Results for "Gorges+Verdon+|+127"

Bonsoir à tous,

Nous prévoyons de partir en camping car en février ou mars prochain pendant deux semaines. Nous habitons actuellement dans le Nord, et nous aimerions bien voir autre chose que notre région ! Nous sommes jeunes, avec un budget assez limité, et nous ne connaissons finalement pas grand chose de notre pays... des idées ? Ce sera nos premières vacances "en amoureux", donc si vous avez des coins un peu romantiques... n'hésitez pas ;)

Merci beaucoup !

Bonjour, je désir faire un voyage en france en mai 2013, je veut aller à Paris et ensuite chamonix et puis je voudrait louer une voiture pour visité 2 ou 3 villes dans le sud comme nice, marseille... Mais je ne veut pas payer le prix fort donc jaimerait rester dans une ville pas trop loin des villes du sud pour pouvoir y aller en voiture, mais qui ne coute pas un prix de fou avez-vous quelques chose à me conseiller? Puis qu'elles sont les villes les plus interessantes au sud? merci de m'aider 🙂 joanie

Bonjour à tous,

Nous souhaiterions obtenir des informations et vos expériences concernant un itinéraire de 2 semaines sur l'ile de Sumatra. Arrivée à Singapour le 25 Aout avec comme idée de se rendre à Bali ensuite depuis Sumatra.

Merci pour vos conseils

H.

Bonjour, Je pars à Trans en Provence. Qui peux me dire ce qu'il y a à visiter dans la région ? Merci

Bonjour a tous...

Moi et ma chérie allons partir au moins d’août, deux semaine a la Seyne sur mer, et pour en profiter a 200%, j'ai quelques petites questions:

1 : Quels sont les randos a ne pas louper??? J'ai rechercher sur internet bien sur, et j'ai trouver les plus grosse balade a faire en gros, comme les calanques ou l'ile de Porquerolles, mais c'est vague, peux être pourriez vous me renseigner plus sur ce sujet, si vous connaisais "The" chemin a prendre pour en avoir plein la vue, et aussi si vous connaissais des petites randos pas très connu du grand public, moins touristique donc plus sauvage, n’hésitez pas a m'en faire part.

2 : Est-t'il possible de bivouaqué une petite nuit sans avoir de problème?? genre poser la tente le soir et repartir du grand matin, c’est quelque chose que j'aimerais vraiment essayer et j'aimerais savoir si c'est possible et ou le faire?? le rêve aurais étais le bord de plage, dans une petite crique isolé la ou il doit plus y avoir beaucoup de monde le soir, a votre avis c'est possible?? ou il y a souvent des gardes qui surveilles les cotes??

3 : Dernière question, pas très importante, mais je pose quand même, étant avec ma chérie, j'aurais aimé voir un petit coucher de soleil, savais vous quel balade romantique faire le soir pour avoir la plus belle vue du coucher de soleil??? ou alors quel ville avec une belle vue de coucher de soleil sur la mer?? D’après moi, Sanary sur mer ou Six-four les plages me semble idéal vu que la mer est orienté vers l'ouest, mais on sais jamais, peux être connaissiez vous une ville avec beaucoup plus de charme le soir.

Voila, je pense que c'est tout, désolé pour mes nombreuses questions, mais j'ai trop peur de loupé des trucs, a chaque fois c'est pareil ^^

Merci d'avance pour vos futur bon conseils 🙂

Bonjour, Je suis Québécois et je planifie un voyage à vélo sportif en France. J'y serai entre le 22 et le 29 juillet 2012. Je crois partir de Aix-en-Provence et je dois me rendre à Lyon pour prendre l'avion le 30. J'aimerais avoir des suggestions d'itinéraires qui me permettraient d'emprunter des cols mythiques, mais aussi de voir de beaux paysages et des villages pittoresques. Je pars léger avec sac à dos et je pense faire entre 100km à 150 km par jour selon le niveau de difficulté. Est-ce que certains d'entres vous auriez des recommendations à me faire pour le trajet et des éléments particuliers à tenir compte? Y-a-t-il des incontournables à faire absolument? Est-ce que quelqu'un parmi vous serait intéressé à faire un bout de chemin en équipe? Pour le moment, je pensais entre autre passer par le Mont Ventoux, col Bonnette, col du Galibier, col de L'Ïzoard, etc... Qu'en pensez-vous? Je suis en très bonne forme pour un cyclisme Québécois, mais ce sera la première fois pour moi en France!! Merci à l'avance pour vos commentaires! Au plaisir de se croiser sur la route. Michel

Bonjour, je suis assez jeune pour payer un voyage car je nai que 17 ans. Mais cet ete ma copine ne fete pas son anniverssaire de ses 18 ans. Elle part d'ici où on pouvait se voir. Comme ce sera la derniere fois que je pourrais la voir je cherche un voyage n'importe où sauf maroc et tunisie pour partir durant aout . Auriez vous des idées meme si c'est un peu tot? Merci beaucoup.

Le 48ème Parc naturel régional français vient d'être créé. Il s'agit de celui des Préalpes d'Azur qui s’étend sur 88 940 hectares dans le massif sud alpin du pays de Grasse, au Nord de Nice. Lire la suite...

je prépare avec mon épouse et ma fille de 4 ans un treck pour septembre. Ma fille marche bien elle grandit en montagne et je prévois un sac pour la porter une partie des journée. je cherche des conseils sur l'itinéraire car je commence juste à me pencher dessus. Je souhaite voyager léger et dormir en refuge. A combien de jours estimez vous ce périple ? merci pour les quelques conseils et informations.

Bonjour à tous, Pour ceux qui ont déjà vécu l'expérience, la mi-mai est elle une belle période pour un séjour de cyclo-camping en Provence/Lubéron. Nous partirions de Marseille car il y a des vols directs de Montréal. Toute suggestion de circuit serait appréciée. UVERO

Bonjour,

Nous sommes deux à vouloir tester les treks, cependant nous n'avons pas d'expériences dans le domaine. Notre objectif (à moyen terme) est simple : Pouvoir effectuer un trek dans une région reculée du monde, sans guide, dans de grands espaces, et surtout, dans une région tranquillisée sans s'inquiéter en permanence de la sécurité (car je voyage avec ma femme). Dormir quelques fois sous tente, entre les villes principales.

Par où commencer ? Peut-être en Europe ? On m'a parlé de www.nomade-aventure.com .. qu'en pensez-vous ? Merci à vous.

bonjour,

nous sommes un jeune couple qui partirons 2 semaines (eh oui....seulement....) en Turquie en juillet prochain (eh oui.....blindé de monde et très chaud......). ;)

J'aimerais connaître vos opinions sur l'itinéraire que nous préconisons (pour l'instant). Notre objectif: la variété! Ville, village, culture, site archéologique, paysages côtiers, plages et criques, excursion en bateau, randonnées, montagnes, nature etc. (rien de moins! ;))

Nous souhaitons faire 2 ou 3 jours à Istanbul... Ensuite, direction côtes égéenne et méditerranéenne. (par avion) On souhaite concentrer notre périple entre Izmir et Antalya environ... La cappadoce sera pour une prochaine fois! :)

Nous cherchons principalement 3 points de chutes pour ensuite pouvoir partir à la découverte des environs (nous utiliserons les bus et les dolmus), mais toujours dans l'optique de faire nos ballades en une journée pour ainsi revenir dormir à chaque soir à notre point de chute en question.

