Results for "Trois-Rivières+|+38+>+101"

Je souhaiterais organiser un voyage de 2 ou 3 semaines en islande et j'aimerais donc savoir quel budget prevoir.Est ce qu'il y a des vols charters et a quel prix?Est il vrai que le vie est presque 2 fois plus chere qu'en france?Quels sont les meilleurs periodes pour s'y rendre?

merci de me faire profiter de vos experiences

Salut amie voyageur(se) !!! Cette été j'envisage de relier Strasbourg à St Pertersbourg (Russie) en vélo avec un copain. J'ai déjà un peu voyagé, surtout dans les pays anglosaxons cependant j'aimerai bénéficier de quelques conseils qui pourraient m'orienter dans mon périple... Je suis actuellement dans la phase achat du matériel, demande de visa et tracé global du voyage, donc si vous avez une expérience dans ces domaines à vélo ou sur les pays tels que Allemagne, Littuanie, Lettonie, Pologne et bien sûr Russie n'hésitez pas à m'envoyez un mail!

Merci 😉

😮Nous essayons de préparer un voyage au Mexique avec nos 2 enfants âgés de 4 et 8 ans. le Yucatan serait idéal pour la mer des caraïbes mais le tourisme +++ nous effraie. Nous aimons découvrir le vrai quotidien des autochtones et détestons rester dans de grands hôtels luxueux coincés dans des animations touristiques. Alors, ceux ou celles qui peuvent nous conseiller sur un bon itinéraire découverte et sûr avec des enfants ?

Merci d'avance pour les infos.

Info: nous avons fait le Guatemala avec notre fille de 3 ans en 1998, aventure riche et inoubliable...si cela vous intéresse !!

This trip had been on my mind for about fifteen years.

But the discomfort of overnight stays, the difficulty of communication, and the prices of the few car rental options kept making me postpone the project.

And then, everything suddenly fell into place—I told myself, it’s time!

The preparations took longer than usual; the destination is still far from mainstream.

A bit of Kazakhstan? Not in the end.

The south or not the south? Yes, in the end.

Pre-book or go with the flow? Only two stops were a leap into the unknown.

To help me find the ideal route, I made great use of this forum (thanks to everyone for patiently answering my questions!), pored over travel journals and blogs (Christian, Jeff), zoomed in on Google Maps and Yandex, and bought the guide published by OunTravela about this destination (the guide has been updated since).

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You’ve got your passport, international driver’s license, bank cards, and euros?

Off we go to Lyon—just one night left before our early morning flight.

Tomorrow night, we’ll be sleeping in Bishkek! (Steak for my partner’s mischievous nephews...)



You’ll find here a post with some practical information.

And here, the version of the travel journal without comments.

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As a supplement, the route track. Not necessarily ultra-accurate since Google has serious gaps for this destination...

From Bishkek to Karakol:



From Karakol to Kochkor:



From Kochkor to Baetov:



From Baetov to Kara-Köl:



From Kara-Köl to Bishkek:

April 11 – Day 1

It was winter, a winter with beautiful weather, A season that only exists in the southwest of America, I remember very well what I told you that morning A month ago... A century ago, an eternity ago... We’ll go... wherever you want, whenever you want...

Well, yeah, back from our adventure in our enchanting American West just a month ago, we’re already taking a bite out of one of its lesser-known competitors. "Flo, if you had to pick just one reason to justify your love for the U.S., what would it be?" The greasy, dripping burgers? No, I don’t think I’m going out on a limb by saying it’d be the wide-open spaces... And that’s exactly what our new quest is taking us to—a land on the other side of the globe where the horizon also seems endless, where silence tastes like salty wind and sand, where freedom is measured in kilometers of desert tracks, where the GPS is mostly there to confirm you’re lost in the middle of nowhere... Add to that magic formula the fact that you’ll see more zebras, giraffes, wildebeest, and elephants than people per square kilometer, and you can imagine us setting foot in Southern Africa for the first time, more precisely at the small airport in Windhoek, capital of... of...? Brush up on your geography, damn it! We’re landing in Namibia!!!



To be honest, Namibian landscapes have been flirting with me for ages. So how did I resist this island of temptation for so long? First, the budget. Let’s just say that for the same amount of effort (and kidneys), the bank lets you choose two other adventures almost anywhere else on the planet. Then there were my girls. Yeah, back then, they were too little to dose up on Malarone, the only malaria remedy at the time... Long story short, ten years later, all the planets have aligned. First, I won the Euromillions! Well, almost... Let’s just say my girls are now old enough... not to take Malarone, but to stop following me on all my adventures! Jackpot! "Flo, how about a little two-person caprice, just the two of us, tackling the Namibian tracks?"



As we landed on the runway, first wow effect: The horizon is immense. It’s flat as can be, incredibly flat... So much flat space! Did I mention it was flat?... Looking into the distance, it feels like your gaze could circle the Earth without hitting a single obstacle—until you end up staring at your own backside. "Oh, what a nice view!" Well, it’s the first time I’ve seen my butt from this angle! Touching moment... Sorry, I’m rambling—must be the exhaustion from the three-flight marathon we just powered through via Ethiopia and South Africa... And yet, no time to philosophize about my anatomy. As usual, we want to rack up our first kilometers to be front and center at dawn tomorrow. After wrapping up the tedious Namibian immigration formalities and meeting the 4x4 that’ll be our companion day and night for the next fifteen days, we’re off! We’re not exactly fresh, but we’re ready to tackle the next five hundred kilometers in night mode, cruise control set due south! Just outside Windhoek, the local wildlife—a jackal—welcomes us with a smile: "Welcome to Namibia!" That’s what it said! Honest... Okay, first endless straight road, first flaming sunset, first corrugated dirt track, first Milky Way with zero light pollution... You get it—it’s definitely the day of firsts... First night camping, too, in the big trunk of our Toyota Fortuner parked by the side of the track... The real adventure, the kind that smells under the arms, can finally begin...

Hi everyone,

I’m sharing a little recap of this new 4-week trip to China—nothing fancy, just my experience.

We’re taking advantage of the extended visa exemption to return to China for the 4th time. I loved last summer’s trip so much that I’m a bit worried about being disappointed this year. Plus, I’ve had a few hiccups before this departure: my WeChat account got blocked, and I couldn’t recover it (luckily, Alipay still works fine); I couldn’t verify my 12306 account for weeks; Trip.com failed to book our second train; and I’ve got an injury that’ll slow me down during the trip... Ugh, I hate starting a trip with these kinds of issues. Then, oh surprise! Just before leaving, my 12306 account got verified! Super easy to use from that point on—I could book a few train tickets without fees.

We’re sticking with Free’s e-SIMs, which work great in China.

August 2–3

Anyway, on the morning of August 2nd, we took the RER to CDG. As usual, we couldn’t check in online. It’s always a bit frustrating, especially since we didn’t have any checked luggage. We flew with Air China. We arrived at the check-in counter at 9:50 AM, 2 hours and 40 minutes before the flight. The line for our check-in stretched 300 meters across the airport in both directions. What a joke!! We spent 1 hour and 45 minutes in that line just to reach the counter and get our boarding passes. By then, it was 11:35 AM, and boarding had already started at 11:20 AM. The screens showed a 25-minute walk to our gate—on the other side of the airport, of course—plus we had to go through passport control and security... Long story short, the plane didn’t leave without us 🙂 We boarded among the last passengers, and we took off at 12:30 PM. We’d flown Air China four times before, but this time, it felt *really* low-cost. The check-in chaos, the cramped seats (12 seats per row), no music by artists known outside China, mediocre food, and a boarding area at Beijing Airport with only 10 seats—worthy of Ryanair or EasyJet. And yet, the price was sky-high. Again, D.’s vacation requests were denied outside of July and August, so we’re traveling from August 2nd to 30th. We couldn’t have picked a worse time for inflated prices, and with the situation in Iran, we got hit with a 390 € fuel surcharge. I’ve never paid so much for flights—I felt like I’d bought business class, but nope, far from it!!

We landed in Beijing around 4:15 AM. It was 28°C with thick fog. We drove and drove and drove for 20 minutes, as usual in Beijing. Then we went through a first check, a second check, a third check, and waited for our connecting flight at 6:40 AM. A small Airbus A320, but way more space than in the Boeing 777 from the first flight. We landed in Kunming, Yunnan, around 10:15 AM in the rain.

