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A lovely wander at the mercy of the wind in this amazing Rajasthan
Hey there, forum friends 😉
Some of you have mentioned missing the activity on this Indian "page," so let’s try to liven things up a bit—with joy and good vibes (mandatory with me 😜). Plus, it’ll make Jojoone happy 😊.
As big lovers of India—we’ve been six times—my co-traveler husband and I decided to explore Rajasthan this time around. The reason we waited so long to come here? We were dreading the tourist crowds in this state. But thanks to the timing (late March to early April 2024, which is starting to get pretty hot) and Aleph’s great tips, we were *very* far from mass tourism.
We spent three weeks getting around on our own for transport: mostly taxis and trains.
And I’ll admit, we had a rather "Arabian Nights" experience, far from the "real" India (Marien, if you’re reading this 😉). So this travel journal makes no claims other than to share what we saw, experienced, and felt—with all our ignorance about this country (which I’m fully aware of).
But fair warning: I go overboard with emojis, and this journal is super casual because it’s the one I share, almost in "live" mode, with our loved ones.
So, if you’re here, consider yourself almost part of the family 😄.
See you soon and....
Some of you have mentioned missing the activity on this Indian "page," so let’s try to liven things up a bit—with joy and good vibes (mandatory with me 😜). Plus, it’ll make Jojoone happy 😊.
As big lovers of India—we’ve been six times—my co-traveler husband and I decided to explore Rajasthan this time around. The reason we waited so long to come here? We were dreading the tourist crowds in this state. But thanks to the timing (late March to early April 2024, which is starting to get pretty hot) and Aleph’s great tips, we were *very* far from mass tourism.
We spent three weeks getting around on our own for transport: mostly taxis and trains.
And I’ll admit, we had a rather "Arabian Nights" experience, far from the "real" India (Marien, if you’re reading this 😉). So this travel journal makes no claims other than to share what we saw, experienced, and felt—with all our ignorance about this country (which I’m fully aware of).
But fair warning: I go overboard with emojis, and this journal is super casual because it’s the one I share, almost in "live" mode, with our loved ones.
So, if you’re here, consider yourself almost part of the family 😄.
See you soon and....
Tuscany: Arezzo province and the Siena area
So happy the forum reopened last October!!!
I’ve started reading again (posts, travel journals) and chiming in on a few discussions. Now I’m stepping it up by writing a new travel journal—I’ve already posted a few between 2018 and 2020.
My latest trip was to Italy from August 27 to September 26, 2024. As the title says, it was a wander through Tuscany in parts of the region that aren’t the most visited. No Firenze-Siena-Pisa trilogy, no San Gimignano; there’ll be a quick detour into Siena, but I’ll skip the best-known sights. That choice, plus traveling in September, should help dodge overtourism. It worked out—crowds were light, sometimes very light, the whole way. Here’s the practical rundown: - a long trip outside peak season (ah, retirees!) - solo camping (caravan) - a mix of activities (hiking, mountain biking, sightseeing) in places that aren’t always packed with tourists. Still, I don’t feel like I ended up in some hidden-away spots. Not sure if this will draw any readers.
DAY 1: Tuesday, August 27, 2024 The heat was intense on the drive in across the plain; two big storms—more rain and hail than lightning and thunder—threw the weather off, the first near Imola, the second on the four-lane road up the Savio valley. I left the Cesena-Roma four-lane at the Verghereto exit and climbed up to Balze (1,100 meters). The campsite is even higher (1,200 meters), in the forest near the source of the Tevere (Tiber). Staying up here will cut down on driving for the first part of the trip: a route through the Appennino (Apennines) on the border between Toscana and Emilia-Romagna. The temperature was surprisingly mild for the altitude, the air thick with moisture by late afternoon. I drove back down from the campsite to Balze (2 km on the road) to grab groceries (it’s doable) and scout tomorrow’s hike. .
The endpoint of the planned hike is just a few meters from this sign (the trail crosses this road about 3 km from Balze). I realized Balze and the source of the Tevere (Tiber) are actually in Emilia-Romagna, not Toscana. I always thought the Tevere (Tiber), which flows toward Roma (Tyrrhenian side), started in Toscana! I’ll come back to this quirk in Day 3’s write-up.
My latest trip was to Italy from August 27 to September 26, 2024. As the title says, it was a wander through Tuscany in parts of the region that aren’t the most visited. No Firenze-Siena-Pisa trilogy, no San Gimignano; there’ll be a quick detour into Siena, but I’ll skip the best-known sights. That choice, plus traveling in September, should help dodge overtourism. It worked out—crowds were light, sometimes very light, the whole way. Here’s the practical rundown: - a long trip outside peak season (ah, retirees!) - solo camping (caravan) - a mix of activities (hiking, mountain biking, sightseeing) in places that aren’t always packed with tourists. Still, I don’t feel like I ended up in some hidden-away spots. Not sure if this will draw any readers.
DAY 1: Tuesday, August 27, 2024 The heat was intense on the drive in across the plain; two big storms—more rain and hail than lightning and thunder—threw the weather off, the first near Imola, the second on the four-lane road up the Savio valley. I left the Cesena-Roma four-lane at the Verghereto exit and climbed up to Balze (1,100 meters). The campsite is even higher (1,200 meters), in the forest near the source of the Tevere (Tiber). Staying up here will cut down on driving for the first part of the trip: a route through the Appennino (Apennines) on the border between Toscana and Emilia-Romagna. The temperature was surprisingly mild for the altitude, the air thick with moisture by late afternoon. I drove back down from the campsite to Balze (2 km on the road) to grab groceries (it’s doable) and scout tomorrow’s hike. .
The endpoint of the planned hike is just a few meters from this sign (the trail crosses this road about 3 km from Balze). I realized Balze and the source of the Tevere (Tiber) are actually in Emilia-Romagna, not Toscana. I always thought the Tevere (Tiber), which flows toward Roma (Tyrrhenian side), started in Toscana! I’ll come back to this quirk in Day 3’s write-up.
All Over Thailand
You can post your personal photos in the following thread: https://voyageforum.com/forum/quelque-part-en-thailande-d10655574/
This travel journal is therefore intended solely for my photos, to present a consistent style. All the shots were taken with a simple Samsung Galaxy smartphone and with whatever was at hand.
All stays combined, I’ve spent the equivalent of three years at most in Thailand, and I’m not a big expert on the country. However, after many trips, lots of reading on VoyageForum and other sites, and conversations with many locals as well as expats, my view of the country is becoming clearer, though it’s constantly evolving. You never stop discovering and learning.
I guess I wanted to piece together a puzzle, mainly for those who want to get an idea of the country here and for those who miss it. I don’t know if this minimalist sharing will interest anyone, but it’ll do me good to put it together. After so many months without traveling and then these other long months with VF closed, there’s plenty of material available.
There’ll be a mix of places, periods, and subjects, but it might well be intentional.
I suspect many Thais have dogs because they make excellent guards for the home. Nothing better to deter burglars or to signal the presence of a snake. You’ll often see Thais tapping the top of their dog’s head, but don’t be fooled: it’s a sign of affection from them. Judging by the dogs’ reactions, they’re used to it.
Thailand is one of the countries on the planet where rabies is still present, so keep that in mind. It’s not just bites that can be dangerous, so don’t let just any dog lick you. Especially on a wound, of course. Even though dogs often fear humans—this dangerous and unpredictable predator—we still need to stay cautious. Be careful when walking into alleys because the dog will defend its master’s big property, be careful at night, and be careful when they’re in packs. It sometimes crosses our minds that Thailand isn’t really made for walking around, and dogs are one of the reasons. That said, it’s not uncommon to see them chasing bikes or scooters. Cars, though, are much rarer—they’re too big.
It seems Thais prefer to give their dogs freedom by not locking them behind gates. Though sometimes the gate is closed, the little side door is wide open. Oh, and sometimes there’s no gate in front of the property, or it’s been broken for years.
You’ll often see dogs sleeping on the side of the road, sometimes right on the road. When you arrive, they move aside nonchalantly—or not at all. It’s less funny when they suddenly appear from thick vegetation, which reminds visitors not to drive too fast. As a result, you’ll notice that dogs with injuries or missing legs aren’t that rare.
Since they believe in reincarnation and respect for all forms of life, they don’t chase dog packs away too much, and they don’t sterilize them enough. Seeing a small pack roaming freely in the countryside, you might think it’s best not to cross paths with them at the edge of a field. A darker side of this is that euthanasia isn’t often practiced. Twice, we saw dogs at temples on the brink of death, enduring terrible suffering. No one did anything about it. The image (and the smell) of one of them, dying and emitting the stench of death, still comes back to me sometimes.
Some of you may have seen the YouTube vlog of a French woman living in Phuket who was given a little pig by her Thai friends. The well-fed animal quickly became a happy, enormous beast with its own garden. Yet, it didn’t take long for it to fall seriously ill and become incurable. In her video, the French woman described how difficult it was to find a vet willing to perform euthanasia.
You’ll often see bowls by the side of the road. Thais leave food and water in them for stray cats and dogs. Overall, they have a big heart for animals.
If you ever pop into a shopping mall, you might see people pushing their small dogs in strollers. It’s not a gimmick—it’s just that these strollers are provided for customers to put their pets in, otherwise you can’t bring them inside. It looks a bit odd when you expect to see a baby.
This travel journal is therefore intended solely for my photos, to present a consistent style. All the shots were taken with a simple Samsung Galaxy smartphone and with whatever was at hand.
All stays combined, I’ve spent the equivalent of three years at most in Thailand, and I’m not a big expert on the country. However, after many trips, lots of reading on VoyageForum and other sites, and conversations with many locals as well as expats, my view of the country is becoming clearer, though it’s constantly evolving. You never stop discovering and learning.
I guess I wanted to piece together a puzzle, mainly for those who want to get an idea of the country here and for those who miss it. I don’t know if this minimalist sharing will interest anyone, but it’ll do me good to put it together. After so many months without traveling and then these other long months with VF closed, there’s plenty of material available.
There’ll be a mix of places, periods, and subjects, but it might well be intentional.
I suspect many Thais have dogs because they make excellent guards for the home. Nothing better to deter burglars or to signal the presence of a snake. You’ll often see Thais tapping the top of their dog’s head, but don’t be fooled: it’s a sign of affection from them. Judging by the dogs’ reactions, they’re used to it.
Thailand is one of the countries on the planet where rabies is still present, so keep that in mind. It’s not just bites that can be dangerous, so don’t let just any dog lick you. Especially on a wound, of course. Even though dogs often fear humans—this dangerous and unpredictable predator—we still need to stay cautious. Be careful when walking into alleys because the dog will defend its master’s big property, be careful at night, and be careful when they’re in packs. It sometimes crosses our minds that Thailand isn’t really made for walking around, and dogs are one of the reasons. That said, it’s not uncommon to see them chasing bikes or scooters. Cars, though, are much rarer—they’re too big.
It seems Thais prefer to give their dogs freedom by not locking them behind gates. Though sometimes the gate is closed, the little side door is wide open. Oh, and sometimes there’s no gate in front of the property, or it’s been broken for years.
You’ll often see dogs sleeping on the side of the road, sometimes right on the road. When you arrive, they move aside nonchalantly—or not at all. It’s less funny when they suddenly appear from thick vegetation, which reminds visitors not to drive too fast. As a result, you’ll notice that dogs with injuries or missing legs aren’t that rare.
Since they believe in reincarnation and respect for all forms of life, they don’t chase dog packs away too much, and they don’t sterilize them enough. Seeing a small pack roaming freely in the countryside, you might think it’s best not to cross paths with them at the edge of a field. A darker side of this is that euthanasia isn’t often practiced. Twice, we saw dogs at temples on the brink of death, enduring terrible suffering. No one did anything about it. The image (and the smell) of one of them, dying and emitting the stench of death, still comes back to me sometimes.
Some of you may have seen the YouTube vlog of a French woman living in Phuket who was given a little pig by her Thai friends. The well-fed animal quickly became a happy, enormous beast with its own garden. Yet, it didn’t take long for it to fall seriously ill and become incurable. In her video, the French woman described how difficult it was to find a vet willing to perform euthanasia.
You’ll often see bowls by the side of the road. Thais leave food and water in them for stray cats and dogs. Overall, they have a big heart for animals.
If you ever pop into a shopping mall, you might see people pushing their small dogs in strollers. It’s not a gimmick—it’s just that these strollers are provided for customers to put their pets in, otherwise you can’t bring them inside. It looks a bit odd when you expect to see a baby.
A Turquoise Dream Come True in Uzbekistan - 2022
We took this trip from September 12 to October 7, 2022. I didn’t post this travel journal earlier in Voyage Forum because the site wasn’t back up yet (and also because I was short on time).
Then, at the end of 2024, I made a promise to a friend: to publish my travel journal on VF. So here it is!
We took off from Paris in the late afternoon on September 12 and arrived in Tashkent around 7:15 AM on the 13th.
This trip was the result of long contemplation and preparation (it was originally planned for the year of the lockdown (2020) and was prepared with the help and advice of Nasrullo Jumanov from Turquoise Travel.
Stages and Itinerary
Stage 1: Tashkent - September 13 and 14
Stage 2: Ferghana Valley – September 15 to 17
Stage 3: Nukus and Moynaq - September 18 and 19
Stage 4: Mysterious Khiva - September 20 to 22
Stage 5: Holy Bukhara - September 23 to 26
Stage 6: Asraf - September 27 and 28
Stage 7: Mythical Samarkand - September 29 to October 2
Stage 8: Tersak (via Shakhrisabz and Urgut) – October 3 and 4
Stage 9: Samarkand – October 5 and 6
Stage 10: Tashkent/Istanbul/Paris – October 6 and 7
Stage 1: Tashkent
September 13
At the airport exit, we were greeted by the owner of our B&B (B&B Gulnara).
