Results for "Roumanie"

Salut la cyber-compagnie,

Je débarque à Paris vers la mi-août. Mon billet d'avion est un aller-simple et j'ai un peu d'argent de côté, alors bonjour l'aventure. J'entretiens le rêve de me rendre jusqu'en Asie, mais je ne me fais pas d'illusions car je suis un cycliste de promenade plutôt qu'un athlète. Je me suis donc donné pour premier objectif de faire Paris-Prague-Budapest-Istanbul. Je préconise un mode de voyage très économique, c'est pourquoi j'aurai tout le nécessaire pour le camping.

Voici les questions que j'adresse aujourd'hui:

1. Est-il raisonnable de penser à pédaler dès mon arrivée à l'aéroport Charles-de-Gaules? C'est-à-dire, est-ce que je tomberai rapidement sur des paysages hospitaliers et propices à dresser une tente, ou alors est-ce que je rêve en couleur et que je devrais plutôt prendre un train pour un petit bout de chemin?

2. Comment puis-je m'informer sur le réseau de pistes cyclable d'europe?

Je suis ouvert à faire un bout de chemin avec d'autres s'il y a des intéressés. Mon itinéraire est loin d'être coulé dans le béton. J'ai toute la vie devant moi, mes seules limites son budgétaires!

Au Plaisir!😏

Ulysse

Bonjour à vous tous, avec mon ami, nous ne sommes jamais partis, en 10 ans, en voyage, faute de moyens malheureusement.

Mais nous voulons faire un enfant et profiter au moins une fois avant bébé d'un beau voyage, et peut-être même le concevoir à ce moment là? 😊

Je recherche donc des idées de destinations romantiques, pas trop chères, pour fin juillet ou août, si vous avez des idées, vite vite, je serais vraiment ravie de les connaître!😉

Merci pour votre attention.

Bonjour!

Je suis à la recherche d'idées de destinations sympas et originales ( France ou Europe) pour partir cet été entre amis.

Petites précisions ( qui peuvent avoir leur importance! ;-)): nous avons en moyenne 25 ans, notre budget est limité, et nous n'aimons pas trop les coins à touristes...

Bonjour à tous,

Je projette de faire un voyage d'une semaine en Ouzbékistan.

Peut-on voyager en individuel (hors circuit organisé ; achat d'un vol sec et on se débrouille sur place ensuite) ?

Vos expériences vécues m'intéressent. Merci.

Since I don’t have time to come up with an original theme, I’m suggesting a broad, international topic: religious buildings around the world. Given how vast the subject is, I’d like us to focus on photos of exteriors—wide shots or details. Interiors, which are just as varied, could be the subject of another contest.

A few of my own photos, just to give you an idea:

Bonjour à tous, L'année dernière nous avions fait un voyage en Iran absolument merveilleux avec notre fourgon. Cette année je contacte (comme l'année dernière) Keytopersia pour avoir notre numéro d'autorisation et cette agence me répond que ce n'est pas possible de s'y rendre en voiture, sauf avec un tour organisé qu'elle veut bien me vendre... Cherche-t-elle seulement à nous soutirer de l'argent ou bien y a-t-il vraiment une nouvelle loi ? quelqu'un a-t-il entendu parler de cela ? merci d'avance de me répondre je vais bien sûr essayer une nouvelle agence mais à part ça je ne sais pas que faire...😕

Amis Voyageurs bonjour!

Mon épouse et moi envisageons un voyage au Phills pour le mois de février 2015. Nous aimerions voir le maximum de ce magnifique archipel ( Volcans, Rizières, Plages paradisiaque pour snorkeling etcs...). Nous disposons de 3000 euros hors vols France/Phills. Je sollicite vos avis de connaisseurs pour savoir si vous pensez que cela est possible, en sachant que nous ne recherchons pas des hotels luxe et que nous mangeons toujours local lors de nos périples.

Par avance un très grand merci pour vos futures réponses qui pourront nous aider.

Bonjours, bonsoir !

