip) - The temples in Agrigento - Palermo - The food here is amazing
No real disappointments, but Erice didn’t quite live up to expectations, and we were frustrated by the car rental prices.
Side note: make sure to specify that your card is a *credit* card (not debit). Ours was a deferred debit card, and our bank had the sense to label it "credit card"—otherwise, you’d be on the hook for an extra 200 €... those Southern Italians!
Hike in Zingaro:
Segesta:
Day 1: Transavia flight to Palermo from Lyon Day 2: Zingaro Reserve (14 km coastal trail round-trip, about 4 hours of hiking + coves) / Evening in Scopello Day 3: Segesta + Erice via cable car + evening in Trapani (free parking at Piazza Vit. Emmanuele) Day 3: Bike day in Favignana (Cala Rosa, Cala Azzurra) Day 4: Marsala (quick stop at the salt flats), Selinunte, and sleepover in Agrigento Day 5: Day in Agrigento: Valley of the Temples, Temple of Concordia, Temple of Hercules, Temple of Juno, Temple of Castor and Pollux Day 6: Villa Romana del Casale and Cefalù in the late afternoon Day 7: Relaxing beach day in Cefalù Day 8: Mosaics in Monreale Cathedral, then Palermo Day 9: Palermo Day 10: Return to Lyon
8 days on the ground covering 650 km, scorching heat all week (37°C in Zingaro), and a ridiculously expensive car rental (Sicily by Car).
Some truly great accommodations:
- Tre Giummare in Scopello (despite the AC breaking down the night before) - Laurus Apartments in Trapani (perfect for the Favignana ferry) - Terrazze di Montelusa in Agrigento (worth seeing—very unique!) - Rurale, Via Lancenia 22 in Cefalù (for the pool view!) - Il Giardino di Ballarò in Palermo (charming and right in the heart of the city)
Our top picks:
- Favignana (by far the highlight of the trip) - The temples in Agrigento - Palermo - The food here is amazing
No real disappointments, but Erice didn’t quite live up to expectations, and we were frustrated by the car rental prices.
Side note: make sure to specify that your card is a *credit* card (not debit). Ours was a deferred debit card, and our bank had the sense to label it "credit card"—otherwise, you’d be on the hook for an extra 200 €... those Southern Italians!
Hike in Zingaro:
Segesta:
Hi there!
This trip to Japan, lasting 3 weeks, is starting to feel like a while ago now... 18 months (October/November 2024). I’ve wanted to share the story for a while, but I just couldn’t find the words. Too many emotions, I guess—it needed time to settle.
And then I felt like everything had already been said, everything had already been shown. Until I decided to simply base this on my travel journal, created after my return (drawings, collages, based on personal photos), and share excerpts with you in no particular order.
So this will be completely subjective, absolutely non-exhaustive, and totally personal!
Let’s start with the *shotengaï*...
Our first "wow" moment came as we stepped out of the subway in Asakusa, the Tokyo neighborhood where our hotel was for our first 5 nights. Exhausted after our long flight, we finally arrived at our destination and took an exit that led us straight into a *shotengai*—one of those covered shopping streets that dot city centers and flourished between the 1950s and 1980s.
It was an aesthetic shock, a kind of third-kind encounter between the modern city, a typical Asian market with its street stalls, the "vintage" vibe of the arcade, the abundance of goods, the bustling crowd—a colorful mix of tourists, pilgrims (near Asakusa Temple), and locals (a very working-class area).
In the end, it set the tone for a feeling that stayed with us throughout the trip. Wherever we went, *shotengaï* were fascinating places to find small restaurants, shops, or even fresh produce. Some were real mazes, like in Kyoto, where we took a while to find a restaurant we’d really loved ;-)
In Kanazawa, the Omicho Market:
And in Kyoto, the Nishiki Market:
To be continued...
This trip to Japan, lasting 3 weeks, is starting to feel like a while ago now... 18 months (October/November 2024). I’ve wanted to share the story for a while, but I just couldn’t find the words. Too many emotions, I guess—it needed time to settle.
And then I felt like everything had already been said, everything had already been shown. Until I decided to simply base this on my travel journal, created after my return (drawings, collages, based on personal photos), and share excerpts with you in no particular order.
So this will be completely subjective, absolutely non-exhaustive, and totally personal!
Let’s start with the *shotengaï*...
Our first "wow" moment came as we stepped out of the subway in Asakusa, the Tokyo neighborhood where our hotel was for our first 5 nights. Exhausted after our long flight, we finally arrived at our destination and took an exit that led us straight into a *shotengai*—one of those covered shopping streets that dot city centers and flourished between the 1950s and 1980s.
It was an aesthetic shock, a kind of third-kind encounter between the modern city, a typical Asian market with its street stalls, the "vintage" vibe of the arcade, the abundance of goods, the bustling crowd—a colorful mix of tourists, pilgrims (near Asakusa Temple), and locals (a very working-class area).
In the end, it set the tone for a feeling that stayed with us throughout the trip. Wherever we went, *shotengaï* were fascinating places to find small restaurants, shops, or even fresh produce. Some were real mazes, like in Kyoto, where we took a while to find a restaurant we’d really loved ;-)
In Kanazawa, the Omicho Market:
And in Kyoto, the Nishiki Market:
To be continued...
There exists a rare land where life expresses itself, a land where everything is destroyed, patched up, where everything is dirty and faded, yet paradoxically, each passing day is synonymous with light and joy. Seen from the sea, magnified by its translucent waters, the island is splendid; seen from inland, ochre and green dress a landscape one would wish to be pristine. As you approach the coast with the tides, countless boat wrecks never finish dying; returning from a hike, you know you’re nearing the city by the increasingly obvious proliferation of all kinds of trash. Overflowing the towns, makeshift homes made of corrugated iron stand here and there, wherever the eye lands; from a height, looking toward the horizon, you find the calm blue of the ocean and the beauty of infinity.