Today was all about recovery and our first steps in the capital. Our first currency exchange made us feel like sudden millionaires.
Our first stroll down the avenue leading to Chorsu Market introduced us to the fact that 80 to 90% of the cars here are white Chevrolets.
A walk under the arcades facing Chorsu: hardware stores, cabinetmakers, lute makers (one of them gave me a little concert/demo of a few string instruments).
As we entered the market, many vendors called out to us, including this florist who asked where we were from: ‘France? Ah! Macron! PSG!’ He then recited a list of players from the Parisian team as well as past (Platini, Zidane, etc.) and current (Giroud, Griezmann, Mbappé, etc.) French national team players. Since we’re more into rugby (we live near Toulouse), he knew more players than I did!
The market sprawls outside around the large circular, multi-story hall. We bought some grapes and bottles of freshly squeezed pomegranate juice for just a few sums. This evening, we had a meet-up with Nasrullo. The reunion was very warm: we’d been exchanging messages for over two years, and I’d been ‘torturing’ him with changes to our itinerary and trip duration. We were finally eager to meet, and honestly, I wasn’t disappointed—in fact, it was the opposite. Nasrullo was very attentive throughout our trip and always made sure, even from a distance (and most often from a distance!), that everything went smoothly. His goal was for us to leave delighted with our trip and, why not, indirectly become ambassadors for this destination. September 14 Breakfast with Nasrullo, then we set off with him by taxi to explore some of the capital’s sites.
We started by visiting the Khazrati Imam complex, which includes the mausoleum of Kaffal Shashi, the Barak Khan and Muyi Muborak madrasas, and the great Khazrati Imam Mosque with its immense prayer hall.
In the Muyi Muborak madrasa, now a museum, you can see the oldest Quran in the world. It was written by three religious scholars, including the secretary of the Prophet Muhammad, on large ‘pages’ made of antelope skin. Next, we explored Soviet-era Tashkent, discovering its parks, canals, and squares: Independence Square with its storks and phoenixes, Amir Temur Square with its large statue and, in the background, the massive Soviet-era hotel that has become one of Tashkent’s iconic buildings. Nasrullo took us through Broadway Boulevard and along what he calls ‘Tashkent’s Montmartre’… Well, it’s far, very far from Montmartre (in every sense of the word!). Then we took the metro to Chorsu station. Rush hour is pretty much the same everywhere in the metro… When we arrived at Chorsu, it was time to say goodbye. Nasrullo had to head back to Samarkand. Before leaving, he recommended some chaikhanas at the end of the galleries facing the market. We ate there for just a few euros (2 or 3 € for two people). After eating, we headed back to our room to cool off (our B&B is about a 10-minute walk away).
Around 4 PM, we set off to visit the Kokeldash Madrasa, which is still active. On the way, we stopped to watch some bread vendors and take a few photos. We were hesitating about buying some for our evening picnic when a young woman approached us. In perfect English, she asked: ‘Are you looking for something? Do you want to buy bread? Which one? How much?’ She then spoke to one of the vendors and negotiated the price. ‘Do you want one?’ And she took two. She paid directly. I took out my wallet to reimburse her, but she refused. It’s on the house! Then the vendor asked where we were from. And off we went again: Macron, PSG, football players… We’ll have to get used to it. The young woman smiled at the questions and comments, barely gave us time to thank her, and left as quickly as she had approached us.
We continued our walk. Visited the madrasa. Then we crossed the boulevard to see the Tashkent Circus. I would’ve loved to go in and visit, but the ticket seller wouldn’t hear of it. We carried on around what should’ve been a park with old-fashioned rides and attractions. All we found was a construction site. Oh well! Back at our hotel, a message from Nasrullo was waiting for us. He had managed to change our train ticket for the next day. Instead of taking the 6:00 AM train, we’d take the 8:00 AM one. And instead of second class, we’d be in first class! Great! This evening, we had a picnic at one of the breakfast tables in the B&B courtyard. Under a shelter, the owner and his family were celebrating a birthday. The owner started by offering us some tea. Then they brought us some fruit (watermelon and melon). Finally, after the song, candles, and cake cutting, they brought us two generous slices of that beautiful birthday cake. Delicious!
We took off from Paris in the late afternoon on September 12 and arrived in Tashkent around 7:15 AM on the 13th.
This trip was the result of long contemplation and preparation (it was originally planned for the year of the lockdown (2020) and was prepared with the help and advice of Nasrullo Jumanov from Turquoise Travel.
Stages and Itinerary
Stage 1: Tashkent - September 13 and 14
Stage 2: Ferghana Valley – September 15 to 17
Stage 3: Nukus and Moynaq - September 18 and 19
Stage 4: Mysterious Khiva - September 20 to 22
Stage 5: Holy Bukhara - September 23 to 26
Stage 6: Asraf - September 27 and 28
Stage 7: Mythical Samarkand - September 29 to October 2
Stage 8: Tersak (via Shakhrisabz and Urgut) – October 3 and 4
Stage 9: Samarkand – October 5 and 6
Stage 10: Tashkent/Istanbul/Paris – October 6 and 7
Stage 1: Tashkent
September 13
At the airport exit, we were greeted by the owner of our B&B (B&B Gulnara).
Today was all about recovery and our first steps in the capital. Our first currency exchange made us feel like sudden millionaires.
Our first stroll down the avenue leading to Chorsu Market introduced us to the fact that 80 to 90% of the cars here are white Chevrolets.
A walk under the arcades facing Chorsu: hardware stores, cabinetmakers, lute makers (one of them gave me a little concert/demo of a few string instruments).As we entered the market, many vendors called out to us, including this florist who asked where we were from: ‘France? Ah! Macron! PSG!’ He then recited a list of players from the Parisian team as well as past (Platini, Zidane, etc.) and current (Giroud, Griezmann, Mbappé, etc.) French national team players. Since we’re more into rugby (we live near Toulouse), he knew more players than I did!
The market sprawls outside around the large circular, multi-story hall. We bought some grapes and bottles of freshly squeezed pomegranate juice for just a few sums. This evening, we had a meet-up with Nasrullo. The reunion was very warm: we’d been exchanging messages for over two years, and I’d been ‘torturing’ him with changes to our itinerary and trip duration. We were finally eager to meet, and honestly, I wasn’t disappointed—in fact, it was the opposite. Nasrullo was very attentive throughout our trip and always made sure, even from a distance (and most often from a distance!), that everything went smoothly. His goal was for us to leave delighted with our trip and, why not, indirectly become ambassadors for this destination. September 14 Breakfast with Nasrullo, then we set off with him by taxi to explore some of the capital’s sites.
We started by visiting the Khazrati Imam complex, which includes the mausoleum of Kaffal Shashi, the Barak Khan and Muyi Muborak madrasas, and the great Khazrati Imam Mosque with its immense prayer hall.
In the Muyi Muborak madrasa, now a museum, you can see the oldest Quran in the world. It was written by three religious scholars, including the secretary of the Prophet Muhammad, on large ‘pages’ made of antelope skin. Next, we explored Soviet-era Tashkent, discovering its parks, canals, and squares: Independence Square with its storks and phoenixes, Amir Temur Square with its large statue and, in the background, the massive Soviet-era hotel that has become one of Tashkent’s iconic buildings. Nasrullo took us through Broadway Boulevard and along what he calls ‘Tashkent’s Montmartre’… Well, it’s far, very far from Montmartre (in every sense of the word!). Then we took the metro to Chorsu station. Rush hour is pretty much the same everywhere in the metro… When we arrived at Chorsu, it was time to say goodbye. Nasrullo had to head back to Samarkand. Before leaving, he recommended some chaikhanas at the end of the galleries facing the market. We ate there for just a few euros (2 or 3 € for two people). After eating, we headed back to our room to cool off (our B&B is about a 10-minute walk away).
Around 4 PM, we set off to visit the Kokeldash Madrasa, which is still active. On the way, we stopped to watch some bread vendors and take a few photos. We were hesitating about buying some for our evening picnic when a young woman approached us. In perfect English, she asked: ‘Are you looking for something? Do you want to buy bread? Which one? How much?’ She then spoke to one of the vendors and negotiated the price. ‘Do you want one?’ And she took two. She paid directly. I took out my wallet to reimburse her, but she refused. It’s on the house! Then the vendor asked where we were from. And off we went again: Macron, PSG, football players… We’ll have to get used to it. The young woman smiled at the questions and comments, barely gave us time to thank her, and left as quickly as she had approached us.
We continued our walk. Visited the madrasa. Then we crossed the boulevard to see the Tashkent Circus. I would’ve loved to go in and visit, but the ticket seller wouldn’t hear of it. We carried on around what should’ve been a park with old-fashioned rides and attractions. All we found was a construction site. Oh well! Back at our hotel, a message from Nasrullo was waiting for us. He had managed to change our train ticket for the next day. Instead of taking the 6:00 AM train, we’d take the 8:00 AM one. And instead of second class, we’d be in first class! Great! This evening, we had a picnic at one of the breakfast tables in the B&B courtyard. Under a shelter, the owner and his family were celebrating a birthday. The owner started by offering us some tea. Then they brought us some fruit (watermelon and melon). Finally, after the song, candles, and cake cutting, they brought us two generous slices of that beautiful birthday cake. Delicious!
Texas, Louisiana, and a Touch of Florida
After five trips to the American West, we had planned to switch countries and continents to visit Turkey. However, by the time we made up our minds, flight ticket prices had nearly doubled, reaching 400 € for a round-trip ticket. A bit disappointed, I started looking at transatlantic flight prices and stumbled upon discounted tickets from Basel-Mulhouse to Dallas—at the same price as our tickets to Turkey!
No hesitation needed; we bought the five tickets for a total of 1,860 € excluding baggage!
From Fort Worth Airport, we had two options: - Head west on a loop through Texas, New Mexico, and southern Colorado - Head east to change the scenery and explore East Texas, Louisiana, with a possible detour into Florida.
The latter option won unanimously, so here we are, off to discover new states, mainly Louisiana and Texas.
One of the main post-COVID challenges is finding a reasonably priced car rental. After an initial booking around 1,300 €, we kept an eye on prices a few weeks before departure and managed to snag a better deal at around 900 € for a comfortable sedan.
Yes, this summer will also be a first: no 4x4, no camping, and plenty of restaurants!
As always, I’ve planned a packed itinerary, ready to adjust on the go. A few weeks before departure, we learned we’d be at full capacity—our eldest son, Maxime, got his first-year med school results. By finishing as a top admit, he avoided the mandatory July-August internship that would’ve kept him from joining us. Instead, he wrapped up his internship at the last minute the night before our big departure.
We’ll get to savor these special moments together.
The itinerary: Day 1 - 07/15: Fort Worth Day 2: Dallas Day 3: Jefferson - Caddo Lake Day 4: Black Bayou Lake - Natchez - Stanton Hall and Rosalie Mansion Day 5: St. Francisville - Rosedown Plantation - Cat Island Wildlife Refuge Day 6: Mobile - USS Alabama Battleship Memorial Park Day 7 - 8: Pensacola Beach Day 9: Bellingrath Gardens - New Orleans Day 10 - 11: New Orleans Day 12: Plantation Route Day 13: Jungle Gardens - Tabasco Factory - Vermilionville - Lake Martin Day 14: Baton Rouge - USS Kidd Day 15: Houma - Cajun Man's Swamp Tour Day 16: Galveston, Texas Day 17: Space Center Houston - Painted Churches Day 18: San Antonio Day 19: Texas Hill Country Day 20: Texas Hill Country and evening in San Antonio Day 21: Austin and Waco
Day 0 - 07/14: The departure timing isn’t exactly relaxing. On Thursday late afternoon, we hit the road to Alsace, aiming to drop off our two cockers with family before reaching the airport at 2 AM for a 3-hour power nap. Not exactly fresh, we arrive at the terminal looking for a British Airways counter. None in sight, so we try our luck at a United Airlines counter—who knows, maybe it’ll work out. And bingo! The agent checks us in. We didn’t quite understand why, but maybe there’s some agreement between airlines. For the first time, we’re traveling without checked baggage, so no extra fees. Not a huge feat, given the scorching temperatures awaiting us!
The connecting flight to London goes smoothly.
During the layover, liquid checks get stricter—now requiring small bottles to be in a pre-approved clear bag, with only one bag allowed per passenger. Normally, no big deal, but between deodorant, sunscreen, after-sun lotion, hand sanitizer, contact lens solution, etc., we spend 20 minutes optimizing the arrangement! When we finally succeed, one of the security staff bursts out laughing and congratulates us!
With our stomachs growling, we grab an American breakfast before browsing the airport shops.
We then discover our plane for the long-haul flight and are thrilled to see it’s an A380—a first for Laetitia, though the rest of the family experienced it during our winter getaway. Still just as impressive!
With a hint of uncertainty, we take off for the States—my third trip in barely 12 months. This time, no endless badlands, canyons, slot canyons, hoodoos, or brain rocks, but a journey through five states (Texas, Louisiana, a quick stop in Mississippi, Alabama, and the northwest tip of Florida), where we hope to soak up a unique vibe... with a packed schedule of diverse visits.
Arrival at Fort Worth Airport and customs go smoothly. Since we have no checked baggage, we’re first in line at the Dollar counter. In just 3 minutes, the formalities are done. We decline the Toll Pass, which I don’t think we’ll need based on my "calculations," and head to the Dollar parking lot, where an employee tells us we can pick any car we want!
There are about thirty cars waiting. Too many choices!
After last year’s mishap in Oakland, where our 4x4’s trunk was broken into, we’re looking for a sedan to hide our luggage this time. Unfortunately, there are none—only SUVs. We finally settle on a comfortable 7-seater Ford SUV with a massive trunk when set up for five.
