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
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.
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 😄.
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)
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
Trip Planning
My partner and I are heading to the Canary Islands for a week at the end of September, specifically to Lanzarote. We chose this island over the more crowded ones for its volcanic landscape and the variety of hikes it offers.
I booked everything through Expedia: our hotel stay, car rental, and Ryanair flight tickets departing from Marseille. It was the only way to get a direct flight. To make getting around easier during our stay, I picked a hotel located in the center of the island from the wide selection available. It’s part of the Barceló chain, specifically the "Barceló Teguise Beach Adults Only" in Teguise Beach, which turned out to be an excellent choice.
The Trip
Sunday, September 21 - Monday, September 22
Departure
It’s 2:15 PM, and we’re at the Avignon TGV station. Danielle picked us up earlier due to the weather—thunderstorms and heavy rain all the way to the station. The TGV was on time, and it only took 30 minutes to reach Marseille Saint-Charles. The shuttle to the airport is quick and convenient, right behind the station.
The bus leaves for the airport in the middle of the storm, with flooded roads and cars stuck in some spots.
We get soaked making our way to the terminal. Two hours to wait before the flight. The plane finally takes off at midnight, but just before landing, the pilot announces that the destination airport is closed, and we’re being diverted to Tenerife. Ryanair will re-route us as soon as possible.
We end up waiting 2 hours, and Ryanair kindly gives us a 4 € voucher.
We re-board around 5:15 AM and take off at 6:00 AM. About 45 minutes to reach Lanzarote. After collecting our luggage, we head to the car rental desk. The counter in the terminal is closed, and we’re directed to parking lot P4—it takes us a while to find it.
I’m a bit worried about the rental company’s reaction since the car was supposed to be picked up 7 hours earlier, but it’s not a problem. A woman next to us is furious because she’s in the same situation, and her rental was canceled. Anne-Marie translates for her, but nothing changes.
We pick up a brand-new Toyota Aigo and head to the hotel.
After checking in, we cross the garden, walking alongside the large pool to reach our room.
A lovely first-floor room with a jacuzzi and a sea view.
It’s early, so we head to breakfast—a generously stocked and varied buffet with everything you could want.
Afterward, we drive to Cueva de los Verdes, but it’s packed with people and a long wait. We decide to come back another day.
Next, we visit Mirador Del Rio. This rocky viewpoint at the edge of the island has breathtaking cliffs plunging 500 meters into the ocean. The view is stunning and impressive.
A panoramic bar lets you cool off while enjoying the scenery.
We return to the hotel for a short walk around the neighborhood and enjoy the beautiful pool with its pleasant water temperature. Relaxing by the pool, sun loungers, and all.
In the evening, a very varied buffet at the restaurant. Then early to bed to recover from the sleepless night before.
Tuesday, September 23
After a restful night, we enjoy another varied and hearty breakfast. The terrace seating is very pleasant. We take an inland road leading to Timanfaya National Park.
The road near the park runs alongside vineyards where the vines are surrounded by lava stone walls to protect them from the prevailing winds.
Our first stop is at the visitor center, where the island’s volcanic activity is well-documented. Next, we stop at an area where you can take a short camel ride—two seats are installed on either side of the camel’s hump. This little ride offers a great view of the volcanic landscape from a higher vantage point. A fair price of 11 € per seat for a 20-minute ride.
We then head to the park entrance via the road leading to the parking lot, where only authorized buses can take the winding route inside the park.
It’s crowded, and we wait about 45 minutes with several stops before reaching the parking lot.
We board the bus, and the route offers beautiful views of this volcanic area and its many craters. The journey is very interesting, with several stops for photos.
At the parking lot, a guide shows us how the heat from the rocks beneath the surface can ignite dry vegetation. Water poured into holes in the ground immediately creates geysers and jets of steam.
The building next to the parking lot has a restaurant where meat is cooked using the heat from a well dug into the volcanic rock.
On our way back, we drive to Playa Blanca, a seaside town with a small sandy beach.
Back at the hotel in the late afternoon for dinner.