Par exemple:

point de chute: finike à visiter: Jour 1: olympos/chimère Jour 2: l'île de kekova Jour 3: Xanthos/Patara/Létôon/Pinara (lesquels devrions-nous faire en 1 journée?)

point de chute: Gocek à visiter: Jour 5: dalyan Jour 6: gorges de saklikent Jour 7: excursion en bateau "les 12 îles"

point de chute: ???? (m'aider svp) à visiter: Jour 9: Selcuk/Éphèse Jour 10: Nous hésitons! (et j'avoue qu'ils sont tous assez éloignés les uns des autres...) Devrions-nous visiter Datça (pour sa vieille ville qui semble bien charmante), Le Parc national de Dilek (pour une ballade en nature sauvage....mais est-ce réellement possible en haute saison?), Alaçati/Cesme (trop touristique?) ou bien Pamukkale (très touristique, à peine possible de se baigner, très loin, mais une curiosité naturelle hors du commun...)? Que me conseillez-vous entre ces 4 destinations?...

J'attends vos commentaires avec impatience et surtout, si jamais sur cette route vous avez un endroit à me conseiller que j'aurais oublié, qui n'est pas dans notre itinéraire et qui vaut vraiment le détour, faites m'en part! :)

Merci d'avance...

Cycling Through Provence's Big Climbs

In the autumn of 2011, Provence was hit by apocalyptic weather—torrential rain and a particularly violent east wind, reaching 130 kilometers per hour, whipping up waves as high as seven meters. It wasn’t the best time to venture outside. Yet, I told myself that after the storm, calm would return. I kept an eye on the weather forecast and noticed that starting November 10th, a favorable window should open for a little 600-kilometer cycling trip across Provence. The weather reports promised a high-pressure system that would keep the bad weather at bay over these highlands. That was all I needed to decide to set off. The planned route would take me through Provence’s biggest climbs: Mont Ventoux, Montagne de Lure, the Verdon Gorge, the Massif des Maures, and Sainte-Baume.

And so, despite my doubts, the call of adventure was stronger. The train pulled away, and once again, a journey began at Part-Dieu station. This time, I headed toward Haute-Provence for a cycling adventure. It would be my first solo bike trip. I was a little nervous—cycling with panniers makes you feel vulnerable to theft. I’d already been robbed while traveling in a group in Peru, and that experience left me deeply shaken. Alone, I hesitated. But no need to panic—I’d read accounts from long-distance cyclists who hadn’t been robbed, even if it does happen sometimes. I was particularly thinking of a young schoolteacher who had taken a sabbatical to cycle around the world. Her students had remarked, "Teacher, you’re not sporty—how will you manage to cycle around the world?" This young woman was full of resourcefulness. In South America, before flying to China, she locked her bike to a post to take care of a natural need. When she returned, the post had been torn out, and her bike—along with all her gear—was gone. It was a shock for many, but not for her. She boarded her flight to the Middle Kingdom, bought the essentials (including a new bike) once there, and continued her journey! Remembering this story, I almost felt ashamed of my cowardice. These were the thoughts running through my mind as the Rhône Valley rolled by toward Orange, the starting point of my Provençal adventure through the big climbs.

Day One: Orange to Sault via Mont Ventoux – 90 km

9:30 AM, I stepped off the train. With all my gear, I had to navigate the underground passage—no easy feat, given that my bike and luggage weighed 35 kilos. At this time of year, I expected some areas to be deserted, so I’d packed enough to bivouac comfortably. Once outside the station, the southern light flooded over me. I understood why people dream of retiring in these sun-drenched regions. As always, after disembarking from public transport, I had to get my bearings and decide which way to go. The sun, still low on the horizon, pointed east. The roar of fighter jet engines helped me locate the Air Base 115. That was all I needed to "reset the gyros."

As soon as I started pedaling, all my apprehensions vanished. The joy of discovery and physical effort took over, and euphoria washed over me. It’s amazing how emotions can shift from one moment to the next based on seemingly minor circumstances.

The weather was splendid—the forecast had predicted continuous showers, but it was completely wrong. I quickly left the city behind. Mont Ventoux loomed mysteriously, its dimensions hard to gauge. It was even more enigmatic with its summit hidden beneath swirling, mottled clouds clinging to the ridges. It reminded me of a great South American volcano. I struggled to imagine that in a few hours, I’d be up there under that blanket of mist.

The countryside was shaking off its autumnal nighttime dampness. The vineyards, interspersed with tall cypress hedges, confirmed I was in the magnificent Côtes du Rhône wine region. The distinctive Dentelles de Montmirail were very much in evidence. The air force base wasn’t far. I passed the runway’s end markers. A Mirage 2000 flew overhead in a tight turn, followed by another roaring into takeoff. It came straight at me before climbing sharply with a thunderous roar. Thirty years spent in that captivating world came rushing back. I recalled countless extraordinary human and technical experiences from my time in the service. But the purpose of this post isn’t to promote the air force—though I might post some articles one day about travels among men at war.

I continued on my way, leaving my past loves behind. As I pedaled, delightful names rolled by: Violès, Vacqueyras, Gigondas, Beaumes-de-Venise—the crème de la crème of the Côtes du Rhône Villages appellation. I let myself be enchanted by the vineyards and the little paths crisscrossing them. I started to doubt my route, though the imposing mass of Mont Ventoux in the distance acted like a giant beacon. At a crossroads, a car appeared. I approached to ask the driver for directions, but she didn’t even look at me and sped off, clearly frightened. I’d almost forgotten what a fearful world we live in, no doubt traumatized by all the horrors we see in the news and on TV.

The kilometers started adding up, but was my day’s goal too ambitious? It had been two months since I’d last ridden my bike. True, my last trip had been good training—the Route des Grandes Alpes—but that was two months ago. I can’t just take my bike out for a day trip; I need that sense of adventure to find the courage to exercise.

Two cyclists overtook me. Intrigued by my load, they struck up a conversation. They were skeptical when I told them I planned to cross Mont Ventoux that day. One of them pointed out a small chapel near the summit where I could bivouac sheltered. That motivated me even more to reach the top on this first stage. The chapel also had a mythical name for me—Sainte-Anne, the name of my parents’ villa. It was already noon, and I’d covered 50 kilometers. Malaucène appeared—the sacred village of Ventoux’s mad cyclists. Surprisingly, I didn’t see any other cyclists today. I remembered this place in June, teeming with aspirants for the king of summits. Before tackling the climb ahead, I needed to refuel. I enjoyed a pleasant gastronomic break at Max’s. At 1 PM, I started the most famous climb in cycling—21 kilometers, which would actually be 23. I knew it would be tough, especially with two handicaps: 50 kilometers already in my legs and 20 kilos of luggage. But I was counting on my tiny chainring, which let me climb trees to tackle the steep ramps.

I set off at a brisk pace along a deserted road. My speed held up for the first few kilometers. I quickly rose above the valley, the horizon widening. I was surprised to see no one on this world-renowned route among cycling enthusiasts. During the climb and descent, I’d only see five cyclists—but I’ll come back to that. I passed a sign explaining that the effort would be roughly equivalent to climbing the Col de la Bonnette. Having done the latter in September, I figured I’d be fine. I crossed paths with my first cyclist—a woman speeding downhill. After 12 kilometers, I hit slopes averaging 12%. I don’t know if the number 12 is cursed, but I got such a "bamboo" hit that I’d never experienced before. I thought I wouldn’t make it to the summit today. I stopped. My thighs burned so much I could barely walk—lactic acid overload. I looked for a relatively flat spot to pitch my tent. It was 3:30 PM, with two hours of daylight left. But I found nothing.