On the road from Fort Worth to Dallas, we accidentally take a toll highway without realizing until it’s too late to exit. Let’s hope Dollar doesn’t charge us a week’s worth of their pricey Toll Pass for a $2 toll. We’ll see... In the meantime, Maxime sets up Google Maps to avoid toll roads.
Since it’s not too late, we stop by the nearest Walmart for groceries before checking into our hotel room for three nights in East Dallas suburb.
No hesitation needed; we bought the five tickets for a total of 1,860 € excluding baggage!
From Fort Worth Airport, we had two options: - Head west on a loop through Texas, New Mexico, and southern Colorado - Head east to change the scenery and explore East Texas, Louisiana, with a possible detour into Florida.
The latter option won unanimously, so here we are, off to discover new states, mainly Louisiana and Texas.
One of the main post-COVID challenges is finding a reasonably priced car rental. After an initial booking around 1,300 €, we kept an eye on prices a few weeks before departure and managed to snag a better deal at around 900 € for a comfortable sedan.
Yes, this summer will also be a first: no 4x4, no camping, and plenty of restaurants!
As always, I’ve planned a packed itinerary, ready to adjust on the go. A few weeks before departure, we learned we’d be at full capacity—our eldest son, Maxime, got his first-year med school results. By finishing as a top admit, he avoided the mandatory July-August internship that would’ve kept him from joining us. Instead, he wrapped up his internship at the last minute the night before our big departure.
We’ll get to savor these special moments together.
The itinerary: Day 1 - 07/15: Fort Worth Day 2: Dallas Day 3: Jefferson - Caddo Lake Day 4: Black Bayou Lake - Natchez - Stanton Hall and Rosalie Mansion Day 5: St. Francisville - Rosedown Plantation - Cat Island Wildlife Refuge Day 6: Mobile - USS Alabama Battleship Memorial Park Day 7 - 8: Pensacola Beach Day 9: Bellingrath Gardens - New Orleans Day 10 - 11: New Orleans Day 12: Plantation Route Day 13: Jungle Gardens - Tabasco Factory - Vermilionville - Lake Martin Day 14: Baton Rouge - USS Kidd Day 15: Houma - Cajun Man's Swamp Tour Day 16: Galveston, Texas Day 17: Space Center Houston - Painted Churches Day 18: San Antonio Day 19: Texas Hill Country Day 20: Texas Hill Country and evening in San Antonio Day 21: Austin and Waco
Day 0 - 07/14: The departure timing isn’t exactly relaxing. On Thursday late afternoon, we hit the road to Alsace, aiming to drop off our two cockers with family before reaching the airport at 2 AM for a 3-hour power nap. Not exactly fresh, we arrive at the terminal looking for a British Airways counter. None in sight, so we try our luck at a United Airlines counter—who knows, maybe it’ll work out. And bingo! The agent checks us in. We didn’t quite understand why, but maybe there’s some agreement between airlines. For the first time, we’re traveling without checked baggage, so no extra fees. Not a huge feat, given the scorching temperatures awaiting us!
The connecting flight to London goes smoothly.
During the layover, liquid checks get stricter—now requiring small bottles to be in a pre-approved clear bag, with only one bag allowed per passenger. Normally, no big deal, but between deodorant, sunscreen, after-sun lotion, hand sanitizer, contact lens solution, etc., we spend 20 minutes optimizing the arrangement! When we finally succeed, one of the security staff bursts out laughing and congratulates us!
With our stomachs growling, we grab an American breakfast before browsing the airport shops.
We then discover our plane for the long-haul flight and are thrilled to see it’s an A380—a first for Laetitia, though the rest of the family experienced it during our winter getaway. Still just as impressive!
With a hint of uncertainty, we take off for the States—my third trip in barely 12 months. This time, no endless badlands, canyons, slot canyons, hoodoos, or brain rocks, but a journey through five states (Texas, Louisiana, a quick stop in Mississippi, Alabama, and the northwest tip of Florida), where we hope to soak up a unique vibe... with a packed schedule of diverse visits.
Arrival at Fort Worth Airport and customs go smoothly. Since we have no checked baggage, we’re first in line at the Dollar counter. In just 3 minutes, the formalities are done. We decline the Toll Pass, which I don’t think we’ll need based on my "calculations," and head to the Dollar parking lot, where an employee tells us we can pick any car we want!
There are about thirty cars waiting. Too many choices!
After last year’s mishap in Oakland, where our 4x4’s trunk was broken into, we’re looking for a sedan to hide our luggage this time. Unfortunately, there are none—only SUVs. We finally settle on a comfortable 7-seater Ford SUV with a massive trunk when set up for five.
On the road from Fort Worth to Dallas, we accidentally take a toll highway without realizing until it’s too late to exit. Let’s hope Dollar doesn’t charge us a week’s worth of their pricey Toll Pass for a $2 toll. We’ll see... In the meantime, Maxime sets up Google Maps to avoid toll roads.
Since it’s not too late, we stop by the nearest Walmart for groceries before checking into our hotel room for three nights in East Dallas suburb.
Photo Safaris in Kenya
Back on the forum, I’m starting to write up two 3-week trips to Kenya in August 2021 and 2023.
In 2021, Quynh and I traveled with Régis (Rjulie95 on VF). Our son joined us in Baringo for the second half of the trip.
In 2023, we went with two friends who’d been dreaming of seeing wild animals ever since we got back from Kenya. We didn’t need much convincing to go with them!
The two itineraries are almost identical (well, when you love something...) but we did make a few tweaks.
- The first part of the trip was with a local driver/guide, Félix, who was recommended by Sylvie56. Sylvie and her husband Ben are Kenya enthusiasts—they’ve been there countless times, always with Félix... and for good reason! He’s fantastic!
- The second part was with Melting Pot Safari, an agency that adapted to our photography needs. Tony Crocetta, the co-founder (along with his Kenyan friend Simon Chebon), is a wildlife photographer himself.
Here are the itineraries for both trips, including accommodations:
In 2021: Day 0: Paris / Nairobi - 67 Airport Hotel Day 1: Nairobi / Amboseli - Simba Cottage Day 2: Amboseli - Simba Cottage Day 3: Amboseli / Aberdares - Fishing Lodge Day 4: Aberdares - Fishing Lodge Day 5: Aberdares - Fishing Lodge Day 6: Aberdares / Samburu - Riverside Camp Day 7: Samburu - Riverside Camp Day 8: Samburu - Riverside Camp Day 9: Samburu / Nakuru - Merica Hotel Day 10: Nakuru / Baringo - Tumbili Cliff Lodge Day 11: Baringo - Tumbili Cliff Lodge Day 12: Baringo - Tumbili Cliff Lodge Day 13: Baringo / Maasai Mara – Meltingpot Bush Camp Day 14 to 18: Maasai Mara – Meltingpot Bush Camp Day 19: Maasai Mara / Nairobi – Roussel Guest House Day 20: Nairobi / Paris
In 2023: Day 0: Lyon / Paris / Nairobi - 67 Airport Hotel Day 1: Nairobi / Meru - Ikweta Camp Day 2: Meru - Ikweta Camp Day 3: Meru - Ikweta Camp Day 4: Meru / Samburu - Riverside Camp Day 5: Samburu – Riverside Camp Day 6: Samburu / Buffalo Springs – Samburu Simba Day 7: Buffalo Springs / Ol Pejeta – Sweetwater Camp Day 8: Ol Pejeta / Amboseli - Simba Cottage Day 9: Amboseli - Simba Cottage Day 10: Amboseli - Simba Cottage Day 11: Amboseli / Nakuru – Lake Nakuru Lodge Day 12: Nakuru / Baringo - Tumbili Cliff Lodge Day 13: Baringo - Tumbili Cliff Lodge Day 14: Baringo - Tumbili Cliff Lodge Day 15: Baringo / Maasai Mara – Meltingpot Bush Camp Day 16 to 20: Maasai Mara – Meltingpot Bush Camp Day 21: Maasai Mara / Nairobi / Paris
Here’s an itinerary—it’s not exactly what we did, but a combination of both.
Ready to join us on safari to see some wild animals?
The two itineraries are almost identical (well, when you love something...) but we did make a few tweaks.
- The first part of the trip was with a local driver/guide, Félix, who was recommended by Sylvie56. Sylvie and her husband Ben are Kenya enthusiasts—they’ve been there countless times, always with Félix... and for good reason! He’s fantastic!
- The second part was with Melting Pot Safari, an agency that adapted to our photography needs. Tony Crocetta, the co-founder (along with his Kenyan friend Simon Chebon), is a wildlife photographer himself.
Here are the itineraries for both trips, including accommodations:
In 2021: Day 0: Paris / Nairobi - 67 Airport Hotel Day 1: Nairobi / Amboseli - Simba Cottage Day 2: Amboseli - Simba Cottage Day 3: Amboseli / Aberdares - Fishing Lodge Day 4: Aberdares - Fishing Lodge Day 5: Aberdares - Fishing Lodge Day 6: Aberdares / Samburu - Riverside Camp Day 7: Samburu - Riverside Camp Day 8: Samburu - Riverside Camp Day 9: Samburu / Nakuru - Merica Hotel Day 10: Nakuru / Baringo - Tumbili Cliff Lodge Day 11: Baringo - Tumbili Cliff Lodge Day 12: Baringo - Tumbili Cliff Lodge Day 13: Baringo / Maasai Mara – Meltingpot Bush Camp Day 14 to 18: Maasai Mara – Meltingpot Bush Camp Day 19: Maasai Mara / Nairobi – Roussel Guest House Day 20: Nairobi / Paris
In 2023: Day 0: Lyon / Paris / Nairobi - 67 Airport Hotel Day 1: Nairobi / Meru - Ikweta Camp Day 2: Meru - Ikweta Camp Day 3: Meru - Ikweta Camp Day 4: Meru / Samburu - Riverside Camp Day 5: Samburu – Riverside Camp Day 6: Samburu / Buffalo Springs – Samburu Simba Day 7: Buffalo Springs / Ol Pejeta – Sweetwater Camp Day 8: Ol Pejeta / Amboseli - Simba Cottage Day 9: Amboseli - Simba Cottage Day 10: Amboseli - Simba Cottage Day 11: Amboseli / Nakuru – Lake Nakuru Lodge Day 12: Nakuru / Baringo - Tumbili Cliff Lodge Day 13: Baringo - Tumbili Cliff Lodge Day 14: Baringo - Tumbili Cliff Lodge Day 15: Baringo / Maasai Mara – Meltingpot Bush Camp Day 16 to 20: Maasai Mara – Meltingpot Bush Camp Day 21: Maasai Mara / Nairobi / Paris
Here’s an itinerary—it’s not exactly what we did, but a combination of both.
Ready to join us on safari to see some wild animals?
A trip to Australia: the Northern Territory.
Thursday, November 2, 2023
Lake Argyle – Katherine
We had a great time. Now we’ve got to pay the price. We’re down one stop before Katherine. Gotta do the whole trip in one go—6 hours of driving. Let’s go! We’re a bit low on fuel with only 300 kilometers of range. The only station at the lake doesn’t open until 9 a.m., and the next (and only) one is 227 kilometers away… Should we risk it? Except for a magnificent frilled-neck lizard darting across the road on its big hind legs and an emu quickly disappearing into the bush, we didn’t see much. Oh—there was also a donkey, lost and panicked in the middle of the road… A quiet road with some beautiful scenery,
some worrying bushfires
and a few opportunities to stop for a "warrior’s rest" (never go beyond the first second of the thought that starts drifting off the road…)
We cross an invisible border as we enter the Northern Territory, which comes with consequences—we immediately lose an hour and a half by changing time zones. The speed limit goes from 110 to 130.
We arrive at the self check-in in Katherine. As usual, we’re a little taken aback at first. The noise, for starters. There’s a group rehearsing, it seems. We go check it out. We pass through the doors separating "The Stuart" from the adjoining bar and stumble upon what feels like collective hysteria. Turns out, it’s a concert. Aboriginal musicians completely fired up by some incredible music! There are just three of them, but they’re delivering a wall of sound that reminds us of South Africa’s finest neo-techno with a trance-like vibe. The crowd is wild! They’re singing in unison, screaming with joy. We get gently kicked out by security because we’re carrying our groceries, and they’re not having it. We promise ourselves we’ll come back once we’ve put them away in our little fridge.
Then we land. We end up finding plenty of nice things. It’s very possible we’ll like this place!
We head back to enjoy our post-battle Happy Hour.
The concert’s over, but the crowd’s still riding the high. It’s indescribable. People are shouting across the room, screaming just for the fun of it—men and women alike. There’s pool, some beat-up arcade games being shaken like coconut trees. Dom and I feel like anthropologists. We’re pretty blown away. It’s epic! And the beer’s half the price it is elsewhere! We’ll definitely be back—that’s for sure!
We give up on finding a restaurant. Not sure they even exist, at least not this season. So, we’ve got a microwave—we eat at home on our little terrace, with a musical accompaniment from a massive orchestra of birds.
It sounds amazing!
We had a great time. Now we’ve got to pay the price. We’re down one stop before Katherine. Gotta do the whole trip in one go—6 hours of driving. Let’s go! We’re a bit low on fuel with only 300 kilometers of range. The only station at the lake doesn’t open until 9 a.m., and the next (and only) one is 227 kilometers away… Should we risk it? Except for a magnificent frilled-neck lizard darting across the road on its big hind legs and an emu quickly disappearing into the bush, we didn’t see much. Oh—there was also a donkey, lost and panicked in the middle of the road… A quiet road with some beautiful scenery,
some worrying bushfires
and a few opportunities to stop for a "warrior’s rest" (never go beyond the first second of the thought that starts drifting off the road…)
We cross an invisible border as we enter the Northern Territory, which comes with consequences—we immediately lose an hour and a half by changing time zones. The speed limit goes from 110 to 130.