But where does all this corrugated iron come from? Blue, gray, red, or black, you find it pretty much everywhere—except, of course, on the island’s heights, where the heat is such that all life seems impossible. Yet, a few kilometers from the capital, more than an hour’s walk away, the corrugated iron is very much there, omnipresent, guaranteeing a land registry as hypothetical for us Europeans as it is very real for those who live there, far from civilization and comfort. I keep climbing. I’m precisely looking to meet these people who live on very little, if not nothing.
- Jéjé Mogné (Hello, sir in Shimahorais)! Where do you get water here, in this place? How do you drink, irrigate your plants?
- I wait for the rain. We have tanks that fill up well with each rainfall. But right now, it’s not raining much.
At the top of the next hill, lost in the bushes, it’s easier for me to guess the distant city, Mamoudzou, than the rest of the path, a remnant of a magnificent GR called the Island Tour, abandoned for the most part, sometimes maintained between two lost hamlets. The city, the pulse, water. Below, the ocean, running water, drinking water—despite regular interruptions; here, up high, an hour and a half’s walk away, tanks, arbitrariness. On other slopes, however, during another hike, I saw the water supply network, made of sturdy pipes tangled in the earth, right there by the path. It seems there are places where water climbs. Others not. Each to their own karma. In 2025. In a French department.
A path of misfortune, lost and regained, thanks to a sign, an inscription, or the compass’s directions. No one walks here anymore, except those who live here or come to harvest their crops. I remember that breathtaking hike in 2013, when I connected Bandrélé to Mamoudzou, passing by the peaks of Bénara (660m) and Bépilipili (643m), barely pausing at Tsararano and Vahibé: 34 km of intense effort on a rollercoaster path, along a trail that was still discernible. Today, it’s as if everything had disappeared. By also destroying the paths and vegetation, Chido* broke the last momentum of these cautious hikers: insecurity has made its way across the archipelago, and Sunday strolls are no longer the norm. Me, I keep going. I will have walked here and there during these three weeks to get an idea of the places, the people, the landscapes, and the superhuman effort required to move forward in over 40°C. To tell the truth, during my last hike, I cut my plans short and let myself be carried by a group of young people heading back to the city. The path is now just an inextricable network of small trails, the specter of Providence** comes to mind. True wisdom is knowing when to give up. I leave.
* A cyclone named "desire" (in Shona), which ravaged the island of Mayotte on December 14, 2024. ** June 2023, a very poorly prepared hike on Providence Island (Caribbean) from which I miraculously escaped.
On Petite-Terre, Marie takes me to visit some locals, white people who have lived there for a long time and make a living from their art; jewelry for her, all kinds of objects for him. We love this little shop, this oasis amid the chaos that embodies Dostoevsky’s phrase: "Beauty will save the world." It’s clean and tidy, beautiful, well-kept. Invariably, the question of insecurity resurfaces in the middle of the conversation. The woman says:
- I know someone who slipped in their bathtub. Still, I keep taking baths…
So, is this insecurity a myth or reality? I hear stories that are often true but sometimes seemingly exaggerated through the lens of misunderstanding and one-upmanship. Like that of this midwife assaulted one evening (it gets dark early) on her way home from work. Sometimes she was attacked on the path, dragged by the hair for several meters, sometimes she made it home, but it was her roommate who let the two men in. One version talks about a snatched phone and gratuitous violence, another about violence outright. In short, one thing is certain: walking around at night flaunting your phone isn’t a good idea, no more in Mamoudzou than in the rough neighborhoods of Nantes. Also, I played it safe: nothing flashy, nothing bling-bling, and always something to give if needed. I was never approached. It’s not easy to get a sense of the realities, between the hazy reports from journalists sensationalizing everything and the real lives of real people. But I know I can’t rely on these few ideas I’ve formed: I’m nobody, and above all, I don’t live here. What I do know, however, is that since my last visit to the island in 2017, over 80,000 babies have been born, and tens of thousands of immigrants have reached the archipelago’s shores. What’s also obvious is that poverty, hunger, and—let’s say it—indignity foster delinquency and insecurity. So, without taking journalists’ alarmist speeches at face value, we’ll try to keep in mind that a young person rendered orphaned by circumstances (parents expelled), poor and often hungry, involved more or less against their will in village wars and fueled by synthetic drugs*, will readily turn to violence when they truly have nothing to lose. We can trace the origin of this despair to the fact that in Mayotte, those without legal existence have virtually no hope of accessing anything.
* "Chimique" is a series of synthetic cannabinoids
Meanwhile, in the evening, it’s good to go home before the time of stone-throwing. From time to time, along the roads, gangs throw stones at vehicles and school buses, but mostly at police cars—almost all the white Dusters on the island! In front of the Mamoudzou police station, all parked vehicles—mostly Dusters—bear the scars of these attacks. Maybe it’s only at night that gangs unleash and all the burglaries happen? I saw nothing, heard nothing. I lived three weeks in a sort of bunker with no real access to outside light, protected by a fake wooden door doubled with a real metal door, both locked at all times. You don’t tempt fate. You endure it differently.