We headed to the subway. You can’t pay at the machines with Alipay here either, so we set up the transport QR code directly in Alipay to scan at the subway gates. The process is a bit long the first time if you haven’t entered your info before, but once it’s done, it’s *so* much easier! We took Line 6 to the terminus for 6 yuan each.

We’d booked a hotel nearby, on the 16th floor. It’s actually studios on different floors of a huge residential building. The view’s pretty nice from here. We settled in quickly—back to those wooden beds, or rather, mattresses as hard as wood, which we *hadn’t* missed... Then we went out for our first bowl of noodles of the trip and wandered through the shopping streets of the old town.



It was crowded, and the weather was cool—around 19–20°C. We tried a local specialty: milk skin, thick, dried, then grilled with rose jam. Yeah... we won’t be having that again. The taste and texture of the milk skin... no thanks.



We saw a lot of wild mushroom hotpot too. It’s on our list for later. We also passed through the Jinma and Biji gates, where I played with reflections in puddles. I *love* doing that 🙂



At the end of the day, we headed to a temple advertised as open 24/7 on Amap. Of course, when we got there, it was closed. We’ll go back tomorrow. That was the first of many disappointments with Amap this trip—I hadn’t had that issue on previous visits.

We were exhausted after that sleepless flight. Night was falling, and we decided to grab a quick bite without much appetite. We shared a delicious vegetable fried rice for 12 yuan—we even left half of it. The portions are *huge*.

After a couple of small purchases, we headed back at 9 PM, wiped out, after walking 17 km between the airports and these first steps in Kunming. I expected to see quite a few Western travelers here, but we didn’t spot a single one. Instead, we met lots of curious Chinese people, many of them super friendly and helpful—almost *too* eager, like when they’d run to serve us as fast as possible. It’s a bit much, but it’s great to be back!

Hi there,

Last February, I made a trip using "public transport" from France to southern Senegal via Spain, Morocco, Western Sahara, and Mauritania.

It’s a journey of about 5,000 km, where I took trains (as far as Marrakech), ferries (to cross Gibraltar and then to reach Casamance from Dakar), and mostly buses on the long desert straightaways. I hadn’t planned any stops in advance or booked any hotels, except for the very first train to Spain, which left plenty of room for the unexpected. Why travel by land and sea? In recent years, flight-free travel has been gaining popularity. On social media, posts explaining how to cross Europe by train as quickly as possible go viral. Traveling without flying—and making sure people know about it—has become a great way to earn a badge of eco-responsibility: an essential totem for anyone wanting to prove both their dedication to the ecological cause and the wisdom of slow travel. I haven’t flown in years, and this journey to West Africa could easily be filed under "responsible travel." But it wouldn’t be honest to say that: in reality, it wasn’t really my aversion to flying that motivated this long trek. I see overland travel primarily as a way to experience the world’s geography at a grounded, earthly pace—the pace of the locals. Besides, I’ll be flying back, which disqualifies any claim to being a model of sustainability. So no eco-badge, and no adventurer’s badge either: you won’t find any heroic tales of camel rides in lost lands or mineral train wagons in this account (popular with influencers, the Mauritania iron ore train now attracts tourists from all over the world, turning "the experience" into something you "have to do at least once in your life"). This five-part story, written on the road, has no other ambition than to recount a journey through places and people, and to share the thoughts they inspire in me. As simply and, I hope, as humbly as possible.

I’m posting the episodes here, which you can also find on my blog (with more photos) at the following links:

Episode 1: Spain, from Avignon to Algeciras

Episode 2: Morocco, from Tangier to Tarfaya

Episode 3: Western Sahara, from Tarfaya to Guerguerat

Episode 4: Mauritania, from Guerguerat to Nouakchott

Episode 5: Senegal, from Rosso to Saloulou

To help those who might want to make the same trip, I’ve also put together a summary of the route with recommendations—you can read it at the end of the story and on the blog: From France to Senegal Without Flying: Route and Itinerary Recommendations

Happy reading, and safe travels!

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?*

Now that the curtain has fallen on the past year, it’s time to see what’s happening around here. It seems pretty quiet, but I’ll read more in detail later.

First, I need to tell you all an anecdote.

My eldest little girl, in her third year of law school, was really scared she wouldn’t pass the year. I told her: “Trust yourself, you’ve worked so hard, and worst case, if you fail, you’ll just redo the year.” “But I don’t think I’ll make it—they changed the rules, and if I mess up even one unit, I have to start all over.” I knew her grades weren’t exactly stellar, and with what I was about to say, I wasn’t taking much of a risk. “Here’s the deal, sweetheart: if you pass, I promise I’ll take you to India, just the two of us.” I have to admit, India is a country I’ve talked about so much to all my grandchildren that in their minds, it’s become a magical, mythical place (hmm).

July had barely begun when my phone rang, her name flashing on the screen. “Mamido, I did it!” My promise came rushing back—oh no, oh no, oh no! “Congratulations, sweetheart!” A little shyly, she said: “Is the India trip still on?”

And me, replying: “Of course it is!”

And that’s that—a promise is a promise, or you risk losing that precious trust that keeps hearts warm and at peace.

We’re leaving in February. Only 8 days—yikes, the carbon footprint! But we can’t miss her tutorials, or she’ll be kicked out. Personally, that works just fine for me.

Going to India has become a challenge for me. It’s far, it’s exhausting, I sweat, I hate mosquitoes, the spices bother my mouth when I used to love them. There’s noise all the time—at night, the dogs bark nonstop, and we almost get run over. I’ll get lost in the streets because my sense of direction has vanished. I don’t like rice anymore. All that chaos and those cultural differences that once enchanted me now just overwhelm me. But I promised.

The upside—and it’s a big one—Raman, the same driver I’ve had forever, will be at the airport with a sign with our names. We’ll stop at the same little shop for chai (or tea, plain and simple) with that aroma that intoxicates me, halfway through the trip.

It’ll be a tiny trip—staying with friends, I’ll show her a few places I love: Chidambaram, Mamallapuram, and the clinic where I worked. Then we’ll head back. My little girl will go home to her parents.

As for me, I’ll leave right away for our Scottish island with Homme for our chilly winter.

How can you love a country so much you want to live there, then suddenly reject it, no longer able to appreciate what once made it special? That’s the mystery of love, I guess.

Ah, Iceland and us—it’s quite the story, or rather, a long wait... The first time we considered going was already 7-8 years ago, after reading travel journals describing breathtaking landscapes, countless active and dormant volcanoes, glaciers, and waterfalls with extraordinary flows. In short, this island, made of fire and ice, right at Europe’s doorstep with its own unique culture, had nothing but advantages, and it was urgent to visit without delay 😇

My *Routard* guidebook is actually from 2016. So why did Iceland make us wait so long before we finally gave in to its charms? Yes, why indeed?

Simply because reading other travel journals revealed the cost of living there—and especially the harsh climate, even in the middle of July 🤪! Some journals described entire weeks of rain and foggy weather, making it tricky to explore the island. The budget wasn’t spared either, because in the most touristy areas, especially in the south and around Myvatn, accommodation prices are downright indecent—even outright robbery. 😕

Plus, in the Highlands, there’s literally no permanent lodging, and the only way to spend several nights there is to camp. And camping in winter conditions wasn’t exactly part of our plans... 😄

So, year after year, this trip kept getting postponed...

until August 2023, when prices for Southern Africa, North or South America, or even Asia were all way too high for summer 2024!

That’s when I turned my attention back to the Land of Fire and Ice and scoured all the comparison sites for the best accommodation deals across the country. Planning for 20 nights, I found 13 nights in "proper" lodging for 5 people at an average cost of under 200 €! A miracle, considering that in the southern glacier region, around Vik or Myvatn, prices range from 300 to 1000 € per night 😮 😮!

Still, that means we’ll have to camp for 7 nights, mostly in the Highlands, near Askja or Landmannalaugar. 😎

For once, I built the daily itinerary entirely around the decently priced lodgings I found 11 months in advance! The shortage of places to stay in some areas forced me to plan a few long transition days and make some tough choices. No big deal, though—there’s so much to do on this island 🙂!