We arrive at the self check-in in Katherine. As usual, we’re a little taken aback at first. The noise, for starters. There’s a group rehearsing, it seems. We go check it out. We pass through the doors separating "The Stuart" from the adjoining bar and stumble upon what feels like collective hysteria. Turns out, it’s a concert. Aboriginal musicians completely fired up by some incredible music! There are just three of them, but they’re delivering a wall of sound that reminds us of South Africa’s finest neo-techno with a trance-like vibe. The crowd is wild! They’re singing in unison, screaming with joy. We get gently kicked out by security because we’re carrying our groceries, and they’re not having it. We promise ourselves we’ll come back once we’ve put them away in our little fridge.
Then we land. We end up finding plenty of nice things. It’s very possible we’ll like this place!
We head back to enjoy our post-battle Happy Hour.
The concert’s over, but the crowd’s still riding the high. It’s indescribable. People are shouting across the room, screaming just for the fun of it—men and women alike. There’s pool, some beat-up arcade games being shaken like coconut trees. Dom and I feel like anthropologists. We’re pretty blown away. It’s epic! And the beer’s half the price it is elsewhere! We’ll definitely be back—that’s for sure!We give up on finding a restaurant. Not sure they even exist, at least not this season. So, we’ve got a microwave—we eat at home on our little terrace, with a musical accompaniment from a massive orchestra of birds.
It sounds amazing!
A long journey around Australia
Sunday, October 1st, 2023
Mulhouse-London
We dumped our trash on our neighbors. We hugged, overflowing with emotion. Then Léa from Taxis S showed up. She knows us well. For ages, she’s been our driver. She was practically the official taxiwoman for the trips of the company where Dom and I met. She knew us when we were single! Almost teenagers! She knows everyone and fills in the biographies of people we’d forgotten.
Across the street, while we loaded the luggage, S., perched in his window frame, waved a handkerchief. This wasn’t just any trip.
Then things got tricky. It’s funny how fate sinks its teeth into our happy moments—there’s this whole intermediate phase where the poison seeps in unnoticed because you’re still in the dark...
First, there was a delay on our flight to London. Dom immediately went on high alert, while I stayed calm. In my mind, we had two hours. I knew we had to go from Terminal 5 to Terminal 4, but two hours—come on, that’s plenty, right?
Bad calculation! Because those two hours were between the first flight’s landing and the second’s takeoff. But flights close at least half an hour before departure. Getting from one terminal to another means taking a shuttle bus. We waited for the one going to Terminal 4... until a young guy paid to direct people (who hadn’t seen us) informed us it was no longer possible to access Terminal 4 without going through Terminal 2 first for a connection! That really cranked up the pressure. We started installing a mental countdown with a programmed explosion at the end—guaranteed stress with added beads of sweat. The terminal bus was driven by a young Pakistani guy. We were *so* tense we bombarded him with our frantic, repetitive questions. “So? When are we getting there? What’s happening? Why aren’t we moving?” Our eyes were glued to our watches. The poor guy knew. Perfectly. Because it was obvious—no way around it. We weren’t going to make it. It was impossible. But Dom and I stubbornly refused to believe it. Then the kid stopped the bus. Me, hysterical: “What are you doing? What’s going on? Our plane takes off in... in... 4 minutes!!!! We’re gonna miss iiiiiit!” He wasn’t calm either. “You’ve already missed it!” He explained we had to cross a zone that required an escort car to clear a path through the runways. Impossible to do without. It’s forbidden. We had to WAIT (!!!). Then he got a radio call—he had to rush to Terminal 3 to pick up a passenger who was *super* tight on time. “Amir!!!! It’s RIGHT NOW!” they yelled in his already-red ears, thanks to the complaints of two hysterical Frenchies. Dom and I were in overdrive, hallucinating! We wanted to stop him, maybe even hit him to prevent him from turning around. He picked up the girl, whom we instantly hated like the most despicable witch. I turned on my data, searched for Malaysia Airlines’ number at Terminal 4, called, and actually got someone—quite a feat. A woman cut off my frantic rambling with a blunt “It’s over, the check-in is closed, the plane is about to take off.” I heard her but refused to accept it. I yelled, “We’re coming!” She shot back her monolithic “It’s over.” Finally at the doors of that damn Terminal 4, we ran—*really* ran—a marathon, Gate 6, security checks, pat-downs, “Take off your belts,” we asked questions, everyone seemed confident, we ran with one hand holding up our pants, the other clutching our belt, Gate 6—the room was empty. A girl was sitting there, calmly on the phone. We pounced on her. She calmed us down. Little by little, the light came back. Our brains rebooted. We finally understood it was over. We’d have to start crafting a new plan with the new reality. It started with a return to Terminal 5 to talk to British Airways, which took a good hour. With the same driver as before. We were alone with him. He took the time to apologize, to assure us it wasn’t his fault, that our problem had no solution, that nothing could’ve changed the outcome. At BA, we were exhausted. We were greeted by a handsome young man in a navy-blue uniform with gold stripes everywhere. We could’ve made a scene, but we were just relieved to find someone who’d take charge of our story. It was a minimal response, but it was *a* response. I suppose we could’ve demanded a business-class upgrade or a free trip, but we were just happy with a few vouchers for food, a hotel room with breakfast, and a little bag with plastic toys, a razor, toothbrush, hygiene products, and a T-shirt... Trinkets... But we were fine with it all—we said thank you eagerly because the essential was assured. He found us seats on flights tomorrow. *Tomorrow.* We were afraid to hope! We had the exact same flights but a day later. The same crappy times, but it was all good. We felt saved from the shipwreck, like survivors. - And what about the luggage? - .... !!!!
Monday, October 2nd, 2023 London - Kuala Lumpur
It wasn’t the Ritz, but with exhaustion on our side, we slept well. The continental breakfast was way better than we’d expected from an Ibis Budget. Still, it wasn’t enough to restore my joy for life. The course correction had turned into an arduous obstacle course. I scoured the car rental site every which way. Couldn’t reschedule the car. I’d done it before, but this time... Not to mention the laptop battery was complaining—the Brits have this quirk of making their power outlets incompatible with our chargers. Frustrated, I called them but ended up with a girl who declared herself incompetent and offered to have someone from Avis in Perth call me back—someone who’d supposedly handle rentals better. I decided to wait while taking a bath. Barely settled in, the phone rang. I was soaking wet, of course, and asked Dom to answer. Unfortunately, she’s known for disliking my phone, and in a clumsy move, she hung up. We got annoyed. She put dry towels on the edge of the bathtub, but—another false move—they fell in the water. The phone rang again... I completely redid the plans for the next two days, then transferred the files to my phone to consult them later offline. I plugged in my USB cable... *Plop!* The battery died abruptly—my PC shut down without any of the usual polite warnings! I looked around, hoping to find someone to strangle... Long story short, you can tell the day started under the worst omens. I was in a foul mood and spread my bad vibes to Dominique, who was initially in much better spirits... I called Mastercard, hoping to get a refund for the non-refundable night in Perth we’d already paid for. Same old song: “We’ll call you back”... Then... I’ll cut it short—buses, trains, lots of waiting... We rushed to reach the infamous Terminal 4.
We tried new options and convinced ourselves that a delayed departure flight is unrecoverable, no matter the scenario. We were furious that BA hadn’t bothered to tell us, leaving us to run around like rats in a burning house.
Tuesday, October 3rd, 2023 Kuala Lumpur-Perth
The flight was pretty nice. 13 hours, though. Dom and I were facing each other across the aisle. We could get up easily whenever we wanted without bothering anyone and chat when we felt like it. Besides, their chicken was amazing. They were kind enough to offer Dom a truly remarkable glass of rum. Good movies too, including the excellent *Prisoners* by Denis Villeneuve. At KL, during boarding, we developed a nagging worry about our luggage. We checked with some Malaysian Airlines staff. I sensed their hesitation. They made calls. Then changed their minds, giving us smiles and thumbs up...
Wednesday, October 4th, 2023 Perth
*Happy is the man who, like Ulysses, has had a fine voyage.* Well, for us, it wasn’t that. Finally arrived, we experienced the loneliness of tourists watching the baggage carousel spin, emptying of its precious containers one by one, until only a handful of travelers were left, staring at each other in disbelief. Without luggage, you’re kinda screwed. Not even a change of socks—our feet had been swimming in the same shoes for 3 days. No adapter, so no laptop. No toiletries. We could’ve cried! The lost luggage guy played his part. If you want compensation, fill out the disclaimer on the website made for that. And then, “Don’t worry, your luggage will arrive tomorrow!” “Don’t worry?!” From the start of the trip, we’ve been jerked around, fed lies. Tomorrow is the *absolute* last chance to get them back. Beyond that, we’d have to scramble a whole new trip. And lose a lot in the process! I have no idea how to go about it. Tomorrow... OMG... Tomorrow... We landed at 1 AM. Avis, the car rental place, opens at 6:30. Luckily, we found some decent breakfast. It cheered us up and gave us a second wind. Incorrigible, we started believing again! Well, then we just killed time. What else was there to do?
In front of Avis’s little shack, we were freezing. We’d been there since dawn. The girl who showed up, a Latina, immediately saw us as a nuisance who’d ruin her hopes of a peaceful start. Her face and tone were as unwelcoming as possible. You know us—it ended with hugs. She gave us a gorgeous, brand-new car! A hybrid with ultra-sophisticated features, all buttons you shouldn’t touch if you want to drive this thing without causing irreparable damage! We’re off! Driving on the left is easy at first. You think about it constantly. It’s counterintuitive, it takes effort. It’s later, when you get used to it and confidence sets in, that it becomes dangerous—old reflexes can send you into a wall. Anyway, the car and I immediately clicked.
In Perth, underground parking next to the hotel, friendly welcome—we ended up forgetting all the morning’s mishaps. Should we go sightseeing?
https://voyageforum.com/images/posts/small/1733767537-5Nwk6t3DsBZNOzf.jpg
Across the street, while we loaded the luggage, S., perched in his window frame, waved a handkerchief. This wasn’t just any trip.
Then things got tricky. It’s funny how fate sinks its teeth into our happy moments—there’s this whole intermediate phase where the poison seeps in unnoticed because you’re still in the dark...
First, there was a delay on our flight to London. Dom immediately went on high alert, while I stayed calm. In my mind, we had two hours. I knew we had to go from Terminal 5 to Terminal 4, but two hours—come on, that’s plenty, right?
Bad calculation! Because those two hours were between the first flight’s landing and the second’s takeoff. But flights close at least half an hour before departure. Getting from one terminal to another means taking a shuttle bus. We waited for the one going to Terminal 4... until a young guy paid to direct people (who hadn’t seen us) informed us it was no longer possible to access Terminal 4 without going through Terminal 2 first for a connection! That really cranked up the pressure. We started installing a mental countdown with a programmed explosion at the end—guaranteed stress with added beads of sweat. The terminal bus was driven by a young Pakistani guy. We were *so* tense we bombarded him with our frantic, repetitive questions. “So? When are we getting there? What’s happening? Why aren’t we moving?” Our eyes were glued to our watches. The poor guy knew. Perfectly. Because it was obvious—no way around it. We weren’t going to make it. It was impossible. But Dom and I stubbornly refused to believe it. Then the kid stopped the bus. Me, hysterical: “What are you doing? What’s going on? Our plane takes off in... in... 4 minutes!!!! We’re gonna miss iiiiiit!” He wasn’t calm either. “You’ve already missed it!” He explained we had to cross a zone that required an escort car to clear a path through the runways. Impossible to do without. It’s forbidden. We had to WAIT (!!!). Then he got a radio call—he had to rush to Terminal 3 to pick up a passenger who was *super* tight on time. “Amir!!!! It’s RIGHT NOW!” they yelled in his already-red ears, thanks to the complaints of two hysterical Frenchies. Dom and I were in overdrive, hallucinating! We wanted to stop him, maybe even hit him to prevent him from turning around. He picked up the girl, whom we instantly hated like the most despicable witch. I turned on my data, searched for Malaysia Airlines’ number at Terminal 4, called, and actually got someone—quite a feat. A woman cut off my frantic rambling with a blunt “It’s over, the check-in is closed, the plane is about to take off.” I heard her but refused to accept it. I yelled, “We’re coming!” She shot back her monolithic “It’s over.” Finally at the doors of that damn Terminal 4, we ran—*really* ran—a marathon, Gate 6, security checks, pat-downs, “Take off your belts,” we asked questions, everyone seemed confident, we ran with one hand holding up our pants, the other clutching our belt, Gate 6—the room was empty. A girl was sitting there, calmly on the phone. We pounced on her. She calmed us down. Little by little, the light came back. Our brains rebooted. We finally understood it was over. We’d have to start crafting a new plan with the new reality. It started with a return to Terminal 5 to talk to British Airways, which took a good hour. With the same driver as before. We were alone with him. He took the time to apologize, to assure us it wasn’t his fault, that our problem had no solution, that nothing could’ve changed the outcome. At BA, we were exhausted. We were greeted by a handsome young man in a navy-blue uniform with gold stripes everywhere. We could’ve made a scene, but we were just relieved to find someone who’d take charge of our story. It was a minimal response, but it was *a* response. I suppose we could’ve demanded a business-class upgrade or a free trip, but we were just happy with a few vouchers for food, a hotel room with breakfast, and a little bag with plastic toys, a razor, toothbrush, hygiene products, and a T-shirt... Trinkets... But we were fine with it all—we said thank you eagerly because the essential was assured. He found us seats on flights tomorrow. *Tomorrow.* We were afraid to hope! We had the exact same flights but a day later. The same crappy times, but it was all good. We felt saved from the shipwreck, like survivors. - And what about the luggage? - .... !!!!