Wednesday, September 24
We wake up early and have a quick breakfast—few people are around at this hour. Two days ago, we booked a 10:00 AM visit to Los Verdes, lava tunnels created by eruptions and lava flows from the La Corona volcano, which extended all the way to the coast.
When the lava came into contact with the air, it solidified on the surface while continuing to flow underneath. The lava tunnels stretch for 8 kilometers to the volcano, but we only walk one kilometer.
The inside of the tunnel is impressive, with narrow passages and larger chambers.
You can see traces left by the flowing liquid lava—varied colors and twisted shapes.
At the end of the path, a large chamber has been turned into a concert hall with perfect acoustics.
Next, we visit Jameo Del Agua.
This is a continuation of the lava tunnel, developed by Manrique.
There are beautifully designed bar and restaurant areas, as well as an underground lake where you can see small blind white crabs—a protected species in this very pure water.
Higher up, there’s a lovely space with a central pool that could double as a swimming area, surrounded by beautifully designed white pathways that contrast with the blue water.
Further on, you reach a large space inside the lava tunnel, set up as a performance hall with perfect acoustics.
Stairs let you view this beautiful space from above. A gap in the lava landscape reveals the ocean on the horizon.
We head back toward the village of Yé, at the foot of the La Corona volcano.
A 160-meter walk from the church, a path crosses vineyard plots and then climbs to the top of the volcano’s crater in about 30 minutes. It’s the island’s highest volcano.
When you reach the edge of the crater, you see how deep it is, with steep slopes inside forming a large circular opening. The place is breathtaking and awe-inspiring.
We drive back to the hotel via a road that climbs quickly, offering a beautiful view of the island’s northern part.
Thursday, September 25
After another enjoyable and varied breakfast, we head to the center of the island toward the volcano park and stop at a roadside parking lot where a path leads to the Montana Cuervo volcano.
This is a crater that opened on one side. During an eruption, an explosion created a breach in the crater.
Huge blocks of rock were thrown dozens of meters away. The path goes through the breach and descends into the crater, allowing you to walk around it. It’s impressive, and you really feel small and fragile in this environment.
The crater walls, with their different colors, highlight the rock formations. The crater is surrounded by a sea of lava with sharp, jagged rocks.
You can walk around the outside of the crater, but it’s not very interesting. We then head to the west coast, stopping at a spot with a small green lake next to a beautiful black sand beach.
Next, we stop at Salinas de Janubio, a lovely viewpoint overlooking the salt marshes with different water colors. A small shop sells various local products.
We then head to the famous Papagayo beach.
The road ends at a booth where they charge 3 € to continue.
From here, the land is private, and you have to pay to drive down a 3-kilometer rocky dirt road.
Quite a few cars are driving along it, kicking up clouds of dust. The car gets a dusty makeover.
We arrive at a large parking area, with several paths leading to different small beaches.
We go to Papagayo, a small blonde sand beach surrounded by red rocks.
The beach slopes gently into the water, which is a pleasant temperature. The setting is charming and peaceful.
We stay for a while before heading back to the hotel.
Friday, September 26
We start with a visit to the César Manrique Foundation in Tahiche. This was originally one of his homes. The modern construction spans several levels and is integrated into the lava flow, using the gaps to create living spaces. Large windows make the rooms bright and open to the scenery. The place is pleasant, with flower-filled gardens outside. It’s well worth a visit.
Next, we drive to Las Grietas, where a path leads to a narrow crack in the volcanic rock, forming a tight passage where only one person can walk at a time.
The passage isn’t very long, but progress is slow due to the endless selfies being taken here.
We then stop at Casa Del Camposino, a renovated farm that houses several artisan shops.
We taste a local wine recommended by a charming woman and buy two bottles of Lanzarote red wine on her advice.
Now, we head to Tamara beach, a beautiful and wide beach at the foot of high cliffs. There are always great waves here, making it a surfer’s paradise.
On the way back to the hotel, we stop at the cactus garden, César Manrique’s final creation. Designed with a great sense of aesthetics around an old windmill, it features 4,500 varieties of cacti in various shapes, all in a beautiful setting.
We return to the hotel in the late afternoon for the evening.
