Results for "Saintes+|+50+>+144"

Bonjour,

Nous partons à Mada pour la première fois en aout pour 3 semaines. Nous commençons à regarder quel itinéraires nous pourrions faire. La Rn7 semble assez appropriée (temps et budget)...Seulement, voilà, même si nous n'y allons pas que pour ça, nous aimerions faire du snorkelling. Je sais que les iles du nord (Nosy Komba, nosy tanikely) s'y prêtent mieux. Qu'en est -il Anakao? Nosy Ve est-il un bon endroit?

Pouvez-vous m'éclairer sur tous les spots de Mada que vous connaissez et qui permettent de faire su snorkelling?

Merci beaucoup!

Bonjour a tous,

Nous sommes un jeune couple et souhaitons partir en avril 1semaine a Madrid. Nous voudrions en profiter pour faire des excursions notamment a Tolède et au monastère escurial. Pourriez vous nous indiquer les moyens les plus intéressants pour y accéder? Louer une voiture? En train? Y en a t'il souvent et a quel tarif environ? Savez vous si nous devons prévoir a l'avance les billets? Avez vous d'autres propositions de visites aux alentours?

Merci a tous!

J'ai l'honneur de vous annoncer que le festival au désert à fermé ses portes de sables hier à, très exactement, 3h34, Tinariwen étant le groupe de clôture. Lundi prochain nous démarrons les préparatifs de l'édition 2013... Il y avait environ 500 touristes non africains. Venus en pinasse depuis Mopti, en bus depuis Bamako, en 4x4 ou en avion, ils étaient là. Holandais, néozélandais, cubain, colombiens, espagnols, portugais, italiens, (4 français... en m'incluant), allemands, vietnamiens, japonais, (pas de chinois...), russes, polonais, pour les nationalités. Algériens, marocains, ivoiriens, sénégalais, afrikaners, essentiellement pour le continent. Biens sûr les ethnies et tribus habituelles, et enfin tous les tombouctiens présents et satisfaits... de nous voir et de voir l'édition se maintenir. A toi Jahou, pour ton festival de Bourem. Que la force soit avec toi, comme elle le fût avec nous. Nous avons totalisé 8000 pour le jeudi, 12000 le vendredi soir et hier nettement plus de 15000... en fiat le temps que tous sache que l'entrée pour les tombouctiens était gratuite intégralement, histoire de le mettre dans l'os à certains.. qui souhaitait terroriser la Ville Sainte... Oui la sécurité était là, mais j'ai surtout nettement senti une prise de conscience du long combat qui attend cette région... Parmiû les meilleurs guitaristes on compte essentiellement ceux du Nord, qu'on se le dise, nous serons nombreux à vouloir contniuer de croire que cette terre , ce territoire, est particulièrement riche en diversité culturelle. Il y a encore de nombreux points à voir, mais c'est dans l'adversité et face à celle ci que l'on reconnaît les Amis. Tous nos "touristes" étaient bien sûr informé de la situation antérieure.. par leurs autorités propres, leurs ambassades et la presse. En somme ces toubabs du Monde ont subi les pressions que nous avons eu en France pour ne pas venir au Mali. Il nous fallait de l'organisation pour la sécurités de tous et ce fût le cas comme pour Jahou dans 2 jours..à Bourem. Qu'on se le dise, et ça va se savoir; 2013 sera maintenu nous affirmons et assumons le coûte que coûte.. Bien à vous tous, vous souhaitant de belles et nombreuses aventures positives dans ce pays Magique, le Mali.

Nous partons en famille début juillet.2 adultes 3 enfants.

Nous pensions réserver 2 semaines à St-François et rayonner à partir de là. Par contre, après avoir lu beaucoup sur le forum, je me demande si il ne serait pas mieux de faire 1 semaine à St-François et une 2eme semaine à Basse-Terre ? Ou bien avec les enfants serait-il mieux de rester 2 semaines au même endroit et selon l'humeur faire plage ou excursions à Basse-terre ?