Monday, October 2nd, 2023 London - Kuala Lumpur
It wasn’t the Ritz, but with exhaustion on our side, we slept well. The continental breakfast was way better than we’d expected from an Ibis Budget. Still, it wasn’t enough to restore my joy for life. The course correction had turned into an arduous obstacle course. I scoured the car rental site every which way. Couldn’t reschedule the car. I’d done it before, but this time... Not to mention the laptop battery was complaining—the Brits have this quirk of making their power outlets incompatible with our chargers. Frustrated, I called them but ended up with a girl who declared herself incompetent and offered to have someone from Avis in Perth call me back—someone who’d supposedly handle rentals better. I decided to wait while taking a bath. Barely settled in, the phone rang. I was soaking wet, of course, and asked Dom to answer. Unfortunately, she’s known for disliking my phone, and in a clumsy move, she hung up. We got annoyed. She put dry towels on the edge of the bathtub, but—another false move—they fell in the water. The phone rang again... I completely redid the plans for the next two days, then transferred the files to my phone to consult them later offline. I plugged in my USB cable... *Plop!* The battery died abruptly—my PC shut down without any of the usual polite warnings! I looked around, hoping to find someone to strangle... Long story short, you can tell the day started under the worst omens. I was in a foul mood and spread my bad vibes to Dominique, who was initially in much better spirits... I called Mastercard, hoping to get a refund for the non-refundable night in Perth we’d already paid for. Same old song: “We’ll call you back”... Then... I’ll cut it short—buses, trains, lots of waiting... We rushed to reach the infamous Terminal 4.
We tried new options and convinced ourselves that a delayed departure flight is unrecoverable, no matter the scenario. We were furious that BA hadn’t bothered to tell us, leaving us to run around like rats in a burning house.
Tuesday, October 3rd, 2023 Kuala Lumpur-Perth
The flight was pretty nice. 13 hours, though. Dom and I were facing each other across the aisle. We could get up easily whenever we wanted without bothering anyone and chat when we felt like it. Besides, their chicken was amazing. They were kind enough to offer Dom a truly remarkable glass of rum. Good movies too, including the excellent *Prisoners* by Denis Villeneuve. At KL, during boarding, we developed a nagging worry about our luggage. We checked with some Malaysian Airlines staff. I sensed their hesitation. They made calls. Then changed their minds, giving us smiles and thumbs up...
Wednesday, October 4th, 2023 Perth
*Happy is the man who, like Ulysses, has had a fine voyage.* Well, for us, it wasn’t that. Finally arrived, we experienced the loneliness of tourists watching the baggage carousel spin, emptying of its precious containers one by one, until only a handful of travelers were left, staring at each other in disbelief. Without luggage, you’re kinda screwed. Not even a change of socks—our feet had been swimming in the same shoes for 3 days. No adapter, so no laptop. No toiletries. We could’ve cried! The lost luggage guy played his part. If you want compensation, fill out the disclaimer on the website made for that. And then, “Don’t worry, your luggage will arrive tomorrow!” “Don’t worry?!” From the start of the trip, we’ve been jerked around, fed lies. Tomorrow is the *absolute* last chance to get them back. Beyond that, we’d have to scramble a whole new trip. And lose a lot in the process! I have no idea how to go about it. Tomorrow... OMG... Tomorrow... We landed at 1 AM. Avis, the car rental place, opens at 6:30. Luckily, we found some decent breakfast. It cheered us up and gave us a second wind. Incorrigible, we started believing again! Well, then we just killed time. What else was there to do?
In front of Avis’s little shack, we were freezing. We’d been there since dawn. The girl who showed up, a Latina, immediately saw us as a nuisance who’d ruin her hopes of a peaceful start. Her face and tone were as unwelcoming as possible. You know us—it ended with hugs. She gave us a gorgeous, brand-new car! A hybrid with ultra-sophisticated features, all buttons you shouldn’t touch if you want to drive this thing without causing irreparable damage! We’re off! Driving on the left is easy at first. You think about it constantly. It’s counterintuitive, it takes effort. It’s later, when you get used to it and confidence sets in, that it becomes dangerous—old reflexes can send you into a wall. Anyway, the car and I immediately clicked.
In Perth, underground parking next to the hotel, friendly welcome—we ended up forgetting all the morning’s mishaps. Should we go sightseeing?
https://voyageforum.com/images/posts/small/1733767537-5Nwk6t3DsBZNOzf.jpg
Discussion Embracing Dawn: December 2024 Photo Contest
Hey there,
This is where we chat and share photos outside the contest.
Good night! 😛
This is where we chat and share photos outside the contest.
Good night! 😛
Kyushu between Fukuoka and Nagasaki in autumn 2024 (Japan)
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.
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.
Eastern Crete in September 2024
Travel journal in Eastern Crete from September 8th to 29th, 2024
Our 21-day itinerary
Sunday, 08/09: Once again—and this is the eighth time—we’re setting off, the four of us: Patrick, Michelle, Jacques, and Monique, for the Greek islands. This time, we’ve chosen Crete. No need to wake up at 3 or 4 a.m. to reach Basel-Mulhouse Airport at dawn to catch the first flight to Greece at 6 a.m.! Given the prohibitive prices charged by EasyJet, we found flights that were half the price from Zurich Airport, which is accessible in 3 hours by train from Colmar. Pierre-Paul drives all four of us to Colmar train station, where we take the train to Basel and then, 20 minutes later, the direct train to Zurich Airport. After wandering around the airport, we go for a coffee at 6 € each! We’re in Switzerland, after all. The other dining areas all have vending machines for selecting and paying for meals—soon, there won’t be anyone left to serve you! After a short wait, we take off at 7:45 p.m. (20 minutes late) in an Aegean Airbus A321. Free in-flight meal service isn’t bad either! We land in Heraklion around 11:15 p.m. We pick up our rental car (a red Seat Ibiza) at the airport and head straight to our apartment, located 2 km from the city center. Thanks to the GPS, we find it quickly. It’s a beautiful, fully renovated apartment with all the comforts and well-equipped. On the table, there’s wine, bottles of water, jam, coffee, etc. Given the late hour, we won’t stay up long.
Monday, 09/09: To enhance our breakfast, Michelle and Monique set off to find a bakery nearby. They return with croissants and donuts—yum... Then we head to the west coast. The highway follows the coastline, but we prefer taking the old road to Malia, our first stop. We visit the major archaeological site of this Minoan city under the hot sun. The site covers a vast area, but the ruins aren’t very evocative except for a few beautiful amphorae scattered around. The explanations in a small house at the entrance are interesting and help us better understand the organization of the ancient city with its different districts. From there, we head toward the nearby mountains to see the thousand-year-old plane tree in the village of Krasi. We take the opportunity to enjoy an excellent lunch of moussaka and delicious gemista at the Krassopsychia taverna in the village center. Pleasant surprise: the prices are still reasonable, with a bill of 70 € for four, including wine and water. The friendly tradition of complimentary dessert and glasses of raki continues—great! We’ve set the bar high right away! Let’s hope the rest lives up to it! On the way back toward the Lassithi Plateau, we stop at the Kardiotisa Monastery perched high on the mountain to enjoy a magnificent view of the entire region. Just a little further, we arrive at the Lassithi Plateau: the presence of small windmills used to pump water from the ground is the typical feature of this plateau. We complete a full loop around the plateau, passing by numerous orchards and vegetable gardens that occupy the entire space. At the end of the plateau, we once again cross mountain passes via winding roads that bring us near Agios Nikolaos. Our apartment is located about ten kilometers further south in Amoudhara. The owner, who was notified, waits for us and shows us her superb apartment, whose large terrace overlooks the entire Mirabello Bay. She then gives us valuable information about the different beaches in the area. Dinner will be frugal, given our hearty lunch in Krasi!
Sunset over Mirabello Bay
Tuesday, 10/09: A bit of a gray sky when we wake up around 8 a.m., but the sun will soon triumph over the scattered clouds. For our first swim, we opt for Voulisma Beach, even though our host warned us it was a bit “crowdy.” That’s understandable given the beautiful emerald color of the sea and the lovely curve of the beach. To avoid the big crowds, we move toward the eastern part of the beach, accessible via a steep staircase. The water is very warm, and this first dip is very pleasant. Before returning to the apartment, we stop at the bakery to buy spinach pies, essential ingredients to accompany our Greek salad for lunch. Of course, everything will be washed down with ouzo, which will remain our favorite drink for the next three weeks—but in moderation!!! A nap is in order after all that effort. In the late afternoon, we drive to Agios Nikolaos, the main seaside resort in Crete. We’re not too enthusiastic about visiting this mass-tourism resort, but the center of Agios, concentrated around the small inner harbor, is pleasant to see despite the plethora of shops and restaurants. We dine a little outside the harbor in the shaded courtyard of the Avli taverna: the oven-baked lamb, squid with spinach, and cuttlefish ink orzo pasta are all highly appreciated. We still stay under a 75 € bill for four.
Mirabello Bay seen from our terrace
Wednesday, 11/09: At 8 a.m., the terrace is already bathed in sunlight, and it’s already quite hot. The small parasol barely gives us enough shade, but we’re not complaining! For our second swim, we head to a tiny beach recommended by our host, just 3 minutes by car from our place. The path leading to it is very discreet, and we don’t find it right away! It’s a small sandy cove with a few welcome tamarisk trees for shade. When we arrive, there are two swimmers, and there won’t be more than five or six in the morning. After lunch and a nap, we head to the beautiful village of Kritsa, just a few kilometers away. It’s too late to visit the beautiful church of Kera Panagia, which is already closed. We settle for the exterior, which is worth a look. The weather is clouding over, and big clouds are gathering. Upon arriving in Kritsa, a heavy shower forces us to take shelter in the Platanos taverna in the village center, and since it’s nearly 7 p.m., we decide to stay and dine there. Good choice—excellent meze: croquettes and stuffed zucchini flowers, gigantes beans, grilled tomatoes and feta, and pancetta as the main dish. The rain stops just as we decide to head back.
Village of Kritsa
Thursday, 12/09: Our terrace faces east, so we get to watch the sunrise around 7 a.m.—it’s truly a beautiful sight we never tire of. Around 9 a.m., we head to the village of Plaka, where boats depart for the island of Spinalonga, located north of Agios Nikolaos. We board the first boat, which sets sail at 10 a.m., and we’re not alone—the boat is practically full. After 10 minutes, we land on the island at the same time as several other boats from Elounda or Agios. Needless to say, there are already quite a few people walking through the streets of the leper village. The visit remains interesting and moving as we read the explanatory panels recounting the island’s history under Byzantine and then Turkish rule, followed by its transformation into a leper colony. As soon as we climb toward the top of the island via more or less maintained paths, there’s almost no one left. The 360° view from up there is stunning.
Spinalonga Island
The heat is now unbearable, and we can’t wait to get back home to have lunch on our terrace and rest. In the late afternoon, we go grocery shopping at the AB supermarket at the entrance of Agios. We had spotted another nice restaurant in our guide, but unfortunately, there’s a different one at the indicated location that doesn’t inspire us. So, we return to the Avli taverna for another dinner just as good as the first.
Friday, 13/09: We repeat yesterday’s successful program: a swim in our little cove, lunch on the terrace, a nap, and then, in the late afternoon, we discover another nearby village, Kroustas, nestled in the olive groves near Kritsa. Much less touristy than Kritsa, it’s mostly inhabited by locals, especially the elderly who are enjoying the cool air on their chairs—if you can call it cool given the still-high temperatures in the late afternoon! We then return to visit Kritsa, which we hadn’t been able to explore due to the rain. Dinner at a taverna in the village center at a very reasonable price.
Saturday, 14/09: Today, we move to our new base further east. We start with a high viewpoint at the Faneromeni Monastery, which overlooks Mirabello Bay. The monastery itself is of little interest as it’s under renovation with excessive concrete work. We continue to the village of Kavoussi to see another exceptional tree after a few kilometers on a dusty, bumpy track. It’s an olive tree said to be about 3,200 years old—impressive, and the countryside is very beautiful. It’s time to find a place for lunch. We find one in the charming little port of Mohlos, where a few tavernas surround a very nice small beach. Our choice falls on the Bogazzi taverna, where we enjoy fried fish. To reach our new base in Zakros, we still have to drive through the mountains before reaching Sitia, Paleokastro, and finally Zakros. The region is beautiful, with olive groves and rows of wind turbines taking advantage of the strong wind near the northern tip of the island. In Zakros, we’re greeted by our very friendly host. Here too, we have all the comforts and a beautiful terrace overlooking the village. The apartment has reversible air conditioners, but the overly simple instructions leave us puzzled. Thinking we’ve set it correctly, we realize a little too late that it’s blowing hot air over 30°C! After numerous attempts and testing several confusing programs, we finally succeed! Dinner on our new terrace.
Sunday, 15/09: This morning, we get up early to hike in the “Gorge of the Dead” while it’s still cool. The sky is blue as usual! We park in the nearest parking lot and start our descent via a beautiful path winding through the olive groves. A little further on, the landscape opens up, and the path, now a stony trail, begins the descent to the dry riverbed. On either side of the riverbed rise beautiful reddish cliffs.
Gorge of the Dead
The trail winds its way through this narrow gorge with difficulty. It was in the many caves visible halfway up the slope that the Minoans buried their dead, hence the name “Gorge of the Dead.” The gorge opens onto a beautiful small pebble beach. A swim is welcome after this hike that made us sweat. The hike took us 1 hour and 25 minutes, and a little less on the way back. Meanwhile, Monique did some shopping and prepared an excellent lunch. In the late afternoon, we go down to dine at Platanakis, a taverna in the small village of Kato Zakros.
Monday, 16/09: This morning, we explore the northern part of the east coast near Palekastro. We start with a dip at the beautiful Hionia Beach near Palekastro. The water is still just as nice, but a light breeze is blowing—not enough to spoil our fun! Seeing all the wind turbines lining the ridges, it’s no surprise.