I got back on my bike, intending to stop as soon as I found a good bivouac spot. But nothing came up. However, my strength slowly returned, perhaps because the slope eased, though it remained around 10%. I entered the summit mists. A cyclist overtook me. I was in the zone where I had to pass the summit. Dusk caught me in the final difficulties. The atmosphere was downright austere. In the twilight, a kilometer from the summit, a cyclist was fixing his bike. I asked if he needed help. He made it clear he didn’t understand. So I asked, "Do you need some help?" His answer was clear: "No, thank you." He showed me his new inner tube. Inside, I thought, "Phew!" If I’d had to stop, sweating in the falling night with the cold intensifying, I’d have struggled to get going again. But he managed, and I continued into the twilight fog. I could barely make out the summit’s large antennas in the clouds, like immense ghosts trying to evade sight. The bike delivered sensations worthy of mountain racing. My goal was to quickly find the famous chapel in the descent to take shelter. As I glided down the southern slope, two cyclists without lights crossed my path in the night—probably heading to the station above, its lights visible in the fog.

I scanned the roadside in the dark for the chapel but saw nothing. After a kilometer or two, I lost all hope. I stopped to put on more clothes as the cold became intense. I had no idea where I could stop on these steep slopes to set up camp. Between the swirls of mist, I could intermittently see the Rhône Valley below, dotted with illuminated towns and villages. The sight was striking. What was I doing on this mountain at night? Then the miracle happened—the clouds parted, and from the ridge above me to the east, a beautiful full moon emerged, casting enough light to consider a nighttime descent to Sault, 26 kilometers away.

In this eerie atmosphere between the moon’s pale rays and patches of fog, I began my descent through a hazy, almost unreal world. The Ventoux’s characteristic white scree reflected the moonlight faintly, dimmed by the mist. In places, entire mountainsides were plunged into complete darkness, and I lost all sense of the road’s path. Then, around a tight bend caused by a land shift, the light returned. It seemed extreme compared to the darkness I’d left behind. I could once again clearly see the road’s contours, though not its potholes or gravel patches. Still, I let the slope carry me, and the speed felt significant, though the low light prevented me from reading my speedometer. In these moments, concentration was at its peak—all senses alert, reflexes ready to react to the slightest incident that could lead to a fall.

I was relieved to see Sault’s lights growing closer. In less than an hour, I reached it, considering the final little climb that required one last push. This village, bustling in summer, was deserted at this time of year—almost dead. The first hotel I came across was closed. A quick shadow passed in a small sloping street. Before it disappeared into the darkness at a house corner, I chased after it and asked about accommodation options. Very kindly, I was directed to what was probably the only hotel open in November. I quickly found it, and the reception was open. I entered wearing my black balaclava, bought in the Ayacucho region—the birthplace of Peru’s Shining Path. At this late hour, I saw questioning glances directed at me. I prefaced, "This isn’t a hold-up." Clearly, the owners had a sense of humor—they started smiling. I took off my balaclava and asked for a room. No problem, and from that moment, the pressure eased. I really didn’t feel like going back out to find a spot to pitch my tent in the biting cold.

The stage had been nearly 100 kilometers, and it was the first. It had been two months since I’d touched my bike, and I probably lacked even minimal training, even though my last bike trip had been crossing the French Alps. I really had to dig deep to overcome my weakness on Ventoux’s steep section. I don’t remember ever having to search so deeply for the energy to keep going. I knew the stage I’d set for tomorrow was significant, with the climb up Montagne de Lure’s northern slope—Ventoux’s little sister, whose ascent is reputed to be endless, over 25 kilometers. I hoped this first day wouldn’t leave me too sore to avoid suffering excessively tomorrow.

For now, relaxation—a hot shower did me a world of good, followed by a good meal. I ate a delicious andouillette from Troyes, very fine, with a particularly successful herb seasoning. I loved it, and yet I’m from Lyon and pride myself on knowing a thing or two about andouillette—not just a sausage but a whole category! A bit chauvinistic, I had to admit, though reluctantly, that I found it better than the ones I usually eat in the Lyon region!

Day Two: Sault to Forcalquier via Montagne de Lure – 116 km

This morning, the weather was magnificent—the air clear, still, very fresh, and invigorating, as only the late season can offer on these Provençal highlands. In summer, they’re known for their scorching heat and drought, but often overlooked is how harsh they can be with cold and storms. Authors like Giono or Bosco described them and their inhabitants wonderfully in books like "Les Âmes Fortes."

The miracle of the night had worked. I wasn’t sore anywhere and felt in great shape. I set off well-equipped, but the effort and sun soon made me sweat. It was time to shed some layers—hat and gloves. A gentle warmth replaced the cold, making for excellent cycling conditions. On the road to Trinit, there was no traffic—only the occasional hunters’ cars parked in the distance. These vehicles were recognizable by their large cages, used to transport hunting dogs. Sometimes, the silence was broken by a distant gunshot. The deciduous forests were losing their foliage, taking on that dull brown hue of late autumn, though here and there, a tree or shrub still resisted, displaying vivid yellow or red. The meadows, their grass already scorched by the cold, were damp from the night’s heavy humidity. The low sun highlighted thousands of spider webs that had trapped insects during the warm season.

Behind me, Mont Ventoux dominated these vast spaces. As often, its imposing, stony summit was crowned with a blanket of clouds. What an impressive mountain—it’s always so hard to gauge its dimensions. I struggled to realize that last night I’d been at the summit and descended its immense southern ridge in the dark. I hoped to return one day in favorable conditions—daylight and no clouds—to enjoy the vast panorama from this unique summit.

Leaving the very Provençal village of Trinit, I tackled my first climb of the day—the Col de l’Homme Mort. The road rose moderately for five kilometers in gentle warmth. The view over the region widened, and I felt the sheer joy of pedaling. At a good pace, I overcame this first little challenge. Once at the pass, I couldn’t resist the ritual of photographing my bike in front of the sign, giving the name and altitude—1,213 meters.

The northern slope was austere and still in shadow. The cold bit again. The road was wet and covered with leaves in places. It wasn’t impossible that some treacherous patches of black ice lurked around a bend. I descended toward the Jabron Valley with caution. Suddenly, around a bend in a forest clearing, the freshly snow-covered Alps, gleaming in the sun, leapt into view, blocking the horizon. I thought I recognized the distinctive silhouette of the Écrins’ south face above a multitude of jagged peaks.

This snow and these mountains awakened a flood of memories of great joys, but I also thought of the guide and his client who had just lost their lives on the Grandes Jorasses’ north face, at the top of a route called the Linceul. The name comes from the face’s appearance—a great ice slope bordering the Grandes Jorasses’ north wall. It was first climbed by René Desmaison in 1968. He passed away a few years ago and, in his final wishes, asked that his ashes be scattered in the Dévoluy Massif at the foot of Pic de Bure, not far from here in these immense pre-Alpine folds.

At my feet, the Jabron Valley stretched almost endlessly east toward Sisteron. In the distance, the dark mass of Montagne de Lure’s north face loomed. This mountain shares similarities with Mont Ventoux. It has the same summit scree of bright limestone, the same forests climbing up to the final rocky stretch, and that blanket of clouds adding a secretive, austere touch to the scene.

I turned left past the town of Séderon and headed toward the little Col de la Pigière, which in a few kilometers allowed me to truly plunge into the beautiful Jabron Valley. I passed through several villages with charming local names—Saint-Vincent, Noyer-sur-Jabron. The river offered lovely views of its narrow gorges with clear, cold water. Autumn seemed less advanced here than on the plateau I’d just left. Many trees still wore brilliant colors, some revealing extraordinary hues—mixes of crimson, pink, and bright red.