Once the main itinerary was set, everyone agreed to the plan: 2/3 in proper lodging and 1/3 camping, even the most camping-averse among us! *Follow my gaze...*

By the time we bought the flight tickets, I had to tweak the itinerary a bit because one or two places were already booked! Plus, it was impossible to wait for a more refined plan to adjust reservations, since almost all bookings are non-refundable!! The harsh law of supply and demand...

For the car rental, we booked a Hyundai Tucson, approved for the Highlands, from Lava Car Rental—a company I’d read good reviews about in a Facebook group—for a cool 2500 € with full insurance. A real 4x4, like a Defender, would’ve been more than double...! Welcome to Iceland 😕...

Activities and excursions also required some tough choices. We had two must-dos: whale watching in Húsavík (60 € pp on Getyourguide) and a Glacier and Summer Treasure Glacier Walk with BlueIceland (165 € pp with discount codes on Getyourguide).

For the baths, we skipped the Blue Lagoon—too expensive—in favor of the Secret Lagoon and the Myvatn Baths, the Blue Lagoon’s equivalent but half the price.

Two baths for the price of one... and even more, since I spotted several free hot-water swimming spots.

Itinerary: Day 1: Arrival in Reykjavik - Hraunfossar Waterfall - Surtshellir Cave Day 2: Grábrók Crater - Snæfellsnes Peninsula Day 3: Stykkishólmur - Sturlungalaug Hot Springs Day 4: Northwest Coast - Akureyri - Goðafoss Day 5: Myvatn Day 6: Myvatn - Dettifoss - Selfoss - Rauðhólar Day 7: Húsavík Whale Watching - Dettifoss - Selfoss Day 8: Stuðlagil Canyon - Seyðisfjörður Day 9: Puffin colony - Störurð Hike Day 10: Hengifoss - East Fjords, Mjóifjörður Day 11: Viking Village - Jökulsárlón - Fjallsárlón Day 12: Glacier Excursion - Svartifoss Day 13: Fjaðrárgljúfur Canyon - Vík Day 14: Þakgil - Lava Show Vík Day 15: Southern Waterfalls Day Day 16: Landmannalaugar - Skalli Hike Day 17: Landmannalaugar - Bláhnjúkur - Brennisteinsalda Day 18: Secret Lagoon, Kerlingarfjöll, and Gullfoss Day 19: Geysir - Reykjavik Day 20: Bruarfoss - Þingvellir - Kerid Crater - Krýsuvík Geothermal Area Day 21: Reykjanes Peninsula

Friday, July 5, 2024, is our last workday before driving up to Alsace overnight to leave the cockers at Grandpa’s for boarding. Then, at 1:30 AM, we’ll head to Frankfurt, where a direct flight to Iceland awaits.

We arrive at 4 AM. Since we leave at 7 AM, the "night" will only last the equivalent of a 30-minute nap 🤪... just enough to get us in the road-trip mood 😏!!

Kattegat isn’t just the name of the village in the TV series *Vikings*—it’s also the stretch of water separating Denmark from Sweden... the sea, basically! And further north, you’ve got Norway and its fjords! Originally, I’d planned to just do a loop around Kattegat, with the *Under* restaurant in Lindesnes as our anniversary treat... but along the way, we thought, why not "push" a little further north, keeping an eye on the budget since we’d chosen to travel by car in June 2025 through Scandinavia.

Why by car when most travelers opt for a camper van, while others prefer the comfort of cruises? Well, because we don’t own a camper van, renting one is pricey, and then you’ve got to add fuel costs (those things guzzle gas!), ferry fees, and other "tolls." All things considered, we went for mostly rentals—especially since there were four of us at the start of the trip. We spent the first week in Denmark with our daughter and son-in-law. Then they flew back to Belgium, and we continued our adventure as a couple. For accommodation, we mainly booked Airbnb apartments, which helped keep costs down and, most importantly, let us prepare our own meals (diet, diet!). In this travel journal, you’ll discover (or rediscover, for those who followed my older ones) our unbridled love for theme parks, museums, unique experiences, and—especially in Denmark—Legos! Unfortunately, we didn’t do any hikes this year because the unpredictable weather had made the trails slippery, and since I’d already taken three tumbles during the trip, I didn’t want to risk another! In the end, we traveled for 32 days, covered 6,200 km, and most importantly, discovered the charming country of Denmark, marveled at Norway’s breathtaking fjords—all without suffering the heatwave that hit France and Belgium that June! If you’ve got any questions, don’t hesitate to ask!

After visiting Newfoundland Island, we took the ferry to Blanc-Sablon, a municipality located on the Lower North Shore in Quebec, Canada.

Instead of heading back to Quebec via Sydney in Nova Scotia, we decided to explore the Lower North Shore—the least-known region of Quebec—as well as Labrador, which is part of the province of Newfoundland and Labrador.

From Blanc-Sablon, we drove to the municipality of Vieux-Fort via Route 138. This road ends in that municipality.

Afterward, we crossed Labrador to return to the Old Capital. Only one road allows this route. It wasn’t fully paved during our trip, but it is now.

We made stops in different areas to go on hikes that let us discover some incredible landscapes.

I hope this travel journal inspires you to venture into these stunning regions.

Videos are embedded throughout the summary. Click on the image to start the video.

Lower North Shore:

Lower North Shore - Blanc-Sablon - Brador Falls Lookout Lower North Shore - Blanc-Sablon - Astragalus Trail (Milk-Vetch Trail) Lower North Shore - Bonne-Espérance - Granny Hill Trail

Labrador:

Red Bay - Tracey Hill Trail Mary's Harbour - White Water Falls Trail Mary's Harbour - Gin Cove Hiking Trail Mary's Harbour - Dr. Moret Hiking Trail Happy Valley-Goose Bay - Birch Island Walk North West River - Sunday Hill Lookout Trail Churchill Falls - Bowdoin Canyon Nature Trail Labrador City - Tanya Lake Loop Trail Labrador City - Crystal Falls Hiking Trail

North Shore

North Shore - Manic 2, 3, 5 Hydroelectric Plants and Daniel-Johnson Dam Baie-Comeau - Pioneers Park Tadoussac Village

**********

More landscapes of the Lower North Shore, Labrador, and the North Shore

Hello everyone,

I’m starting a travel journal about the amazing round trip I took in August 2022 with a big circuit through the US West.

Here’s what I posted on another travel forum back when VoyageForum hadn’t yet regained its freedom. 😉

Hello!

We got back yesterday in the middle of the afternoon, and here’s a quick first take on the 2022 round trip.

Has America changed? You could say that, yeah. For better? For worse? Who knows. A massive circuit—nearly 8,000 kilometers, actually around 5,000–6,000 miles.

Round-trip flights went smoothly, except for Air France on the way back, which let a rather large dog in the cabin with an owner who let it roam around the plane. Cool, Air France... Outrageous!

The rough itinerary: Salt Lake City. Jackson Hole–Grand Teton. Yellowstone. Cody. Rock Springs. Moab–Arches–Canyonlands. Monument Valley. Grand Canyon. Bryce Canyon. Zion Park. Las Vegas. Death Valley. Mammoth Lakes. Tioga Road. Mariposa. Yosemite Valley. San Francisco.

Tourists on site—a sociological study:

Italians: Always nice but just as loud as ever! Hispanics: Same as the Italians, just a different language. Germans: *Ein, zwei, ach mein Gott!* Order and discipline! Americans: Still no manners whatsoever. Pathetic. I’m only talking about the tourists, not the locals who work there. Quebecers: Pure joy! English-speaking Canadians: Same as the Americans. Asians: For the Japanese, it’s perfect. But the others from the Middle Kingdom... Let’s not start a war over this. There’s already Ukraine going on. And yet... Israelis: Still no manners. The Kibbutz kids are the bane of this country. French: Some excellent, some very good, some good, and some... not much.

Note that tourists in the northern part of the trip were much better behaved than those in the south. "Hello," "Goodbye," offering a hand? Etc. Few Asians in Grand Teton and Yellowstone. Lots of locals. The same goes for hotel staff in the northern part—more attentive. Really cool!

On the other hand, we were pretty surprised not to encounter any African-American locals in Montana, Wyoming, Utah, or even Arizona—whether tourists or employees. It’s quite striking, to be honest.

The Hotels:

Holiday Inn - 206 South West Temple, Salt Lake City, UT 84101, United States. A modern but soulless hotel. Basically, a place to pass through. Minimal breakfast.