Vous me suggérez quelle endroit pour loger du côté de Basse-Terre(évidemment si la 2eme à cet endroit serait la meilleure solution.)

Merci

Bonjour, Le 30/01 je pars de Strasbourg en tgv pour un vol en partance de Paris-Orly à destination de La Réunion.....est-ce qu'il y a des personnes qui ont déjà fait ce voyage? j'ai consulté le parcours sur le net...et apparemment il faut prendre le rer puis orival j'avoue que je flippe un peu vu que je voyage en solo...et l'aéroport est immense.... Sur l'île je suis hébergée à Sainte-Marie pour quelques jours ensuite je compte faire quelques belles marches et changer de lieux....là aussi aussi y a t'il des personnes qui peuvent me conseiller et me donner des adresses d'hébergements à prix raisonnables. J'ai aussi pensé à une colocation....vu que je séjourne sur l'île jusqu'au 27/02 ...qu'en pensez-vous? d'avance merci pour vos réponses Guig52

bonjour, je projette de partir en bretagne en mois d'Avril ou Mai

auriez vous des adresses de camping a me conseiller :)

Merci

Bonsoir!

Voilà je prépare mon voyage pour le mois de juin, et je vois que j'ai un billet Paris - Bangkok pour 516€ en direct avec Qatar Airway ou pour 502€ en passant par Opodo (la compagnie est toujours Qatar Airway).

Bon ce n'est que 14€ (c'est toujours ça de pris) mais je me demandais si du coup il y a d'autres avantages (ou des inconvénients!) à passer via Opodo? Que me conseillez-vous?

Merci :)

Bonjour à tous,

Mon ami et moi même souhaitons partir en Russie afin de visiter Moscou et Saint Petersbourg. J'ai lu pas mal de discussions avant de poster... mais il me manque certaines réponses et un avis honnête et fiable! 😛

Je sais qu'une semaine c'est peu pour voir et tout faire, mais c'est le temps sont nous disposons et vu le coût du billet d'avion et le fait que ce sera peut-être notre seul voyage en Russie, nous aimerions au moins voir Moscou et Saint Petersbourg! Nous comptons partir début mars, est ce une bonne idée? Quel temps fera t-il? Faut-il des vêtements très chaud? Des chaussures de marches sufisent-elles?

Nous pensons passer 2 jours à Moscou et 3.5 jours à STP. Et passer une demi journée dans le train SAPSAN entre ces deux villes... Est ce une bonne idée? Avez vous des idées d'hôtel ou appart-hôtel dans ces villes? Comment réserver le train? Est-il intéréssant de voir un spectacle au bolchoi et comment?

Voici notre idée d'itinéraire:

Jour 1 (le 03/03) : Paris – MoscouDécollage à 7h15 à arrivée 13h55 (vol 3h40)Dépose des bagages à l’hôtel vers 15h30Balade sur la place rouge et environs (magasins Goum, musée historique d’état, mausolée de Lénine, Cathédrale sainte Basile)Repas et nuitJour 2 (le 04/03) : MoscouVisite du Kremlin et de ses « monuments » (matin)Repas dans le coinRue Arbat, Rue Tverskaïa, place du manège, Place Pouchkine, rue Bolchaïa…Université de Moscou (n°2 rue Bolchaïa)Jour 3 (le 05/03) : Moscou – Saint Petersburg · Couvent Novodievitchi et/ou Parc Gorki (matin)Prise des bagages à l’hôtel et départ pour la gare de LeningradDépart du train à 13h30 / Arrivée à 17h45 Dépose des bagages à l’hôtel et nuitJour 4 (le 06/03) : Saint PetersburgCathédrale Saint Isaac + Statue Pierre Ier + ManègeAmirauté + place du palais et palais d’hiver (Voir)Balade le long du Fleuve Neva et dans la rue Malaïa MouskhaïaCathédrale Notre dame de KazanErmitage Jour 5 (le 07/03) : Saint PetersburgPlace SennaïaLa Moïka : balade pont des baisers et pont bleuCathédrale saint Nicolas & Cathédrale de la TrinitéDouze collègesEglise saint sauveur sur le sang verséPlace des arts + Château des ingénieursPerspective Nevski + balade dans la rueCathédrale de la TrinitéJour 6 (le 08/03) : Saint PetersburgMusée de zoologie + KounstkameraCathédrale saint AndréAcadémie des beaux arts + colonnes rostralesJardin botanique Mosquée + Laure Alexandre NevskiJour 7 (le 09/03) : Saint Peters - ParisForteresse Pierre & PaulDépart pour l’aéroport vers 14h00Décollage à 17h30 à arrivée 18h00 (vol 3h30)Mille merci d'avance pour votre aide!!!