Arriving in Noyer-sur-Jabron, I took a tiny road on the river’s right bank, leading in a few kilometers to the foot of Montagne de Lure. In the village of Valbelle, I picnicked on leftovers I’d brought from home—an old cheese and a somewhat stale loaf of bread. It was 1:30 PM. I began the long climb of about 25 kilometers. According to a friend who’s a cycling expert in the region, this section is tough. No wonder it’s called Ventoux’s little sister—the Mont Blanc of cyclists. The elevation gain on this side is still 1,200 meters, while Ventoux via Malaucène is nearly 1,600 meters.

I hoped to reach the summit before nightfall and avoid reliving a nighttime descent. The route wound through a vast forest, following the terrain’s folds. There was activity—mushroom hunters were busy searching for the coveted chanterelle. The climb, though never very steep (only one kilometer at 9%), was interminable. Though traffic was practically nonexistent, I was overtaken by a group of Harley bikers—I counted about forty. Perched high on their machines, hands in the air on wildly shaped handlebars, some with their feet nearly in the sky due to the high footpegs, they didn’t even glance my way. What’s this idiot doing, unable to ride a motorcycle and forced to climb these mountains on a bike with big bags! I wasn’t offended—real Harley purists often see other motorcyclists as renegades, so bikes are even lower on the totem pole! But I didn’t want to start a debate about motorcycles. In my youth, when I was a wild motorcyclist (22 accidents on two wheels), clans were divided into Japanese, German, Italian, and British bike owners. The latter, on their vibrating, oil-leaking machines, considered themselves the purest. But let’s not fight—there’s a statute of limitations, and it’s been nearly forty years.

As yesterday, a few kilometers below the summit, I entered the fog, and the light dropped suddenly. What a hostile mountain in these conditions! It heightened the sense of living an incredible experience. The conditions we encounter play a major role in how the adventure imprints on our memory. I realized once again that in France, you can feel like you’re very far away. Finally, after this very long climb, the Pas de Graille sign suddenly appeared out of the grayness. Strange! Below the sign, a kilometer marker indicated this same pass was over three kilometers away. Clearly, the climb continued. In these final kilometers through the scree, I gained another 130 meters of elevation. Finally, the road’s high point was reached—1,720 meters. It was cold and damp. I quickly covered up, added my balaclava under my helmet, and put on warm gloves. As I was about to start the descent, a car stopped at the summit, and one of the passengers was surprised to find a bike there in these chilly, twilight conditions.

A 20-kilometer descent led me to the village of Saint-Étienne-les-Orgues. I hoped to find a place to stay for the night. No such luck! Everything was clearly closed—no chance of finding shelter. Tonight was getting complicated. I already had exactly 100 kilometers in my legs and didn’t feel like pedaling anymore, especially at night. But I had even less desire to sleep outside. What to do to avoid it? The town of Forcalquier was 16 kilometers away—I hoped the road would descend. I set off in that direction. The first third was along a beautiful, lightly trafficked departmental road with a slight downhill—I pedaled hard. But it got tougher. I joined a busier road, and night had fallen. A several-kilometer climb finished the journey. I knew my magnetic lights weren’t very powerful—hence the danger. They were even less so on the climb because the slower I went, the less they illuminated. Cars coming the opposite way often saw me late and blinded me with their high beams. After passing, I was plunged into total darkness for a few seconds while my pupils readjusted to the night. I imagined those coming up behind me saw me with little warning, despite my slightly fluorescent jacket. When the roadside was clear, I always positioned myself to quickly jump off the road. But unfortunately, in this long final climb, a guardrail prevented any escape to the right in case of sudden braking behind me. That was even more anxiety-inducing since I was stuck at a snail’s pace. Time seemed long. I pedaled as hard as I could, on the verge of asphyxiation, trying to escape this dangerous situation as quickly as possible. My only reference point was the vehicles in front of me, letting me know the climb wasn’t over. Then suddenly, the ordeal ended—the road’s high point was reached. The town and its lights emerged from the void, and clarity returned. Phew! I glided down toward this little town bathed in light. On November 11th, I hoped to find an open hotel since I’d clearly exceeded 100 kilometers, and the idea of having to leave town to find a bivouac spot somewhat frightened me.

I arrived in the town center. Activity was low. The first hotel was closed, but I spotted a lit sign for another establishment further on. I headed there, got off my bike, and entered. The welcome was immediately friendly—a big cat came to rub against me. For me, that was a very good sign, and the first impression was confirmed. I still had to go out to eat. I covered the minimum distance. A restaurant advertised "Mom’s Cooking." I expected Provençal specialties, but they were Moroccan. I chose a delicious tagine with lime and olives, followed by almond and honey ice cream. Exhausted after this 116-kilometer stage, I returned to my room. As often after intense efforts, it was hard to fall asleep.

Day Three: Forcalquier to Moustiers-Sainte-Marie – 58 km

On this third day, due to the progress made yesterday, the stage would be short. I’d call it a transition between two mountain ranges. Indeed, the next big climb is the Verdon Gorge. I planned to position myself at its foot this evening in preparation for a tough stage tomorrow. I made a few purchases—bread, bananas, and medicine for stomach burns (the midday sausage wasn’t always kind to me). The weather was still perfect. The route began with a long descent toward the Durance. It’s always nice to start a cycling day with a downhill—it boosts morale and allows for a gentle warm-up.

I quickly reached the town of Oraison. Just at its entrance, I crossed the Durance, which still bore traces of last week’s heavy rains along its sandbanks. Indeed, numerous stumps and trunks were scattered along its vast gravel bed, along with less ecological debris like old tires.

A little south of Oraison, I took the D907, a small road heading due east between scrubland and meadows. There it was—the Provence we imagine. This stable autumn weather, with still air, neither hot nor cold, just a fresh feeling when emerging from a shaded valley or a slight warmth under the sun, was ideal for a cyclist. After about ten kilometers at the bottom of a small valley I quickly passed through, the village of Le Brunet appeared on the right. It clung to the slopes leading to the Valensole Plateau. A few steep kilometers along a tiny winding road, and suddenly a vast panorama unfolded as the climb ended.

What a magnificent plateau! Though known for its wind, luckily today was completely calm. Far to the east, the Verdon’s great cliffs blocked the horizon. This allowed me to contemplate part of tomorrow’s stage. This place is full of mysteries—many UFO and extraterrestrial encounter stories are associated with it. Moreover, for about thirty years, France hid its ground-to-ground nuclear ballistic missiles here, grouped in the 1st GMS (Ballistic Missile Group), under the air force. Naturally, these rockets fueled fantasies, and pacifist groups settled in the region to protest this type of armament. This gives many reasons to shroud this austere, deserted land in mystery.

I took a dirt path leading to the heart of this zone and stopped at the forest’s edge for lunch. The silence was total, the view stretched very far. But nothing strange or bizarre manifested. No Martian came to share my frankly moldy cheese, very peppery sausage, or bruised banana—sniff! I resumed my route, and as often when crossing places with strong character, I tended to slow down to enjoy them longer. The immense lavender fields stretched endlessly, not very fragrant at this season. I arrived at a group of truffle oaks protected by a fence, with large red signs warning "Firearm." Clearly, the war for the black diamond was raging in this region. I remembered a novel where an old farmer made buyers believe nothing grew on his land. Every year, he secretly stole the mushrooms from the unsuspecting owners. Then one day, they discovered the truth, catching this "polite" neighbor trying to hide a basket full of beautiful, large truffles!

