Results for "Kenya"

Vivant de l'autre côté des Alpes, je voyage très souvent sur Austrian, et je me suis décidé à faire un TR et prendre quelques photos à bord ( désolé pour la qualité des photos, elles viennent de mon portable Samsung ...qualité corréenne )

Je fais une dizaine de voyages sur LH ou OS chaque année, très souvent des vols de nuits ( vers l'Asie ou l'Amérique du Nord ), donc pour une fois, je prenais un vol de jour entre Wien et CDG.

Vol VIE - CDG Classe Affaires Austrian Airlines Départ de VIE : 18.00 Arrivée CDG : 20.10 Appareil : A 320

Pour l'enregistrement, un petit tips qui se passe de viennois à viennois : si vous désirez rejoindre l'aéroport de Wien-Schwechat avec le City Airport Train, vous pouvez enregistrer vos bagages dès la gare de départ ( Wien-Landstrasse ), et rejoindre l'aéroport en train les mains dans les poches ( ou chargés de vos achats à Wien au choix ). Le trajet se fait en 25 minutes jusqu'à l'aéroport, très confortable et d'une ponctualité toute germanique.

Aéroport de Wien : pas grand chose à dire sur l'aéroport qui n'en finit pas d'être en travaux. Globalement, l'aéroport est un peu encombré à cause des travaux mais reste quelques bons magasins et des cafés/restaurant dont 1 qui donne sur les pistes ( pour ceux qui rêvent de spoter des avions tout en savourant un bretzel et une bière ). Un détail gênant néanmoins : certains cafés sont encore fumeurs, même dans l'aéroport.

Pour les salons, je ne suis pas un grand utilisateur puisque Wien est générallement mon point de départ, par ailleurs, le salon est aussi encore en partie en phase de rénovation.

Pour l'embarquement et la sécurité, il existe des fils prioritaires, certes assez mal indiquées qui permettent aux plus pressés de passer devant tout le monde. Néanmoins un minimum de savoir-vivre fait qu'on peut faire la queue et attendre quelques minutes plutot que d'agiter sa carte Senator à qui voudra bien la voir. A Wien, on passe la sécurité juste avant d'embarquer, donc l'attente n'est jamais très longue.

Arrivée à bord : Comme d'habitude, accueil souriant à bord du CCP qui se présente le plus souvent aux membres de la cabine ( surtout en MC ). Les hotesses d'Austrian Airlines disposent sans doute de l'uniforme le plus 70's du ciel ( peut-être en hommage à la série Star Trek ? ), mais niveau service, c'est toujours très pro, souriant, et avec un service générallement en plusieurs langues ( très souvent en français sur les VIE-CDG )

Pas grand chose à dire sur le siège à bord, comme sur Air France, il s'agit en fait d'une rangée de 3 sièges avec une tablette sur le siège du milieu ( donc display de cabine en 2 - 2 )

Repas à bord: En classe affaires moyen-courrier comme sur le long courrier, le catering est signé DO & CO, un des restaurants les plus chics de Wien, situés juste en face du Stephansdom dans le 1er arrdt.

Tout d'abord, la boisson de bienvenue ... Reduction de cout oblige, le petit paquet de bretzel a disparu de l'apéritif, résultat, mon verre de campari-orange ( très apprécié dans les pays germaniques ) se sent bien seul sur la tablette ...

Lors de ce voyage, on nous aussi proposé de verres serviettes chaudes comme en Asie, petite nouveauté je crois dans le service OS car je ne me souvenais plus de cela dans mes précédents voyages.

Pour la suite, le catering est toujours très honorable, ce jour-là au menu : entrée : fine de tranche fine de rosbeef aux herbes plat principal : filet de saumon à la crême d'épinard et au rösti dessert : Strudel à l'abricot boisson : Müller Thurgau 2006 ( Autriche ) et café kenyan au dessert

A l'exception de la crême d'épinard qui n'était pas très esthétique et pas très réussie, le reste était très honorable, en particulier la touche sucré strudel et café, qui sont toujours les meilleurs moments d'un repas chez Austrian Airlines ( et en Autriche tout court souvent aussi )

Pour les puristes, le service à bord ( assiette, couverts, verres ) sont également ceux du restaurant Do & Co, made in Austria et assez joli à mon gout.