Saturday, September 27
After another hearty breakfast, we head north to Haria. We stumble upon another of César Manrique’s homes, where he lived for a long time. This house is more traditional than the previous one but still has large, modern, and very pleasant rooms. At the back of the garden is his large studio, where he created his works.
Next, we visit the craft market—this was our original plan. Various stalls offer local items, and it’s very crowded. No room at the café terraces to sit down.
We then return to Famara beach for a long stay. There are always great waves here, much to the surfers’ delight. The water temperature is pleasant, and we enjoy it.
On the way back to the hotel, we stop at a gas station to refill the car, which has been very fuel-efficient. Gas is also much cheaper here than in France—1.16 € per liter of SP95.
We also wash the car, which was very dusty after the long dirt road to Papagayo beach.
At the hotel, we enjoy a farewell cocktail before dinner.
Sunday, September 28
We spend the morning by the hotel pool before checking out at noon. For lunch, we go to a restaurant called "Dona Lola," near the hotel, with a terrace offering a view of the coast. We order tuna carpaccio, which is delicious.
We then head to the airport, just 15 minutes away.
We return the rental car and go to the airport.
A long line to check in our luggage.
The return flight is on time.
A shuttle bus takes us to Saint-Charles station.
We then head to our overnight rental. The boulevard slopes down, making it easier with the suitcases.
The rental is between the old port and the train station.
Once there, we pick up the keys and make one last effort to carry the luggage up to the third floor.
The studio is nice, clean, and simply equipped—perfect for one night.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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!
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.
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!
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 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.
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!
I’m inviting you on a stroll through my drawings—a completely subjective, far from exhaustive, and totally personal take, since it’s based on my own sketches. I put this travel journal together after returning in late 2024, mostly using felt-tip pens and pencils, with a few collages thrown in. I worked from our personal photos.
Let’s start with the shotengai...
Our first "wow" moment came as we stepped out of the subway in Asakusa, the Tokyo neighborhood where we’d booked our hotel for our first five nights. Exhausted after our long flight, we finally arrived and took an exit that led straight into a shotengai—one of those covered shopping streets that pop up in city centers and flourished between the 1950s and 1980s.
It was an instant aesthetic shock, like a close encounter of the third kind between the modern city, a typical Asian market with its street stalls, the vintage vibe of the arcade, the sheer abundance of goods, and the bustling crowd—a mix of tourists, pilgrims (thanks to nearby Senso-ji Temple), and locals (it’s a very working-class area).
In the end, it set the tone for a feeling we’d experience throughout the trip. Wherever we went, shotengai turned out to be fantastic spots for finding little restaurants, shops, or even fresh produce. Some are like real mazes, like in Kyoto, where we spent ages trying to relocate a restaurant we’d loved ;-)
In Kanazawa, the Omicho Market:
And in Kyoto, Nishiki Market:
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!
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 😊.
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.
The reopening of the forum is great news—let's keep it going! I’m going to share a little story about this 12-day trip, which was my second-to-last journey and my most recent one in Africa for now.
I went to this country for one very specific reason: to see two endemic animal species. A little suspense… you’ll find out what they are soon if you don’t already know!
The country is poor, very poor even. And it hits you even harder when you arrive in the capital: a massive open-air construction site that gives an impression of prosperity. A lot of roads were built by the Chinese, but to be honest, they’re far from perfect… and I mean *far*!
When it comes to restaurants, it’s pretty much the same story. Most offer endless menus, but in reality, there aren’t many choices. Once, I was flat-out told: “No rice today!” Ordering a dish? It’s a real gamble! The food is *very* spicy—I’m warning you, it’s intense! There’s chili in almost everything, so it’s best to ask beforehand if you don’t want your mouth on fire. Actually, this was the first time I didn’t like the food in a country I visited. Had to happen eventually, right?
Their national dish? Injera. A large flatbread topped with sauces, vegetables, and meat. The taste is really unique—some love it, others… not so much.
October 7, 2023, is a sunny day in Milan. Since morning, in this light, I’m WhatsApping with Afrooz in Tehran, and I decide to call her. A lively, joyful conversation—French with that Farsi accent becomes a wonderful language. Suddenly, everything feels possible. Isfahan, Shiraz, Damavand, Yazd, Yazd, Yazd—a delicious word savored endlessly—become within reach. Iran, so longed for, is finally here. Pure joy, absolute enthusiasm. Six months to plan and relish a trip before living it.