In these vast spaces, I felt good—a sense of plenitude. It’s strange that I only conceive of cycling through wandering. I struggle to plan a day trip. And if I do, it’s highly likely I won’t get up. I need that sense of adventure to fully appreciate my physical effort. Maybe one day I should get psychoanalyzed, but at my age, it’s probably too late! Today, I had all the time in the world—the stage was half as long as yesterday’s, with very little elevation gain. Not a sound, an impressive calm, a beautiful landscape—I pedaled in a wonderful place. That’s probably happiness!

I reached the village of Puimoisson on the plateau’s eastern edge—only 12 kilometers left to Moustiers. I took my time, sat at a café terrace in the sun, and leisurely enjoyed a coffee while listening to the village come to life. I was delighted by these melodious southern voices, bursting into great laughter. There are places where, despite the anxieties caused by our debt-ridden, dysfunctional societies, some have decided to take life on the bright side and show a saving insouciance.

The rest of the journey was a simple formality—I let the slope carry me toward the pretty little town of Moustiers-Sainte-Marie, clinging to the cliff and famous for its faïence. Arriving early for once, I went to the tourist office to choose a comfortable hotel. Indeed, the Hôtel des Restanques was very comfortable and admirably well-located. But at this time of year, I’d have to return to the village center for dinner. The very kind receptionist reserved a table for me at La Treille Muscate, a restaurant with a magnificently arranged room on the church square. It was only 3:30 PM—I continued to take my time, showering and relaxing in front of the TV. Then I set off to explore—or rather, re-explore—this village I’d visited several times before. But I’d never climbed to its chapel perched in the middle of the great cliff towering over the houses. A stony, aerial path led there. The first mentions of the Notre-Dame de Beauvoir chapel, known in ancient times as Notre-Dame d’Entre-Roches, date back to the 9th century. It’s one of the rare "respite" chapels found in Provence. These are chapels where stillborn children were brought to be revived for a few moments, just long enough to baptize them. They could then be buried religiously, ensuring the salvation of their souls. I was also very moved by reading some ex-votos, like the one from "A mother for her three children returned from the war."

The place was impressive, especially as night fell. I was alone and watched the shadows fill the great cliffs above me. With an old climber’s reflex, I looked for possible climbing routes among these slabs and cracks. But climbing is probably forbidden here, too close to the houses. Then I descended to stroll through the village, admiring the magnificent, finely crafted faïence patterns found in many shops. Finally, dinnertime arrived, and I joined my restaurant, which had been highly recommended. I was delighted by the foie gras ravioli and the pieds et paquets—the chef’s specialty. I’ll come back with family.

Day Four: Moustiers to Fréjus via the Verdon – 122 km

A hearty breakfast prepared me for the day’s tough efforts. Next to me, four Chinese people chatted animatedly. Of course, I didn’t understand a word—it was a language with strange intonations and sounds. I left the dining room and prepared my bike on the terrace. Seeing the volume of my luggage, my Chinese friends rushed over and asked to take turns having their photo taken in front of this funny setup. All laughing, they took photos in front of what they probably considered a French coolie off on some trading business! When they show these photos to their relatives, they’ll likely be perplexed about what motivates some to travel by bike rather than car. For them, the car is a symbol of success—according to an article I read last year, 14,000 cars are registered in China every day!

This morning, the air was fresh. As yesterday, I started with a long descent, this time leading to the edge of Lac de Sainte-Croix. A strong, biting headwind slowed me down. It wouldn’t last, as it was generated by the gorge’s outlet, which I’d reach in a few kilometers. On this cold morning, the lake’s shores exuded great tranquility. The sun was still hidden behind the Verdon’s mountainous mass. Trees with yellow leaves stood out against the water’s pale blue. The bridge marking the gorge’s beginning at the lake’s edge was an ideal spot to admire this natural splendor. At this early hour, the play of light and shadow on the water and the immense cliffs delivered a grandiose spectacle in beautiful harmony. This first contact with the gorges, which I knew well, amazed me.

Once past the bridge, the wind calmed. A little further on, I began the long climb that would take me to the top of this immense natural gash, which water had taken millions of years to carve. I was in good shape and highly motivated by the splendors to come. First, I reached the village of Aiguines, which offered a magnificent viewpoint over the lake. Then I continued toward the Corniche Sublime, where countless breathtaking panoramas unfolded as I progressed. But the climb was sustained and long, requiring effort—though my small chainring worked miracles. I first passed the Col d’Illoire, already 500 meters above the lake. Seeing all these great cliffs, countless climbing memories came flooding back. The classic routes of the Escalès cliff, over 300 meters high, flashed by. Routes with legendary names—La Demande, Les Écureuils, Luna-Bong, and many others. The one that left me with the best memory was ULA—a crack, vertical or even overhanging, of sheer beauty rising above a 40-meter slab in one go for 280 meters of sustained, beautiful climbing on extraordinary rock. It made me want to return to climb there, to immerse myself in the atmosphere of those past times. But climbing habits have changed—now routes are accessed from above by rappel, and people don’t always bother to do these great climbs in their entirety, focusing instead on shorter but technically much more difficult enterprises.

At almost every bend, I stopped and scanned these great cliffs, searching for memories of past experiences and emotions in these secret rock folds. The road climbed well above the pass, exceeding 1,200 meters. It was cool, especially since I was sweating. Finally reaching the high point of the Corniche Sublime, I couldn’t gain speed on the descent—my gaze was always drawn to this astonishing canyon. Around a bend, two cyclists with funny small-wheeled bikes. Wow! It was a couple of Australians doing a year-long tour of France. We chatted passionately about our two-wheeled experiences for a moment. But time was passing, and if I wanted to reach Fréjus before nightfall, I’d have to pedal seriously.

I stopped at the Pont de l’Artuby, where bungee jumping was in full swing. But I quickly set off again toward Comps. The wind was against me, and it was climbing. I started to doubt whether I’d make it to the coast that evening. At 2 PM, I was in Comps-sur-Artuby. I didn’t stop, knowing that before reaching the coast, I’d have no alternative to bivouacking, and I had 70 kilometers left to cover. Sure, it should be downhill, but a few climbs were on the program. After a descent out of the village, I crossed the Artuby River again on the Canjuers military camp. A several-kilometer climb followed, fortunately not too steep. I took the D19 toward Barjols. From there, despite the late hour, I opted for a tiny road passing through Claviers, a small perched village. Time passed quickly, but the kilometers added up. I regained hope. Fifteen kilometers after this last village, I reached Saint-Paul-en-Forêt via a magnificent forested route. I had plenty of time to observe mushroom hunters. I asked one who clearly had some in a plastic bag. He gave me this hilarious answer with a magnificent southern accent: "I only picked the bad ones." No reply was possible. I moved on with a smile. A little further on, another hunter carried a basket. As soon as he saw me, he quickly hid it—just in case I saw what it contained. Arriving at the village involved a steep climb, and I was close to 100 kilometers. I still had a little over 20 kilometers to go before reaching Fréjus. The race against nightfall had begun. Over there to my right, I saw the sun setting behind Roquebrune-sur-Argens’ distinctive rock. The sea appeared. There it was—I was in Fréjus’ industrial zone. On this Sunday evening, traffic was heavy. Indeed, many had taken advantage of the return of good weather after very heavy storms to go for a walk. After quite a few detours, I arrived at the seaside just as night fell. My odometer showed 122 km for the day. I quickly found a simple hotel, ate just as quickly, and went to bed.