Divertissement : Austrian propose toujours au départ de Wien des journaux allemands, autrichiens, anglais et 2/3 français ( Le Monde, Le Figaro et parfois le sacre-saint L'Equipe ). Puis sur un petit écran central quelques reportages sur les villes et le réseau OS, suivi d'une série de très bon gout et d'un niveau culturel assez relevé : Vidéo Gag.

Arrivée à CDG à l'heure. Symbole du génie français, nous avons eu droit à notre débarquement au large, une promenade dans les coulisses de CDG, avant d'atteindre le T2D.

Avis Global : Comme toujours les prestations à bord d'Austrian sont de qualité régulières, avec générallement peu de fausses notes dans le serive et dans le produit à bord proposé. Un des points positifs est aussi le sérieux et le bon relationnel des équipages Austrian, que ce soit sur le moyen ou le long courrier. A termes quand Schwechat sera rénové, Wien sera sûrement un bon point de transit pour tous ceux qui souhaitent transiter sur des vols long courriers ou vers l'Europe Centrale / Est ( genau ! )

Afin de ne pas "bloquer" a l'aeroport au retour, j'aimerais savoir s'il y a une quantité, des valeurs à ne pas depasser concernant ce qu'on achete en egypte et qu'on emporte dans nos bagages... dans ce cas, est ce que c'est par personne? si oui, les enfants comptent ils?

Est-ce qu'il vaut mieux les mettre dans les valises ou dans les bagages cabine?

Bonjour, Nouveau sur ce forum génial découvert dernièrement (je suis plus habitué au forum LP) je suis essentiellement intéressé par la section consacrée à l’Ethiopie. Déjà cinq voyages dans ce pays fabuleux, dont deux à VTT (voir mon site), de la famille vivant à Addis et encore de nombreux endroits à découvrir dans les années qui viennent… La planification de mon prochain voyage en décembre 09 étant déjà lancée j’aurais quelques questions spécifiques aux "abyssins" du forum:beaucoup de bruits courent à propos de la disponibilité du train Djibouti-Dire Dawa-Addis. Quelqu'un a-t-il des renseignements récents sur ce train mythique pour la partie Djibouti-Dire Dawa? Roule-t-il sur des bases régulières? Transporte-t-il encore des voyageurs?le 1000 Stars Festival of Music and Dance d'Arba Minch aura-t-il lieu en 2009? Si oui à quelles dates?connaissez-vous un bon tour-opérateur pour la vallée de l'Omo et opérant à partir d'Arba Minch?quelqu'un a-t-il déjà utilisé les services de GTZ pour faire un trek à cheval dans le parc national du Bale?un voyage d'Addis à Jimma vaut-il la peine d'être fait? Les alentours de Jimma sont-ils intéressants?Merci d'avance pour vos réponses utiles.

Salut, je suis nouveau sur le Forum. Je m'appelle Rémy, j'ai 20 balai, bientôt 21, je suis dans la région de Lille.

Ca fait déjà 2 ans que je songe à tout lacher pour faire le tour du Monde à pied. J'ai déjà commencé à préparer la base du voyage. Mon itinéraire bien que pas encore définitif et plutôt vague commence déjà à avoir de la gueule : Les 5 continents seront traversé, je prévois juste assez de blé pour pouvoir traverser les mers et océans (3 voyages si tout se passe bien : Asie - Océanie, Océnie - Amériques et Amériques - Europe.).

La question qui me revient sans cesse c'est "Pourquoi?". J'en sais rien, jai simplement envie, pendant quelques années, d'être totalement libre : voir des étendues de paysages calmes, propres, belles; découvrir des langues, des pays, des coutumes. Etre à la merci de la nature et rien qu'elle. Etre libre quoi. Vous allez certainement penser que je suis encore un de ces illuminés en quête d'un soi-même spirituel. Ben c'est pas faux.

Mon principe est tout simple : plus de 200 pays, plus de 6 milliards d'être humain, des millions de coutumes, de paysages magnifiques, d'animaux, de dangers. Alors pourquoi l'homme reste-t-il dans son pays, dans sa région, dans sa maison, à ne faire que ce qu'il à l'habitude de faire? Je sais que si je me limite à avoir une vie conforme à celle que la société compte me donner je m'en voudrais. Nous avons une moyenne d'âge de 80 ans, mais c'est minuscule à l'échelle de la planête! Alors j'ai pas envie de découvrir les chose via des reportages et des images : je veux les vivre, c'est tout. Si je part pas j'aurais gâcher ma vie c'est sûr. Question de point de vue me direz-vous, le mien est tou vu.