Miller Park Lodge - 155 North Jackson Street - Jackson Hole, Wyoming. Not a hotel but a luxury motel. 750 € for two nights!! No breakfast. Huge room where you could hold a tea dance!! Well-located. No staff. Only room of the month-long stay that was fully redone during those two days.

Best Western Weston Inn. 103 Gibbon Avenue, West Yellowstone, MT 59758 Well-located, not far from the park entrance. Minimal breakfast. Friendly staff. Room refreshed every two days.

Best Western Sunset Inn. 1601 8th St, Cody, 82414-4134 Very good. Quiet. Good breakfast. Friendly staff.

Baymont by Wyndham 2717 Dewar Drive, Rock Springs, WY 82901 Very good. Quiet. Good breakfast. Friendly staff. Too many pets that should be "not allowed." Hello, hygiene!

Wingate by Wyndham Moab. 126 South Highway 191, Moab, 84532 End of the "family" hotels. Start of the tourist hotels. Too many pets that should be "not allowed." Hello, hygiene! Minimal breakfast.

Hampton Inn Kayenta. US Highway 160, Kayenta, AZ 86033, United States A stopover hotel run by the Navajos. Friendly staff wearing masks. Lots of people. Too many pets that should be "not allowed." Hello, hygiene! Minimal breakfast.

La Quinta by Wyndham Williams. 1100 Cataract Lake Rd, Williams, AZ 86046, United States Finally, Route 66 for 500 meters! The staff is there. Nothing more. Too many pets that should be "not allowed." Hello, hygiene! Minimal breakfast.

BEST WESTERN PLUS Ruby's Inn. 26 South Main Street, Bryce Canyon City, UT 84764, United States A factory!!! Great Hispanic or Romanian staff! A liquor store in the hotel! Awesome! Very good breakfast, but go early because the crowd—and the jerks—are there! Too many pets that should be "not allowed." Hello, hygiene!

BEST WESTERN Casino Royale - 3411 Las Vegas Boulevard South, Strip, Las Vegas Good hotel at a reasonable price. No breakfast, but Denny’s is next door. Quiet hotel despite the casino. Friendly staff. No memory of seeing any pets!

Shilo Inn Mammoth Lake. 2963 Main Street, Mammoth Lake Disastrous! Ineffective security system. Fire doors propped open with wooden wedges. Tiny breakfast room. No staff in the room. Tables not cleaned. Minimal breakfast. Gross pool. Rooms need work. No, the whole hotel needs to be redone. They say they’re renovating. They’d be better off tearing it down. Too many pets that should be "not allowed." Hello, hygiene! Very bad memory. Apparently, there’s supposed to be staff in this hotel.

Quality Inn Yosemite Valley Gateway. 4994 Bullion Street, Mariposa, CA 95338 Hotel or motel? Booking should clean up its listings! No room refresh! Minimal breakfast. The staff is there. Nothing more.

Comfort Inn by the Bay. 775 Van Ness Avenue, Marina District, San Francisco No room refresh in four days! Minimal breakfast. Friendly and helpful staff. Well-located. Depends on what for, but well-located.

And then there are those who steal apples from the breakfast to put in their bags in the morning, those who fill up their famous US water bottles with orange juice from the breakfast pump, those who don’t clear their tables—I could go on. And also, those who don’t say hello or respond to a greeting!

Met some super nice French people (in the northern parks)! They’ll recognize themselves!

And the magic phrase that opens doors with Americans: "Do you speak French? OK, good!" Laughter guaranteed!

Don’t try that with Asians who run souvenir shops in big cities—they have no sense of humor unless it’s about the color of the green bill.

The park rangers are always available! Great!

And 5,000 photos to sort and organize, plus a few hours of dashcam videos!

See you soon.

Until the next update...

Another fresh travel journal!

The context: For my 60th birthday, I had planned to take my family (kids + partners) for a week in Gran Canaria, at an all-inclusive hotel, but with the firm intention of exploring and hiking. The deal was to meet up at least in the evenings to spend time together, if my pace didn’t suit them. Personally, I’m not into beaches and lazing around, but my daughter-in-law is pretty cool. We were going to be together, do what we liked, and all would be well. Unfortunately, five days before departure, my mother-in-law passed away, and of course, we had to cancel everything. I was able to get a refund for a lot of things, including the hotel despite missing the free cancellation deadline (really cool of them), and I got a one-year credit for the full price of the flight tickets. So, we tried to plan the same thing for my kids, but with their schedules, we couldn’t find a date. I had to find a destination served by Iberia, far enough to use up my credit. We don’t know the Caribbean, we needed sun and a bit of rest, so the Dominican Republic won out. But no way were we going to mess up by staying in an all-inclusive hotel and only visiting the island’s paradise beaches… (we’ll get back to that). So, as usual, I put together a little road trip with a rental car.

Here we go!!!!

Day 1: Crossing the Atlantic Super early departure for Lyon-Saint Exupéry Airport. A 3-hour layover in Madrid (my wife’s had enough of flight delays, so I played it safe). Flight to Santo Domingo without any issues. The luggage arrived, the driver I’d booked was there, everything went smoothly. We got to our hotel in the Zona Colonial around 4 PM. Bad luck—it’s on a cute little square where there was supposed to be neighborhood activity in the evening. It’s completely under construction! Too bad! We decided to head to the Malecón, a sort of local Promenade des Anglais, except there are no English people. It’s nice, safe, spacious, and by the ocean. We walked for a while, and as happy hour rolled around, I started my training as an intern in rum-based cocktails. A mojito, classic, but it’s amazing to be sipping the drink in the warmth, right by the big blue. On the way back to the hotel, we grabbed some bananas, ate them in the room, and then bedtime.

The plus: We actually left! The minus: There isn’t one

A somewhat lengthy title... I could have simply written: from Bangkok to Chiang Rai, via Chiang Mai, since that was my route. But when poets embellish our travel journals with their verbal flourishes, you’ve got to try not to be too ordinary.

Skyscrapers of excess? You’ll have gathered that from the photo illustrating this journal—though it might change as the trip goes on.

The excess of markets—not so much in their size, though... Chatuchak... But in their sheer number. Day markets, night markets, floating markets, fresh produce markets, fish markets, meat markets, spice markets, fabric markets... and even... amulet markets... For luck, good fortune, protection. Not to mention, sadly, the market for girls—and boys, incidentally. I’ve even heard they’re displayed in windows. I’ve heard about that one, like you have, but I didn’t set foot in it, so I can’t say anything about it. Some even claim there’s a black-market trade in children. Disgusting! It reminded me of the book *The Parcel* by Anosh Irani, which I recommended in another journal. The story is set in India, but I’ve been told it exists in Thailand too. So, the "famous Thai markets" we’re bombarded with in paper and online guides—sure, they amazed me in the first few days, and I don’t regret visiting them. But no matter how big they were, I quickly got my fill since you saw the same things at every stall...

I had a market overdose.

Excess of tourism? I should say *tourists*, since I saw them literally swarming in the streets and those famous markets. I’d forgotten about them. I’d lost the habit, living in an Indian city for so long...

Waterfalls are a bit like markets. At this time of year, they’re not particularly spectacular, but they’re everywhere. There are the ones everyone goes to see. For example, Erawan, which I decided to skip even though it was in my original itinerary—I guessed it’d be a nightmare with the selfie circus. On the other hand, you come across them all over the place, hidden in the mountains and forests, not listed in any guide. Not to mention the ones you can find in temples or even private homes... Yes, really! Thais love waterfalls, so they install them in their gardens—and I even saw one in the middle of the city, right on the street! Sometimes they’re tiny, but very photogenic.

But what do ice cubes have to do with this? Why the excess of ice cubes? Not only are they everywhere by the ton, but they put them in *everything* you drink. You’d think they’d even put them in soup! And it’s not just one or two ice cubes—no! They fill the container to the brim, whatever it is, then pour the liquid on top to fill the gaps. They’ll make you an excellent coffee right in front of you, piping hot, then—bam! An avalanche of ice cubes in the glass. Okay, I’m exaggerating a little. They *do* sometimes ask if you prefer your coffee—or tea—hot. Everything edible, and especially everything drinkable, is refrigerated: vegetables, fruit, hot drinks (I mean, drinks that are *usually* hot), but meat and fish are left out in the open. They just wave a little whisk to shoo away the flies when they get too eager. Mind you, I never put fruit, cheese, eggs, or water in the fridge in France, but I do in India. And I refrigerate meat and fish too... Though sometimes one of those little flies sneaks into the fridge...