Today, extraordinarily, it’s raining. Yet, it’s the rainy season! But with my karma helping (what selfishness to want to walk dry when so many souls live off the rain) or is it climate change? The rain only falls once I’ve put on my horrible green pajamas. In front of the board outlining the program, I’m told that out of the six scheduled C-sections today (sic), they’ll probably only do two, maybe three. Because it’s raining. And when it rains, people don’t move around. Not for lack of will. Rather, for lack of means. And that ties into those sad days when the police patrol around the hospital: patients don’t come. They’ll come back tomorrow. To compensate, I’m happy at the thought of tackling the abscess program, but the sterilization unit is acting up and blocking the instrument trays. When it’s not the rain, it’s the unions. And when both finally quiet down, there’s always someone to find fault with the order of operations. You have to imagine an operating room where the question of urgency reigns supreme. Here, no surgery is scheduled more than 24 hours in advance—only emergencies, nothing but emergencies. So, following that reasonable adage that what’s done is no longer to be done, it’s sheer madness when the rain meets the interests of Force Ouvrière and the bad will of some combines with the laziness of others. To tell the truth, I’ve never seen so much energy expended to… do nothing. Hallucinating. But who am I, a small-time striver, an islander in my spare time, a temporary worker at the end of the world? I came, I saw, I was disappointed? Not really. Here again, I can’t judge a system in so little time. I can barely utter a few bitter words in front of obvious facts. But nothing will take away my joy of being here for three weeks. Here, they heal with somewhat outdated but still functional means. You do what you can with what you have, 8,000 km from the Métropole. Yes, the operating room doors hesitate, and the operating tables stutter, but in this blessed period, we lack neither medicines nor supplies. So we examine, anesthetize, and repair, far more undocumented people than French—if I may play with somewhat borderline statistics here; we deliver babies, dress wounds, and relieve pain in this hospital at the end of the world where neither white women nor Mahorais women would ever consider giving birth or getting treated.
What’s the solution? The obstetrician talks to the woman during a C-section under spinal anesthesia:
- Bouéni! (Madame, in Shimahorais) You need to think about tubal ligation. This is your fourth C-section. Your uterus is like tissue paper. Your next pregnancy will be very risky.
No answer. Culture. It’s all about culture. The funniest thing is that France also gets bogged down with the idea of other cultures’… cultures. The woman in question arrived illegally a few years ago to give birth to her first child. Since then, rejecting the very idea of contraception—her husband, for his part, will invoke God or Allah to refuse a vasectomy—she comes back every 12-14 months. And the obstetrician explains to me how his idea of making information about permanent contraception mandatory was deemed racist by associations. It’s always the same story. I suggest to the associations that they take charge of all these extra births, not only the medical costs but also the entire education, not just financial, of all these children doomed to live a life of misery on this forsaken archipelago. The probability that one of these offspring will emerge as a gifted, sensitive, and fiercely happy individual must truly be weighed against the degradation and abandonment that will invariably afflict the thousands of others living around him. In reality, simply mentioning a very real danger to the mother should be enough to impose sterilization. But we are a country whose greatness of soul is measured by the number of heads cut off to uphold the famous rights of man... Already a proponent at home of ending family allowances after the third child—you can’t subscribe to a certain idea of society and, at the same time, accept that tens of thousands of children are sacrificed on the altar of thoughtlessness and financial interest*—I will weakly advocate here for a controlled right to have children. Well, what will they say about me when I express the idea of imposing sterilization on women in irregular situations after the birth of their third child? National solidarity funds the noblest ideals? In Mayotte? Let’s be serious. It’s so much easier to hide behind the inalienable right of women to control their bodies than to acknowledge one’s own powerlessness to assume the consequences of such a policy. Because after 18 years of struggles as a second-class citizen, the young stateless person will have no choice but to live in hiding: faced with the impossibility of claiming birthright citizenship**, they will be deportable. In Mayotte, there aren’t enough schools, not enough housing, not enough projects for youth, not enough jobs, not enough money, not enough future… In Mayotte, an average of 5 children are born per woman. In reality, we never ask about the right of children to control their own lives.
* Single parent with 4 children: RSA at 1937 € + family allowances… ** Law of May 12, 2025 aiming to strengthen the conditions for accessing French nationality in Mayotte.
I live in the city in a clean apartment where air conditioning eases my aches and sweat, and where water flows abundantly, thanks to huge tanks that fill up between water cuts. On the hills of Koungou, I was struck by this image: there, women (a matriarchal society?) do the dishes in a miserable stream. Upstream of the same stream, the same image as downstream: disgusting water with bits of foam floating on it. A little further, however, there are taps with running water that children play with. Strange. In any case, water is a question. They tell me it’s drinkable; I doubt it. A system that’s regularly cut doesn’t seem reliable to me. In any case, I can’t help but think of the Canary Islands and their chronic water shortage, especially in Lanzarote. Without entering the debate on desalination plants—I’m quite ignorant about environmental repercussions—I’ll just say that in the Canary Islands, you can buy 8 L jugs of purified water for less than 2 €. Here, in Mayotte, the price of water—as is the price of gasoline—is the same everywhere: 0.65 € for a bottle of Cristaline (1 €/L)*. While I was walking up there with a couple of farmers shuttling between two remote spots, I know I hit the mark by offering them one of my two bottles I’d brought for the occasion.
* At home, we find Cristaline at 1.14 € for a 9 L pack, i.e., 0.13 € per liter.
Outside, everything is broken, abandoned, old, worn, torn, faded, heavy, dirty, forsaken. But life goes on. And that’s fascinating. At home, at 5:45 PM, people close their shutters and watch cable TV, sometimes late into the night, emptying the streets of any salutary clamor, unwittingly extinguishing the necessary pulse of life. At home, we die of boredom. In Mamoudzou, between two dying trash cans, metal frames laid on the ground are covered by the elements of a broken garden set. A bare concrete staircase, without railings, provides access to the upper floor of a dwelling. On the steps, you can read: Private space - Please take your trash with you. Metal rods protrude from the said dwelling. On the ground, it’s a festival of screws and nails… A cat passes by. It doesn’t look great. A madwoman crosses the street dancing. A slightly hurried driver brakes. A six- or seven-year-old boy comes out in his underwear from his low house made of corrugated iron. He smiles. He’s having fun doing acrobatic figures over an old mattress on the sidewalk. Forward roll, backward roll. You wonder if he eats enough. Different culture. Different customs.