Pour ce qui est des désillusions, pas de soucis je m'y attend bien évidemment, surtout dans les pays dit "évolués", où forcément ce sera pas mieux que la France, mais qu'importe certaines choses méritent d'être vécue et je pense que pour mourir serein il ne faut pas perdre son temps avec les codes sociaux si restrictifs.

Donc voilà, je prépare mon voyage, je partirais sûrment dans 1 ans ou 2, tout dépendra de la façon dont tout ceci s'organise, mais il est clair que ce voyage sera fait.

Eventuellement si des personnes cherche un coéquipier pour un voyage du genre, ou veulent me rejoindre, j'accepte à bras ouvert.🙂

Voilà, je voulais votre avis, bon ou mauvais, moqueur ou enthousiaste, peu m'importe, un avis c'est déjà pas mal🙂

es ce une bonne compagnie pour voyager en tailande et le repos est bon? et les siege son grand?... ya t il une tele perso.?

Je pars courant mars pour le Burundi. Quelqu'un peut il me donner quelques infos sur ce pays... comment visiter les quelques parcs naturels (dois je louer une voiture), quels souvenirs vous a laissé ce pays, que puis je apporter d'utile autre que des stylos et des cahiers, que faut il ne pas rater, etc etc etc... je suis preneuse de toutes infos !!! merci

bonsoir à tous

je suis les posts sur les éléphants.......et j'ai bien de la peine pour eux. Il y aurait-il un endroit en Thaïlande ou l'on puisse les admirer dans toute leur splendeur. çà doit bien exister dans le pays en forme d'éléphant. Depuis le temps que je visite ce pays, mes enfants m'ont toujours réclamer la fameuse balade à dos d'éléphant mais je me refuse de rentrer dans ce système, sauf si effectivement il y a une autre alternative.......?😕 J'avais entendu dire qu'ils avaient tous une puce pour que le roi puisse vérifier leur bon traitement ? info ou intox alors ?

Cher tous,

Je souhaite partir au Rwanda en mai 2007. je ne dispose que de 15 jours, mais on fait se qu'on peut ! Je souhaite faire l'Akagera, les gorilles et Nyungwe. Je précise que je suis un fou de faune sauvage, mais que je fui comme la peste les rassemblements touristiques et la faune-attraction en mini-bus. Je précise également que je n'ai encore jamais mis les pieds en Afrique. J'ai plusieurs petites questions, même si certaines réponses ont été apportées dans de nombreux "fils".

1) la période fin mai semble -t-elle convenable ? J'entends au niveau du climat ? et aussi au niveau touristique (gorilles). 2) Faut-il impérativement louer un véhicule avec chauffeur pour accéder à l'Akagera et circuler à l'intérieur, ou trouve-t-on sur place des combines pour bénéficier d'un véhicule ? 3) faut-il réserver à l'avance les moyens d'hébergement ou tout peut se régler sur place ? 4) le permis gorille doit-il est obligatoirement pris à l'avance et quel est le coût actuel ? j'ai lu 375 $, mais je suppose qu'il va augmenter. Les paiements à distance sont-ils fiables et ne risque-t-on pas l'arnaque ? 2 ) Qu'en est-il au final de l'Akagera ? C'est le princicpale but de ce séjour. Je lis ici que sa superficie est toujours de 2500 km², ailleurs qu'elle est finallement réduite à 900 km²... Je suppose que ce parc a bel et bien été amputé d'une partie de sa richesse, mais qu'en est-il réellement ?

Bonne journée à toutes et à tous Merci à celles et ceux qui voudront bien me répondre.

bonjour tous le monde voila je suis nouveau sur ce forum je compte aller avec un copain a Istanbul et puis en syrie mais voila je ne connais que les villes que je desire visiter plutot istanbul + des villes en syrie Comme tous les etudiants mon budget est limité pourriez vous me donner quelques trucs pour loger pas cher a istanbul des conseils pour le voyage Istanbul Alep le prix et pour Alep ou damas pourrais je y trouver une auberge de jeunesse ou un hotel pas tres cher ? je vais m'y rendre le debut du mois de septembre je vous remercie d'avance a bientot

Bonsoir à vous tous,

Y aurait-il quelqu'un qui aurait acheté le dernier disque de Tiken? C'est bon? Ça vaut le coup?

Merci

Bonjour à tous,

Je regarde les photos avec un énorme plaisir et je dois dire que vos photos sont tous excellentes. BRAVO! J'aimerais partir un nouveau sujet comme suit: vos plus belles photos des enfants de partout dans le monde...!