You won’t find practical or technical details in this journal, like addresses or prices. Others do that better than me. You also won’t find the names of obscure or unknown places I discovered, or directions to get there.

I don’t really feel like recounting what I saw day by day, following my schedule and route. There might be flashbacks, projections into the future. It’ll depend on my memories, what I felt, what I hated, what comes back to me—and maybe your questions and our exchanges. And for those who’ve never read me before, you’ll have to get used to my parentheses and digressions, maybe on a completely different subject, as my thoughts wander. Stories within stories. There’ll also be long, endless sentences—but still punctuated, so you can follow along. Though I used to curse Proust and his sentences that started on one page and ended on the next, sometimes even further. I’d have to reread them twenty times to follow and understand what he was saying. I hated Proust. But hey, I was 20. Maybe I’d like him now?

See? The digressions are starting already. Forgive me.

You’ll find few photos here. First, the number is limited, and second, photos aren’t the main purpose of either VF or a travel journal. They’re too often used to mask the poverty of the text. And, sorry to say it, but so many of them are just plain ugly! If you really want to see photos, I’ll share some links where you can browse them at your leisure

Hello everyone,

I’m so happy to share my climb with you, and if it inspires you to take it on, then it’ll be a success. Sometimes I’ll use the local language because I think it’s essential to connect with the people we meet along the way.

This adventure took place last year, just before winter, right after summer, and smack in the middle of autumn. That really sets the time of year. After climbing Mont-Beuvray—a story I shared here ages ago—I decided to tackle a much more adventurous peak: the summit of Haut-Folin, which rises to 901 m, and that’s no small feat, let’s be honest. It’s located in the Bois du Roi massif. Up there, you often brush against the clouds, which seem to take a mischievous pleasure in wrapping around you.

I’m going fully self-sufficient—no porters, no guide, no cook. I’m just treating myself to a very short approach flight. The flight is early in the morning on a small plane, the *Spirit of St Bernadette*, and it’s perfect. I’ll enjoy watching it deliver mail in the mountains. The pilot will drop me off at the hamlet of *La Pierre en Eau*, near Anost, a small village at the foot of this forest-covered giant.

Physical condition I’m now really seasoned for such an expedition because I’ve trained every day by walking to the village grocery store—round trip, in all weather, that’s 2.1 km. The 451 m elevation gain won’t be a problem for me. .../...

This catchy and somewhat mysterious title comes from several questions I’ve been asking myself.

VF has been back open for a reasonable number of weeks and months now. The number of visitors overall matches past averages, but the number of members online in the last 24 hours seems relatively lower than what we used to see.

Yet, to my surprise, I’m seeing fewer travel journals, way fewer messages, and way fewer questions. I don’t see many new registered users online, and I notice a number of members who are logged in but either aren’t participating or have stopped participating.

Something’s not adding up for me because, in my opinion, VF is still appealing, and I don’t see which other sites could really compete.

Was there a real break between pre- and post-Covid? Does it just take more time for some people to discover the site or learn that it’s active again? Do people now prefer quick consumption on sites like FB or others I’m not familiar with? Where have the site’s old-timers gone, and what are they doing with their time now? What’s really going on here?

Fellow travelers,

Don’t they say "never two without three"? It seems so. Here I am again on the forum to share—and let’s be honest, indulge a bit of selfish pleasure—by recounting the story of this third installment in the Land of the Rising Sun.

Where? It’s all in the title. On the island of Kyushu in southern Japan, more precisely in the northwest between Fukuoka and Nagasaki. I hope to take you along with me for 19 nights and 18 full days this autumn of 2024. On the itinerary: gastronomy, crafts, festivals, waterfalls, encounters, and leisurely strolls in all simplicity.

A last-minute flight booked just 7 days before departure, and the route evolved regularly based on whims and accommodation availability, eventually settling on this:

- 5 nights in Fukuoka: Fukuoka city, Ukiha, Itoshima, Dazaifu, Yanagawa - 4 nights in Hasami, Nagasaki Prefecture: Okawachiyama, Arita, Takeo, Kashima, Yobuko, Karatsu, Kabeshima - 6 nights in Nagasaki: Ureshino, Higashi-Sonogi, Nagasaki city, Unzen, Sotome - 4 nights in Fukuoka: Karatsu, Fukuoka city

Most of the trip was done by car for practical reasons—easier access to certain places and freedom of movement—but also for the sheer joy of it. Despite slow traffic at times, driving in rural Japan is a delight.

If the program interests you, see you soon for the start of the journey.

SIEM REAP You can now rent scooters just about everywhere in Siem Reap, but at rip-off prices—$15–18 a day instead of $5–10 like everywhere else in Indochina. The best options are tuk-tuks or, even better, electric bikes ($12, but with a 50 km range, so they won’t let you go to Banteay Srei or the River of a Thousand Lingas in the Kulen Massif, which are too far). **WARNING:** Wear a helmet, or they *will* catch you. Scooters are banned from going from SR to the stunning temple of Koh Ker in the northeast and continuing to Battambang; no idea why!

My favorite little hotel in Siem Reap? The Neth Socheata, tucked in an alley off Thnou St near the market—lovely rooms, and the owner speaks great English. Then there’s the Ivy Guesthouse with its little garden, but it’s “always full,” according to the owner. For something upscale but still affordable, a fantastic spot is the Pavillon Indochine, tucked away on a quiet side street on the way to the airport—elegant, with incredible attention to decor, a terrace restaurant, garden, pool, etc. Everything you’d want for $70 including breakfast. I also spotted a hostel for backpackers, the Angkor Thom Hostel, with small 6-bed dorms for $4 with a fan or $6 with AC (18 Wat Bo St).

Food-wise, it’s all amazing! Pub Street has turned into a noise nightmare, with speakers blasting what’s supposed to be music but is just *boom, boom, boom, boom, boom*—run away, even though the pizzas at the Italian place Il Forno are really good. The famous and excellent Tigre de Papier has changed its name to Paper Tiger and is still just as good (lunch only, though, because across the street there’s a huge bar blasting *boom boom boom*, so you won’t be able to hear each other during dinner). On the other hand, the Italian-Cambodian El Toro on Pub Street is perfect, with fantastic pizzas and divine lasagna (go to the first-floor dining room—there’s a big bar across the street blasting *boom boom boom*, but at least you can still talk). Due to the lack of customers during COVID, all the French restaurants—Barrio (three times alas!), Les Deux Sœurs, Le Bel Air, and Le Mozart—have closed. The only one left is L’Olivier, which is pricey. I also discovered a great Moroccan restaurant (though run by a Sudanese man and his French wife), Le Tajine, on Strung Thmei St, 09 68 89 78 27. **WARNING:** For tagines and couscous, you need to order at least in the morning; wine and beer are fine. To get there, turn at the corner of the Cineplex behind the big market at the start of Sivatha Boulevard.

I finally went to the Khmer dance show. Beautiful dancers and dances, but **EAT BEFORE OR AFTER**—the meal is so awful that most Westerners leave it on their plates.

THE ANGKOR TEMPLES Use the excellent *Routard Cambodia* guide. Just a few tips: - Start with the pre-Angkorian Roluos group, 15 km before Siem Reap on the road to PP—it’s the “ancestor” of the temples.

- To avoid the big crowds at Angkor Wat, Bayon, and Ta Prohm, go between noon and 2 PM when everyone’s having lunch. - Speaking of lunch, the crowds flock to the hundred or so mediocre food stalls on the left side of Angkor Wat. Instead, head to Angkor Thom after the stunning Pre Rup temples, all the way to the small Sras Srang basin. Along the basin, there are several restaurants with terraces offering first-floor views of the water, and no crowds. Afterward, cross to the other side of the basin—you’ll end up in the countryside with charming villages where locals seem to live as they did during the temples’ golden age (at its peak, the population was estimated at 600,000–800,000, making it the largest city in the world. The theory for the abandonment is water shortages caused by overpopulation).

- I climbed Phnom Bakheng for the famous sunset, but the crowd was so ridiculous that instead of seeing the temple at sunset, you just see the heads and shoulders around you.

- There are tons of small temples that most people skip, and they’re missing out. My favorites: Thommanon, Neak Pean, Ta Som, and especially Pre Rup, an amazing brick complex with 14 towers.