Frozen.
Empty.
No.
We decide to wait, not to give up right away, pretending to believe—just a little, just to keep from collapsing—that with this wretched human race, the worst isn’t necessarily certain.
It is.
So... meh, Madeira? The Azores? Uzbekistan (a pale substitute)? New Zealand?
Greece. Again, always. Nestling into the only European promise we’ve been given. Indulging in illusions, for the pleasure of it.
So, train from Milan to Ancona (9 AM–12 PM), a typically Marchigiano lunch (Italy is paradise for food lovers), a stroll through the city, then at 4 PM boarding the *Olympic Champion*. Arrival in Patras the next afternoon, car rental, and off to Lepanto—Nafpaktos today—to reminisce about glorious victories and pay tribute to Cervantes, who lost a hand there before writing.
That’s the plan, anyway. The train is unusually on time. The ferry, replaced in the meantime by the *Hellenic Spirit* (why not? Even if it’s less suited to the season), is 3 hours late, then 4, no 5, then finally 6—oh wait, 7. And on top of that, it’s pouring rain in Ancona, and the port waiting room closes at 6 PM. Great...
At 11 PM, the ferry’s lights emerge in the pitch-black night. We jostle through the downpour, board, and sleep well in a cozy cabin with the white noise of the engines. Then:
Here’s the itinerary for a ten-day trip through Slovenia and Northern Italy using local transport.
Saturday, May 2: Arrival
Arrived in Ljubljana on a Transavia flight from Paris. I’d spotted a bus connection to the city center, but it’s worth noting there’s no dedicated line—most buses stopping at the airport come from Bled. On a sunny Saturday afternoon, the bus was already packed with people who’d headed to the lake for some fresh air. I ended up taking a shared van, with drivers actively offering transfers to travelers. I paid 12 € for the ride to the train station, then walked 15 minutes to Hotel Celica. It lives up to its description as a former prison turned hotel—close to the city center, clean, with a hearty breakfast. The rooms are basic, with beds 3 meters off the ground, accessible by a wooden ladder. For dinner, I opted for an Indian restaurant.
Sunday, May 3: Urban marathon
Good news: museums are free on the first Sunday of the month. I started with the National Gallery, then took a stroll through Tivoli Park, enjoying the outdoors. I tried grilling in the park before heading to the Museum of Modern Art and the eclectic National Museum of Slovenia, which was interesting for its architecture. Next up was the castle—you can enter the grounds for free; the only reason to pay is to access the keep for the city views.
Monday, May 4: Bled
I spent the morning exploring Ljubljana’s architecture but was disappointed by the Krakovo district, which guidebooks had hyped up.
In the afternoon, I took the bus to Bled. The hostel was right at the bus station, and I soon realized I’d be the only guest—the owner was struggling to attract visitors. I walked around the lake and searched for the viewpoint access. It’s a steep climb with a staircase, but worth it.
Tuesday, May 5: Vintgar Gorge
I headed to the gorges early in the morning via a shuttle, then walked back to Bled. It was stunning—it reminded me a bit of the Samaria Gorge I’d visited last year.
The bus took me straight to Stara Fužina near Lake Bohinj, where I stayed in a homestay. I loved it, even though there wasn’t much interaction with the hosts.
The weather was overcast and misty, giving the lake a Scottish vibe.
Wednesday, May 6: Bohinj
Rainy day, so I took the bus to Ukanc at the far end of the lake and walked back.
Thursday, May 7: Mostnica Gorge and the auto-train
I set off on foot for the gorges from Stara Fužina, taking a detour up to Planina Uskovnica, a steep and rarely used trail. The views of Triglav and the traditional alpine huts were incredible.
I then took the auto-train to Most na Soči. The passenger section has compartments, and the windows can be opened. The ride through the gorges was breathtaking. I stayed at a family-run guesthouse near the Most na Soči station—authentic and cozy.