🤪 Par contre je suis en pleine rénovation à la maison et je n'ai malheureusement pas accès à mon ordi pour l'instant... du moins pour tout l'été 😠 (je regarde mes messages à partir de mon travail 😊 ). Entretemps, j'ai bien hâte de vous lire et je vous remercie à l'avance d'y participer.

apres le calme paisible et la purete des gens du myanmar, je suis choque par bkk et sa vulgarite.

excuser moi pour les accents et l orthographe, j ai du mal avec les claviers thai.

je suis tellement choque queje pars dans 8 heurs pour le cambodge.

je redonerais sa chance a bkk a la fin du mois

Bonjour,

j'ai fait une recherche sur le forum pour voir si JMT African Heart est connu...ils nous proposent un safari moins cher que Shidolya.

On a 3 enfants de 10, 8, 6 ans qui ont l'habitude de voyager, on aimerait faire le safari en camp, pas en lodge pour le cout.

Merci,

Karine😉

Hi there,

I’ve never bought a SIM card abroad or even used prepaid cards in France...

So I’m wondering how it all works?

You buy a SIM card and pop it into your phone. Okay, so far so good... 😏

But after that?

I can’t find the price of prepaid cards or how they work with MegaCom.

If someone could give me a step-by-step guide... 😊

Thanks! 🙂

This is where we chat.

Hello,

It might not be very original, but I see it hasn’t been suggested—or at least not for a very long time. I’d like to invite you to discover the beauty of the great outdoors through landscape photos. Whether they’re desert, sea, countryside, or mountain scenes—with or without other elements (people, buildings, animals, etc.)—they should make us want to dive right in without hesitation.

To participate: Photo submissions until Wednesday, June 24 at 11:59 PM You can post up to 3 photos, numbered and shared in separate messages, along with a short description of the place and the story behind it.

To vote: from Thursday, June 25 at 12:01 AM to Monday, June 29 at 11:59 PM After the deadline, it’s too late!

Please include the photo number, username, and the points awarded: Photo #1 = 3 pts Photo #2 = 2 pts Photo #3 = 1 pt

All VF members can vote (even those who didn’t submit photos). In case of a tie for first place, the winning photo will be the one with the most first-place votes, then second-place votes! The lucky winner will get to organize July 2026’s photo contest.

For discussions about the theme, it’s here: Discussion thread for June 2026’s theme: Such a Beautiful Landscape

Good luck to everyone!

Philippe

Chumphon, Thailand: Doi Tapang

As I’ve mentioned elsewhere, I inherited my love of travel from my parents and some of my grandparents. A strong passion, but one that was unfortunately limited by our family’s modest resources. Back then, living in northern Alsace, a simple trip to the southern part of the region—with the Wine Route as our destination—felt like an extraordinary journey to a land of plenty for the little boy I was in the late 60s and early 70s. Everything seemed so huge when you were still just a kid. Back then, I was overwhelmed by countless sensations—I was already highly sensitive, with a keen mind and a nose and taste buds that were developing like a pro’s. Which, as I’d later realize, wasn’t always an advantage.



Those magical days always began with a gentle late-spring or midsummer morning. The interior of the white Peugeot 404, license plate 210 LZ 67, had already soaked up the sun before the engine purred to life, and the cabin gave off a scent I could still recognize today—a fragrance I found so pleasant. Back then, I had no idea it was just the smell of warm plastic from the car’s interior. Yes, the scents of the 404 on sunny days became my madeleine de Proust... What’s more, the whole family was unusually cheerful because those moments of relaxation and leisure were rare. Everyone worked, and no one had an easy job or was well paid. Without the *Trente Glorieuses*, these experiences might never have happened.



Once we crossed the canton’s borders, I felt like I was light-years away from my everyday surroundings, and every kilometer plunged me deeper into *terra incognita*. It was thrilling. Far from my so-called "medium-sized" town, wheat fields, cornfields, and cabbage patches stretched out, punctuated by tall poles connected by long wires and topped with vegetation—like giant clotheslines without laundry, where magical beanstalks might grow to touch the sky. Back then, I was still far from tasting their product, which was simply beer. At the time, there was still a significant local hop production. Fun fact: it wasn’t until 2002 that Anglo-Saxon scientists proved hops and cannabis belong to the same biological family.