Grocery shopping in Palekastro and return to Zakros. A little rain in the late afternoon and an excellent dinner at Iannis Mitsakakis’ Taverna in Adravastis. These are the kind of small tavernas we love—unpretentious, a few tables on a terrace, a warm welcome, a short menu guaranteeing freshness, tasty dishes prepared by the server’s mom, and a light bill. What more could you ask for!
Tuesday, 17/09: We head back toward Palekastro to do some shopping, but it’s also the road to the Toplou Monastery. There, we see a collection of magnificent icons dating from the 15th to the 20th century. We can also admire drawings of Orthodox religious architecture. We continue toward the Mavros Akrotiri headland to enjoy the view of the sea and rocky capes. On the way back to our place, we make a small detour to see the famous Vai palm grove. Meh... As for Vai Beach, it’s filled with paid umbrellas and sunbeds, and there are so many people that we flee. Plus, having to pay for parking is another reason to snub this trendy beach. We prefer our Hionia Beach, which we already appreciated the other day. In the late afternoon, Pat and I start the trail that begins at Kato Zakros Beach heading south. The poorly marked path crosses a plateau of sharp limestone. The paint and cairn markings are no longer very visible, and with dusk approaching, we turn back toward Kato Zakros. Dinner at the Platanakis taverna—less good than last time.
Wednesday, 18/09: To avoid the scorching sun, Pat, Mimi, and I get up earlier than usual to hike the Hohlakies Gorge. At this early hour, the sky is quite cloudy, and it’s drizzling. When we arrive in the village of Hohlakies, we park in front of a small chapel, the start of the hike. The sky is now completely clear. The trail starts among the olive groves, then after passing through a gate, we descend into the gorge filled with large rocks. We’re alone in the world, and the landscape is magnificent. A few wild goats clinging to the cliff watch us from above. After 1 hour and 15 minutes, we emerge onto the wonderful Karoumès Beach. A pleasant swim, then back to civilization! A walk in the late afternoon in Zakros to discover the beautiful springs route. Dinner in Adravastis.
Thursday, 19/09: Another move: Before heading to our next stop, we make a detour to see the beautiful Keratokampos Beach and can’t resist a swim in the still-warm, clear water. We continue our journey via Ziros, then reach the south coast and have lunch at the Stephi taverna in Ferma—excellent meal! The south coast is quite urbanized and has much less charm than the east coast we’ve just left! The numerous plastic greenhouses are partly to blame. We stop for groceries in Ierapetra. Around 3 p.m., we arrive at our destination in the small perched village of Anatoli. Our lodging is at the top of the village, and from the path leading to it, we have a magnificent view of the coastal plain, unfortunately overloaded with plastic greenhouses. It reminds us of the landscapes of El Ejido in Andalusia.
View of the Ierapetra coast from Anatoli
Friday, 20/09: A walk and discovery of the hamlet of Anatoli. There are few services—a tiny grocery store, a taverna, and that’s it. Fortunately, the traveling baker arrives and honks. We take the opportunity to buy fresh bread. Leaving the village, we take a path that should lead us to the hamlet of Drygies. The landscape is beautiful. We walk through a lovely pine forest before arriving at the hamlet. The path continues to a taverna that’s closed today, with a superb terrace overlooking the coast. Luckily, the owner arrives and informs us that the taverna will be open next Sunday and that we can enjoy barbecued meat. Noted! We head back to Anatoli via the small paved road with, fortunately, very limited traffic. Lunch on our terrace, then a dip in our private pool! The water is noticeably cooler than at the beach. Dinner at the village taverna: there’s only one menu—meze starters, souvlaki, water, wine, and bread—all for 35 €! We think we’re dreaming—was there a mistake? No.
Saturday, 21/09: We discover the beach of the village of Myrtos, a small seaside resort that’s quite touristy but on a human scale. We swim in the western part of the beach, and once again, we’re alone in the water. The best part: warm water and tamarisk trees for welcome shade. There’s even a shower to rinse off! In the late afternoon, Pat and I decide to go for a hike in the Selakano pine forest. To get there, we take a narrow, winding, and poorly paved road after the village of Christos. Plus, at this altitude, we encounter clouds clinging to the mountain, so it’s drizzling, and visibility is reduced. We decide to turn back and return to Anatoli. As compensation, we take the path that passes in front of the lodging and leads us to the Timios Stavros chapel, which crowns the summit of the nearby mountain. We arrive at the summit just in time for the sunset at 7 p.m. Breathtaking 360° panorama and magnificent colors!
Sunset from Anatoli
Sunday, 22/09: This morning, Pat, Mimi, and I go for a hike in the Sarakina Gorge, located about 12 km from Anatoli via a beautiful road winding through irrigated olive groves. We park in the small parking lot before the trail. At the start, the path follows a levada (small irrigation canal) and quickly enters a very narrow gorge flanked by high cliffs. The riverbed is cluttered with huge rocks blocking the passage. No matter—in the technical sections, ropes or ladders allow us to overcome these obstacles with a bit of skill. You can imagine how quickly the riverbed must rise during a storm, given the narrowness of the gorge!
We progress slowly through this magnificent and impressive rocky chaos. At the exit of the gorge, we take another return path that partly follows the paved road. Back in Anatoli, we go to lunch at the Drygies taverna. We sit at the edge of the terrace under a huge tree that covers almost the entire terrace and order grilled lamb dishes prepared according to the ancient “antikristo” method.
Monday, 23/09: Departure for our last stop before Heraklion. We thought about swimming at Tertsa Beach, but it turns out to be less pleasant than expected, with pebbles and an uneven rocky plateau. So, we return to Myrtos Beach, which we know well and suits us perfectly. We head west, leaving the coast a bit. Around 3:30 p.m., we arrive at our destination in the village of Kamilari, near the famous Matala spot. We’ve rented a beautiful, modern, well-equipped apartment with a lovely shaded terrace. The owner is very friendly and explains everything necessary for a good stay. We explore the quite touristy village with its few tavernas, all full of tourists, mostly Germans.
Tuesday, 24/09: Visit to the village of Sivas, well restored thanks to the Germans, who have invested a lot here. We take the opportunity to scout out “friendly” tavernas, then go for a swim at Kalamaki Beach. Apart from a small sandy access, you have to enter the water via a chaotic limestone plateau—proof of this is that Monique trips slightly when entering the water. A group of very unfriendly German women blocks the sandy passage and doesn’t hesitate to push swimmers they deem too close. Back home, lunch, and a nap. In the late afternoon, we drive to visit the nearby Phaistos site. We benefit from very beautiful lighting. From the elevated site, we overlook the Messara Plain with a beautiful view of the olive grove checkerboards highlighted by the late afternoon sun. The site itself is quite vast, but to appreciate it, it’s better to read the explanatory panels placed throughout the different quarters. At this hour, the site is almost empty, and the beautiful light adds charm to the visit.
Wednesday, 25/09: Departure for the village of Matala, which doesn’t interest us in itself, having been there during the “hippie” era in 1976. However, going to Red Beach, only accessible by taking a path overlooking this area, appeals to us much more. We park in the large parking lot just outside the village and start our climb, which brings us to a pass from where we can admire this beautiful red-sand beach framed by beautiful cliffs plunging into the sea. The weather is magnificent, and at this early hour, there aren’t many people yet. We swim in the free part located near the cliff on the right when arriving at the beach. The sea is like glass, warm, and without a single ripple—a real treat! After half an hour, we turn back, and now there are many people rushing on this path, not at all made for feet in sandals or flip-flops, yet many vacationers venture out like this! Matala lives up to its image—a trendy place, full of shops, bars, and restaurants. You could be in any seaside resort with a standard global urbanism, lacking particular charm. Back home. In the late afternoon, a walk through the olive groves surrounding Kamilari, then dinner at Evangelina’s, who runs the Minoan Parassies taverna in the middle of the olive groves. Evangelina is quite a character: we came to reserve a table for 8 p.m. when it was only 7 p.m., but since we lingered near her restaurant, she prepares a table for us and urges us to sit down! And there she takes our order, and a little later, the meze arrive, followed by the main dishes. We finish this good dinner with several generous glasses of raki, accompanied by Evangelina’s encouragements, repeating “poya poya bravo bravo” in a loop. We’re in great shape too, by the way! We return in the middle of the night, on foot, fortunately, with the path vaguely lit by our phones...
Thursday, 26/09: This morning, we discover a new beach, Kommos Beach, not far from Kamilari either. It’s a long sandy beach, a small part of which is dedicated to paid umbrellas and sunbeds, and the rest is free. We spot a tamarisk tree to take shelter from the still-hot sun, and once again, we enjoy clear, warm water. The few swimmers spread out easily over nearly 500 meters of beach. In the late afternoon, Pat and I go to admire the sunset from the hill near our lodging. The hill, covered with olive trees, is threatened by a planned housing development of large cubic villas—trends dictate. Concrete never stops...
Friday, 27/09: We thought about leaving the car at the Odiyitria Monastery, the end of the paved road, but since the track descending to the cave remains drivable, we park 3 km further at the junction of the track leading to Kali Limenes Beach. We still have to walk for half an hour on a less drivable track, and then we’re at the entrance of the Farango Gorge. It’s a beautiful, easy hike since we follow the dry pebble riverbed. Before arriving at the beach, there’s a very beautiful small chapel sheltered under a large cliff, beautifully lit at this early hour.
Agio Farango Chapel
A few climbers are scaling the cliff, and about ten swimmers are enjoying the sea. Return to the car under the hot sun. In the late afternoon, we all return to visit the interesting Odiyitria Monastery. Last swim at Kommos Beach and an excellent dinner at the Sigelakis taverna in Sivas.
Saturday, 28/09: There’s an end-of-vacation atmosphere... We pack our bags and head north. A short stop to see the village of Vorri, and a little over an hour later, we arrive in the big city of Heraklion. Since it’s too early to check into the apartment, we park in the city center to visit the famous archaeological museum. It’s indeed a must-see highlight of our stay in Crete. All four of us are amazed by the quantity and quality of the objects presented from the Minoan civilization. After more than 2 hours, we come out without having seen everything, but we’re a bit overwhelmed by all these wonders. Lunch at a nice little taverna very close to the Titus Church. We go to take possession of our apartment—the same as on the way there, still just as satisfying. In the late afternoon, I go alone for a walk in the historic district of the city, passing by the Morosini Fountain, which is bustling with people—some seated at café terraces, others standing and chatting. There’s a lively atmosphere here. A little further on are the Venetian loggia and the Agios Titos Church. I walk down to the old Venetian port to stroll along the jetty and admire the fortifications under beautiful late-afternoon lighting, then return to the apartment. Dinner near our place at Kiriakis, a “chic” restaurant but with very reasonable prices and excellent cuisine.
Sunday, 29/09: Wake-up at 3:30 a.m., quick coffee, and drive to the nearby airport. We leave the car in the parking lot. Already a lot of people at this early hour. Since we don’t have checked luggage, we go straight to security, which goes fairly quickly, then it’s waiting time and takeoff on time in an Airbus A321 for a 45-minute flight to Athens. We take off again in another Airbus A321 with a 50-minute delay to arrive in Zurich at 11:10 a.m. local time. Then we have to take the train to Basel and then the one to Colmar. With fewer Sunday services, we won’t arrive in Colmar until around 4 p.m.
Conclusion All four of us returned very satisfied with this stay in Crete for several reasons: - We found superb beaches with clear, warm water and often very few vacationers. - The few hikes we did were magnificent, especially those where the trails went through gorges leading to deserted beaches. - We greatly appreciated Cretan gastronomy—there were so few disappointments that we can count them on one hand. - All the accommodations we booked turned out to be superb, with the icing on the cake being the very friendly welcome from our hosts. - Generally, contacts with Cretans were always very warm despite the language barrier—we speak a little Greek. - We also appreciated the diversity of landscapes in this eastern part of Crete, with plateaus and mountains with splendid rugged reliefs.
Note: The photo album is available by clicking on this link: https://photos.app.goo.gl/hfdjQndA5eXkL5k7 Captions are only visible per photo by clicking on the circled “i” in the top right. Budget: approximately 3,300 € per couple for 21 days, including train and flights Budget details per couple: - Flight Zurich-Heraklion: 440 € - Trains Colmar-Basel-Zurich round trip for 4: 442.40 € (221 € per couple) - Accommodation: 2,431 € / 21 = 115.80 € per night for 4 (1,216 € per couple) - Car rental for 21 days: 684 € + 145 € fuel (1,150 km) (414 € per couple) - Restaurants, food, etc.: 1,009 €
Our 21-day itinerarySunday, 08/09: Once again—and this is the eighth time—we’re setting off, the four of us: Patrick, Michelle, Jacques, and Monique, for the Greek islands. This time, we’ve chosen Crete. No need to wake up at 3 or 4 a.m. to reach Basel-Mulhouse Airport at dawn to catch the first flight to Greece at 6 a.m.! Given the prohibitive prices charged by EasyJet, we found flights that were half the price from Zurich Airport, which is accessible in 3 hours by train from Colmar. Pierre-Paul drives all four of us to Colmar train station, where we take the train to Basel and then, 20 minutes later, the direct train to Zurich Airport. After wandering around the airport, we go for a coffee at 6 € each! We’re in Switzerland, after all. The other dining areas all have vending machines for selecting and paying for meals—soon, there won’t be anyone left to serve you! After a short wait, we take off at 7:45 p.m. (20 minutes late) in an Aegean Airbus A321. Free in-flight meal service isn’t bad either! We land in Heraklion around 11:15 p.m. We pick up our rental car (a red Seat Ibiza) at the airport and head straight to our apartment, located 2 km from the city center. Thanks to the GPS, we find it quickly. It’s a beautiful, fully renovated apartment with all the comforts and well-equipped. On the table, there’s wine, bottles of water, jam, coffee, etc. Given the late hour, we won’t stay up long.