😊

Bonjour à tous,

Je pars en tour du monde en mars 2012 et je souhaite commencer par l'Amérique du Sud qui est définitivement ma priorité. Je compte y rester environ 10 mois. Je pensais avoir établi un parcours "logique" d'un point de vue climatique mais mes différentes lectures - sur ce forum, sur le net et dans les lonely planet - m'ont un peu embrouillé la tête 🤪. J'ai parfois l'impression d'y découvrir des informations contradictoires quant à la sacro sainte "meilleure période pour ...".

Et comme je dois bientôt me décider pour mon 1er vol, bah là, c'est simple je panique un peu et j'aimerais votre avis; mes "objectifs" principaux sont la balade et le trekking, le mode playa n'étant pas forcément mon truc (même si je veux éviter pluie et froid polaire). Bref, voici ma première ébauche (très grossière):

Mars 2012 : Panama Avril : Colombie (pas trop pluvieux à cette période ???) Mai : Galapagos & Equateur (meilleure période pour Cotopaxi ???) Juin : Pérou (Bonne période pour la Cordillère Blanche ??? Quid du Machu Pichu) Juillet : Bolivie (Pas trop froid ???) Aout-Septembre : Brésil (Remontée de l'Amazone puis la côté de Salavador à Rio) Octobre-Novembre-Décembre : Argentine-Chili (mauvaise période pour Ile de Paques ??? )

Qu'en pensez vous ? Y'a t'il une façon plus maline d'ordonnancer ça ?

Un grand merci d'avance pour votre aide précieuse, je m'arrache les cheveux 😕

Fabien

Pouvez vous me dire s'il est impératif, recommandé ou facultatif de réserver ses billets d'avions pour les vols intérieurs aux Philippines ? Auquel cas faut il s'y prendre longtemps à l'avance ? Les déconvenues sont elles nombreuses ?

Idem pour les ferries..?

Idem pour les hôtels..?

(On part les 3 premières semaines de février)

🙂

3/12/2011 Compte rendu de notre escale à Palerme (croisière sur le Concordia)

Arrivée à 8h du matin, comme d’habitude dans un boucan d’enfer (pendant 40 minutes, le temps que le bateau réduise sa vitesse et s’aligne avec l’entrée du port). Heureusement, cette fois-ci nous avions mis le réveil vers 7h. Cela nous a évité de nous faire à nouveau réveiller en sursaut par ce qui équivaut à un petit tremblement de terre (tant par le bruit que par les vibrations). GGrrrhhh cette cabine !!! (éviter à tout pris le pont 1 !!!)

Après un petit déjeuner trop copieux, descente du bateau vers 9h (directement au centre de Palerme). Pour démarrer notre excursion personnelle, dès la sortie du port, nous avons pris la Via Emeric (la rue qui monte, tout droit face au port), pour arriver au théâtre Politemea. Grande place très sympa, aérée, joli bâtiment. Au bout de la place, à gauche, nous avons pris la grande avenue Giovani …, direction les Quattro Conti.

Première halte au théâtre Massimo : imposant, tout en art baroque, très belles colonnes, gardées par 2 lions en bronze. L’occupation des lieux par les « indignés » avec banderoles antimondialistes, tentes sur le parvis, squat et sitting, ont un peu gâché les photos ; mais leurs revendications étant légitimes (à notre sens), on ne leur en tiendra pas rigueur. Vient ensuite l’église Sainte Rosalie (qui ne mérite pas de s’y attarder plus que ça, ni de l’intérieur, ni de l’extérieur. Mais ça repose un peu les pieds).