I will remember for a long time this blinding morning light, a raw, vital, striking light. I almost forgot where I came from, the grayness and boredom of that continental European country where nothing really happens anymore. Here, I could join Camus, contemplating these people placed halfway between misery and the sun, resigned for the most part and, for the other part, not too unhappy with their lot. But the Mahorais discourse is unanimous: "France really screwed us over!" Today, more than half of the island’s inhabitants are undocumented; a tremendous amount of energy is spent expelling 20,000 to 25,000 of them each year; colossal sums are swallowed up to care for all these people, and the island is drifting. I talk with some gendarmes. One of them tells me:
- They intercept one kwassa* out of three… Can you explain to me why they can’t catch everyone? It’s 2025! Can’t they put the necessary boats in place?
Clearly, and this is also my opinion, this whole mess serves interests beyond us. For who can believe for a second that this glaring incompetence isn’t orchestrated? Shared interests between secret France and the Union of the Comoros? A desire to bring insecurity to its peak, either by the Comoros to eventually take back control of Mayotte, or by our own government, in a deliberate effort to see all the white people leave the archipelago and let the Mahorais fend for themselves? At one point, I’m even told about an extraordinary deposit beneath Mayotte’s soil, a promise of infinite wealth**. Not to infringe on human rights, to do some cleaning from time to time, to calm things down to avoid implosion, while waiting to go after this providential bounty? Decidedly, Mayotte hasn’t said its last word!
*What’s paradoxical is that in the early 2010s, to revive traditional fishing activity, the UN financed in Anjouan the construction of a factory to produce these light boats, 7-10m long and 1m wide, which largely served the interests of smugglers. This skiff owes its name to a Congolese dance known for being as rhythmic as it is jerky, much like the navigation experience offered during a crossing to Mayotte. ** A 2025 study revealed the existence of a gigantic magmatic reservoir located 23km beneath the archipelago. If the Icelandic experiment succeeds (Project KMT, see here), Mayotte will then possess almost unlimited energy.
Hell on earth. Paradise at sea. The world’s largest lagoon offering spectacular marine depths, Mayotte’s coral reef suffers less from the abundance of tourists* than from tropical storms**. So, let’s admit that Mayotte is best appreciated when approached from the lagoon. The heights are for old hands like me. The sea spray is rather for the snobs who shun the sun god Ra, risking too much exposure and ending up on sick leave for sunstroke! But I’m not exclusive: I twice don my snob attire and head out to tackle the waves, the seabeds, and the elusive. Because yes, underwater, we leave our landlubber reflexes behind, and flying over corals and other magnificent drop-offs, it’s as if we’re soaring, keeping in memory only what our eyes can store. Multicolored, even phosphorescent fish, sharks, rays, the immensity of the blue, and then, there, dolphins, just a few meters from me, underwater. Incredible.
* 70,000 tourists annually, mostly affinity tourism (links with family or an expatriate). ** Present almost at the water’s surface, the reefs were largely destroyed by Chido.
Paradise at sea? When you think that Mayotte comes from the Arabic Jazirat al Mawet—literally, Island of Death—because of its double coral barrier where many skiffs have run aground and continue to do so… Paradise. Eldorado. The Comoros now face an unprecedented influx of immigrants from the African Great Lakes. And Mayotte, for its part, continues to attract relentlessly, thanks to the evolution of the law*. In reality, whether hidden interests exist or not, France remains bound hand and foot by international, European, and French rules: it can’t do much. Barely has it boarded a kwassa when the one who flees by swimming cries attempted murder; barely has one been sent back to the Comoros when an association will look into their detention conditions and find a loophole; barely has one told a bouéni how her next pregnancy could be fatal when so-called human voices cry scandal.
* Regarding the Métropole, the rights of squatters and other bad payers against the notion of private property, legally violated in favor of the right to housing… ** You can read about France being condemned for its illegal practices of expelling Comorian minors. Inhumane treatment, arbitrary detention, collective expulsion.
Everyone forms their own idea of justice, and no one can claim a monopoly on good thinking. So, as long as I treat without prejudice, as long as my hands are sincerely guided by the love I bear for our humanity, I’ll allow myself to think what I think, understanding that I’m rather open to dialogue and that my opinions evolve with time and events. Today, Mayotte represents for me the failure of a model, a European one in this case, where opulence quickly meets its limits. For it’s not wrong to think that our society can’t share more than it produces, nor is it wrong to think that every human being has a right to their share of the pie; in Mayotte, you’ll find the proven result of our civilization: it doesn’t work. Exclusively financed by the right, the ideas of the left jam in Mayotte more than anywhere else: national solidarity coupled with a sense of guilt creates chaos. Political courage, or true social justice, would be to offer a future to those who have no choice—the one who’s already here, the child to be born—not to offer a present to those who can choose or to whom one can give keys to understanding—the woman of childbearing age, the candidate for exile. Ultimately, the Comoros’ coup d’état over France comes at the cost of many innocent victims, starting with the children*.
* Tens of thousands of deaths by drowning between Anjouan and Mayotte, tens of thousands of children left to fend for themselves and doomed to a non-existent future.
On the evening of the 31st, I go for my usual run and notice near a roundabout a fool in rags pedaling the wrong way. A police car passes by: the guy gets stopped. A rather quick identity check. The guy is taken away. Would he still be among us if he had ridden the right way? In the evening, the line is long in front of the club near the dock. Me, I’m just passing by, greeting my friends of the season, much more inclined to savor rest than to exhaust myself on an overheated dance floor. There, a man, thirty or forty years old, clearly in a world of his own, is searching the trash for something to eat. He’s barefoot. I console myself by thinking that at least he won’t die of cold. Out of ten children born in Mayotte, I can reasonably think that only one will be able to afford an existence that minimally meets any of our criteria.