Monday, 09/09: To enhance our breakfast, Michelle and Monique set off to find a bakery nearby. They return with croissants and donuts—yum... Then we head to the west coast. The highway follows the coastline, but we prefer taking the old road to Malia, our first stop. We visit the major archaeological site of this Minoan city under the hot sun. The site covers a vast area, but the ruins aren’t very evocative except for a few beautiful amphorae scattered around. The explanations in a small house at the entrance are interesting and help us better understand the organization of the ancient city with its different districts. From there, we head toward the nearby mountains to see the thousand-year-old plane tree in the village of Krasi. We take the opportunity to enjoy an excellent lunch of moussaka and delicious gemista at the Krassopsychia taverna in the village center. Pleasant surprise: the prices are still reasonable, with a bill of 70 € for four, including wine and water. The friendly tradition of complimentary dessert and glasses of raki continues—great! We’ve set the bar high right away! Let’s hope the rest lives up to it! On the way back toward the Lassithi Plateau, we stop at the Kardiotisa Monastery perched high on the mountain to enjoy a magnificent view of the entire region. Just a little further, we arrive at the Lassithi Plateau: the presence of small windmills used to pump water from the ground is the typical feature of this plateau. We complete a full loop around the plateau, passing by numerous orchards and vegetable gardens that occupy the entire space. At the end of the plateau, we once again cross mountain passes via winding roads that bring us near Agios Nikolaos. Our apartment is located about ten kilometers further south in Amoudhara. The owner, who was notified, waits for us and shows us her superb apartment, whose large terrace overlooks the entire Mirabello Bay. She then gives us valuable information about the different beaches in the area. Dinner will be frugal, given our hearty lunch in Krasi!
Sunset over Mirabello BayTuesday, 10/09: A bit of a gray sky when we wake up around 8 a.m., but the sun will soon triumph over the scattered clouds. For our first swim, we opt for Voulisma Beach, even though our host warned us it was a bit “crowdy.” That’s understandable given the beautiful emerald color of the sea and the lovely curve of the beach. To avoid the big crowds, we move toward the eastern part of the beach, accessible via a steep staircase. The water is very warm, and this first dip is very pleasant. Before returning to the apartment, we stop at the bakery to buy spinach pies, essential ingredients to accompany our Greek salad for lunch. Of course, everything will be washed down with ouzo, which will remain our favorite drink for the next three weeks—but in moderation!!! A nap is in order after all that effort. In the late afternoon, we drive to Agios Nikolaos, the main seaside resort in Crete. We’re not too enthusiastic about visiting this mass-tourism resort, but the center of Agios, concentrated around the small inner harbor, is pleasant to see despite the plethora of shops and restaurants. We dine a little outside the harbor in the shaded courtyard of the Avli taverna: the oven-baked lamb, squid with spinach, and cuttlefish ink orzo pasta are all highly appreciated. We still stay under a 75 € bill for four.
Mirabello Bay seen from our terraceWednesday, 11/09: At 8 a.m., the terrace is already bathed in sunlight, and it’s already quite hot. The small parasol barely gives us enough shade, but we’re not complaining! For our second swim, we head to a tiny beach recommended by our host, just 3 minutes by car from our place. The path leading to it is very discreet, and we don’t find it right away! It’s a small sandy cove with a few welcome tamarisk trees for shade. When we arrive, there are two swimmers, and there won’t be more than five or six in the morning. After lunch and a nap, we head to the beautiful village of Kritsa, just a few kilometers away. It’s too late to visit the beautiful church of Kera Panagia, which is already closed. We settle for the exterior, which is worth a look. The weather is clouding over, and big clouds are gathering. Upon arriving in Kritsa, a heavy shower forces us to take shelter in the Platanos taverna in the village center, and since it’s nearly 7 p.m., we decide to stay and dine there. Good choice—excellent meze: croquettes and stuffed zucchini flowers, gigantes beans, grilled tomatoes and feta, and pancetta as the main dish. The rain stops just as we decide to head back.
Village of KritsaThursday, 12/09: Our terrace faces east, so we get to watch the sunrise around 7 a.m.—it’s truly a beautiful sight we never tire of. Around 9 a.m., we head to the village of Plaka, where boats depart for the island of Spinalonga, located north of Agios Nikolaos. We board the first boat, which sets sail at 10 a.m., and we’re not alone—the boat is practically full. After 10 minutes, we land on the island at the same time as several other boats from Elounda or Agios. Needless to say, there are already quite a few people walking through the streets of the leper village. The visit remains interesting and moving as we read the explanatory panels recounting the island’s history under Byzantine and then Turkish rule, followed by its transformation into a leper colony. As soon as we climb toward the top of the island via more or less maintained paths, there’s almost no one left. The 360° view from up there is stunning.
Spinalonga Island
The heat is now unbearable, and we can’t wait to get back home to have lunch on our terrace and rest. In the late afternoon, we go grocery shopping at the AB supermarket at the entrance of Agios. We had spotted another nice restaurant in our guide, but unfortunately, there’s a different one at the indicated location that doesn’t inspire us. So, we return to the Avli taverna for another dinner just as good as the first.
Friday, 13/09: We repeat yesterday’s successful program: a swim in our little cove, lunch on the terrace, a nap, and then, in the late afternoon, we discover another nearby village, Kroustas, nestled in the olive groves near Kritsa. Much less touristy than Kritsa, it’s mostly inhabited by locals, especially the elderly who are enjoying the cool air on their chairs—if you can call it cool given the still-high temperatures in the late afternoon! We then return to visit Kritsa, which we hadn’t been able to explore due to the rain. Dinner at a taverna in the village center at a very reasonable price.
Saturday, 14/09: Today, we move to our new base further east. We start with a high viewpoint at the Faneromeni Monastery, which overlooks Mirabello Bay. The monastery itself is of little interest as it’s under renovation with excessive concrete work. We continue to the village of Kavoussi to see another exceptional tree after a few kilometers on a dusty, bumpy track. It’s an olive tree said to be about 3,200 years old—impressive, and the countryside is very beautiful. It’s time to find a place for lunch. We find one in the charming little port of Mohlos, where a few tavernas surround a very nice small beach. Our choice falls on the Bogazzi taverna, where we enjoy fried fish. To reach our new base in Zakros, we still have to drive through the mountains before reaching Sitia, Paleokastro, and finally Zakros. The region is beautiful, with olive groves and rows of wind turbines taking advantage of the strong wind near the northern tip of the island. In Zakros, we’re greeted by our very friendly host. Here too, we have all the comforts and a beautiful terrace overlooking the village. The apartment has reversible air conditioners, but the overly simple instructions leave us puzzled. Thinking we’ve set it correctly, we realize a little too late that it’s blowing hot air over 30°C! After numerous attempts and testing several confusing programs, we finally succeed! Dinner on our new terrace.
Sunday, 15/09: This morning, we get up early to hike in the “Gorge of the Dead” while it’s still cool. The sky is blue as usual! We park in the nearest parking lot and start our descent via a beautiful path winding through the olive groves. A little further on, the landscape opens up, and the path, now a stony trail, begins the descent to the dry riverbed. On either side of the riverbed rise beautiful reddish cliffs.
Gorge of the Dead
The trail winds its way through this narrow gorge with difficulty. It was in the many caves visible halfway up the slope that the Minoans buried their dead, hence the name “Gorge of the Dead.” The gorge opens onto a beautiful small pebble beach. A swim is welcome after this hike that made us sweat. The hike took us 1 hour and 25 minutes, and a little less on the way back. Meanwhile, Monique did some shopping and prepared an excellent lunch. In the late afternoon, we go down to dine at Platanakis, a taverna in the small village of Kato Zakros.
Monday, 16/09: This morning, we explore the northern part of the east coast near Palekastro. We start with a dip at the beautiful Hionia Beach near Palekastro. The water is still just as nice, but a light breeze is blowing—not enough to spoil our fun! Seeing all the wind turbines lining the ridges, it’s no surprise.
Grocery shopping in Palekastro and return to Zakros. A little rain in the late afternoon and an excellent dinner at Iannis Mitsakakis’ Taverna in Adravastis. These are the kind of small tavernas we love—unpretentious, a few tables on a terrace, a warm welcome, a short menu guaranteeing freshness, tasty dishes prepared by the server’s mom, and a light bill. What more could you ask for!Tuesday, 17/09: We head back toward Palekastro to do some shopping, but it’s also the road to the Toplou Monastery. There, we see a collection of magnificent icons dating from the 15th to the 20th century. We can also admire drawings of Orthodox religious architecture. We continue toward the Mavros Akrotiri headland to enjoy the view of the sea and rocky capes. On the way back to our place, we make a small detour to see the famous Vai palm grove. Meh... As for Vai Beach, it’s filled with paid umbrellas and sunbeds, and there are so many people that we flee. Plus, having to pay for parking is another reason to snub this trendy beach. We prefer our Hionia Beach, which we already appreciated the other day. In the late afternoon, Pat and I start the trail that begins at Kato Zakros Beach heading south. The poorly marked path crosses a plateau of sharp limestone. The paint and cairn markings are no longer very visible, and with dusk approaching, we turn back toward Kato Zakros. Dinner at the Platanakis taverna—less good than last time.
Wednesday, 18/09: To avoid the scorching sun, Pat, Mimi, and I get up earlier than usual to hike the Hohlakies Gorge. At this early hour, the sky is quite cloudy, and it’s drizzling. When we arrive in the village of Hohlakies, we park in front of a small chapel, the start of the hike. The sky is now completely clear. The trail starts among the olive groves, then after passing through a gate, we descend into the gorge filled with large rocks. We’re alone in the world, and the landscape is magnificent. A few wild goats clinging to the cliff watch us from above. After 1 hour and 15 minutes, we emerge onto the wonderful Karoumès Beach. A pleasant swim, then back to civilization! A walk in the late afternoon in Zakros to discover the beautiful springs route. Dinner in Adravastis.
Thursday, 19/09: Another move: Before heading to our next stop, we make a detour to see the beautiful Keratokampos Beach and can’t resist a swim in the still-warm, clear water. We continue our journey via Ziros, then reach the south coast and have lunch at the Stephi taverna in Ferma—excellent meal! The south coast is quite urbanized and has much less charm than the east coast we’ve just left! The numerous plastic greenhouses are partly to blame. We stop for groceries in Ierapetra. Around 3 p.m., we arrive at our destination in the small perched village of Anatoli. Our lodging is at the top of the village, and from the path leading to it, we have a magnificent view of the coastal plain, unfortunately overloaded with plastic greenhouses. It reminds us of the landscapes of El Ejido in Andalusia.
View of the Ierapetra coast from AnatoliFriday, 20/09: A walk and discovery of the hamlet of Anatoli. There are few services—a tiny grocery store, a taverna, and that’s it. Fortunately, the traveling baker arrives and honks. We take the opportunity to buy fresh bread. Leaving the village, we take a path that should lead us to the hamlet of Drygies. The landscape is beautiful. We walk through a lovely pine forest before arriving at the hamlet. The path continues to a taverna that’s closed today, with a superb terrace overlooking the coast. Luckily, the owner arrives and informs us that the taverna will be open next Sunday and that we can enjoy barbecued meat. Noted! We head back to Anatoli via the small paved road with, fortunately, very limited traffic. Lunch on our terrace, then a dip in our private pool! The water is noticeably cooler than at the beach. Dinner at the village taverna: there’s only one menu—meze starters, souvlaki, water, wine, and bread—all for 35 €! We think we’re dreaming—was there a mistake? No.
Saturday, 21/09: We discover the beach of the village of Myrtos, a small seaside resort that’s quite touristy but on a human scale. We swim in the western part of the beach, and once again, we’re alone in the water. The best part: warm water and tamarisk trees for welcome shade. There’s even a shower to rinse off! In the late afternoon, Pat and I decide to go for a hike in the Selakano pine forest. To get there, we take a narrow, winding, and poorly paved road after the village of Christos. Plus, at this altitude, we encounter clouds clinging to the mountain, so it’s drizzling, and visibility is reduced. We decide to turn back and return to Anatoli. As compensation, we take the path that passes in front of the lodging and leads us to the Timios Stavros chapel, which crowns the summit of the nearby mountain. We arrive at the summit just in time for the sunset at 7 p.m. Breathtaking 360° panorama and magnificent colors!
Sunset from AnatoliSunday, 22/09: This morning, Pat, Mimi, and I go for a hike in the Sarakina Gorge, located about 12 km from Anatoli via a beautiful road winding through irrigated olive groves. We park in the small parking lot before the trail. At the start, the path follows a levada (small irrigation canal) and quickly enters a very narrow gorge flanked by high cliffs. The riverbed is cluttered with huge rocks blocking the passage. No matter—in the technical sections, ropes or ladders allow us to overcome these obstacles with a bit of skill. You can imagine how quickly the riverbed must rise during a storm, given the narrowness of the gorge!
We progress slowly through this magnificent and impressive rocky chaos. At the exit of the gorge, we take another return path that partly follows the paved road. Back in Anatoli, we go to lunch at the Drygies taverna. We sit at the edge of the terrace under a huge tree that covers almost the entire terrace and order grilled lamb dishes prepared according to the ancient “antikristo” method.
Monday, 23/09: Departure for our last stop before Heraklion. We thought about swimming at Tertsa Beach, but it turns out to be less pleasant than expected, with pebbles and an uneven rocky plateau. So, we return to Myrtos Beach, which we know well and suits us perfectly. We head west, leaving the coast a bit. Around 3:30 p.m., we arrive at our destination in the village of Kamilari, near the famous Matala spot. We’ve rented a beautiful, modern, well-equipped apartment with a lovely shaded terrace. The owner is very friendly and explains everything necessary for a good stay. We explore the quite touristy village with its few tavernas, all full of tourists, mostly Germans.