Arrivée aux Quattro Conti, très belle intersection de 2 grandes avenues, il faut sortir l’appareil photo. Les angles arrondis des bâtiments sont ornés à chaque étage de grandes statues, toujours de style baroque. A ne pas manquer a gauche, derrière les colonnes : la fontaine …, qui vaut vraiment le coup d’œil.

Nous avons continué le périple en direction de la cathédrale, magnifique et imposante. Petite balade sur la place, visite de l’intérieur. Une visite guidée de la cathédrale, de la crypte et des trésors vous coutera 3 €. Mais l’accès à la nef et au cœur est gratuit. Ca vaut aussi vraiment le détour (ne pas manquer les 2 chapelles de part et d’autre du cœur).

A 2 pas de là, se trouve le Palais des Normands. Dommage que les travaux de rénovation (avec échafaudages, bâches, …) bouchent la vue et ne permettent pas d’avoir une vision globale du Palais. Attention : prendre à gauche juste avant le Palais pour pouvoir visiter la chapelle Palatine et accéder à l’entrée du Palais.

Nous devions ensuite prendre le bus en direction de Monreale, mais il est déjà 11h30. On n’aura jamais le temps. Donc, puisque nous devons être à bord à 13h, tant pis, ce sera pour une autre fois. Nous prenons le chemin du retour, direction le port en bus de ville. Le 104 vous conduira à 500 mètres du port, le 108 s’arrête au niveau du théâtre Politemea.

Bon à savoir : Pour cette fois ci, le bateau a accosté à qq dizaines de mètres de la sortie du port. Mais, à noter, la possibilité de prendre un shuttle (navette gratuite- bus jaune de Palerme) qui vous déposera à la sortie du port.

Pour faire notre (tout petit) périple, il nous a fallu 3 heures de marche (et 10mn de bus pour le retour). Les avenues sont assez longues. Les trottoirs sont étroits et «sales ». Donc, si le temps vous est compté, peut-être mieux vaut-il prendre le 108 à l’aller et le 104 au retour. Ces bus vous déposeront devant les principaux édifices touristiques. Prix du billet : 1€70 utilisable pendant 90 minutes (ou gratuit si vous en avez l’audace. A chaque fois qu’on a demandé un ticket de bus, on nous a regardés comme si on venait d’une autre planète. Je vous rappelle qu’a Cagliari, le chauffeur n’a même pas voulu nous en vendre un).

Toujours en ce qui concerne les bus, le 338, qui est à prendre devant le Palais des Normands, vous emmènera directement à Monreale. A titre de comparaison, le circuit que nous avons fait, ou celui jusqu’à Monreale (qui coute donc environ 3€40), est proposé a 25€ par les bus panoramiques de type city sightseeing. Belle économie, pour faire des choses identiques. Vous aurez aussi l’option calèche (elles pullulent dès la sortie du port et vous serez abordé régulièrement dans toute la ville pour une balade). Il faudra compter environ 30 € pour la visite commentée par votre cocher. Je n’ai pas réussi à savoir si c’était par personnes ou par calèche. Mais tout est toujours négociable en Sicile.

Pour toute demande d’infos, vous trouverez dans le terminal de charmantes hôtesses qui vous fourniront un plan détaillé de la ville ainsi que de précieuses infos sur les « immanquables » de Palerme. Attention, pas de duty free (ouvert) dans le terminal. Vous devrez faire vos courses en ville et acheter vos cigarettes dans les tabacs (4 € le paquet de gauloise blonde).