It’s time to go home. After sweating and thinking so much about this gem of the Mozambique Channel, I spend peaceful hours by the pool at a hotel next to the airport. We checked out at 8 AM, and the flight is at 7 PM. The perfect opportunity to slack off and chat a bit more. I’m happy to get to know one of the co-pilots of tonight’s flight, staying at this hotel, while one of my flight attendant friends from this airline had already recommended me to the crew. But it’s not the captain’s day, who’s in a rather gloomy mood. I’ll travel in the back, up to the vertical of Cairo. Midnight has just struck; it’s January 2nd, my name day. Concerned about solving an unsolvable problem with a passenger, the crew asks me to give up my exit row seat and takes me to the front for the last four hours of the flight. In the end, the captain gave in? I laugh to myself: if there’s one thing I mustn’t forget, it’s that God never abandons me!
But where does all this corrugated iron come from? Blue, gray, red, or black, you find it pretty much everywhere—except, of course, on the island’s heights, where the heat is such that all life seems impossible. Yet, a few kilometers from the capital, more than an hour’s walk away, the corrugated iron is very much there, omnipresent, guaranteeing a land registry as hypothetical for us Europeans as it is very real for those who live there, far from civilization and comfort. I keep climbing. I’m precisely looking to meet these people who live on very little, if not nothing.
- Jéjé Mogné (Hello, sir in Shimahorais)! Where do you get water here, in this place? How do you drink, irrigate your plants?
- I wait for the rain. We have tanks that fill up well with each rainfall. But right now, it’s not raining much.
At the top of the next hill, lost in the bushes, it’s easier for me to guess the distant city, Mamoudzou, than the rest of the path, a remnant of a magnificent GR called the Island Tour, abandoned for the most part, sometimes maintained between two lost hamlets. The city, the pulse, water. Below, the ocean, running water, drinking water—despite regular interruptions; here, up high, an hour and a half’s walk away, tanks, arbitrariness. On other slopes, however, during another hike, I saw the water supply network, made of sturdy pipes tangled in the earth, right there by the path. It seems there are places where water climbs. Others not. Each to their own karma. In 2025. In a French department.
A path of misfortune, lost and regained, thanks to a sign, an inscription, or the compass’s directions. No one walks here anymore, except those who live here or come to harvest their crops. I remember that breathtaking hike in 2013, when I connected Bandrélé to Mamoudzou, passing by the peaks of Bénara (660m) and Bépilipili (643m), barely pausing at Tsararano and Vahibé: 34 km of intense effort on a rollercoaster path, along a trail that was still discernible. Today, it’s as if everything had disappeared. By also destroying the paths and vegetation, Chido* broke the last momentum of these cautious hikers: insecurity has made its way across the archipelago, and Sunday strolls are no longer the norm. Me, I keep going. I will have walked here and there during these three weeks to get an idea of the places, the people, the landscapes, and the superhuman effort required to move forward in over 40°C. To tell the truth, during my last hike, I cut my plans short and let myself be carried by a group of young people heading back to the city. The path is now just an inextricable network of small trails, the specter of Providence** comes to mind. True wisdom is knowing when to give up. I leave.
* A cyclone named "desire" (in Shona), which ravaged the island of Mayotte on December 14, 2024. ** June 2023, a very poorly prepared hike on Providence Island (Caribbean) from which I miraculously escaped.
On Petite-Terre, Marie takes me to visit some locals, white people who have lived there for a long time and make a living from their art; jewelry for her, all kinds of objects for him. We love this little shop, this oasis amid the chaos that embodies Dostoevsky’s phrase: "Beauty will save the world." It’s clean and tidy, beautiful, well-kept. Invariably, the question of insecurity resurfaces in the middle of the conversation. The woman says:
- I know someone who slipped in their bathtub. Still, I keep taking baths…
So, is this insecurity a myth or reality? I hear stories that are often true but sometimes seemingly exaggerated through the lens of misunderstanding and one-upmanship. Like that of this midwife assaulted one evening (it gets dark early) on her way home from work. Sometimes she was attacked on the path, dragged by the hair for several meters, sometimes she made it home, but it was her roommate who let the two men in. One version talks about a snatched phone and gratuitous violence, another about violence outright. In short, one thing is certain: walking around at night flaunting your phone isn’t a good idea, no more in Mamoudzou than in the rough neighborhoods of Nantes. Also, I played it safe: nothing flashy, nothing bling-bling, and always something to give if needed. I was never approached. It’s not easy to get a sense of the realities, between the hazy reports from journalists sensationalizing everything and the real lives of real people. But I know I can’t rely on these few ideas I’ve formed: I’m nobody, and above all, I don’t live here. What I do know, however, is that since my last visit to the island in 2017, over 80,000 babies have been born, and tens of thousands of immigrants have reached the archipelago’s shores. What’s also obvious is that poverty, hunger, and—let’s say it—indignity foster delinquency and insecurity. So, without taking journalists’ alarmist speeches at face value, we’ll try to keep in mind that a young person rendered orphaned by circumstances (parents expelled), poor and often hungry, involved more or less against their will in village wars and fueled by synthetic drugs*, will readily turn to violence when they truly have nothing to lose. We can trace the origin of this despair to the fact that in Mayotte, those without legal existence have virtually no hope of accessing anything.
* "Chimique" is a series of synthetic cannabinoids
Meanwhile, in the evening, it’s good to go home before the time of stone-throwing. From time to time, along the roads, gangs throw stones at vehicles and school buses, but mostly at police cars—almost all the white Dusters on the island! In front of the Mamoudzou police station, all parked vehicles—mostly Dusters—bear the scars of these attacks. Maybe it’s only at night that gangs unleash and all the burglaries happen? I saw nothing, heard nothing. I lived three weeks in a sort of bunker with no real access to outside light, protected by a fake wooden door doubled with a real metal door, both locked at all times. You don’t tempt fate. You endure it differently.