Je m'appelle Maxence, 19ans et toujours dans ses étude (bac pro que je termine en 2012). Je souhaite découvrir dans quelle monde je vit, parce que les média sont bien beau mais ils nous montrent que la merde qui se passe dans notre monde. Donc je me suis dit pourquoi pas le voir par moi même. Mais un tour du monde sans aucune éxperience de voyage a pied je pense que s'est assez risquer. Alors le 5 septembre 2012 ( si il fait beau 😛 ) au lieu de faire la rentrée des classes, je ferai la rentré en voyage a pied pour visiter l'Europe. Mais comme je vous l'ai dit, je n'ai aucune éxperience mise a part quelque soirée en camping sauvage mais je ne pense pas que ça compte; bref... Je souhaite partir pour découvrir des culture, faire des rencontre et surtout apprendre ! Mais pour cela, j'ai besoin de VOUS ! Oui toi qui lit ce message... Je vous demande quelque conseille pour partir sans me dire après 100km " Ah merde j'ai oublier mon sac " 😄 ! Donc voila, je souhaite recevoire des conseilles sur le materiel ( il faut en emporter suffisamment mais pas trop, hé oui je n'aurais qu'un sac ) sur les papier a avoir, et des petit conseilles pratique qui pourrai me servir tout les jours pour me démerder. Mon voyage je le vois comme ça a peu pres. Marcher ; faire du stop ; demander l'hébergement ; trouver des petit boulot pour avoir un peu d'argent ; être dans la galère (ça va arriver) faire des rencontre.

Donc, je crois que j'ai tout dit, je vous remercie d'avance pour vos conseille qui j'espere seront là rapidement et qui m'aideront pour l'organisation de mon périple.

Sur ceux bonne journée ! 😉

Bonjour, Je suis interressé à faire un voyage communautaire du 4 janvier 2008 au 4 avril 2008. Je suis disponible pour n'importe quel type de voyage qui a comme but d'aider d'autres communautés pour seule condition que se soit pour une association d'aide humanitaire enregistrée et sérieuse. Je suis étudiante en fin de Bach en anthropologie, je parle et j'écrit couramment le francais, j'ai des connaissances de base en anglais, j'ai de l'expérience dans l'aménagement, dans l'entretien, dans le bénévolat et j'apprend très vite. merci de votre attention,

Voilà, je suis actuellement en prépa aux concours d'éducatrice spécialisée... Je commence à répertorier un peu d'expérience grâce à mes stages etc... Mais j'ai une grande envie de me lancer dans l'aventure du bénévolat à l'étranger. Cela dès la fin de mes concours. Je vous laisse me dire si vous seriez prêt à me donner des pistes etc... J'ai une très grande motivation

Bonjour,

Voilà il y a longtemps que cette idée murie en moi et aujourd'hui je me sens prête.

Je veux aider mon prochain . Le hic c'est que pour se faire apparemment il faut avoir une certaine expérience dans des domaines utiles tels que l'éducation ou la santé etc...

Moi mon domaine c'est l'art, que puis je faire avec ça ? Mais ce qui m'anime avant tout c'est l'amour de mon prochain, la volonté d'améliorer la vie de ceux qui souffre .

Je suis vraiment prête à partir, alors comment dois je m'y prendre, à qui dois-je m'adresser ? est-ce que ma bonne volonté suffirat ?

Merci à ceux qui m'aurons lu et qui pourrons m'éclairer.

peace

Sophie.

This is where we chat.

Hi there! I’m in the middle of planning my first solo trip (as a woman). Do you have any ideal destinations with activities like hiking, diving, sightseeing, and easy ways to meet locals—all on a small budget?

I’d love to hear from anyone who’s had this experience before! :)

Hello everyone,

It’s something we often notice in this forum—and many others—this behavioral shift.

A long-time member, or even a new one, asks a question. They get one or more answers, some brief, some detailed, and then... nothing???

Not even a simple thank you!!!