Conclusion personnelle : Palerme, c’est tout l’Italie. Le moderne se mélange au classique (ce qui n’est pas toujours de bon goût), le vieux (et/ou délabré) se mélange au neuf (et/ou aux bâtiments entretenus), les commerces de luxe jouxtent les bouibouis un peu craignos. Bref, l’Italie quoi … Nous déplorons que le patrimoine ne soit pas préservé aux mieux. En effet, de superbes bâtiments ne sont pas mis en valeur (problème de financement sûrement), la propreté des rues est assez médiocre, mais le charme de l’architecture à l’italienne reste quand même intact, sans parler de la bonne humeur et bienveillance de tous les locaux qu’on a pu rencontrer. Alors, même si nous avons nettement préféré Cagliari, Naples ou Rome, on vous conseille tout de même d’aller faire un petit tour à Palerme.

Bonne escale à tous.

Bonjour, Nous partons avec Costa faire la croisière "Trésor des caraibes" tout début janvier. Nous avons longtemps hésité puis fini par nous décider... Pas mal d'appréhension avec tout ce qu'on entend sur les croisières mais on tente l'aventure, je suis assez pressée!!! Il faut dire que nous sommes un jeune couple qui a l'habitude des autotours, donc forcément ça va nous changer! J'ai beaucoup regardé sur le forum et je ne trouve pas forcément d'infos sur les escales que nous allons faire. Voici notre itinéraire :

J1 : Paris - Guadeloupe J2 : Navigation J3 : Isla Catalina (journée complète) J4 : Curaçao - 13h/18h J5 : Isla Margarita (Venezuela) - 13h/19H J6 : Grenade (journée complète) J7 : Sainte-Lucie (journée complète) J8 : Guadeloupe - Paris

J'ai bien conscience qu'on ne fera que survoler ces escales, mais je suis preneuse de conseils sur ce qu'il y à faire... Je préfèrerai qu'on se débrouille par nous même plutôt que de passer par Costa... Sauf peut-être pour Sainte-Lucie où beaucoup de gens conseillent l''excursion "La Souffrière par la terre et la mer". J'aimerai aussi faire du snorkeling et pourquoi pas une balade en catamaran ou du jet-ski, à voir... Qu'en pensez-vous? Merci d'avance!

Bonjour à tous !

Nous partons pour l’Égypte en janvier et nous voulons découvrir le Mont Sinaï. Par la suite nous aimerions rejoindre le Caire dans la journée au départ de Ste Catherine ! Mais la route prise par les bus n'est pas recommandée, elle se situe en zone rouge ! Est-ce vraiment dangereux ou font-ils simplement des contrôles à des check point ? Est ce qu'il a un autre moyen pour s'y rendre? Il y a une route sur la cote ouest qui longe le canal de Suez, les bus passent-ils par ici car on préférerai prendre cette route à la limite! Les mouvements qu'il y a eu dernièrement ont-ils des conséquences sur le coté du Mont Sinaï?

Merci pour vos conseils!

PS : nous voyagons en sac à dos, pas de TO, un couple de 26ans débutant... Voyageusement...

Céline & Fred !

Bonjour, J'aimerais savoir si les vols internationaux sont ponctuels à l'arrivée à Madagascar. j'ai réservé un vol Corsair pour Tana, et je voudrais prendre un vol en correspondance pour Ste Marie.

Est-ce que les vols domestiques partent du même aéroport ?

Il y a un vol pour Ste Marie une heure après notre atterrissage. Nous arrivons à 6:05 et le vol pour Ste Marie est à 7:10... Est-ce jouable ?

Sinon, il faut prendre un vol avec escale, beaucoup plus cher et 6 fois plus long !

Si quelqu'un a des tuyaux sur des tarifs intéressants pour les vols intérieurs, je suis preneuse... (Mais nous avons déjà nos billets pour les vols Paris-Tana)

Anne

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 allons à cet hôtel du 21 au 28 janvier, les commentaires que j'ai lus datent de quelques mois et j'aimerais savoir si certains d'entre vous y sont allés durant les dernier mois de façon à être plus à jour :-)

Bouffe, restaurants à la carte, heures de navette (2 fois par jour ou souvent), enfin tout ce que vous savez .

Concernant les chambres, certains ne recommandent pas les suites juniors et d'autres les recommandent, alors éclairez ma confusion: doit-on demander un upgrade ou pas ?