Day Five: Fréjus to Solliès-Pont – 92 km

Once again, the night had done its restorative work, and I prepared to cross the Massif des Maures feeling quite fresh. The weather forecast was still favorable for today, but a deterioration was expected tomorrow. I tended to trust it because the east wind was blowing, and in the region, that’s a sign of rain. For now, in the short term, this wind would be very useful—it would push me generously throughout the day.

I started calmly along the harbor quays, looking at the boats. Then I joined the road to Saint-Aygulf and followed the coast for forty kilometers to Port-Grimaud. All these seaside resorts—Saint-Aygulf, Les Issambres, Sainte-Maxime—reminded me of my youth when we spent all our vacations fishing, whether from shore, underwater, or by boat. Looking at the sea roll by, I knew what the seabeds looked like under that surface hiding them. The marine areas we knew best were now under the parking lots and commercial zones of Saint-Raphaël’s new port. In our youth, these infrastructures didn’t exist, and their construction came at the expense of coastal marine areas. Our wonderful fishing spots were permanently buried. I remember seeing the first big trucks that came to dump their loads of earth and rubble, destroying all those wonderful places—sandbanks, seaweed beds, groups of rocky holes teeming with fish that enchanted our youth. Over forty years later, I can still visualize them in my imagination under those parking lots and stores, with the names we gave them—my brothers and I: le casse-croûte, le casse-pipe, les montagnes, la digue, la grille, la mare à mulets, la petite-plage, le trou, etc.

Let’s not be overwhelmed by nostalgia. I left the coast and took the little road through the Maures to Collobrières. The route led from ridge to ridge following the terrain’s movements. At this time of year, the region was admirable. Due to the heavy storms of recent weeks, water was streaming everywhere. Waterfalls and streams murmured all along the way. I didn’t recognize the Maures, which I knew for their dryness causing apocalyptic fires. Indeed, around a bend, I came across a small rest area where a memorial had been erected for three firefighters who lost their lives here while fighting one of those gigantic fires fanned by the mistral.

This forest holds treasures—first, the cork oak, then the arbutus, chestnut trees, and of course, mushrooms that love this granitic soil:

The cork oak can be found all along the road. It’s the forest’s essential element. You can recognize it by its light bark (before exploitation), which forms large bulges along the trunk. But after exploitation, the trunks are much smoother, less voluminous, and dark in color. The arbutus is a large berry with red skin covered in small protuberances, growing on the arbutus tree. This fruit, common in Mediterranean areas, ripens in November. That means today, there were plenty around me. Its flesh is orange, with the consistency of firm purée, and it crushes softly in the mouth. The taste of this berry is sweet and excellent. I didn’t hold back—I gorged myself on them, which served as my midday meal. Sometimes I had to climb embankments to get them.

The chestnut tree, a true industry of the region, brings wealth to the surrounding villages. They make candied chestnuts, ice cream, and other products derived from chestnut flour. Be careful not to stop just anywhere to pick this fruit, as the tree owners might not agree. They even make this clear with signs and surround their chestnut trees with fences. Mushrooms—saffron milk caps and porcini—are highly prized in the area. I saw a few hunters, but it clearly wasn’t miraculous. Supposedly, there had been too much rain?

There’s no time to get bored along this little road, from which you can sometimes see the sea. I passed the Col de Taillude at over 400 meters. I began the descent to Collobrières, the chestnut capital, whose festival attracts many people. Before entering, about a hundred meters from the first houses, a cyclist—probably an agricultural worker—came toward me. As he passed, he cheerfully called out, "Go on, little guy! It’s almost there!" We both smiled. At the end of November, the village was cold and almost deserted. Dead leaves swept the wet streets of the town. You could feel winter on the way. I continued my route to Pierrefeu-du-Var, on the western edge of the Massif des Maures. So I gave my last pedal strokes in this pretty little massif so characteristic of Provence.

I looked for a hotel in Cuers but without success. I descended toward Toulon and finally found one on the outskirts of Solliès-Pont. It catered to people coming to work in the region, so nothing very bucolic. But if the weather were to deteriorate tomorrow and turn to rain, I could quickly reach Hyères or Toulon station, which was a significant advantage. Indeed, November rains aren’t usually very pleasant on a bike.

Day Six: Solliès-Pont to Cassis via Sainte-Baume – 85 km

This morning, contrary to the weather forecast, the weather was beautiful, and the latest bulletin seemed to contradict yesterday’s. So no escape to Toulon—I resumed my route toward Sainte-Baume. I left the hotel via a tiny road that, through ups and downs, led me via shortcuts to the road to Belgentier. My body had gotten used to intense daily efforts, and I felt in Olympic form. At a good pace, I launched into a long climb with a moderate slope. The road was busy, but fortunately, the side lane for cyclists often made the exercise more pleasant. The villages rolled by—Méounes, La Roquebrussanne. Near the latter, I observed a Tiger combat helicopter in training. It hovered motionless for long periods—perhaps the pilots were training to master their increasingly sophisticated weapon systems, requiring even more learning?

I left the busy road and headed via an almost deserted route toward the village of Mazaugues. The climbs became steeper. A long descent, and there I was in this pretty village. A grocery store, which besides selling a few ingredients also served as a café. I sat near the electric heater—it was cold, and I was sweaty. I watched customers come and go and listened to the shopkeeper tell me about village life. The name Mazaugues comes from "water mass," which is why drought doesn’t usually affect this area. Apparently, you can even find mushrooms here in summer! I had a good time, and as I was leaving, a local cyclist started a conversation and told me about her dreams of long bike trips, currently limited by her situation as a mother of terrible children. She settled for day trips with her club, which was already good in this very hilly region. I told her the story of a man who, at 73, cycled solo around Morocco. So no panic—she still had thirty or forty years to realize her wildest dreams!

I was warned that it would be a tough climb to reach Sainte-Baume’s northern slope. Indeed, over eight kilometers, the average slope was sustained, but the landscape was wonderful. Here too, water was streaming everywhere. I passed one of those famous icehouses that used to supply Marseille with ice throughout the year. This northern slope of Sainte-Baume is very cold, and this characteristic was exploited in previous centuries to produce ice. Large cylindrical structures, well-protected to the north and semi-buried, received large quantities of water in late autumn, which froze during winter and was kept cool for months until the following winter. Ice blocks were cut and delivered by cart to the city. That’s how, in ancient times, ice was available in summer to keep fish fresh in Marseille. Did pastis exist at that time? If not, the ice cubes must have been bored!

Once the climb was over, the long ridge of Sainte-Baume appeared, and I could see its characteristic antennas. Nestled at the foot of the cliffs, the magnificent millennial forest revealed itself with its autumn colors. I stopped at the monastery. I’d been there several times before and had even slept there during a long walking trip. The welcome had been first-rate by the Dominicans, especially the sisters in their long immaculate robes. They radiated a serenity that was very contagious. Don’t hesitate to stop there for the night. I struggled to get back on my way—some places have a special spirit.

I was soon at the end of my journey. I continued along this magnificent mountain to the Col de l’Espigoulier. To the north, another immense wave of white limestone rose—Montagne Sainte-Victoire, a high place in Provence that painter Cézanne made world-famous. Once at the pass, the entire city of Marseille spread out at my feet, the Mediterranean coast revealed itself from the Calanques to La Ciotat, passing by the famous Cap Canaille, Europe’s highest sea cliff. Above me, bathed in sunlight, Bartagne’s northwest face, very popular among climbers, showed all its reliefs. With an old climber’s reflex, I spotted the many climbs I’d done there. I let myself be carried into a steep, winding descent toward the village of Gémenos in a beautiful setting full of cliffs.