From what I’ve gathered, if the answers don’t align with what they wanted to hear, it seems natural for the asker to just disappear!! 😕 Unless—(and I fear this is the case)—basic politeness is no longer part of our society????

Please forgive my little rant.

Wishing everyone all the best. Cheers,

Puma2A



...

I got into music with the will To light up many hearths like Che could do, To circulate ideas, to advance utopia Alternating barricades, sharp thought, and poetry. Mc Solaar, Guérilla

Subscribing without a fight to the slightest line of my itinerary sometimes feels like an illusion. Because there are countries where, despite the fever and enthusiasm, despite the triumphant revolution, certain elements block my path. And if I had planned, for F. and me, a beautiful ascent up Tabouret Hill (Loma del Taburete, 453m), it was without accounting for vegetation as dense as it was thorny, which barred our way after just a few quarters of an hour of walking. Exhausted, I had to face the facts: we wouldn’t go any further. I needed to come up with some kind of Plan B.

But what is this country, an unwitting laboratory of the worst that white civilization has done during its reign? What is this magnificent place—yet another—entrusted to the care of oblivion, just 150 km from the land of freedom? According to Donald Trump, a country supporting terrorism; according to the locals, the vast battlefield of 20th-century ideologies; according to the average tourist, a hot country, a beautiful country, a country where the last illusions of a lost paradise are dying.

On the other side of Havana Bay, we love that statue of Christ blessing the city. There’s something gentle, soothing, in that patriarchal gesture. You’d almost be tempted to forget that at the dawn of the 16th century, those who claimed to represent the Church had no scruples about eradicating the Ciboney and Taíno populations. Worse, you’ll find magnificent this cathedral dedicated to the Virgin Mary, right in the heart of the old city. Under the guise of a civilizing necessity, Havana became, like so many other places, the gilded seat of European pretensions, at the expense of local populations doomed to extermination, then enslaved populations—more or less indigenous—who, you can imagine, didn’t often set foot in this holy place.

Lost in my thoughts, I try to push through this tangled vegetation. Nature reclaims its rights; nature abhors a vacuum. Yes, the well-trodden path of revolution couldn’t stay free of weeds! The road is buried. We give up and turn back, until that fork I’d noted before leaving, which would let us reach the top of the hill by skirting its northern slope.

So the white man arrives, settles, and gets rid of everything that bothers him. He has two unstoppable forces at his disposal: gunpowder and the spiritual certainty of being on the side of an all-powerful god. While the first gives him an unmatched material advantage over his new enemy, the second lets him use the first without feeling too guilty. That’s the magic of this supreme Church: it condemns all forms of pleasure—calling them impurity—while promoting plunder and crime under the cover of evangelization.

Walking through the city, you find a bit of Algiers, except that here, the decay is almost irreversible. You feel the splendor of the past, a disconcerting image of all vanity, from an era when men knew how to build beauty—especially if they didn’t have to share it. We’ll debate the benefits of colonialism for a long time, while glossing over the fact that those benefits often stopped at the city limits, limits all too obvious to the indigenous people. Havana isn’t just one or a few buildings; it’s an impressive collection of works of art built one after another, in what I think was a spirit of healthy competition. Yes, you find Algiers in this exuberance. As if these distant cities were the receptacle of everything that was best in the lands of origin. Atlantes and lintels, golds, blues, ogives, and monumental windows—exceptional architecture in an exceptional place.

Some streets are clean, swept with care; others are not, scattered here and there with potholes filled with water. A rather persistent smell of urine invades us regularly. We move on. And we look up: Havana is visited with your nose in the air. Because the beauty is truly up there, on those magnificent balconies and terracotta arches. Also because it’s not impossible that a piece of that balcony might suddenly detach, hurling our ends into an overseas tragedy we’d rather avoid. On the ground, here and there, rubble. Inexorably, this city is returning to dust.

