Dear members of this forum,
*With the pandemic, travel guides were replaced by cookbooks. With lockdown, there’s no need for the *Guía del Trotamundos*—the cookbook is gospel, and your daily life turns into a *Spaghetti Western*.
It’s no longer about good and bad actors but good and bad fats.
And for a few extra pinches of salt.
To the tune of Ennio Morricone, it’s hard to diagnose pastalogy—sorry, the pathology—you’re suffering from.
Italy, now confined, and pasta—no more aimless gondola rides on Venice’s canals or *Dolce Vita* weekends in Rome.
The beauty of the soul blends with minestrone preparation.
*With the pandemic, Professor Didier Raoult became the new Christ-like figure; like the Indira Gandhi of medicine, like Moses showing the way to the people across the Dead Sea, for tormented souls, the value of a medical prescription doesn’t wait for the years to pass.
And plexiglass reigned over the world.
*With the pandemic and gender theory, in particular, pushing us to become androgynous, hermaphroditic beings—*patatras*—the Colossi of Rhodes we are waver because of a tiny nuisance.
*Phew, the pandemic has receded... but watch out for a new swine flu pandemic, because on this forum, it’ll be followed by long-winded rants. Political/historical revisionism with such a pandemic—Fidel Castro wouldn’t have been able to invade the *Bahía de los Cochinos*.
And that’s where his comrade Ernesto *Che* Guevara becomes a perfect scam.
A fierce opponent of capitalist ideology, yet many clothing sellers got rich selling T-shirts with his face on them.
*Neutrality and the Helvetic underground.
Last summer, I found myself passing the *Chalet Gaillard* deep in the *Forêt du Risoux* in the Jura, then crossing the border into the Canton of Vaud on foot.
My disappointment was great: no sign indicating we were in neutral territory.
And what kind of neutrality are we talking about? Since neutrality is an abstract concept.
It’s like those visitors eager to see Calais who, spotting the sign for the *Pas-de-Calais* department, turn around on the road.
*There’s always a traveler quick to recommend a local guide.
I know an excellent guide named Michel who lives in Cairo—Michel of Cairo.
He has a truck and takes you to see the pharaoh’s ruins by truck.
Still, be careful—good guides aren’t that common, because there are only eight Cairenes.
*The mix between large mammals and humans. Or how infantilism rules the world. The ultimate quest for happiness is petting rhinos in Nepal—we’ll confirm if this kind of animal is visible on the streets of Sauraha, a town near Chitwan National Park.
The downside of this animal? It takes up too much space as a pet—better to raise a Yorkshire terrier in your modest apartment.
*I’m tired of recurring topics like, *‘Do I have time for my connection at New York airport?’*
Aren’t you?
There’s the discussion about *Gare de Lyon Part-Dieu*—*Gare de Lyon Part-Dieu*, God bless you.
In the name of the Father, the taxman, and the Holy Spirit, don’t miss your connection.
*Gare de Lyon-Part-Dieu*—apparently, a great French actor, Gérard de Part-Dieu, was born there.
If you think you’ll miss your connection, just get rich and fly private.
The working masses of the *lumpenproletariat*—they dare everything, that’s how you recognize them.
*Experts in non-events: learning that some members don’t like Spanish-speaking countries because, supposedly, the people are too loud.
That’s it, I’m not going to China anymore—too many stairs on the Great Wall.
So, too bad, I’m not going. It’s like two people crossing paths—one asks, *‘Going fishing?’* and the other says no.
These experts are probably natives of Arles, because with people like that, it’s *l’Arlésienne*...
*The art of taking selfies at every turn. You’d think it’s an ancient practice, almost an anthropological ritual—everything suggests it dates back to prehistoric times.
Back in the days of the Lascaux caves, instead of photographing the meal they were about to eat (it’s crazy how many food photos we see on this forum, especially in travel journals), prehistoric men and women could only make cave paintings.
From there, it’s only a small step to conclude that cave art was nothing more than the menu served in caves that doubled as *Buffalo Grills* long before the chain existed.
By the way, if you want to visit the caves, ask for a guide named Josiane.
When it comes to parietal art skills, Josiane beats Lascaux...