Friday, May 8: Tolmin Gorge and Nova Gorica
I took the bus to Tolmin, then walked 30 minutes to the gorges. The trail is well-maintained but short, so I extended my hike with a scenic loop through the gorges and nearby villages.
A quick train ride later, I was in Nova Gorica for the night, positioning myself to reach the Adriatic coast the next day. I explored at a fast pace—Villa Raffut on the Slovenian side, then crossed the border to visit Palazzo Attems-Petzenstein and grab an aperitivo in the main square. You could tell I was in Italy just by the vibe. The old border checkpoint is still there.
Saturday, May 9: Piran
Three trains and a bus later, I arrived. The journey was scenic, and it was worth it.
Piran is touristy but manageable. It feels like a mix of Croatia and Italy, with both influences evident. The maritime museum was fascinating, with its detailed ship models. There’s still a local feel—there was even a great blues concert by the harbor that evening.
Sunday, May 10: Piran
I walked to Izola along the coast—a beautiful route with paths, roads, and lakes. It was Sunday, and the tip of the village was lively with families picnicking. I decided to take the bus to Koper. The regional museum was quiet, but the garden was stunning.
Monday, May 11: Trieste
The bus connection from Koper was frequent and easy. Trieste is very open to the sea. I visited the castle and the massive Revoltella Museum—good timing, since it was raining. The collection spans everything from classical to contemporary art.
I missed my connection to Stresa later that day, so I had to improvise a night in a dorm near Milan’s train station.
Tuesday, May 12: Stresa
I came mainly for the Borromean Islands. First impressions weren’t great—crowded at the dock and windy. I didn’t like Isola Bella—too many people and too flashy. I much preferred Isola Madre, with its peaceful gardens where you can find solitude. On the way back, I stopped at Isola dei Pescatori after some hesitation, and it was worth it. Finally, I explored Stresa, with its colorful houses and grand palaces.
Wednesday, May 13: Heading to the Jura
I wrapped up my trip by taking the EuroCity train from Milan to Geneva via the Simplon Pass. From there, I headed to my vacation spot, taking the train from Nyon to La Cure (on the border). The rest of the journey was private.
I arrived in Berlin last night. In another discussion, I shared how much of a "nightmare" the flights from Nice were.
I’ll be posting some impressions here—what I liked and what I didn’t like as much.
This is my first time in Berlin. I’m staying for two weeks. For now, I’m alone, but I’ll be joined by someone in a few days.
Just to clarify, I won’t be posting any photos because my camera gave up the ghost the day before I left. It refused to read memory cards, and I don’t have a smartphone—just a tablet that I leave at the hotel.
Speaking of photos, a few years ago, at the Ducasse d’Ath in Belgium, I met a retired teacher who wasn’t taking any pictures of the festival. I asked her, "You’re not taking any photos?" She told me that during a trip to Nicaragua, she’d photographed howler monkeys and only noticed when looking at the pictures later that the males had huge testicles—something she hadn’t realized in person. She said, "Since then, I don’t bother with photos anymore!" I’ve thought about that often and wonder if I should do the same and stop taking pictures. Still, I’ll probably get a smartphone since it’s hard to go without one these days.
Ah, Iceland and us—it’s quite the story, or rather, a long wait... The first time we considered going was already 7-8 years ago, after reading travel journals describing breathtaking landscapes, countless active and dormant volcanoes, glaciers, and waterfalls with extraordinary flows. In short, this island, made of fire and ice, right at Europe’s doorstep with its own unique culture, had nothing but advantages, and it was urgent to visit without delay 😇
My *Routard* guidebook is actually from 2016. So why did Iceland make us wait so long before we finally gave in to its charms? Yes, why indeed?
Simply because reading other travel journals revealed the cost of living there—and especially the harsh climate, even in the middle of July 🤪! Some journals described entire weeks of rain and foggy weather, making it tricky to explore the island. The budget wasn’t spared either, because in the most touristy areas, especially in the south and around Myvatn, accommodation prices are downright indecent—even outright robbery. 😕
Plus, in the Highlands, there’s literally no permanent lodging, and the only way to spend several nights there is to camp. And camping in winter conditions wasn’t exactly part of our plans... 😄
So, year after year, this trip kept getting postponed...
until August 2023, when prices for Southern Africa, North or South America, or even Asia were all way too high for summer 2024!