**Big disappointment:** You can no longer climb to the first floor of Bayon, where you used to stand magically among the giant head statues. So, admire the beautiful bas-reliefs on the outside, but there’s no point going inside—you’ll just see a dark, square corridor with nothing interesting.

ANGKOR FURTHER AFIELD The wonderful Banteay Srei temple. A gem! I couldn’t find the bas-relief stolen by Malraux in the 1920s (fun fact: what he was doing in Indochina—stealing a bas-relief to sell for a fortune in France to cover his massive gambling debts on the stock market, where he ruined his very wealthy American wife—was an open secret. But the French authorities in Saigon, who hated him for his leftist views, decided to let him do it and catch him red-handed, which worked perfectly. He avoided jail only because all the leftist intellectuals in Saint-Germain, Sartre, Beauvoir, and co. cried scandal—though the real scandal was the looting).

30 km of excellent paved road further north, a great spot: the Kulen Massif and the River of a Thousand Lingas (at one point, you’ll come to a T-junction—turn left). Along the road at the foot of the massif, on your right, there’s a great restaurant, Bourey Sovann (where the food is excellent). The trail to the river starts just before it on the left. **Warning:** There are two sites for the River of a Thousand Lingas. One is accessible via a private road, so there’s a $20 toll, and you need to arrive before 11 AM because the road is narrow and traffic flows downhill after that. You’ll end up in a site full of shops, snack stalls, and two good restaurants, including one by a beautiful waterfall. However, the thousand lingas aren’t as spectacular there.

Banteay Srei + the River of a Thousand Lingas makes for a fantastic day. **WARNING:** You used to be able to go to the river and waterfall by scooter or tuk-tuk, but it’s now forbidden. So **go by taxi**—otherwise, you’ll be hiking 12 km round trip up a steep trail.

If you leave Siem Reap early, you can even add Beng Mealea temple on the way back, making a triangular route: SR-BS-Khulen-BM-SR (or the reverse).

If you have time, visit Banteay Samré temple, 10 km west of the Angkor Thom complex. A lovely site with very few visitors.

I’ve never been to the famous Preah Khan on a hill overlooking Thailand. There’s a big dispute between the two countries—the Thais insist the temple belongs to them because the entrance is in their country. There have been serious clashes in the recent past, and landmines are still abundant off the marked paths. They even claim the entire Siem Reap province is theirs and should be returned, arguing it was Thai in the past. It takes two days (6–7 hours each way), with an overnight stay in the nearby village (small hotels and one luxury option with a garden and pool, but it’s expensive).

TONLE SAP People talk about “floating villages,” but that’s a big mistake—these are actually villages of astonishing stilt houses, 4 meters high or more, due to the lake’s major floods. The most famous is Chong Khneas, which I skipped because it’s packed with tourists. Instead, I really liked Kampong Phluk, which is much quieter. To get there, continue on the road past the Roluos group until you reach a parking lot with pirogues lined up. They’ll take you down the river, stop at this amazing village for a walk, and then take you to the Tonle Sap, a true inland sea. At one point, you’ll pass through a flooded forest that you can explore by small boat. At the junction of the river and the Tonle Sap, and on the lake itself, there are floating restaurants where the food is great. Note that in the dry season, you can reach the village by scooter.

BACK TO PHNOM PENH AND ON TO SOUTHERN VIETNAM Since I’d planned at least 15 days in the Mekong Delta between Chau Doc and Saigon, I skipped Battambang, etc. With no desire to endure the dusty road from SR to PP again, I simply loaded my bike onto a bus with the great company Rith Monty (book at their office in SR on the small square at the start of Sivatha Boulevard—$10 for the bike and $6 for me), also known as Paramount. Their buses stop on 136 St right in the middle of PP. I’ll also mention the excellent Giant Ibis, with big modern buses that always leave on time—unlike the others.

I spent the night in PP, and the next morning took the fast boat from PP to Chau Doc with Hang Chau Tourist (buying the ticket the day before is recommended—$25—either at your hotel or the port, and they’ll pick you up at your hotel by tuk-tuk to take you to the port). Departure from PP at noon, arrival in Chau Doc around 4 PM. The boat is great—comfortable and fast. A crew member takes your passports for Cambodian exit formalities, and you handle Vietnamese immigration yourself—it all takes 15–20 minutes. The route isn’t on the Mekong but on the Bassac River to the border, then a wide north-south canal to Chau Doc (the arrival is really nice). In the Chau Doc-PP direction, the boat leaves Chau Doc at 7:30 AM.

Hi everyone,

I was wondering how the coronavirus pandemic has impacted the way you travel or plan your trips. I know some of these points have been discussed before, but what I’m interested in here is the concrete, present, and personal—no politics and nothing post-COVID.

Here are a few ideas—do any of these resonate with you?

- Traveling shorter distances / for shorter durations - Favoring rural or less crowded areas over urban or overcrowded ones - Opting for private transportation over public transit - Traveling solo or at least in pairs rather than in groups - Waiting until the crisis is over and saving money in the meantime - Reassessing health risks (and updating your first-aid kit/medications and vaccinations) - ...

I’m sure you’ll have other things to add. The floor is yours!

Je suis actuellement en randonnée vélo de la haute Savoie à la presqu’île de giens et j’ai L’impression qu’ il y a beaucoup de voyageurs à vélo. Beaucoup de jeunes notamment Qu’en pensez-vous ?

Je suis à la retraite depuis novembre 2019. Je mets ce temps libre à profit pour (entre autre) compiler notes et photos prises ces dernières années pendant nos vadrouilles autour du monde. Ça date un peu, mais devrait conserver son intérêt, le plupart des endroits visités restent accessibles de la même façon qu'alors.

dimanche 25 septembre 2016

Le réveil à 3h30 est un moment extrêmement pénible. C’est pas du tout dans mes plages horaires ! Mais il fallait bien ça ! On va se rendre compte au long des interminables files d’attente que de monter dans cet avion avant 6 heures va devenir un challenge qui va très vite me mettre sous tension! Ensuite, il n’y a plus qu’à s’affaler sur son fauteuil avec un bon casque sur les oreilles, à écouter de la musique, tout en jetant un coup d’œil au splendide lever du soleil qui déverse ses teintes de rouge jusque sur les parois de l’appareil…



A Majorque, c’est une longue attente de plus de quatre heures, avant de prendre le vol pour Minorque. C’est long ! Sans dire que l’administration aéroportuaire s’est distribuée le budget « chaises » pour s’offrir le tout dernier 4*4 de chez Porsche !



On arrive enfin à destination. Quand l’avion atterrit, il est 14 heures, l’atmosphère est sombre. Dominique et moi, on se regarde, les hublots sont constellés de petites bulles d’eau…Il pleut. Des trombes ! Il fait froid… Ambiance !



La voiture de chez Herz est une voiture complètement neuve avec GPS et surtout un connecteur MP3. Ça suffit tout à fait à me consoler ! En remontant vers le nord, on s’aperçoit qu’au fil du trajet le climat change complètement. Au nord il fait beau ! L’hôtel est une ancienne ferme retapée à neuf.



La chambre qu’on nous propose nous laisse cependant dubitatifs. Sans savoir trop pourquoi. Probablement l’absence de balcon. On décide d’aller négocier. Et ça marche. L’upgrade est spectaculaire, la chambre est superbe!



En fait, c’est un petit appartement. Il y a même une cuisine.



La mer est à 2km500. On décide de les faire à pied. On arrive au petit village qui entoure la Cala Morell. Les maisons sont toutes blanches. Même les toits. Il n’y a aucune exception et c’est assez joli…



Nous n’avons pas mangé de la journée, alors, quand le patron du resto qui donne sur la plage nous annonce qu’il ferme ses cuisines à 17 heures, soit dans cinq minutes, on se laisse immédiatement embarquer pour un dîner. Une nourriture oubliable, un vin qui pique, mais dans un décor grandiose…

Hello everyone.

Preamble:

Sooner or later, you’ve got to take the plunge! I thought lockdown would be the perfect time to start this travel journal, but between working from home and gardening, I just didn’t have the time (or the motivation). Plus, long-haul trips weren’t really on the cards back then... But then I stumbled upon my photos and thought, "I’ve got to share my latest adventure in Brazil—you guessed it!"