(Only the French on this forum will get that one.)
*Mythology of an object: the suitcase
(a nod to Mr. Éric Libiot, whose columns I enjoy)
An object that gets lost during a flight, especially during a transfer at an airport. And it’s stuffed to the brim with clothes and other useless items, like Mickey Mouse slippers.
You’re in despair: when going through customs, the officers find those slightly risqué photos hidden in your laundry, taken at Cap d’Agde on a naturist beach.
The suitcase is an object that makes noise when rolling because of its wheels—you’re quickly spotted.
*Hurry up and visit New York while you still can.
Because of *Woke* ideology, more and more statues are being torn down, and the Statue of Liberty will likely meet the same fate.
*Queer* culture isn’t everyone’s cup of tea.
*The Dead Poets Society
I admired the beautiful photos of Venice, and *click*—I check the new discussions when I come across one where Mr. J.M.B. offers money loans.
This person probably works at the Ministry of Finance and risks loosening the purse strings of your wallets.
*Toward the independence of New Caledonia: will we call it *Nouvelle Nouvelle-Calédonie*?
From what I know, Chinese authorities want to settle there and invest; apparently, they want to send (fake) tourists—facsimiles of real travelers.
So, it’ll be hard to separate the wheat from the chaff (the *ivraie* tourists).
*There’s a topic about hitchhiking in Scotland: apparently, Scots are very welcoming people.
I imagine arriving at Aberdeen Airport to a typical welcoming committee—men in kilts and a bagpiper playing.
Just like arriving in Papeete, where you’re greeted with flower leis—*Aloha! (Jacta Est)*.
To attract tourists, Scottish cities will end up installing whisky vending machines.
*Eskimo pies banned for sale because of *cancel culture*—you can’t go to Iqaluit anymore.
Panicked, ice cream manufacturers had to revise their *packaging*—sorry for the anglicism.
Because of *cancel culture*, we can no longer say *Eskimo* without it being pejorative.
The identity of the Arctic people of the same name takes a hit—it’s crazy how *bien-pensance* wreaks havoc in our minds...
We can’t even bite into a chocolate *Eskimo* pie anymore.
*Diplomatic tensions between France and Australia: and there goes the submarine sale project, canceled.
Given that the cost of these machines is a fifth of Australia’s public finances budget, it’s tough to pay in didgeridoos and kangaroo skins.
Thanks for reading, and see you soon for more chronicles.
65 similar discussions in English
"In one place, in one day, a single deed accomplished,
May hold the theater filled until the end."
- Sunday morning, a chilly dawn - The kitchen - Smell of coffee and toast, a jar of honey on the table.
- Tits pecking at sunflower seeds in the transparent feeder stuck to the window.
- France Musique on the radio: Brahms, violin concerto by the lovely Hilary Hahn - Characters: - An old man in a plush dark blue dressing gown - An old woman in a worn-out duck-blue dressing gown. They dance cheek to cheek, the woman’s head resting on the old man’s broad chest. The old man breathes in the tangled hair of the lady. She smiles. Happy. Tomorrow, they’re off on a trip.
- Sunday morning, a chilly dawn - The kitchen - Smell of coffee and toast, a jar of honey on the table.
- Tits pecking at sunflower seeds in the transparent feeder stuck to the window.
- France Musique on the radio: Brahms, violin concerto by the lovely Hilary Hahn - Characters: - An old man in a plush dark blue dressing gown - An old woman in a worn-out duck-blue dressing gown. They dance cheek to cheek, the woman’s head resting on the old man’s broad chest. The old man breathes in the tangled hair of the lady. She smiles. Happy. Tomorrow, they’re off on a trip.
“Slow travel” is a concept that some tout as a philosophical revolution in travel. But on closer inspection, it’s nothing more than a marketing repackaging of an age-old practice.
This term is wrapped in an aura of intellectualism. It promises to reinvent the experience of travel by valuing slowness, contemplation, and cultural immersion.
The term “slow travel” claims to bring depth to travel, but it often relies on clichés.
Taking your time, meeting locals, avoiding quick visits—these practices have always existed and are nothing revolutionary.