Today, extraordinarily, it’s raining. Yet, it’s the rainy season! But with my karma helping (what selfishness to want to walk dry when so many souls live off the rain) or is it climate change? The rain only falls once I’ve put on my horrible green pajamas. In front of the board outlining the program, I’m told that out of the six scheduled C-sections today (sic), they’ll probably only do two, maybe three. Because it’s raining. And when it rains, people don’t move around. Not for lack of will. Rather, for lack of means. And that ties into those sad days when the police patrol around the hospital: patients don’t come. They’ll come back tomorrow. To compensate, I’m happy at the thought of tackling the abscess program, but the sterilization unit is acting up and blocking the instrument trays. When it’s not the rain, it’s the unions. And when both finally quiet down, there’s always someone to find fault with the order of operations. You have to imagine an operating room where the question of urgency reigns supreme. Here, no surgery is scheduled more than 24 hours in advance—only emergencies, nothing but emergencies. So, following that reasonable adage that what’s done is no longer to be done, it’s sheer madness when the rain meets the interests of Force Ouvrière and the bad will of some combines with the laziness of others. To tell the truth, I’ve never seen so much energy expended to… do nothing. Hallucinating. But who am I, a small-time striver, an islander in my spare time, a temporary worker at the end of the world? I came, I saw, I was disappointed? Not really. Here again, I can’t judge a system in so little time. I can barely utter a few bitter words in front of obvious facts. But nothing will take away my joy of being here for three weeks. Here, they heal with somewhat outdated but still functional means. You do what you can with what you have, 8,000 km from the Métropole. Yes, the operating room doors hesitate, and the operating tables stutter, but in this blessed period, we lack neither medicines nor supplies. So we examine, anesthetize, and repair, far more undocumented people than French—if I may play with somewhat borderline statistics here; we deliver babies, dress wounds, and relieve pain in this hospital at the end of the world where neither white women nor Mahorais women would ever consider giving birth or getting treated.
What’s the solution? The obstetrician talks to the woman during a C-section under spinal anesthesia:
- Bouéni! (Madame, in Shimahorais) You need to think about tubal ligation. This is your fourth C-section. Your uterus is like tissue paper. Your next pregnancy will be very risky.
No answer. Culture. It’s all about culture. The funniest thing is that France also gets bogged down with the idea of other cultures’… cultures. The woman in question arrived illegally a few years ago to give birth to her first child. Since then, rejecting the very idea of contraception—her husband, for his part, will invoke God or Allah to refuse a vasectomy—she comes back every 12-14 months. And the obstetrician explains to me how his idea of making information about permanent contraception mandatory was deemed racist by associations. It’s always the same story. I suggest to the associations that they take charge of all these extra births, not only the medical costs but also the entire education, not just financial, of all these children doomed to live a life of misery on this forsaken archipelago. The probability that one of these offspring will emerge as a gifted, sensitive, and fiercely happy individual must truly be weighed against the degradation and abandonment that will invariably afflict the thousands of others living around him. In reality, simply mentioning a very real danger to the mother should be enough to impose sterilization. But we are a country whose greatness of soul is measured by the number of heads cut off to uphold the famous rights of man... Already a proponent at home of ending family allowances after the third child—you can’t subscribe to a certain idea of society and, at the same time, accept that tens of thousands of children are sacrificed on the altar of thoughtlessness and financial interest*—I will weakly advocate here for a controlled right to have children. Well, what will they say about me when I express the idea of imposing sterilization on women in irregular situations after the birth of their third child? National solidarity funds the noblest ideals? In Mayotte? Let’s be serious. It’s so much easier to hide behind the inalienable right of women to control their bodies than to acknowledge one’s own powerlessness to assume the consequences of such a policy. Because after 18 years of struggles as a second-class citizen, the young stateless person will have no choice but to live in hiding: faced with the impossibility of claiming birthright citizenship**, they will be deportable. In Mayotte, there aren’t enough schools, not enough housing, not enough projects for youth, not enough jobs, not enough money, not enough future… In Mayotte, an average of 5 children are born per woman. In reality, we never ask about the right of children to control their own lives.
* Single parent with 4 children: RSA at 1937 € + family allowances… ** Law of May 12, 2025 aiming to strengthen the conditions for accessing French nationality in Mayotte.
I live in the city in a clean apartment where air conditioning eases my aches and sweat, and where water flows abundantly, thanks to huge tanks that fill up between water cuts. On the hills of Koungou, I was struck by this image: there, women (a matriarchal society?) do the dishes in a miserable stream. Upstream of the same stream, the same image as downstream: disgusting water with bits of foam floating on it. A little further, however, there are taps with running water that children play with. Strange. In any case, water is a question. They tell me it’s drinkable; I doubt it. A system that’s regularly cut doesn’t seem reliable to me. In any case, I can’t help but think of the Canary Islands and their chronic water shortage, especially in Lanzarote. Without entering the debate on desalination plants—I’m quite ignorant about environmental repercussions—I’ll just say that in the Canary Islands, you can buy 8 L jugs of purified water for less than 2 €. Here, in Mayotte, the price of water—as is the price of gasoline—is the same everywhere: 0.65 € for a bottle of Cristaline (1 €/L)*. While I was walking up there with a couple of farmers shuttling between two remote spots, I know I hit the mark by offering them one of my two bottles I’d brought for the occasion.
* At home, we find Cristaline at 1.14 € for a 9 L pack, i.e., 0.13 € per liter.
Outside, everything is broken, abandoned, old, worn, torn, faded, heavy, dirty, forsaken. But life goes on. And that’s fascinating. At home, at 5:45 PM, people close their shutters and watch cable TV, sometimes late into the night, emptying the streets of any salutary clamor, unwittingly extinguishing the necessary pulse of life. At home, we die of boredom. In Mamoudzou, between two dying trash cans, metal frames laid on the ground are covered by the elements of a broken garden set. A bare concrete staircase, without railings, provides access to the upper floor of a dwelling. On the steps, you can read: Private space - Please take your trash with you. Metal rods protrude from the said dwelling. On the ground, it’s a festival of screws and nails… A cat passes by. It doesn’t look great. A madwoman crosses the street dancing. A slightly hurried driver brakes. A six- or seven-year-old boy comes out in his underwear from his low house made of corrugated iron. He smiles. He’s having fun doing acrobatic figures over an old mattress on the sidewalk. Forward roll, backward roll. You wonder if he eats enough. Different culture. Different customs.