That’s when I turned my attention back to the Land of Fire and Ice and scoured all the comparison sites for the best accommodation deals across the country. Planning for 20 nights, I found 13 nights in "proper" lodging for 5 people at an average cost of under 200 €! A miracle, considering that in the southern glacier region, around Vik or Myvatn, prices range from 300 to 1000 € per night 😮 😮!
Still, that means we’ll have to camp for 7 nights, mostly in the Highlands, near Askja or Landmannalaugar. 😎
For once, I built the daily itinerary entirely around the decently priced lodgings I found 11 months in advance! The shortage of places to stay in some areas forced me to plan a few long transition days and make some tough choices. No big deal, though—there’s so much to do on this island 🙂!
Once the main itinerary was set, everyone agreed to the plan: 2/3 in proper lodging and 1/3 camping, even the most camping-averse among us! *Follow my gaze...*
By the time we bought the flight tickets, I had to tweak the itinerary a bit because one or two places were already booked! Plus, it was impossible to wait for a more refined plan to adjust reservations, since almost all bookings are non-refundable!!
The harsh law of supply and demand...
For the car rental, we booked a Hyundai Tucson, approved for the Highlands, from Lava Car Rental—a company I’d read good reviews about in a Facebook group—for a cool 2500 € with full insurance. A real 4x4, like a Defender, would’ve been more than double...! Welcome to Iceland 😕...
Activities and excursions also required some tough choices. We had two must-dos: whale watching in Húsavík (60 € pp on Getyourguide) and a Glacier and Summer Treasure Glacier Walk with BlueIceland (165 € pp with discount codes on Getyourguide).
For the baths, we skipped the Blue Lagoon—too expensive—in favor of the Secret Lagoon and the Myvatn Baths, the Blue Lagoon’s equivalent but half the price.
Two baths for the price of one... and even more, since I spotted several free hot-water swimming spots.
Itinerary:
Day 1: Arrival in Reykjavik - Hraunfossar Waterfall - Surtshellir Cave
Day 2: Grábrók Crater - Snæfellsnes Peninsula
Day 3: Stykkishólmur - Sturlungalaug Hot Springs
Day 4: Northwest Coast - Akureyri - Goðafoss
Day 5: Myvatn
Day 6: Myvatn - Dettifoss - Selfoss - Rauðhólar
Day 7: Húsavík Whale Watching - Dettifoss - Selfoss
Day 8: Stuðlagil Canyon - Seyðisfjörður
Day 9: Puffin colony - Störurð Hike
Day 10: Hengifoss - East Fjords, Mjóifjörður
Day 11: Viking Village - Jökulsárlón - Fjallsárlón
Day 12: Glacier Excursion - Svartifoss
Day 13: Fjaðrárgljúfur Canyon - Vík
Day 14: Þakgil - Lava Show Vík
Day 15: Southern Waterfalls Day
Day 16: Landmannalaugar - Skalli Hike
Day 17: Landmannalaugar - Bláhnjúkur - Brennisteinsalda
Day 18: Secret Lagoon, Kerlingarfjöll, and Gullfoss
Day 19: Geysir - Reykjavik
Day 20: Bruarfoss - Þingvellir - Kerid Crater - Krýsuvík Geothermal Area
Day 21: Reykjanes Peninsula
Friday, July 5, 2024, is our last workday before driving up to Alsace overnight to leave the cockers at Grandpa’s for boarding. Then, at 1:30 AM, we’ll head to Frankfurt, where a direct flight to Iceland awaits.
We arrive at 4 AM. Since we leave at 7 AM, the "night" will only last the equivalent of a 30-minute nap 🤪... just enough to get us in the road-trip mood 😏!!
Xlendi Bay
the seabeds in the coves
I’m inviting you on a stroll through my drawings—a completely subjective, far from exhaustive, and totally personal take, since it’s based on my own sketches. I put this travel journal together after returning in late 2024, mostly using felt-tip pens and pencils, with a few collages thrown in. I worked from our personal photos.
And in Kyoto, Nishiki Market:
23 hours of rest. Of forgetting.