Before the era of airplanes, high-speed trains, and express stays, traveling necessarily meant taking your time. Pilgrims, merchants, and explorers already practiced a form of “slow travel,” without hashtags or self-proclaimed spiritual guides.
Crossing lands on foot or by horse required total immersion in the landscapes, cultures, and unpredictability of the journey. Yet, no one attributed philosophical intentions to them: it was a necessity.
Slow travel, in its current version, may be less a philosophy than a reflection of the contradictions of an affluent class searching for meaning in a world they help overload.
So-called “slow” travel is presented as a privileged way to understand a culture, but this claim is debatable. A region never represents an entire country.
Immersing yourself in a community doesn’t guarantee a complete or more authentic understanding than any other way of traveling.
Slowness in itself doesn’t guarantee depth or ethics. You can immerse yourself in a place over a weekend, just as you can spend months in a country without grasping its subtleties.
By positioning itself as an antidote to “fast” tourism, slow travel fetishizes a temporality that only makes sense if it’s accompanied by real openness and an effort to integrate.
But this over-intellectualization often masks a desire to belong to a trend or a need to stand out socially.
Behind this posture sometimes lies a whim: the urge to reinvent one’s life elsewhere in an idealized form. But this quest for elsewhere remains fundamentally a way to escape or respond to unease, rather than a true commitment to the cultures visited.
When we talk about “encounters” while traveling, we often forget that these exchanges are facilitated by biased contexts. As a traveler, you’re seen as a temporary visitor, unattached, and that changes the dynamic.
Locals, whether curious or used to tourists, adopt a different stance than they would with a neighbor they see daily.
This interaction is also tinged with asymmetry: the traveler has the luxury of time and availability, while in daily life, personal concerns often take precedence over the desire to connect.
The flip side is that the openness displayed while traveling is often a facade. We boast about chatting with a fisherman or sharing a meal with a local family, but how many of these encounters lead to a real understanding of cultural differences or sincere reflection?
Once home, these moments become anecdotes, social trophies to show off, without fundamentally changing our relationship with others in our daily lives.
By imposing a definition, we push people to adapt their practices to fit an idealized model. This can lead to a paradoxical standardization: “slow travel” becomes a checklist of behaviors (meetings, immersion, slowness).
The “bobos” (bourgeois-bohemians), often in search of meaning in a world saturated with options, believe that giving a name to a practice grants it legitimacy or moral value. But this obsession with framing and theorizing travel only drains it of its spontaneity.
Someone who grew up at the crossroads of multiple cultures, on the other hand, doesn’t feel this need. For them, traveling isn’t a philosophical project but an intrinsic part of their life.
The very concept of “slow travel” can seem absurd: why glorify what’s simply natural?
Why try to turn into an ideology what should be a personal, intimate experience, free from semantic constraints?
Ultimately, this need for labeling, this frantic quest to name every gesture, reveals a society craving simplicity.
Travel, in its purest form, doesn’t need justification or slogans. It doesn’t need slowness or speed: it’s simply lived.
Perhaps the real challenge is to unlearn this Western habit of conceptualizing everything that should simply be felt.
For many, travel is a parenthesis, a temporary break from daily life. But if we reject this distinction between “home” and “elsewhere,” every human life becomes a continuous journey through varied environments.
From this perspective, “slow travel” loses all meaning, because living somewhere—whether for a week or five years—is part of the same experience of adaptation.
So, we ask the fans of marketing slogans: is travel a parenthesis or a journey?
“Slow travel” is often driven by a Western eco-bobo ideology, tinged with post-colonial guilt. This discourse promotes a supposedly virtuous way of traveling while forgetting that these practices remain a privilege.
Far from deconstructing power dynamics, it sometimes reinforces them by glorifying a different kind of consumption, still centered on comfort.
There’s also a condescending side to this rhetoric. By idealizing slowness, slow travel advocates imply that those who travel quickly or on a budget are less “authentic” in their approach.
Yet, isn’t that a form of contempt? Do those who leave for a well-deserved week after months of hard work deserve less consideration?
Concepts like “slow travel” or “sustainable tourism” seem hollow when reduced to marketing slogans or standardized behaviors. They confine travel to preconceived frameworks, stripping it of its spontaneous and unpredictable dimension.