Pour les excursions, je pense à réserver en dehors de l'hôtel, nous voulons faire Los haitises, les cascades El Limon ainsi que les baleines.

Que recommandes-vous si nous désirons souper à Samana ou ailleurs ?

Nous voyagerons avec Air Canada. Arrivée à l'aéroport à 21 hr 40. La nouvelle route est-elle terminée ou est-ce encore 1 hr 30 de trajet ?

Merci à l'avance :-)

Lise Sainte-Julie

Bonjour,

Je serai aux Philippines du 9/01/2012 au 26 janvier. J'envisage de faire Banaue (3-4 jours) et palawan le reste + 2 jours sur Manille à l'arrivée et au départ.

Est-il selon vous nécessaire de réserver à l'avance les hôtels? J'ai entendu dire sur les forums qu'il était plutôt facile de trouver des hôtels. Toutefois, le mois de janvier étant considéré comme une période haute, je m'inquiète un peu. Sachant que nous voyageons à deux et n'avons pas des gouts de luxe.Nous cherchons plutôt des hôtels intermédiaires (chambre propre avec douche).

Est-il donc risqué de ne pas réserver à l'avance.

Bonjour, Je retourne à Mada pour la 3e fois pour un voyage comprenant les étapes suivantes :

- Arrivée Tana - Ile Ste-Marie pour baleines à bosse et visite de l'île - Retour Tana (si assez de temps arrêt à Foulpointe, et canal des pangalanes) - Descente de la Tsiribihina - Monrondavo (avant ou après les Tsingy) - Tsingy - Retour Tana

Je pense organiser un circuit de 3 semaines mais je me demande si cela va suffir (je crois qu'il faut déjà compter 8 jours pour Tsiribihina et Tsingy) ?? Auriez-vous des tuyaux ou des idées d'arrêts sur ce parcours ? Le nom de guides ? Je cherche à organiser un voyage type routard.

Merci de votre retour !

Emmanuelle

En mars dernier, je suis allée pour une première découverte des Philippines à Manille, volcan Taal, Sud Leyte pour plonger ainsi qu'à Bohol (Panglao logée à la Villa Belza et Cabilao)...des vacances extras, des rencontres sympas et des plongées féeriques ! Du coup rebelote en mars prochain, je me suis décidée pour la croisière plongée Tubbataha (je vais casser la tirelire) 5 jours en mer où j'espère voir des merveilles...puis nous avons 8 jours "sur terre" à Palawan. J1: Puerto Princesa - Sabang J2: rivière souterraine - Port Baton en banca J3 : Port Baton - El Nido en banca J4-7 : El Nido. J8: El Nido-Puerto Princesa en jeepney. J9: vol vers Manille. Que pensez vous de ce petit programme, faisable ? Je précise que nous y serons pendant la Semaine Sainte début avril, doit-on réserver d'avance les hôtels auprès d'une agence locale? Y'aura t'il beaucoup de philippins ou touristes en vacances à cette période ? Evidemment j'aurai bien aimé un vol direct El Nido-manille mais pour 150 euros contre 40 euros avec Cebu Pacific entre Puerto Princesa et Manille j'ai vite choisi ! A tort ou a raison ? Evidemment j'aurai aimé une semaine de plus pour continuer vers Busuanga/Coron et ses épaves et ses lacs cachés mais bon j'y reviendrai... Aux amoureux des Philippines, j'attend votre avis d'expert et toutes suggestions... Merci à vous et à bientôt. Lise PS : Qu'il est doux de songer aux prochaines vacances quand il fait déjà nuit sur Paris à 17h et que l'hiver ne fait que commencer....

Bonjour à tous,

J'habite en Guadeloupe et suite à la demande de nombreux amis et clients cherche à connaitre vos restaurants préférés.

Auriez-vous quelques adresses sympa?

De préférence sur Grande-terre...mais sans oublier Basse-terre 😉

Merci d'avance,

Bonne journée,

David.