My Plan B turns out to be no more successful than the first attempt. After a cheerful progression of a few hundred meters, same outcome, same struggle—the vegetation opposes any revolution: impossible to go around the hill! Once again, we have to turn back. We’ll try Plan C. I reassure myself by convincing myself to stay in the logic of this country: Cuba has been searching for itself for five centuries.

Coffee, tobacco, and sugarcane—the green gold of the colonies—so that money could flow and Europe could enjoy itself. Cuba’s history isn’t original. In reality, all the hot lands at these latitudes suffer the same fate: to serve the white man. While waiting for the awakening of consciences, UN Resolution 1514 and more or less affirmed revolutionary desires. Except that—and this reflection is just my own—if the awakening of consciences and the revolutionary will don’t play into what Resolution 1514 hides, there’s a good chance the said state will become a pariah. Those who don’t follow the American doctrine risk a lot; those who decide to follow Moscow risk everything. Independence was only the barely discreet instrument of American views. Patrice Lumumba will gladly enlighten us on the subject.

Turning back is good. Setting up Plan C is better. I won’t deviate from my goal: we will reach the top of Tabouret, whatever the cost! Near a small country road, I hesitate to change the program. Time is ticking—is it really reasonable to attempt the ascent? Then a tricycle taxi appears, a kind of tuk-tuk powered by an electric moped. I take it as a sign from fate, and we board for the starting point of Plan C.

In Cuba, even before Resolution 1514, independence was assured by a pawn of the United States, Fulgencio Batista. There’s no need to go over the whole history here; we’ll just remember that if you know how to give without counting to your former masters, you can enjoy a facade of freedom. Fidel Castro, on the other hand, didn’t know how to give. It never even occurred to him. That’s why the United States harbors such terrible hatred for this rebellious state, opposed to capitalist values and political prostitution. From there to slowly killing its people for nearly seventy years, one can legitimately cry injustice. But there are other priorities. Oh yes! Greenland...

Do Cubans eat their fill? Does seeing overweight people mean opulence? Food grows, no doubt about it. The soil is fertile, the climate favorable. No, what shocks here is the absolute precarity, the feeling of a people living in survival mode, and the decay of both goods and hope. Where to go? What’s the point? The stubbornness of the United States in wanting to impose its views on the Cuban government is felt much more by an overwhelmed people than by those few elites—caricatures of communism—who instill their vision of happiness with a crowbar. The embargo imposed in 1960; the false-flag attacks—American planes flying the colors of the Cuban revolution during the Bay of Pigs invasion in 1961—the exasperation of placing Cuba on the list of countries supporting terrorism. More recently, Donald Trump decided to heavily tax countries supplying Cuba with fuel. The last time I saw such long lines near gas stations was during my first trip to Romania... in 1991. It’s not for me to judge whether Raúl and his clique are playing fair by thumbing their noses at the West. I don’t hold the ins and outs of this war of egos that keeps the world’s great powers awake. I only caught a glimpse of the poverty of an island in 2026, while we in Europe are buried under an avalanche of the useless and superficial.

At the start of the San Juan baths, we find the trailhead. It climbs steeply. But the weather is relatively mild, thanks to a cold wave hitting higher up in the United States. Dallas is under snow; we’re walking in 16°C, a stroke of luck. We climb over rocks, under fairly decent vegetation, sometimes low but passable. And we succeed in the ascent in an hour. Up there, the top of the hill is somewhat maintained, at a minimum, but maintained, as if to honor Che through an awful monument erected in his glory—a stubborn specimen from those years when good taste was inversely proportional to the delusional ideas of those being honored. Birds of prey (raptors?) circle overhead; the monument is dying, crumbling, falling into ruin. *Hasta siempre*—forever—will be for the words. Nature, erosion, life itself will have the last word over all revolutions.