I will remember for a long time this blinding morning light, a raw, vital, striking light. I almost forgot where I came from, the grayness and boredom of that continental European country where nothing really happens anymore. Here, I could join Camus, contemplating these people placed halfway between misery and the sun, resigned for the most part and, for the other part, not too unhappy with their lot. But the Mahorais discourse is unanimous: "France really screwed us over!" Today, more than half of the island’s inhabitants are undocumented; a tremendous amount of energy is spent expelling 20,000 to 25,000 of them each year; colossal sums are swallowed up to care for all these people, and the island is drifting. I talk with some gendarmes. One of them tells me:
- They intercept one kwassa* out of three… Can you explain to me why they can’t catch everyone? It’s 2025! Can’t they put the necessary boats in place?
Clearly, and this is also my opinion, this whole mess serves interests beyond us. For who can believe for a second that this glaring incompetence isn’t orchestrated? Shared interests between secret France and the Union of the Comoros? A desire to bring insecurity to its peak, either by the Comoros to eventually take back control of Mayotte, or by our own government, in a deliberate effort to see all the white people leave the archipelago and let the Mahorais fend for themselves? At one point, I’m even told about an extraordinary deposit beneath Mayotte’s soil, a promise of infinite wealth**. Not to infringe on human rights, to do some cleaning from time to time, to calm things down to avoid implosion, while waiting to go after this providential bounty? Decidedly, Mayotte hasn’t said its last word!
*What’s paradoxical is that in the early 2010s, to revive traditional fishing activity, the UN financed in Anjouan the construction of a factory to produce these light boats, 7-10m long and 1m wide, which largely served the interests of smugglers. This skiff owes its name to a Congolese dance known for being as rhythmic as it is jerky, much like the navigation experience offered during a crossing to Mayotte. ** A 2025 study revealed the existence of a gigantic magmatic reservoir located 23km beneath the archipelago. If the Icelandic experiment succeeds (Project KMT, see here), Mayotte will then possess almost unlimited energy.
Hell on earth. Paradise at sea. The world’s largest lagoon offering spectacular marine depths, Mayotte’s coral reef suffers less from the abundance of tourists* than from tropical storms**. So, let’s admit that Mayotte is best appreciated when approached from the lagoon. The heights are for old hands like me. The sea spray is rather for the snobs who shun the sun god Ra, risking too much exposure and ending up on sick leave for sunstroke! But I’m not exclusive: I twice don my snob attire and head out to tackle the waves, the seabeds, and the elusive. Because yes, underwater, we leave our landlubber reflexes behind, and flying over corals and other magnificent drop-offs, it’s as if we’re soaring, keeping in memory only what our eyes can store. Multicolored, even phosphorescent fish, sharks, rays, the immensity of the blue, and then, there, dolphins, just a few meters from me, underwater. Incredible.
* 70,000 tourists annually, mostly affinity tourism (links with family or an expatriate). ** Present almost at the water’s surface, the reefs were largely destroyed by Chido.
Paradise at sea? When you think that Mayotte comes from the Arabic Jazirat al Mawet—literally, Island of Death—because of its double coral barrier where many skiffs have run aground and continue to do so… Paradise. Eldorado. The Comoros now face an unprecedented influx of immigrants from the African Great Lakes. And Mayotte, for its part, continues to attract relentlessly, thanks to the evolution of the law*. In reality, whether hidden interests exist or not, France remains bound hand and foot by international, European, and French rules: it can’t do much. Barely has it boarded a kwassa when the one who flees by swimming cries attempted murder; barely has one been sent back to the Comoros when an association will look into their detention conditions and find a loophole; barely has one told a bouéni how her next pregnancy could be fatal when so-called human voices cry scandal.
* Regarding the Métropole, the rights of squatters and other bad payers against the notion of private property, legally violated in favor of the right to housing… ** You can read about France being condemned for its illegal practices of expelling Comorian minors. Inhumane treatment, arbitrary detention, collective expulsion.
Everyone forms their own idea of justice, and no one can claim a monopoly on good thinking. So, as long as I treat without prejudice, as long as my hands are sincerely guided by the love I bear for our humanity, I’ll allow myself to think what I think, understanding that I’m rather open to dialogue and that my opinions evolve with time and events. Today, Mayotte represents for me the failure of a model, a European one in this case, where opulence quickly meets its limits. For it’s not wrong to think that our society can’t share more than it produces, nor is it wrong to think that every human being has a right to their share of the pie; in Mayotte, you’ll find the proven result of our civilization: it doesn’t work. Exclusively financed by the right, the ideas of the left jam in Mayotte more than anywhere else: national solidarity coupled with a sense of guilt creates chaos. Political courage, or true social justice, would be to offer a future to those who have no choice—the one who’s already here, the child to be born—not to offer a present to those who can choose or to whom one can give keys to understanding—the woman of childbearing age, the candidate for exile. Ultimately, the Comoros’ coup d’état over France comes at the cost of many innocent victims, starting with the children*.
* Tens of thousands of deaths by drowning between Anjouan and Mayotte, tens of thousands of children left to fend for themselves and doomed to a non-existent future.
On the evening of the 31st, I go for my usual run and notice near a roundabout a fool in rags pedaling the wrong way. A police car passes by: the guy gets stopped. A rather quick identity check. The guy is taken away. Would he still be among us if he had ridden the right way? In the evening, the line is long in front of the club near the dock. Me, I’m just passing by, greeting my friends of the season, much more inclined to savor rest than to exhaust myself on an overheated dance floor. There, a man, thirty or forty years old, clearly in a world of his own, is searching the trash for something to eat. He’s barefoot. I console myself by thinking that at least he won’t die of cold. Out of ten children born in Mayotte, I can reasonably think that only one will be able to afford an existence that minimally meets any of our criteria.