After the fields, the landscape took another step up as it rolled past the little boy’s eyes, often glued to the windows. First came modest hills, then a succession of rolling slopes that soon formed an unbroken chain. Their 700 meters in altitude felt like Himalayan peaks to me—impressive, inert giants, a whole new world. Gazing at them, an intense emotion welled up somewhere between my stomach and lungs, nearly taking my breath away. What mysteries, what treasures did these heights hold? And then there were the cherries on top—the crowning touch that made the scene even more magical: proud, majestic castles perched on the summits like impassive sentinels. Monuments from the past, yet firmly rooted in the present on their rocky spurs. The little boy’s eyes sparkled—he’d been given a castle for Christmas, complete with battlements, towers, a drawbridge, and fully armed knights. He’d watched and lived *Ivanhoe* on the only French TV channel that existed back then.

Only once did my paternal grandfather join us on one of these trips. A tall, intelligent man with a face that could shift from stern to mischievous, clearly full of humor and charisma. Sadly, his relationship with alcohol had taken a toll on his life and, by extension, those of his loved ones. He had a strong personality—if his boss crossed the line, he wouldn’t hesitate to punch him, which meant he went through a lot of different jobs. Back then, you could quit one job and easily find another. It was quite something to see him in his final stages, hallucinating pink elephants and even drinking perfume when he had nothing else left. The last time I saw him, he’d slipped away from the doctors and nurses while hospitalized in pretty bad shape—at least, I assume his liver was the issue. We were sitting down for a family lunch when the door burst open, and there he stood in his pajamas, eyes twinkling with mischief, clearly pleased with the dramatic entrance. That theatrical moment didn’t spare us from burying him a few months later at the age of 71. One day, my mother told me the family doctor had quietly remarked that it was a shame—with his robust constitution, he could’ve lived to be a hundred. Yes, the family doctor—this was the man who’d come treat you any day, at almost any hour, just for a phone call. It really existed, it’s not a myth!

That day, his wife—my paternal grandmother—was also along for the ride. Everyone agreed that Jeannette was a good woman. She worked as a waitress at *Le Tigre*, the biggest brasserie in town, right in the center. Most customers preferred to be served by her, including local dignitaries and even the mayor. As a kid, I didn’t find her very fun, open, or warm—she seemed a bit stern. Back then, women in their fifties already had the face and build of grandmothers. Same went for men, don’t get me wrong. I had no idea about the struggles she faced because of her husband. I didn’t know that 30 years earlier, she’d had to flee Alsace while pregnant, under threat from Nazi fighter-bombers. I didn’t know she’d had several miscarriages, and that my father—her only surviving child, born prematurely in March 1940 at the other end of France—weighed less than a kilo at birth and was so tiny he could fit in a shoebox. Hard to imagine he’d grow into a strapping man nearly 1.80 meters tall, tipping the scales at 100 kilos. When you come back from summer camp in early August and ask why she didn’t pick you up with your parents, and they gently tell you she’s "in heaven," you don’t realize she passed away at 54 after suffering greatly from stomach cancer that had spread.

Back to that family outing, that enchanted parenthesis. I even remembered where we’d had lunch when I passed through Dambach-la-Ville decades later. One of those charming, flower-filled towns Alsace produces in abundance—and preserves so well. This one sits high on a hill, and I was a bit stunned on the parking lot because the view stretched far, revealing the Alsace plain below—its fields, villages, hills, and forests. The world seemed so vast and enticing that day, even though I was only glimpsing a tiny fraction of it.



The region was already very touristy, but I wouldn’t notice the downsides until much later. That Sunday noon, I discovered a large restaurant filled with diners. I can still see the enormous piece of meat they served me, decorated with a little wooden skewer topped with a flag. I kept that one for a long time. Those were the golden days of rich, flowing, thick sauces—so flavorful—and the era of the world’s best fries, made on the spot with the best potatoes. To top it off, I was *exceptionally* allowed a small bottle of apple juice, Orangina, or—even better if possible—Sinalco. Yes, Sinalco—like Orangina, but better. A brand that must’ve disappeared in the 70s, but why, and what a shame! Since then, Orangina’s little bubbles have taken the brand to the other side of the planet—it’s now Japanese.

Year after year, I’d eagerly await that ecstatic moment when the most beautiful castle in Alsace, the Haut-Koenigsbourg, appeared in my field of vision. The perfect model, the archetype that blended into the landscape at the height of a child’s dreams. The trip home always felt like a reality check—less jarring than an alarm clock, but more diffuse and melancholic. From then on, there was only one wish: *When do we leave again?*

...