First, a little flashback: some of you (yes, really, in DMs!) pointed out the big gaps in my travel journals—India in 2019, Vietnam in 2018, so many missed opportunities!

Truth is, for India, I traveled with a private guide and honestly didn’t have much to add to the tons of well-documented journals already out there. Plus, I still haven’t decided if I love or hate India... So, how do you share your feelings when you’re not even sure yourself? As for Vietnam, I had plenty to say—even though the itinerary was pretty classic—but I’ll admit the vibe on this part of the forum at the time kinda put me off for a while... And time flies, and memories fade... Anyway, just wanted to clear that up for my (many or few) readers. *Tudo bem*, let’s get started!!

Bonjour a tous

Nous avons reservé il y a quelques des billets d'avions pour le Perou au mois de septembre avec la compagnie America Airlines. Nous avions choisi un départ de Paris avec une escale a Miami puis vol Lima. Maintenant on me modifie mon vol avec une escale a Londre puis a Miami.

-Les compagnies ont t'elle le droit de faire ce genre de chose sans modifier ses tarifs vu que c'est pas ce que j'avais choisi dans la multitude de proposition?

-Les liaisons entre le France et les USA étant surrement supendue en septembre, c'est pas un risque d'accepter de partir dans ses conditions?

Merci d'avance pour vos conseils

Bonjour Où se trouve cette serre ? En premier chercher le pays et ensuite la ville Françoise

After several discussions on VF about travel journals from the Philippines, I decided to write this curiosity: a trip report from a journey made in 1984, when traveling to the Philippines was still an adventure.

A curiosity because writing a travel journal about a trip 35 years later isn’t common, but also (mostly?) because exploring the Philippines at that time had little in common with traveling there today.

Obviously, I’ve forgotten a number of facts, most of the details, but with the help of a few notes from that time and a stack of slides (yes, there was life before digital 😊), many memories came back and added to the highlights I’d never forgotten. The scanned slides aren’t always great quality, but there are still quite a few to brighten up this chatter. Back then, we didn’t snap photos like we do now—film was too expensive—so I don’t have pictures of every place we visited... too bad, comparing some of those spots to how they look today would’ve been interesting.

Why "Adventures"? Why call it "Adventures" in the Philippines in 1984, a word so often used for a simple exotic trip? - Because the lack of information (no *Guide du Routard*, no *Lonely Planet*, no *Michelin Guide*, nothing, and obviously no internet) gave this trip what’s at the heart of adventure: the unknown. - Because the political situation made the stay sometimes dangerous. - Because transportation conditions were always epic, often perilous. - Because the question of where we’d spend the night came up almost every evening. - And for... quite a few other reasons.

That said, we weren’t exactly explorers!

Why the Philippines? First of all, why go to the Philippines in 1984—a country not exactly set up for tourism and about which we knew very little? How could we get an idea of the beauty of the Philippines and its points of interest when we had no guides or photos?

The idea came to us from Thailand a year earlier, during our first long-haul trip. After touring the north of the country, we met a Frenchman living in Phuket, where there were only a few tourists in Patong, with just a few small hotels and guesthouses. Kata and Karon had no buildings or roads, Rawai only had three palm-thatched bungalows, including ours, and the other islands were unknown to tourists. There was plenty to discover, and we wanted to return to this beautiful country... but the Frenchman made us dream about the Philippines—a country to explore, with wild landscapes.

Long evenings of discussion over multiple Sprite-Mekong cocktails (what memories of those headaches!) finally convinced us we had to go to the Philippines.

Episode 0: Before Departure The decision was made: we’d go to the Philippines in May 1984. Our friends and family were surprised when we announced we were going on vacation to the Philippines (a bit like saying today we were going paddleboarding in the Kerguelen Islands 🤪).

These days, preparing for each of our trips takes long evenings of research, planning, and noting down good addresses... etc. But for the Philippines in 1984, preparation was quick: we had very little information about the country, we were leaving almost at random, and the discovery would only be more exciting.

We still had a few bits of info gathered here and there: the rice terraces in northern Luzon, volcanoes, Negros where we were supposed to visit an acquaintance, Cebu and its marine life (we ended up going elsewhere), and absolutely avoid Mindanao, which was practically at war with the regime. That was about it, but it was already a great itinerary.

Nothing was organized in advance; we’d see day by day. We had no idea about travel times or even the existence of transportation options. The main (and sometimes only) way to connect two islands was by overloaded, rusty ferry. Only the big cities had airports.

Let’s Go: Episode 1: Paris to Manila My travel journals always start after arriving at the airport—the Europe-to-“Other Continent” trip isn’t interesting—but the flight to the Philippines was already an adventure, so I’ll make an exception.

This was the era when only a few Asian airlines were on par with Western ones: Thai, Singapore Airlines, and Philippine Airlines. They had beautiful, brand-new planes, and to attract customers (almost exclusively “businessmen”) from the usual airlines (Air France, Lufthansa, British Airways), there was opulence on board: unlimited champagne, all sorts of cocktails... Compared to today’s long-haul flights, there was still one small difference: no personal screens, just one screen at the front of the cabin with one mandatory movie. And I don’t know why, but we only got James Bond films, both ways... that must’ve been the trend at the time.

The tourism boom to Southeast Asia hadn’t started yet, and the “Asian Tigers” weren’t a thing, so there weren’t many business trips. That meant long-haul flights made stops everywhere to fill the planes. Our Philippine Airlines Boeing 747 left London, picked us up in Paris, then stopped in Frankfurt to take on a few Germans. I don’t know why we then made a stop in Dubai—a totally exotic place at the time. There was nothing to do there... things have changed a lot since. It was a small town lost in the desert. The airport was tiny, with just one or two buildings and a supermarket. During the stopover, everyone had to get off the plane and walk to the supermarket. Photo and electronic equipment were dirt cheap—I guess that was the only reason for the stop. Maybe it was their first commercial move. Emirates didn’t exist yet, as I checked online, but anyway, the idea that such a remote place could have its own airline was unthinkable.

Online, I found this photo of Dubai Airport in 1980. Anyone who’s transited through today’s massive airport with its rows of A380s will appreciate it:

Next stop: New Delhi to drop off some Europeans and pick up a few Indians, and finally, the terminus: Manila. I don’t remember how long the trip took with its five stops—an unimaginable journey today. Despite all those stops to fill the plane, there was still enough space to stretch out on the four center seats of the 747, something that never happens these days despite all the flights in every direction.

So here we are, finally at Manila Airport around midnight.

Episode 1: Manila and Baguio To start, a quick note on the political and economic situation in the Philippines in 1984, which had consequences for us as tourists, as we’d soon realize upon arrival.

After several centuries of Spanish colonization, the Philippines became American at the start of the 20th century, then independent. In 1966, Marcos took power, and little by little, his regime sank into corruption and mismanagement, becoming a dictatorship with martial law, all for the benefit of his family and friends, who enriched themselves endlessly. The peak was the assassination of opposition leader Benigno Aquino in August 1983, which triggered harshly repressed protests. So we arrived a few months later in a very poor country, with omnipresent corruption and an extremely tense political situation, as we’d soon see for ourselves. Major protests took place in the main cities during our trip—I’ll come back to that. Two years later, Marcos fled to Hawaii after being forced out of power following rigged elections. This historical context explains a lot of the situations we found ourselves in over the following weeks.

Arriving in the middle of the night isn’t very cheerful. Manila was already a huge city with many slums, where you could find a few business hotels like the Hilton or Intercontinental—way out of our budget—and plenty of run-down hotels. Luckily, two Indians we’d chatted with on the plane offered to take us to their usual hotel. They came to Manila twice a year for business. We accepted their offer, relieved not to have to look for a place to stay in the middle of the night, figuring the address must be good since they came back every time... we were wrong 🙁

We left the airport and immediately got a taste of the local vibe when we got into the taxi: the police asked for our passports. We thought: what’s more normal than police in a dictatorship?

But that wasn’t it at all. Our two Indian friends explained that the police were noting our names along with the taxi number and time. Crime in Manila was so bad that the taxi driver would be held responsible if anything happened to us... welcome to the Philippines 😎 😎

Historically, the Philippines was a very violent country, where everything was settled with guns or machetes. Previous governments had banned carrying weapons, but Marcos later allowed the free sale and carrying of guns, and disputes were settled with pistols again (or worse, as we’d discover later). Since he’d released most of the criminals from prison to form a paramilitary militia at his service (I’ll talk about our encounter with these “heroes” later), it was pretty dangerous to go into many parts of Manila, where these “tonton macoutes” ruled.