Back at the foot of the hill, just before a memorable swim, we talk with a family living there in miserable shacks whose stability wasn’t unlike that of the Leaning Tower of Pisa. The grandmother holds an animal, a rodent, by its feet. The grandfather has just killed it; she’s plucking its fur. A few steps away, water boils in a pot. She plunges the beast into the container. Tonight, the family will eat ragondin stew. Further on, another shack where, in a disorder rivaling the filth, a mother breastfeeds while sitting on the edge of a bed. Then, on the way down, we’ll meet a middle-aged man carrying a large jerrycan of water on his shoulder. Are these people happy here, far from the cities and their stakes? Is it too much to ask that they at least have access to electricity, running water, and decent, safe housing?

Outside the old city, Havana reveals wide avenues serving imposing institutions here and there. But whether in the colorful alleys of the old town or on the majestic and austere Plaza de la Revolución, the same feeling moves me: sadness. Seeing that only chaos has come from ideas crushes me. We praise, we sing the revolution—above all, we impose it in people’s minds as a necessity, when it’s nothing of the sort. Revolution is just the fruit of a few tortured minds who, once in power, do nothing better than all those before them. Enjoy power. Impose their views. It’s just a matter of color. Fidel saw red and knew how to persuade—or silence forever—his many detractors. The West sees everything in white, through the prism of human rights, and also knows how to persuade and silence its slightest detractors forever.

Paradoxically, Cuba survives largely thanks to tourism, a key element—let’s not be afraid to say it—of capitalism. And when a few players pick up the crumbs from transactions, the lion’s share and the foreign currency go to the government. So we won’t go to Varadero, the high place of relaxation overrun by Canadians. Instead, we’ll limit ourselves to crossing the ocean 30 minutes from the capital, at Santa María del Mar, to get an idea of cheaper tourism and to splash around for a few minutes in turquoise water invaded by sargassum. At the heart of the tourist season, we’ll meet few people. Like Havana, and according to its inhabitants, the high season is rather dead. But we won’t have come for nothing: we particularly love this return where, feverish, the taxi driver pushes his Moskvitch 2140 to the max on the highway, singing karaoke versions of hits at the top of his lungs from an onboard DVD player. East/West, the culture clash with a hint of Latino.

It’s time to leave this country of resourcefulness where extremes are very present. We’re leaving a 5-star hotel in front of yet another crumbling building. We’ve known restaurants at 40,000 pesos while in the street people eat for 400. We’ve seen those countless cars from another era and another culture—Pontiac, Lada, Chevrolet, Moskvitch—being overtaken by gleaming Mercedes and other Porsche Cayennes, the prerogative—if it still needed to be demonstrated—of the newly rich in search of recognition. Boarding the plane, we also understand that we’re not just traveling with tourists: there’s undoubtedly a rich and prosperous diaspora, just as there are relatively wealthy Cubans—well, wealthy enough to travel comfortably in the front of the aircraft. Meanwhile, on all the country’s roads, other Cubans try hitchhiking, their wives and children perched on a suitcase by the roadside. The father holds out his arm and holds a few bills in his hand like a card game. Where are they going? Who will pick them up?

Behind me, the gold of the Capitol. I’m told this gold comes from Russia. Like Marx and Lenin’s smoky theories? Like Stalin’s subtle and delicate paternalism? Let’s bet that, like the other buildings crumbling around it, the Capitol will also collapse one day, to avenge the Indians who perished from the diseases and guns of the whites, to avenge the Africans who obliterated their lives so Europeans could enjoy themselves, finally, to avenge all this abandoned people, left to the arbitrariness of democratic or non-democratic elections.

A sign in the street: We understand history. This is the revolution! We understand history. That’s the revolution.

No comment.