" We’re ALL different, and so are our expectations when it comes to travel or leisure ". There are—without a doubt—as many ways to experience a trip as there are travelers!! For the two of us, it’s only our love of wild nature that guides us to East Africa. The stated goal of this trip was purely wildlife-focused, and NOT about discovering the country or its people.

...

Hello everyone,

Previously, I shared the account of a trip/safari in southern Tanzania in June 2024, in the Mikumi and Selous reserves.

This time, still in southern Tanzania, I invite you to join us in Ruaha National Park. (Then, depending on the number of images allowed in my quota, at the end of my story, we’ll return to Selous for the second part of the same trip.)

- This trip/safari took place in November 2022. - Our flight started in Marseille, heading to Addis Ababa, then Dar es Salaam (via Ethiopian Airlines). In Dar, we spent one night at a hotel near the airfield.

-1- During the layover in Addis Ababa. The Airbus A-350 in the early morning mist.



Reminder: Click on each image to enlarge it, if needed. .

From Dar es Salaam, if you want to go by road to Ruaha, it’ll take a very long and tiring day. 🤪

On previous trips, we’ve always taken a bush plane for this route. In this case, it took just over an hour and a half, with two short intermediate stops to drop off passengers at other bush airstrips.

Since I’m also passionate about aviation, I love these flights where you can admire the landscapes from low altitude while sitting right behind the pilot 🙂.

-2- These routes mainly use Cessna 208 Caravans.



At the Msembe airstrip, we’re greeted around 1:30 PM by a guide and a driver from our chosen lodge. They brought a picnic basket, which we enjoy at a nearby picnic area. We’re by the Ruaha River, completely dry—it’s scorching hot.

-3- The first mammals we encounter are a pair of female impalas, accompanied by a young male.



Reminder: Click on the image to view it in larger size. 😉

-4- To save the hippopotamus populations from certain death, rangers had to dig holes in the sand with bulldozers. Fortunately, water is present beneath the sand layer.



-5- This crocodile doesn’t seem to have been accepted as a swimming neighbor by the hippos...



We’ll explore along the river for 2-3 hours before crossing it at a ford toward the southern part of the reserve.

-6- The typical landscape of Ruaha, with its many baobabs.



-7- My buddy the R.L.B. is also here to welcome me.... 🙂 🙂



-8- As well as this little bee-eater... 😎



-9- ...which reminds us of the origin of its name...!



-10- Above a rare waterhole, a fish eagle keeps watch for fish...



...

*** Please wait until the end of the story for any questions or to share your own experiences in Ruaha. (Or via PM.) Thanks in advance for keeping this account smooth and enjoyable. 😉

...

*** I’m not an ornithologist, but birds are an important and unavoidable part of safari discoveries. You’ll find quite a few in the images of my story. 😎

...

I would wish never to go to bed where I had woken up, to wander my tent from the shores of Egypt to those of the Persian Gulf; to have no goal for the evening other than the evening itself; to traverse on foot, with my eyes and my heart, all these unknown lands, all these races of people so different from my own; to contemplate humanity, God’s finest creation, in all its forms. Lamartine in Fatalla Sayeghir’s Account (1861)

As soon as it’s about flying, I lose all willpower. Being reasonable and thoughtful, I still lose all my composure at the mere possibility of a flight—especially if it’s piloted by F.—and even more so if that flight can take me to unexplored lands. I’ve long wanted to unravel the mystery of animal tourism, and why not in Tanzania, following up on my trip from four years ago, when I was already questioning the glaring inequalities in Zanzibar: the coastal strip sacrificed to capitalism, and the inland areas, just a hundred meters from the waves, where you find—though a bit more peaceful than elsewhere on the continent—the chaos of Africa.

I’m an adventurer at heart. When it comes to the terrain, though, it’s a whole different story. I see people setting off for months at a time; I know my endurance doesn’t last beyond three days. It’s not that I’m afraid of this unfamiliar environment when it comes to embracing different realities. I’m mostly afraid of myself—of this heightened sensitivity that makes me see things I’d rather not see and understand others that sometimes overwhelm me.

After an absolutely fantastic daytime flight, I land in Zanzibar and have to resign myself—this is the whole point of the trip—to what feels like a real spacewalk. I’m alone. My lucky star, backed up by my phone, will serve as my lifeline. I step out of the airport and breathe in the scent of Africa full-on: a mix of exotic perfumes, baked earth, and poorly refined fuel, inevitably mingled with the smell of wood smoke. So many images come flooding back. So many stories. Another world.