Instead of categorizing, it would be more relevant to recognize the plurality of human experiences without trying to define them.
Slow travel doesn’t invent anything. It simply puts into words—and often slogans—what travel has always been for those who practice it with intention.
Maybe we should stop trying to theorize every movement and simply rediscover travel for what it is: a human experience, sometimes slow, sometimes fast, but always personal.
More info on our site
This term is wrapped in an aura of intellectualism. It promises to reinvent the experience of travel by valuing slowness, contemplation, and cultural immersion.
The term “slow travel” claims to bring depth to travel, but it often relies on clichés.
Taking your time, meeting locals, avoiding quick visits—these practices have always existed and are nothing revolutionary.
Before the era of airplanes, high-speed trains, and express stays, traveling necessarily meant taking your time. Pilgrims, merchants, and explorers already practiced a form of “slow travel,” without hashtags or self-proclaimed spiritual guides.
Crossing lands on foot or by horse required total immersion in the landscapes, cultures, and unpredictability of the journey. Yet, no one attributed philosophical intentions to them: it was a necessity.
Slow travel, in its current version, may be less a philosophy than a reflection of the contradictions of an affluent class searching for meaning in a world they help overload.
So-called “slow” travel is presented as a privileged way to understand a culture, but this claim is debatable. A region never represents an entire country.
Immersing yourself in a community doesn’t guarantee a complete or more authentic understanding than any other way of traveling.
Slowness in itself doesn’t guarantee depth or ethics. You can immerse yourself in a place over a weekend, just as you can spend months in a country without grasping its subtleties.
By positioning itself as an antidote to “fast” tourism, slow travel fetishizes a temporality that only makes sense if it’s accompanied by real openness and an effort to integrate.
But this over-intellectualization often masks a desire to belong to a trend or a need to stand out socially.
Behind this posture sometimes lies a whim: the urge to reinvent one’s life elsewhere in an idealized form. But this quest for elsewhere remains fundamentally a way to escape or respond to unease, rather than a true commitment to the cultures visited.
When we talk about “encounters” while traveling, we often forget that these exchanges are facilitated by biased contexts. As a traveler, you’re seen as a temporary visitor, unattached, and that changes the dynamic.
Locals, whether curious or used to tourists, adopt a different stance than they would with a neighbor they see daily.
This interaction is also tinged with asymmetry: the traveler has the luxury of time and availability, while in daily life, personal concerns often take precedence over the desire to connect.
The flip side is that the openness displayed while traveling is often a facade. We boast about chatting with a fisherman or sharing a meal with a local family, but how many of these encounters lead to a real understanding of cultural differences or sincere reflection?
Once home, these moments become anecdotes, social trophies to show off, without fundamentally changing our relationship with others in our daily lives.
By imposing a definition, we push people to adapt their practices to fit an idealized model. This can lead to a paradoxical standardization: “slow travel” becomes a checklist of behaviors (meetings, immersion, slowness).
The “bobos” (bourgeois-bohemians), often in search of meaning in a world saturated with options, believe that giving a name to a practice grants it legitimacy or moral value. But this obsession with framing and theorizing travel only drains it of its spontaneity.
Someone who grew up at the crossroads of multiple cultures, on the other hand, doesn’t feel this need. For them, traveling isn’t a philosophical project but an intrinsic part of their life.
The very concept of “slow travel” can seem absurd: why glorify what’s simply natural?
Why try to turn into an ideology what should be a personal, intimate experience, free from semantic constraints?
Ultimately, this need for labeling, this frantic quest to name every gesture, reveals a society craving simplicity.
Travel, in its purest form, doesn’t need justification or slogans. It doesn’t need slowness or speed: it’s simply lived.
Perhaps the real challenge is to unlearn this Western habit of conceptualizing everything that should simply be felt.
For many, travel is a parenthesis, a temporary break from daily life. But if we reject this distinction between “home” and “elsewhere,” every human life becomes a continuous journey through varied environments.
From this perspective, “slow travel” loses all meaning, because living somewhere—whether for a week or five years—is part of the same experience of adaptation.
So, we ask the fans of marketing slogans: is travel a parenthesis or a journey?