Bonjour,

J'aimerais bien partir en Andalousie pendant les vacances de Paques, donc faire les principales villes Cordoue, Séville et Grenade. Le problème c'est que j'ai peur d'etre déçu. J'entends beaucoup dire qu'en Espagne, il n'y a rien à voir et qu'il y fait trop chaud, du coup je doute sur ce qu'il y a à voir en Espagne, pourtant niveau patrimoine il y a l'air d'avoir quelques belles choses (mosquée de Cordoue, l'Alhambra...).

Et si jamais je me décide à partir, est-ce que ça vaut le coup de descendre jusqu'à Gibraltar?

Merci de vos conseils

Bonjour à tous, Je fais appel à vous aujourd'hui car malgré mes recherches -sur le net et sur ce forum- je n'ai pas réussi à trouver ce que je voulais. Voilà, pendant la semaine autour de Noël, je pars en Gaspésie avec mon chum afin de connaître les joies de l'hiver tout en découvrant cette belle région. Nous allons loger dans une auberge en Haute-Gaspésie, près de Sainte-Anne-des-Monts, et souhaitons vivement faire du traîneau à chiens ainsi que de la motoneige. Pour l'instant, nous n'avons pas réussi à trouver des adresses accessibles pour une excursion d'une journée, que ce soit pour l'une ou l'autre de ces activités. Pourriez-vous me guider, me donner des conseils ? Nous aurons la possibilité de nous déplacer en voiture, mais si l'activité pouvait se faire à moins de 3 heures de route de Sainte-Anne ce serait parfait ! Nous comptons découvrir le Parc national de la Gaspésie ainsi que la réserve des Chics-Chocs, mais je n'ai rien vu nous permettant de conjuguer cela à une balade en traîneau ou en motoneige...

Peut-être que votre réponse sera que cela parait difficile de faire du traîneau à chiens en haute-Gaspésie (car la motoneige je pense que c'est possible...?), et donc j'aimerais vous demander si vous savez quels sont les lieux où l'on peut en faire, ailleurs au Québec ? Nous sommes fondus de grands espaces et de nature, donc les endroits très touristiques ne sont pas obligatoires...Nous aurons 3 semaines de vacances, et logeons à Montréal quand nous ne serons pas en Gaspésie. Nous pouvons (et voulons) bouger pendant le reste du temps, donc il est envisageable de faire du traîneau à chiens ailleurs qu'en Gaspésie si cela est plus réalisable.

Voilà, j'espère avoir été claire dans ma demande, et que vous pourrez m'apporter quelques conseils ! Merci d'avance.

Bonjour,

Nous aimerions aller à Punta Cana aux Fêtes de Pâques mais nous nous sommes laissés dire par des gens qui y sont allés que les Dominicains fêtent beaucoup cette fête et que par conséquent les plages sont envahies de locaux, que le service aux hôtels est moins efficace et l'an dernier il était même inscrit dans une revue voyage que j'avias que lors de la semaine de Pâques les embarcations sont interdites sur la mer... donc on oublie voile, catamaran et autres.

Avez-vous une expérience à cet effet. J'ai une cousine qui y est allée l'an dernier à cette période et n'a rien remarqué de ce genre.

Merci...

bonjour à tous

nous sommes attirés par une croisière en catamaran dans les grenadines au départ de Fort de France ; pour ne pas les nommer ! avec partir par cher ou escale grenadines quelqu'un a-t-il déjà eu l'occasion de faire ce genre de voyages et pourrait nous en dire un peu plus sur ce style de voyages, ambiance , escales etc... pour info nous connaissons déjà bien mais sur terre ! la martinique et la guadeloupe et adorons la voile

bien à vous domi

Bonsoir!

Nous allons à Paris pour le 31 décembre. Les menus "réveillon" sont trop chers. Connaissez-vous des restos "normaux" ouverts le 31, ou bien des quartiers de Paris où nous pouvons trouver des restos sans menu "réveillon" ?