I head to Arusha the very next day. The gateway to the country’s northern national parks, this city of half a million offers one of those rare breath-holding dives that Africa keeps secret. As the only white person walking the streets, I know I’m visible and vulnerable, yet I move forward confidently, barely bothered. But where are all my fellow Westerners? While this city draws countless tourists, I only cross paths with one white couple in nearly three hours of walking. Because you have to hold on tight to wander here. You have to stay alert. The traffic is dense and erratic—don’t even trust the fact that in Tanzania, people drive on the left. That can change from one minute to the next, especially with motorbikes. With barely centimeters between vehicles, I weave my way through the urban jungle, trying not to stumble into the huge ditch on my left or get sideswiped by cars brushing past me on the right. Speakers blare music, ads, or political speeches at will—the explosion of yellow and green tells us we’re on the eve of the presidential election—but they barely compete with the calls to prayer, nearly nonstop on this holy Friday. The vital space is as saturated as the sound. Imagine an unbroken line of shops and stalls of every kind—supermarkets haven’t made it here yet—where you can find just about anything: phones, copper pipes, Chinese-made hardware, shoes, clothes, basins, and professional tools… The luckiest own a big store; others spend their lives trying to survive on the profits from selling toothbrushes one at a time on the streets. But maybe it’s more lucrative than spending the day slumped on the sidewalk, preferably missing a limb, trusting your survival to the mercy of passersby.

I think I’ll escape the street by slipping into the narrow alleys of the central market. Here, I know I won’t run into anyone like me! The vendors’ stalls start at waist height; the sellers, perched higher up, haggle or not while discussing prices. Here, colorful fruits and vegetables; there, huge piles of dried fish. Spices, seeds, roots. Smells. Noises. Africa. Life. Further on, the fresh fish aisle makes a right angle with the butchers’. Everywhere, flies—everywhere, the same gesture from vendors swatting blindly at these relentless pests. Aware that I’ll be eating this same meat within the hour, displayed with total disregard for basic hygiene, I reassure myself that Arusha sits at 1400m altitude. Yes, we can probably do without a fridge.

*

It’s time to leave the city and go wildlife spotting in the surrounding parks. To that end, I’ve negotiated a package deal with a local agency that prides itself on grouping solo travelers into a vehicle meant for seven. We leave behind the imposing masses of Mount Meru and Kilimanjaro, peaking at 4565m and 5895m respectively, and head west to conquer Tarangire and Ngorongoro parks. I’ve been promised a spectacle; I remain cautious. I’ve read rave reviews; I know how to temper my expectations. Above all, I know what I came for—and paradoxically, my hopes are less about animals than strictly anthropological. So I’m sure I won’t go home disappointed.

I’m in the thick of it. Since 2021, tourism has been booming: I’m one of the two million tourists who come here every year seeking thrills. I also contribute, in a small way, to the 20% of the country’s GDP generated by tourism revenue. Around 3 billion € annually… Tanzania has 16 national parks, twice as many reserves; it charges meticulously for every entry, every night, every activity, to the tune of several dozen euros. I calculated that Tarangire Park alone rakes in around 15 million € a year. Mind-boggling. Yet to get there, a dusty, rickety old track is used daily by hundreds of vehicles that literally saturate the surrounding area with white dust and exhaust fumes. At the park entrance, we wait a good hour while the driver pays the entry fees. Then it’s a free-for-all: dozens of 4x4s try to enter at the same time through the single access point, to the left of the building, while the three barriers are stuck due to a computer glitch. It’s pure chaos: no way to buy your ticket in advance—the QR code revolution hasn’t arrived; no smart layout before the barriers; nothing smooth, nothing practical, everything improvised.

So, the animals? Given the time and money involved, I’d be tempted to say it’s not worth the hassle and there’s really no need to break five legs off one of the too-many zebras we pass. Hours and hours of travel to get to Tanzania, specifically Arusha; hours and hours on the road—up to 12 hours a day—to spend barely three in the parks; at least 200 € per day for the most basic option, so 400 € in my case, and up to several thousand for those wealthy couples opting for the luxury package with a private vehicle. Sure, I saw zebras and elephants in their natural habitat, wildebeest, buffalo, and a few hippos, but I didn’t feel the thrill touted in the articles or even by my two-day trip organizer. Would I have been more satisfied if I’d seen the lion, the leopard, and the rhino? Maybe. But the story won’t be rewritten in light of those assumptions.