“Slow travel” is often driven by a Western eco-bobo ideology, tinged with post-colonial guilt. This discourse promotes a supposedly virtuous way of traveling while forgetting that these practices remain a privilege.
Far from deconstructing power dynamics, it sometimes reinforces them by glorifying a different kind of consumption, still centered on comfort.
There’s also a condescending side to this rhetoric. By idealizing slowness, slow travel advocates imply that those who travel quickly or on a budget are less “authentic” in their approach.
Yet, isn’t that a form of contempt? Do those who leave for a well-deserved week after months of hard work deserve less consideration?
Concepts like “slow travel” or “sustainable tourism” seem hollow when reduced to marketing slogans or standardized behaviors. They confine travel to preconceived frameworks, stripping it of its spontaneous and unpredictable dimension.
Instead of categorizing, it would be more relevant to recognize the plurality of human experiences without trying to define them.
Slow travel doesn’t invent anything. It simply puts into words—and often slogans—what travel has always been for those who practice it with intention.
Maybe we should stop trying to theorize every movement and simply rediscover travel for what it is: a human experience, sometimes slow, sometimes fast, but always personal.
More info on our site
Hello fellow travel enthusiasts! 🌍
As a traveler and blogger, I’ve often been struck by the huge inequalities tied to freedom of movement. While some cross borders with ease, others face major obstacles due to their nationality, background, or the restrictive policies of certain countries.
On the occasion of International Human Rights Day, I wrote an article reflecting on this issue: 📖 Travelers' Rights: A Reflection on Freedom of Movement and Global Inequalities
In this article, I cover topics like:
Inequalities between passports ("strong" vs. "weak" passports). The specific challenges faced by travelers from marginalized communities. How to take action to promote more inclusive and equitable travel.
I’d love to hear your thoughts! 😊 Have you ever experienced these inequalities while traveling? How do you think we could raise more awareness about this issue? Feel free to share your experiences or ask questions in this thread. I can’t wait to discuss this with you!
Travel is also about building bridges between cultures. So let’s make sure it becomes a reality for everyone. ✈️🌎 Thanks for reading, and I look forward to exchanging ideas with you!
On the occasion of International Human Rights Day, I wrote an article reflecting on this issue: 📖 Travelers' Rights: A Reflection on Freedom of Movement and Global Inequalities
In this article, I cover topics like:
Inequalities between passports ("strong" vs. "weak" passports). The specific challenges faced by travelers from marginalized communities. How to take action to promote more inclusive and equitable travel.
I’d love to hear your thoughts! 😊 Have you ever experienced these inequalities while traveling? How do you think we could raise more awareness about this issue? Feel free to share your experiences or ask questions in this thread. I can’t wait to discuss this with you!
Travel is also about building bridges between cultures. So let’s make sure it becomes a reality for everyone. ✈️🌎 Thanks for reading, and I look forward to exchanging ideas with you!
A turbulent period came to an end around 2022.
Many of us have returned to big trips after making only very small ones—or none at all. For a little anecdote, my dentist told me that due to the lack of travel, a lot of clients treated themselves to implants they would’ve otherwise skipped. The joy of traveling again probably gave some vacationers smiles they hadn’t dared to show before!
Here, you can share what’s on your mind: Have these new, real trips disappointed you, rejuvenated you, or just relieved a long frustration?
For my part, not being so young anymore, there was definitely relief but no explosion of joy. I just had the feeling of picking up the thread of life after a foggy pause, with the bitter taste that 2 or 3 years of my life had been partly stolen from me.
Many of us have returned to big trips after making only very small ones—or none at all. For a little anecdote, my dentist told me that due to the lack of travel, a lot of clients treated themselves to implants they would’ve otherwise skipped. The joy of traveling again probably gave some vacationers smiles they hadn’t dared to show before!
Here, you can share what’s on your mind: Have these new, real trips disappointed you, rejuvenated you, or just relieved a long frustration?
For my part, not being so young anymore, there was definitely relief but no explosion of joy. I just had the feeling of picking up the thread of life after a foggy pause, with the bitter taste that 2 or 3 years of my life had been partly stolen from me.