A few more kilometers of climbing toward the Col de l’Ange, then toward Roquefort-la-Bédoule. In this last climb, I raced with two cyclists, admittedly not very young. Then, in a six-kilometer descent, I reached Cassis station, the endpoint of my six-day journey through this wild Provençal land between sea and mountain. I experienced great pleasure during these 570 kilometers through these renowned yet wild French massifs. As always, when a beautiful project comes to an end, you feel a bit orphaned by a beautiful dream come true. You have to quickly envision the next one to avoid a vague sense of emptiness taking over. My next adventure is already taking shape in my mind, but that’s another story.

Bonjour,

Nous envisageons de partir avec mon fils qui aura 2 ans à la Réunion en août prochain. Avantages multiples pour nous : - vol direct et de nuit - confort - climat ok à cette époque (hier austral) - balnéaire - paysages et visites

Néanmoins j'ai lu qqs avis disant que la Réunion en août, c'est pas le top, notamment car le climat est presque frisquet... Y a-t-il de quoi faire s'en être des fanas de randos ? Côté paysages et nature, est-ce beau à voir à cette époque ?

Merci à tous

A+

Michaël

Bonjour,

je suis désolé de répéter un peu le sujet mais je n'ai pas trouvé ce que je voulais dans les réponses des discussions déjà faite...

J'aimerais partir en trek la dernière semaine de Janvier mais je n'ai pas encore trouvé de destination compatible avec mes envies. - le froid ne me dérange pas, je préfère même. - Je n'ai pas d'experience en alpinisme ou trek hivernaux mais j'aimerais m'y diriger petit à petit. - je recherche une destination pas trop cher et sans agence (je préfère la liberté...). Le budget est limité (sauf pour l'équipement). - 4-5 jours de marche(durée le plus possible en fonction de la période d'ensoleillement)

j'ai déjà glaner quelques informations un peu partout mais encore rien de suffisamment sérieux... j'ai pensé à repartir en Norvège ou pour changer la suède ou la finlande mais est-ce qu'il ne faut pas le faire en raquette alors? Et se trouver un refuge chaque soir? ou peut-on le faire en autonome? Ou bien la suisse mais c'est assez cher surtout avec le taux de change actuel et c'est peut etre plus pour les skieurs à cette période là...

Evidemment je suis ouvert à toute proposition! Un grand merci!

Bonjour,

je veux faire Paris-Nice à vélo cet été (dans quelques jours en fait) et je souhaite créer un itinéraire qui soit au plus près des fleuves, des rivières et des forêts, pour avoir des paysages vraiment sympas et naturels le plus possible.

Donc j'ai pensé à faire ceci (je pars de Vincennes):

- Vincennes -> Montereau-Fault-Yonne en longeant la Seine - Montereau-Fault-Yone -> Auxerre en suivant l'Yonne - Auxerre -> Decize en longeant le canal du Nivernais - Decize -> Monistrol-sur-Loire en suivant la Loire - Monistrol-sur-Loire > Nice en passant par Valence, Crest et Dignes-les-Bains

Voici mes questions :)

1. est-ce que c'est possible de ne passer que par des axes "verts" en suivant cet itinéraire?

2. est-ce que c'est sympa comme balade?

3. est-ce que le passage de Monistrol-sur-Loire à Valence n'est pas trop rude?

4. après Valence, pour rejoindre Nice, est-ce qu'il y a mieux comme itinéraire?

Merci beaucoup pour vos réponses, j'ai hâte de savoir quelles sont vos impressions de "pros" :))

NB: mes seules contraintes sont que je n'ai que 15 jours max pour le faire (idéalement 12), mais à 100km par jour ça devrait être jouable je pense (?) et je compte dormir en bivouac mais il faut quand même que je me ravitaille donc je dois passer par des villes/villages qui ont une supérette ouverte (j'ai pensé prendre une petite glacière à mettre dans une des sacoches arrière et avoir 2-3 jours d'avance histoire d'être suffisamment léger)

Merci encore d'avance, je sens que je vais faire de beaux rêves :))

Sportivement, Dan

Salut a tous!

J'ai besoin de vos conseils... Je suis en train de planifier un trajet a vélo, sans contraintes sinon celles de mes mollets... Il y a deux ans pendant un voyage similaire, je me souviens avoir souffert comme un martyr entre paray-le-Monial et Mâcon, entre faux plats et collines vicieuses, en plein cagnard, l'expérience reste mémorable mais douloureuse!!! Alors voilà je suis en train de plancher (bien que pas très plat) sur Lyon mont de Marsan en passant par le Puy , Conques et Montauban, en gros. Mon vélo va être TRES charge avec sacoches av arr et tentes duvet sur le pbag. Faisable? Je partirai tôt le matin et me poserai aux heures bouillantes pour repartir plus tard dans la journée. Merci!

Bonjour,

Nous sommes un jeune couple fin vingtaine qui cherchons des destinations à voir absolument lors de notre trajet entre St-Tropez et Bordeaux. Nous avons environ 4 jours pour faire ce trajet et louons un véhicule pour faire le trajet. Avant ceci, nous ferons Lyon, Nyons, Aix-en-Provence et St-Tropez... 😎😎😎

Nous sommes ouverts à des destinations nature, plage, branchées peut-importe!!! Nous voulons juste voir des endroits inoubliables!

Merci d'avance pour votre aide!!! 😉

Bonjour, Je suis du Québec et nous prévoyons partir pour la France cet été, et ce , pour 14 jours. Nous arriverons à Lyon et partirons de Nice. Notre itinéraire n'est pas encore fait. Avez-vous des suggestions? Ce que je ne dois pas manquer. Nous aurons une voiture.

Jusqu'à présente, voici quelques idées que nous avons eu. - La région du Mont Blanc. Est-ce intéressant l'été? Est-ce bien loin de Lyon? - Dans la région du Rhone, quelques vignobles. Savez-vous si on peut dormir chez des vignerons? - La provence et la cote D'Azur ?? endroit à ne pas manquer.

Merci à l'avance

Myriam

Bonjour!

Avec mon coinjoint nous partons le week end prochain (samedi, dimanche , lundi) du côté d'aix en provence. Nous serons logés à Puy sainte réparade (environ 15 minutes d'aix). En si peu de temps que nous conseillez vous? moi je connais très bien le sud mais surtout le Var et très peu les bouches du rhône, mon coinjoint n'est jamais allé dans le sud car plutôt branché montagne à la base! Je pensais faire une rando dans les calanques au départ de Cassis le dimanche car nous sommes deux sportifs et la visite pure des villes n'est pas notre grande priorité. J'aimerais lui faire découvrir le charme du sud, de la mer, des petits villages provencaux etc...de manière un peu sportive et intéressante. Je pensais à Aix en provence le premier jour mais je ne connais pas du tout, la soirée après les calanques à Marseille et pour le lundi je ne sais pas trop : les baux? que j'aime beaucoup mais en cette saison..., plutôt Avignon? où Salon de provence? Qu'en pensez vous? merci d'avance!!

Bonjour,

nous serons dans la région d'Avignon pour les 2 premières semaines d'août, avec une voiture. Nous ferons bien sûr le plein de visites des sites reconnus mais nous aimerions egalement profiter de notre séjour pour faire des activités différentes de ce que les touristes font habituellement. Donc, si vous avez des suggestions par exemple visiter les calanques en kayak (je ne sais même pas si ca se fait!), des descentes en rivières, visiter des grottes ou de vivre un moment précis à un festival du coin, ou encore découvrir un endroit peu connu mais qui mériterait de l'étre, nous sommes partant ! Nous sommes ouvert à l'effort (pas trop quand même😎) et aux déplacements.