Yet I’m not disappointed. As I said earlier: I know what I came for. I wanted to see the world as it is with my own eyes. And the safari world fascinates me more for its anthropological aspect than for what it offers. Yes, the fact that people from all over the world come here, juggling hotels and big 4x4s—while notably avoiding the streets of cities and villages—truly fascinates me. Two worlds coexist on either side of a barely porous border. As soon as the tourist sets foot in the airport, they’re whisked away, sight unseen, into a tourist vehicle. Dropped off at the hotel, they rest there, shielded from view, until the 4x4 departs. Then they speed through those same cities and villages they scorn out of fear or disdain, leaving on the roadside the Maasai herding their flocks and all those poignant or mundane scenes that make up daily African life. In the evening, in their lodge, far from the city’s pulse, they fall asleep thinking about the images they’ve collected, those long hours on the road, the wait for the animals. And the days go by… Maybe the term *luxury*, whether for food or accommodation, refers to what we experience as utterly ordinary in the West? Forgetting that you’re there, in Africa, just steps away from poverty and a certain arbitrariness. And at the end of the journey: back to the airport, back to normal life.

Maybe we need to take a broader view. All that money seems invisible, yet it must serve the population at some point, right? The main roads are passable, the power grid seems well-maintained—I can tell by the excellent condition of the high-voltage transmission towers. Is it really too expensive to significantly improve all the infrastructure? I hoped this windfall would truly serve the people’s interests. The driver taking me back to the airport on the last evening dashes my sweet illusions: « All this is bad. Africa is bad. But you have no choice. The hospitals don’t work, the schools don’t work, the roads don’t work (just as he says this, roadworks force us onto a terrible detour for several kilometers—a rutted track, in fact), and if you say anything, if you speak up too much, they come for you and then you disappear. » That’s just one opinion. Nothing empirical. But I don’t need to be a West Point graduate to realize how rampant corruption is in these regions: while the muezzin bellows the greatness of Allah, I consider the dilapidated equipment and the energy expended by the masses just to survive here. But maybe all that money keeps the country afloat by paying civil servants’ salaries? Meanwhile, one thing is certain: regardless of where the profits go, tourism supports millions of people, and I’m in no position to judge this system too harshly. Maybe I’m too much of an aesthete to appreciate the almost exclusive use of corrugated iron at its true value…

*

I’ll give this system credit for one thing: the chance to set foot in spaces impossible to visit otherwise. At one point, in the heart of the Ngorongoro Crater—a vast 20km-wide plain topped by a 600m-high caldera—I was simply happy to be there. Barely bothered by the constant ballet of 4x4s—the space is vast—I contemplate the simple life of the local animals. Buffalo, wildebeest, zebras as numerous as the flamingos patiently standing on one leg, waiting for the day to pass. Over there, you can make out a few hyenas with vultures circling above. Finally, in a large body of water, hippos surface at regular intervals. I’m aware of my luck. I’m especially aware that, unlike all the people I’ve met there, a lot of money and a little resourcefulness greatly favor the luck factor.

I’m heading home. I soak up the last images of this improbable Africa as night falls quickly over the countryside. I’m fascinated by the number of Maasai herding their livestock along the main road. Some pass the time, globalization obliges, on an old phone; others, sometimes as young as my eldest—barely 10 years old—watch us pass, indifferent. We overtake or are overtaken; the two-lane road is the stage for a majestic ballet of semi-trailers, *dalas-dalas*, and other 4x4s, as numerous as the names of their companies: Leopard Tours, Climbing Kilimanjaro, Smiling Zebra, Nomad Life Enhanced, Elephant Roaming, Mountain Warrior, Master of the Ambush… They drop me off at the hotel, where I have an hour to shower and change into clean clothes before my return flight. Already, I’m slipping back into my own world without really seeing it, leaving behind the hotel’s glass window that African life to which nothing truly binds me. Then that chaotic, suffocating nighttime drive to the airport. Check-in; the stupid questions (« Where are you going? »); the slow police officer who, in the end, stamps my passport anywhere; the idiocy of the security agent (my empty 33cl bottle is forbidden); the rather shabby lounge at Kilimanjaro Airport. Then the return to the vessel—to the Air France plane that left Zanzibar an hour earlier—after this 72-hour spacewalk without a real lifeline. I’ve never been so happy to see F. again.

For those who want to chat quietly by the riverbanks, this is the place!