Hi everyone,

I’m planning a campervan road trip and would love some tips from those who know these countries: Slovenia, Bosnia and Herzegovina, Croatia, Montenegro, and Slovenia again. At the moment, nothing’s set in stone, but for example, is it better to visit Slovenia or Bosnia? My preferences lean toward landscapes (rivers, sea, lakes)—basically anywhere there’s water! :) Wild camping, cheap or even free spots, and a *very* tight budget—it’s the discovery, curiosity, and meeting locals that drive me. I’ll visit cities and sites only if access is easy (by bike, for example, or by train from an affordable campsite) and if visitors aren’t treated like cash cows. Just reasonable stuff, really. So, any advice is welcome—like swimming spots or easy hikes along coasts or rivers. I love caves and offbeat visits (salt mines in Poland, La Roque Saint-Christophe in France, etc.). Castles and old ruins? Not really my thing... Thanks for your help! Sylvia

Hi there, I’m planning a trip to Russia and Mongolia, starting from France. Crossing the border at Poland/Belarus or Georgia/Russia—other borders seem either closed or complicated. Tourist visas for 3 months with multiple entries. Do you have any info on Russian companies that cover a 4x4 vehicle for 3 months, and what prices in rubles or euros you’ve paid?

Which bank did you use for expenses? (EuroMastercard and Visa cards no longer work.)

Regarding Russian SIM cards, a new system called "Gosuslugi" has been introduced. How long did it take you to get one, and what steps did you follow?

Thanks

Hey everyone,

Yesterday, I checked the Thailand forum to see if there were any questions to answer, but not much was happening—it was pretty quiet. Then I scrolled through the Southeast Asia section and realized that, even though Burma (Myanmar) was included, there weren’t many posts about it... I’ve only been there once, back in 1987, so it’s hard to create a photo thread about multiple trips like I sometimes do for Thailand. Still, that one trip was packed with unusual adventures, so I thought I’d share a few stories from it.

Since I didn’t take any notes at the time, this is all from memory—it’s not an exhaustive travel journal and isn’t meant to help plan a future trip to Myanmar.

Don’t expect photos; there won’t be any. I have some, but they’re slides that would need scanning and editing one by one to fix the wear and tear of time—way too much work.

The Context.

Back then (reminder: 1987), I was volunteering in Paris at the counter of a travel agency on Rue des Écoles. The agency was part of a well-known organization based in Mulhouse that mostly offered scheduled flights to Asia, charter flights to the Mediterranean, and flights to Mali with their own plane. They also had a few rare "roots"-style trips to certain destinations—trips where you didn’t bring your tennis racket but were ready to soak in everything, even if it meant tough conditions.

I’d already been to Thailand, Indonesia, and the Philippines in Asia. The director knew this, so he asked me to accompany a group to Burma. At the time, tours to Burma were already being sold by competitors, but they all had to go through the state-run agency, Touristburma (buses and hotels for tourists, and they only showed you what they wanted you to see—kind of like traveling in North Korea today). The service was only payable in dollars at the official exchange rate (which was six times worse than the black market rate, mind you...), and since it went through the state agency, all the money ended up with the junta.

My job was to do everything *without* going through Touristburma, which was completely illegal there. Nothing would be booked in advance. Back then, the Burmese visa was only valid for 8 days/7 nights, and since clients were paying for the experience, the itinerary was planned ahead. I’d have to find transport and a guide on the black market as soon as I arrived.

The clients weren’t misled—they knew from the start that the trip would be off the books, that officially we’d be a small group of friends (not an agency), unlike the truth (Touristburma wasn’t mandatory for individual travelers), and that it would be challenging. They also knew their trip would cost 3-4 times less while giving them a much better experience of Burma. As for pretending to be a group of friends, there were only six of us, so it worked out.

To cover all expenses (accommodation, transport, excursions), the agency gave me a sufficient budget. They also gave me the *same* budget a second time, which was strictly for bribing officials who might cause trouble, for backshish (tips), and, if needed, to "help" me get out of prison.

Before I left, I was thoroughly briefed by another guy who’d led the previous trip (he’d dealt with all the initial challenges). He explained everything I needed to know, what to watch out for, and advised me on what to bring as "gifts" (samples of well-known perfumes, specific cigarette and whisky brands, etc.). For the perfume samples, I rallied my family, friends, and even stores. For the rest, I’d pick things up at the duty-free shops in Don Muang (Bangkok’s only airport at the time)—I had the budget for it.

I couldn’t wait to leave...