It’s time to go home. After sweating and thinking so much about this gem of the Mozambique Channel, I spend peaceful hours by the pool at a hotel next to the airport. We checked out at 8 AM, and the flight is at 7 PM. The perfect opportunity to slack off and chat a bit more. I’m happy to get to know one of the co-pilots of tonight’s flight, staying at this hotel, while one of my flight attendant friends from this airline had already recommended me to the crew. But it’s not the captain’s day, who’s in a rather gloomy mood. I’ll travel in the back, up to the vertical of Cairo. Midnight has just struck; it’s January 2nd, my name day. Concerned about solving an unsolvable problem with a passenger, the crew asks me to give up my exit row seat and takes me to the front for the last four hours of the flight. In the end, the captain gave in? I laugh to myself: if there’s one thing I mustn’t forget, it’s that God never abandons me!
Hey fellow travelers!
So, a new year has begun. It’s time to reconnect with the VF buddies and wish you all my best for 2026—a year I hope is obviously full of travel, since, as I just made up: "If travel’s good, everything’s good" 😄.
To celebrate, I’m inviting you into my new "travel journal," the one from our latest trip in November 2025, a little two-week adventure.
This time, we headed to The Gambia, a tiny country tucked right in the middle of Senegal, before making our way to Casamance.
The Gambia is English-speaking, Senegal is French-speaking, but the locals? They couldn’t care less—because in this part of the world, they mostly speak Wolof, Fula, Jola, or Mandinka. Hence the title: Senegambia 😉.
As usual, I’m sharing the live updates I sent to friends and family—super casual, of course.
I know this isn’t the kind of destination that draws crowds, but if you love adventure, laughter, and emotion, it might just be your thing 😊.
Hugs 😘
So, a new year has begun. It’s time to reconnect with the VF buddies and wish you all my best for 2026—a year I hope is obviously full of travel, since, as I just made up: "If travel’s good, everything’s good" 😄.
To celebrate, I’m inviting you into my new "travel journal," the one from our latest trip in November 2025, a little two-week adventure.
This time, we headed to The Gambia, a tiny country tucked right in the middle of Senegal, before making our way to Casamance.
The Gambia is English-speaking, Senegal is French-speaking, but the locals? They couldn’t care less—because in this part of the world, they mostly speak Wolof, Fula, Jola, or Mandinka. Hence the title: Senegambia 😉.
As usual, I’m sharing the live updates I sent to friends and family—super casual, of course.
I know this isn’t the kind of destination that draws crowds, but if you love adventure, laughter, and emotion, it might just be your thing 😊.
Hugs 😘
INTRODUCTION
Creating a masterpiece like Gros Morne National Park wasn’t done overnight. So, when you first discover this extraordinary place, it’s easy to understand why Mother Nature took over 485 million years to bring it to life.
Here, glacial valleys, forests, rugged coastline, beaches, and peat bogs follow one another and intertwine to form a unique ecosystem, one that’s rare in the world. After all, this is where geologists found tangible evidence of the theory of continental drift, and it’s one of the few places on Earth where you can see—and even walk on—the Earth’s mantle. This site is a true celebration of the raw, enigmatic power and beauty of the physical world.
Designated a national park in 1973 and later a UNESCO World Heritage Site in 1987, it’s an 1,805 km² playground just waiting for the adventurer in you. Whether you’re traveling solo, with family, or with friends, for a few days or several weeks, you won’t run out of things to do here.
Source: https://www.exploretnl.ca/parc-national-gros-morne
The hikes we did in this region are listed below. Each hike has a link so you can quickly access more information about it.
Videos are embedded throughout the summary. Click on the image to start the video.
Stanleyville Trail Trout River Pond Trail Trout River Pond Trail (Return) Green Gardens Trail Tablelands Trail Scenic Route 431 Lookout Hills Trail Southeast Brook Falls Trail Gros Morne Mountain Trail (James Callaghan Trail) Berry Hill Trail Baker's Brook Falls Trail Berry Hill Pond Trail Western Brook Pond Trail Boat Tour on Western Brook Pond Steve’s Trail Shallow Bay Beach
Creating a masterpiece like Gros Morne National Park wasn’t done overnight. So, when you first discover this extraordinary place, it’s easy to understand why Mother Nature took over 485 million years to bring it to life.
Here, glacial valleys, forests, rugged coastline, beaches, and peat bogs follow one another and intertwine to form a unique ecosystem, one that’s rare in the world. After all, this is where geologists found tangible evidence of the theory of continental drift, and it’s one of the few places on Earth where you can see—and even walk on—the Earth’s mantle. This site is a true celebration of the raw, enigmatic power and beauty of the physical world.
Designated a national park in 1973 and later a UNESCO World Heritage Site in 1987, it’s an 1,805 km² playground just waiting for the adventurer in you. Whether you’re traveling solo, with family, or with friends, for a few days or several weeks, you won’t run out of things to do here.
Source: https://www.exploretnl.ca/parc-national-gros-morne
The hikes we did in this region are listed below. Each hike has a link so you can quickly access more information about it.
Videos are embedded throughout the summary. Click on the image to start the video.
Stanleyville Trail Trout River Pond Trail Trout River Pond Trail (Return) Green Gardens Trail Tablelands Trail Scenic Route 431 Lookout Hills Trail Southeast Brook Falls Trail Gros Morne Mountain Trail (James Callaghan Trail) Berry Hill Trail Baker's Brook Falls Trail Berry Hill Pond Trail Western Brook Pond Trail Boat Tour on Western Brook Pond Steve’s Trail Shallow Bay Beach