We arrived at our hotel without incident... and then things started badly. The room was infested with big cockroaches—exactly what I hate most in those kinds of countries. No way to find another hotel at that hour. After the long flight, the urge to take a shower was so strong that we squeezed into the bathroom as best we could. After that, I don’t remember—I guess we must’ve fallen asleep exhausted under the sheets in the heat... air conditioning wasn’t widespread yet.

The next day, we just wanted to leave that dump as soon as possible. So we decided to head north right away, stopping in Baguio, and we’d visit Manila a bit on the way back.

When we stepped outside, we discovered a pretty run-down neighborhood with potholed streets. But we also discovered the jeepneys. They were everywhere, flooding the streets.





They had crazy sound systems, each one blasting louder than the last. The interiors were kitschy but fun. There weren’t many private cars—almost all transportation was by jeepney, with buses reserved for intercity trips.





Before heading to the bus terminal for the north, somewhere on the outskirts of the city, we needed to exchange some money. I don’t remember how we ended up in a policeman’s jeep who offered his services: - Exchange money on the black market at a better rate than the banks. - Take us wherever we wanted, in this case, the bus terminal.

We accepted both offers (we’d still checked the official exchange rate from dollars to pesos). So we found ourselves in his jeep. After exchanging money, we left in his vehicle and stopped for gas. Without turning off the engine, he calmly smoked a cigarette while filling up. Since we were in a jeep with no doors or roof, we were ready to jump out if things went south, our travel bag in hand.

But we weren’t done with surprises yet. Once we left the small streets, we ended up in a neighborhood with wide avenues and not much traffic, which didn’t justify his incredible behavior. At every intersection, he made the sign of the cross, closed his eyes, and crossed without looking. I was more stunned than terrified! It wasn’t until we got out of the car later that I told Anne-Marie what had happened. I’d seen everything because the cop had put me in the front seat. Luckily, A-Marie hadn’t noticed anything from the back. Crossing Manila by trusting God rather than the rules of the road was ultimately effective. We were lucky—the trip was off to a good start. 🙂 🙂

We then passed through a neighborhood where slums stretched on for a while, and we left our policeman—friendly but a bit crazy—with relief.

A few hours by bus later, here we are in Baguio, cool in the mountains. My memories of Baguio are pretty fuzzy. I remember a small town. After some research while writing this journal, I found that the population was 120,000 in 1980. Given the population density in each home, that confirms my memory of a smallish town. Outside the “official” district with the president’s summer residence and government buildings, there were two or three paved streets with nice houses. The rest was very dirty and very poor, with lots of slums and dirt roads.







People we met on the street invited us to stay with them. These days, we wouldn’t just show up at strangers’ houses, which we should’ve done in Baguio—it would’ve saved us from an unimaginable and dangerous situation... which I won’t say anything about... !😊

The simple wooden house was on stilts at the edge of a hill with a view of the mountains. Since it was the start of the rainy season in a city that gets a lot of rain, we saw a lot of water. Our outings in town happened between downpours.

View from our lodging:

Episode 2: Baguio to Bontoc Aside from the situation briefly mentioned above, it was on the next leg to Bontoc that the adventure really began: an endless and dangerous road, a bus from another era, breathtaking landscapes, and surprising people.

We didn’t know the distance or how long it would take to get to Bontoc. When we arrived after about ten hours, we learned that Baguio to Bontoc was 140 km.

We got on a bus with wooden seats and settled in, two to a seat meant for two. As the bus filled up, passengers squeezed in three or four per seat, with chickens and baskets full of all sorts of things in the aisle. A little embarrassed, we didn’t know if we should squeeze in three on our seat. The seats were super tight (luckily, Filipinos are small), and I didn’t know where to put my legs given my height. I don’t remember if we stayed alone on our bench or if we ended up sharing with others.



The “road” was a dirt track (or rather, a mud track) with endless turns. We held on as best we could to our slippery wooden seats—it was shaking in every direction. The woman behind us was carsick and throwing up... gross... but what were we doing there? Then we plunged into the Sierra Madre... just the name is dreamy!

Rice terraces started to appear:



they took up more and more space along cliffs where we weren’t always reassured,



with lots of waterfalls (all that water had to go somewhere).

A few miserable villages stretched along the track, most often just a few houses balancing between the road and the drop. The bus stopped in every village—people got on or off and settled inside or on the roof. Street vendors offered their products to the bus passengers—a common sight in Asia, even today.



We were in another world—villagers were in loincloths, others had spears. The atmosphere was strange... but all good, we wanted exoticism, and we got it:

This so-called traditional outfit was everyday wear—it wasn’t for tourists since there weren’t any.

Bonjour à tous,

Ici, vous trouverez la suite de notre périple au début de l'automne au Japon, qui aura duré 5 semaines et demi en tout, de fin septembre 2019 à début novembre 2019.

La suite, eh oui, car il y a un premier carnet intituléA la découverte du Japon : de Tokyo à l’archipel des Ryukyu (okinawa). Pour ceux que cela intéresserait, je vous mets les liens : Dans cette première partie, se trouve le récit de notre voyage à :

Tokyo (1ére partie), Kyoto et à Miyakojima (okinawa).

J’avais entamé l’écriture de la seconde partie du voyage mais visiblement voyageforum a supprimé ce deuxième carnet portant le même titre + Partie 2 et je ne le découvre que maintenant car je n’avais pas écrit depuis quelques temps. Qu’à cela ne tienne, je redémarre un second carnet avec un nouveau titre afin de partager la suite de notre voyage.

Dans cette deuxième partie, vous trouverez les lieux suivants :

A Shikoku: Takamatsu, Kotohira, La vallée de l’Iya, , Tokushima et Naruto, L’île de Yakushima, A Kyushu : Kagoshima, Chiran, Ibusuki, Takachiho, et Kumamoto, Et pour finir Tokyo (2éme partie). et "la conclusion"

Au milieu de toute cette morosité, je me lance dans un nouveau carnet indien qui vous changera les idées, je l’espère. Un nouveau séjour de deux semaines pendant les vacances d’hiver, du 21 au 6 mars. Mon 15ème voyage en Inde, mais mon 1er dans le grand sud.

Cette année, ce sera une petite partie du Tamil Nadu, un petit tour de 1000 km à peu près, de Chennai à Chennai (Kanchipuram, Gingee, Tirunmavallai, Chidambaram, Tranquebar, Kumbakonam, Trichy, le Chettinad, Tanjore, Pondichery et Mahabalipuram) avec une amie. Nous avons volontairement zappé Madurai et Rameshvaram, ce sera pour une autre fois, nous n’avions pas envie de faire trop de km et nous avons déjà beaucoup de chose au programme... Comme d’habitude, location d’une voiture avec chauffeur, et nous ne le regrettons pas, tant nous avons vu de lieux, quelquefois bien perdus, que nous n’aurions jamais pu atteindre en transport en commun, ou certainement pas en 14 jours.

J’ai consulté les carnets et blogs de Pagaljavad et Yann55 entre autre et je les remercie pour leurs tuyaux. J’ai eu des conseils d’Aleph, qui quand elle écumait le Tamil Nadu, ne postait pas encore de carnet. J’ai lu et relu les pages sur le Tamil Nadu sur le site Purattatva, un must pour moi depuis toujours. Et cherché, lu et relu, sur internet et sur papier (j’ai un vieux guide bleu de 1984 trouvé sur une brocante que je conserve précieusement et consulte pour chaque voyage car la qualité des guides a bien baissé culturellement depuis …)

A l’aéroport de Chennai, nous faisons connaissance avec notre chauffeur, Pandi. Départ immédiat pour Kanchipuram, à 65 km de là. Chennai sera pour une prochaine fois … Nous arrivons en fin de journée, il fait quasi nuit. Après le dîner, nous nous lançons à l’assaut des petites rues de Kanchipuram pour aller au temple de Kamaskhi, (une forme de Parvati), le plus proche, avec ses gopurams illuminés, son bassin sacré, des familles indiennes.



La photo n'est pas terrible car mon APN ne gère pas bien l'obscurité ...