Un tout grand merci d'avance

Green123

Bonjours,

Cela vas etre notre premiere croisiere et je pense que cela peut etre sympathique de se retrouver avec quelqun avec ou sans experience, histoire de se rencarder sur les choses a faire, ou sur des tour pendant les excursions etc...

Donc je recherche des personnes qui fairait la croisiere "mer des caraibes" sur le Costa Mediterranea, qui part le 4 décembre a partir de Savonne.

Merci.

Bonjour

Ns arriverons à Guatemala city le 07.03.2012 à 22h00 . Ns prendrons pour la nuit une chambre à proximité de l'aéroport. peut être quelqu'un peut il ns donner une adresse ? le lendemain ns envisageons de partir vers SALAMA et de faire le circuit habituel mais le sens contraire. 08.03.2012 SALAMA 09.03.2012 COBAN - SAN CRISTOBAL VERAPAZ 10.03.2012- 13.03.2012 GROTTES DE LANQUIN ainsi que les environs ( Parque nacional laguna lachua p.ex..) 14.03.2012-17.03.2012 RIO DULCE LIVINGTON ainsi qu'une Ile des caraibes. 18.03.2012- 22.03.2012 CUEVAS DE POPTUN - FLORES TIKAL ainsi que les environs 23.03.2012 ou 24.03.2012 DIRECTION PALENQUE 25.03.2012 S.CRITOBAL DE LAS CASAS 28.03.2012 HUEHUETENANGO et ses environs 30.03.2012 QUEZALTENANGO et ses environs

02.04.2012 DEBUT DE LA SEMAINE SAINTE . Ns envisageons de passer 2 - 3 jours à SAN PEDRO ? faut il dejà faire des reservations ? 05.04.2012 - 07.04.2012 2 à 3 jours le long du Pacifique également faire des réservations ? 08.04.2012 une nuit à ANTIQUA ( avec réservation ) Dimanche à Lundi 09.04.2012 une nuit à Guatemala city ( Ns allons réserver le même hotel que pour le premier jour. ) 10.04.2012 Départ 07h00 du matin

c'est notre programme en sachant que suivant les endroits ns resterons plus ou moins longtemps. si j'ai bien compris en dehors de la semaine sainte les réservations ne sont pas indispensables ? Ns ne sommes pas difficiles et aimerions surtout prendre un logement chez l'habitant ( le plus important pour nous. ) Ns sommes bientôt retraités et allons prendre notre temps sans courir. Merci de vos renseignements AMICALEMENT

ALAIN

Bonjours je m'appelle Thomas j'ai 20 ans. J'ai arrêter l'école cette année ayant obtenue un BAC PRO MEI (Maintenance Équipement Industriel) Depuis septembre je fais des petits job pour me faire un peu d'argent (intérim, manutention). Je tiens a préciser que la branche du diplôme que j'ai, ne m’intéresse pas du tout ! (mais point positif c'est quand même un BAC PRO ^^)

Et depuis quelques années j'ai un rêve, c'est de tenter l'expérience dans d'autre pays, je rêve de bien savoir parler l'anglais et de découvrir de nouveau horizon... L'angleterre me parait être la terre sainte de ce que je désire. Le problème c'est que je sais pas par ou commencer... Je suis un peu perdu en ce moment..

Donc conclusion je cherche : - Des conseils utiles - S'il existe un organisme où plusieurs jeunes cherche la même chose que moi - Des expériences de personne ayant travaillé a l'étranger

Si vous pouvez m'aider, je suis prêt a vous écoutez Merci

Bonsoir, Nous allons passer une semaine dans la Morbihan, à côté de Vannes, à Noël. C'est la première fois que nous irons dans cette région. Je trouve beaucoup de choses sur la Bretagne durant la saison touristique mais beaucoup moins sur la Bretagne l'hiver . Alors , je vous pose la question: "que faire, que voir à cette période? " Si vous pouvez nous aider , nous apprécierons beaucoup. Nous aimons les promenades au bord de la mer, les restos (nous nous réjouissons à l'idée des crêpes, des galettes et des fruits de mer), les visites culturelles... D'avance , merci ! A bientôt Zoette