Merci de nous livrer vos coups de coeurs !!

bonjour a tous,

je finis mes études (normalement!) en novembre et je voudrais décompresser quelques jours et partir en randonnée (seule eventuellement si mon ami ne peux pas venir) , seulement le mois de novembre n'est pas trés propice a la rando , mais après je vais commencer a travailler et ce sera plus compliqué , de plus j'aimerais avec cette rando pouvoir "couronner " la fin de mes etudes. aussi j'aimerais savoir dans quels coins en france on peut faire une rando itinérante d'une semaine environ. j'habite en rhone alpes et j'ai pensé au début du chemin de st jacques de compostelle en partant de nasbinals , qu 'en est il de ce chemin a cette époque de l'année? je pense qu'il y a toujours des marcheurs sur le chemin de st jacques? a part ça question itinéraire je ne vois pas trop , peut etre ya t il des choses dans le sud? j'aurais un petit budget c'est pour cette raison que l'etranger me semble compromis. a voir pourquoi pas , en europe pas trop loin (italie? portugal?) mais j'etais plus partie sur la france , autre chose je n'ai pas de voiture!! donc tout se ferait a pieds ! ou en train si besoin merci de vos avis! sara

bonjour tous le monde!

6 ans que je vais chez ma belle famille😛 cette année je veux autre chose🙂! J'aimerais leur faire découvrir la Provence, ça fait des heures que je cherche sur le net...j'ai la tête en vrac y a tellement de chose à voir et une semaine c'est très court....

donc si j'imagine mes super vacances j'aimerais:

Visiter un petit marché typique Un producteur d'huile essentielle de lavande vraie (bio c'est encore mieux) Manger manger et manger😉 Visiter une fabrique de savon artisanale Une exploitation d'huile d'olive... Faire 2-3 petites promenades sympa avec mon grand de 4ans et ma miss de 1,5 an(on est pas tant château ou musée...)

La dernière de juillet nous sommes 1 semaine dans un camping au Grau du Roi. Nous avons loué un bungalow avec des amis ensuite eux descendent en Espagne et nous nous avons 1 semaine devant nous pour visiter la région en remontant en Suisse...

Nous n'avons encore rien réservé(à part les bungalows)...donc j'attends avec impatience de voir si vous avez des idées d'itinéraires, de lieu à voir...de chose à faire bref je prend TOUUUUUUUUT😎😎 autour du Grau du roi aussi...

un grand merci par avance!!!!!

Bonjour à tous,

Je migre sur Marseille à partir de février 2011 pour y réaliser une formation de 9 mois.

En attendant de trouver un appartement, je cherche des plans "hôtel pas cher" (budget max 20e) ou une location provisoire.

Je connais un petit peu cette ville pour y avoir séjourné quelques jours mais n'y ai pas de connaissance, alors si des marseillais(es) sont dispo pour me compter l'histoire de leur ville et/ou me la faire découvrir, je suis preneuse !

En bref, je n'ai pas envie d'être juste "de passage"...

Merci à tous,

Nej

Bonjour,

l'été arrive (a petits pas je sais ) et nous sommes à la recherche d'un endroit sympa où séjourner cet été. Nous sommes allé 2 années de suite à Ste-MAxime, parce qu'on a eu un vrai coup de coeur pour la région, les petites ruelles piétonnes de la ville et la proximité des autres villes autour....

Cet été nous aimerions changer de destination, tout en restant à la méditerrannée.

Avez-vous des villes qui vous ont plues ? Que vous pouvez recommander ?? A ceux qui connaissent Ste-MAxime, quelle autre ville peut y ressembler ??

Merci d'avance pour toutes les infos que vous pourez me donner !!

++ 😉 Meg

Bonjour à tous,

N'ayant rien trouvé d'adapté sur le forum ni sur le net, je vous pose directement la question !

Je commence à envisager un séjour pour deux dans les Alpes pour août/septembre 2011. Je suis donc à la recherche d'une destination où l'on puisse faire des randonnées mais qui propose aussi d'autres types de loisirs sur place (je pensais donc à une station mais sans le ski, bien sûr...). L'idéal serait aussi une destination qui permette des visites sur place. Je pensais donc aux alpes du sud (car proches de grandes villes comme Gap ou Turin) ou aux Alpes du Nord (proche de la Suisse).

Quelles sont vos expériences sur le sujet, qui pourrait m'aider à concrétiser mon projet ? Y a t-il vraiment l'occasion de passer de bons moments lorsque l'on a pas envie de passer l'intégralité des vacances en randonnée ?

Merci d'avance !!

Bonjour,

Quelqu'un aurait-il une idée de rando ou trek entre 5 et 10 jours à faire en mars, dans une région sympa en Europe et de préférence au sec ? :=) Car il me reste un bon 22 jours de congés que je vais devoir solder avant la fin mars 2011 et j'aimerais donc en profiter pour partir me dégourdir les jambes au grand air, histoire de bien déconnecter.

Les lieux de rando dont j'ai connaissance et que j'aimerais découvrir sont soit au Nord (Ecosse avec le WHW, Norvège les iles Lofoten) ou soit en région montagneuse comme les Dolomites, donc hyper humide à cette époque de l'année voir impraticable ou dangereux sans guide accompagnateur. Je précise que j'aimerais me passer d'un agence car j'ai l'habitude de chapeauter mon affaire seul ou avec des amis, à partir de bouquin commandés sur internet.

Toute idée est la bienvenue : =)

Floretto

Bonjour, je voudrais savoir si c'est possible de faire Grenoble-Nice à vélo en 1 journée? Sinon es-ce long? Es-ce difficile pour des touristes?

merci beaucoup 🙂

Bonjour à tous, Actuellement a aix en provence je suis à la recherche d'une idée de rando sur deux jours dans les alpes du sud. Je suis prêt à faire environ 2h de voiture à partir d'aix en provence. En me baladant sur le forum j'ai trouvé pas mal de posts sur le queyras, mais je suis ouvert à toute autre possibilité, un itinéraire en boucle de préférence, sachant que nous sommes relativement sportifs et que nous voulons bivouaquer. Merci d'avance pour vos conseils.

Bonjour, je prépare un voyage de 2 mois en Europe de l'Ouest l'été prochain (juin-juillet). Je voyagerai le plus souvent en train et quelque fois en avion lorsque les distances entre les villes sont grandes (ex: Lyon-Berlin, Berlin-Amsterdam...). J'aimerais avoir votre avis et vos commentaires sur mon itinéraire provisoire:

Bordeaux 3 jours (incluant une visite dans un vignoble près de St-Émilion) Carcassonne 2 jours Barcelone 5 jours (incluant une journée de plage près de Barcelone???) Madrid 5 jours (incluant une visite à Toledo) French Riviera -Nice, Antibes et Cannes 4 jours -Monaco et Menton 2 jours -Marseille et Aix en Provence 4 jours -Arles, Nîmes et Avignon 3 jours Lyon 3 jours Berlin 5 jours Amsterdam 4 jours Bruxelles et Bruges 3 jours Londres 1 semaine (incluant une visite à Bath) Édimbourg 4 jours Paris 4 jours

J'aimerais également savoir si le mois de juin en Espagne et dans le sud de la France n'est pas trop achalandé, et pas trop étouffant côté température?

Merci de prendre le temps de me répondre!!!

Matteo