Tuesday, 24/09: Visit to the village of Sivas, well restored thanks to the Germans, who have invested a lot here. We take the opportunity to scout out “friendly” tavernas, then go for a swim at Kalamaki Beach. Apart from a small sandy access, you have to enter the water via a chaotic limestone plateau—proof of this is that Monique trips slightly when entering the water. A group of very unfriendly German women blocks the sandy passage and doesn’t hesitate to push swimmers they deem too close. Back home, lunch, and a nap. In the late afternoon, we drive to visit the nearby Phaistos site. We benefit from very beautiful lighting. From the elevated site, we overlook the Messara Plain with a beautiful view of the olive grove checkerboards highlighted by the late afternoon sun. The site itself is quite vast, but to appreciate it, it’s better to read the explanatory panels placed throughout the different quarters. At this hour, the site is almost empty, and the beautiful light adds charm to the visit.
Wednesday, 25/09: Departure for the village of Matala, which doesn’t interest us in itself, having been there during the “hippie” era in 1976. However, going to Red Beach, only accessible by taking a path overlooking this area, appeals to us much more. We park in the large parking lot just outside the village and start our climb, which brings us to a pass from where we can admire this beautiful red-sand beach framed by beautiful cliffs plunging into the sea. The weather is magnificent, and at this early hour, there aren’t many people yet. We swim in the free part located near the cliff on the right when arriving at the beach. The sea is like glass, warm, and without a single ripple—a real treat! After half an hour, we turn back, and now there are many people rushing on this path, not at all made for feet in sandals or flip-flops, yet many vacationers venture out like this! Matala lives up to its image—a trendy place, full of shops, bars, and restaurants. You could be in any seaside resort with a standard global urbanism, lacking particular charm. Back home. In the late afternoon, a walk through the olive groves surrounding Kamilari, then dinner at Evangelina’s, who runs the Minoan Parassies taverna in the middle of the olive groves. Evangelina is quite a character: we came to reserve a table for 8 p.m. when it was only 7 p.m., but since we lingered near her restaurant, she prepares a table for us and urges us to sit down! And there she takes our order, and a little later, the meze arrive, followed by the main dishes. We finish this good dinner with several generous glasses of raki, accompanied by Evangelina’s encouragements, repeating “poya poya bravo bravo” in a loop. We’re in great shape too, by the way! We return in the middle of the night, on foot, fortunately, with the path vaguely lit by our phones...
Thursday, 26/09: This morning, we discover a new beach, Kommos Beach, not far from Kamilari either. It’s a long sandy beach, a small part of which is dedicated to paid umbrellas and sunbeds, and the rest is free. We spot a tamarisk tree to take shelter from the still-hot sun, and once again, we enjoy clear, warm water. The few swimmers spread out easily over nearly 500 meters of beach. In the late afternoon, Pat and I go to admire the sunset from the hill near our lodging. The hill, covered with olive trees, is threatened by a planned housing development of large cubic villas—trends dictate. Concrete never stops...
Friday, 27/09: We thought about leaving the car at the Odiyitria Monastery, the end of the paved road, but since the track descending to the cave remains drivable, we park 3 km further at the junction of the track leading to Kali Limenes Beach. We still have to walk for half an hour on a less drivable track, and then we’re at the entrance of the Farango Gorge. It’s a beautiful, easy hike since we follow the dry pebble riverbed. Before arriving at the beach, there’s a very beautiful small chapel sheltered under a large cliff, beautifully lit at this early hour.
Agio Farango Chapel
A few climbers are scaling the cliff, and about ten swimmers are enjoying the sea. Return to the car under the hot sun. In the late afternoon, we all return to visit the interesting Odiyitria Monastery. Last swim at Kommos Beach and an excellent dinner at the Sigelakis taverna in Sivas.
Saturday, 28/09: There’s an end-of-vacation atmosphere... We pack our bags and head north. A short stop to see the village of Vorri, and a little over an hour later, we arrive in the big city of Heraklion. Since it’s too early to check into the apartment, we park in the city center to visit the famous archaeological museum. It’s indeed a must-see highlight of our stay in Crete. All four of us are amazed by the quantity and quality of the objects presented from the Minoan civilization. After more than 2 hours, we come out without having seen everything, but we’re a bit overwhelmed by all these wonders. Lunch at a nice little taverna very close to the Titus Church. We go to take possession of our apartment—the same as on the way there, still just as satisfying. In the late afternoon, I go alone for a walk in the historic district of the city, passing by the Morosini Fountain, which is bustling with people—some seated at café terraces, others standing and chatting. There’s a lively atmosphere here. A little further on are the Venetian loggia and the Agios Titos Church. I walk down to the old Venetian port to stroll along the jetty and admire the fortifications under beautiful late-afternoon lighting, then return to the apartment. Dinner near our place at Kiriakis, a “chic” restaurant but with very reasonable prices and excellent cuisine.
Sunday, 29/09: Wake-up at 3:30 a.m., quick coffee, and drive to the nearby airport. We leave the car in the parking lot. Already a lot of people at this early hour. Since we don’t have checked luggage, we go straight to security, which goes fairly quickly, then it’s waiting time and takeoff on time in an Airbus A321 for a 45-minute flight to Athens. We take off again in another Airbus A321 with a 50-minute delay to arrive in Zurich at 11:10 a.m. local time. Then we have to take the train to Basel and then the one to Colmar. With fewer Sunday services, we won’t arrive in Colmar until around 4 p.m.
Conclusion All four of us returned very satisfied with this stay in Crete for several reasons: - We found superb beaches with clear, warm water and often very few vacationers. - The few hikes we did were magnificent, especially those where the trails went through gorges leading to deserted beaches. - We greatly appreciated Cretan gastronomy—there were so few disappointments that we can count them on one hand. - All the accommodations we booked turned out to be superb, with the icing on the cake being the very friendly welcome from our hosts. - Generally, contacts with Cretans were always very warm despite the language barrier—we speak a little Greek. - We also appreciated the diversity of landscapes in this eastern part of Crete, with plateaus and mountains with splendid rugged reliefs.
Note: The photo album is available by clicking on this link: https://photos.app.goo.gl/hfdjQndA5eXkL5k7 Captions are only visible per photo by clicking on the circled “i” in the top right. Budget: approximately 3,300 € per couple for 21 days, including train and flights Budget details per couple: - Flight Zurich-Heraklion: 440 € - Trains Colmar-Basel-Zurich round trip for 4: 442.40 € (221 € per couple) - Accommodation: 2,431 € / 21 = 115.80 € per night for 4 (1,216 € per couple) - Car rental for 21 days: 684 € + 145 € fuel (1,150 km) (414 € per couple) - Restaurants, food, etc.: 1,009 €
The "Must-Sees" of the American West
This adventure began during Covid... Yep, Covid turned a lot of things upside down, but most of all, it kept us cooped up for a few months and stopped us from traveling for a while—even longer for a die-hard fan of the American West like me.
While borders were closed, I started imagining what an ideal itinerary might look like—one that would string together all the Southwest must-sees in just two weeks, during the best time of year: September and October. When the U.S. announced in September 2021 that borders would reopen in the coming weeks, I regained hope and began scouting flight tickets for a departure in September 2022.
But here’s the thing: tackling solo hikes, each one tougher than the last, right in the heart of the Wilderness, could be a risky—even reckless—endeavor for a father of three. After a quick chat with some virtual friends who are just as passionate about the Southwest as I am, with good physical condition and nearly the same list of must-visit spots, Franck and his brother Sullivan were in! 🙂
In November, we snagged flight tickets from Nice to San Francisco for the modest sum of 400 €, and a few days later, I booked a Toyota Tacoma pickup for 840 € !
It’s not cheap for just 15 days, and a pickup isn’t exactly ideal for luggage, but the prices for full-size 4x4s have become totally outrageous! Due to border closures, rental companies had to offload a lot of these big 4x4s, which tourists love. Then, supply and demand did the rest !
Franck and I spent the winter and spring trying to cram the equivalent of three weeks of hikes into two. But even with physical limits, we had to stay reasonable! Three to four months before departure, we entered the lotteries for different must-see spots: The Subway, Coyote Buttes North (home to the famous Wave), and Coyote Buttes South (CBS).
The Wave is the holy grail for any Southwest enthusiast. Since 2015, we’ve tried our luck with the online and on-site lotteries about ten times, but the spots are unfortunately limited: just 20 per day. A glimmer of hope, though—since early 2022, that number has increased to 64 people allowed per day, with 48 spots awarded via the online lottery.
After all three of us tried our luck for The Wave, on June 1st at exactly 5 PM, I got an email that started with, "Congratulations! You were successful in the Coyote Buttes North (The Wave) September 2022 Permit Lottery at Coyote Buttes North (The Wave)...". At 5:01 PM, I called Franck, whose dream it’s been for over 20 years—ever since the first photos were published in a travel magazine! He didn’t believe me when I told him, and I had to forward the email for him to finally accept the unbelievable: we were going to The Wave and all the incredible spots scattered across the protected area of Coyote Buttes North.
I’ve already been to Coyote Buttes South twice, but there are areas I couldn’t explore in the middle of summer because they were too remote. So, I had no trouble letting my buddies convince me to go back for a third time. Plus, given how hard it is to access, we had no trouble securing a permit online as long as we logged in at exactly 8 PM on the dot!
For The Subway, all three of us struck out. No big deal—we won at CBN and CBS!
Among the sites to visit, there are two that I’m particularly attached to because I know my chances of wanting to see them again are slim. The first is Angel Arch, one of the most legendary arches in the Southwest, due to its remoteness from any trace of civilization. To get there, the recommended hike is Upper Salt Creek, and you’re looking at a 50 km round-trip in an area with no water (in September) and populated by bears.
The second site is the Hopi Salt Trail, in Navajo land, which, after a very tough hike, lets you marvel at the turquoise-blue waters of the Little Colorado before it meets the Colorado River. The Hopi Salt Trail is, like The Wave, the holy grail for any Southwest enthusiast, and the windows of opportunity to see the water in that magical color are very short each year. For this, you have to monitor the Little Colorado’s gauges downstream from Cameron: if the level stays at its lowest for 10 consecutive days—meaning no rain—you can hope for turquoise water. The ideal period rarely exceeds 30 days a year, and it’s usually in June that all the stars align.
But unfortunately, one month before departure, while the flow rate at Cameron looked promising, several storms in September dashed our hopes of doing the Hopi Salt Trail, even at the end of the road trip.
We still had two consolation prizes, though:
After a last-minute cancellation, while keeping an eye out for available spots for The Subway, it turned out that three spots opened up exactly on the day we’d planned to go—so we rushed to grab them!! Regarding the 4x4 rental, the prices for full-size models dropped by several hundred dollars, and we ended up finding a Chevrolet Tahoe for less than $1000. A steal and a serious boost in comfort, so we could store all our gear and food without worry!
Here’s the initial plan in a perfect world: D1 The White Domes - Camping D2 Sunrise at The White Domes - The Subway D3 Coyote Buttes North D4 Coyote Buttes South - White Pocket D5 Wahweap Hoodoos - Sidestep Canyon - Colourful Canyon - White Rocks - Sunset at Yellow Rock D6 Broken Bow Arch - Reflection Canyon D7 Coyote Gulch D8 The Volcano (or The Oasis - Zebra Slot Canyon if the weather’s good) - North Caineville Mesa D9 The Needles: Squaw Canyon - Lost Canyon combo - Druid Arch - Chesler Park D10 Upper Salt Creek Day 1 - Camping D11 Upper Salt Creek Day 2 D12 Hopi-Navajo Territory: Ha Ho No Geh Canyon, Coal Mine Canyon, Bends of the Little Colorado D13 Grand Canyon: South Kaibab Trail and Bright Angel Trail D14 Upper East Zion: East Temple Loop, Jughandle Arch, Center of the Universe, and Checkerboard Mesa Summit And several backup options in case of bad weather, including Spencer Trail, West Cove, and Buffington Pockets.
Enough talking—time for action!
While borders were closed, I started imagining what an ideal itinerary might look like—one that would string together all the Southwest must-sees in just two weeks, during the best time of year: September and October. When the U.S. announced in September 2021 that borders would reopen in the coming weeks, I regained hope and began scouting flight tickets for a departure in September 2022.
But here’s the thing: tackling solo hikes, each one tougher than the last, right in the heart of the Wilderness, could be a risky—even reckless—endeavor for a father of three. After a quick chat with some virtual friends who are just as passionate about the Southwest as I am, with good physical condition and nearly the same list of must-visit spots, Franck and his brother Sullivan were in! 🙂
In November, we snagged flight tickets from Nice to San Francisco for the modest sum of 400 €, and a few days later, I booked a Toyota Tacoma pickup for 840 € !
It’s not cheap for just 15 days, and a pickup isn’t exactly ideal for luggage, but the prices for full-size 4x4s have become totally outrageous! Due to border closures, rental companies had to offload a lot of these big 4x4s, which tourists love. Then, supply and demand did the rest !
Franck and I spent the winter and spring trying to cram the equivalent of three weeks of hikes into two. But even with physical limits, we had to stay reasonable! Three to four months before departure, we entered the lotteries for different must-see spots: The Subway, Coyote Buttes North (home to the famous Wave), and Coyote Buttes South (CBS).
The Wave is the holy grail for any Southwest enthusiast. Since 2015, we’ve tried our luck with the online and on-site lotteries about ten times, but the spots are unfortunately limited: just 20 per day. A glimmer of hope, though—since early 2022, that number has increased to 64 people allowed per day, with 48 spots awarded via the online lottery.
After all three of us tried our luck for The Wave, on June 1st at exactly 5 PM, I got an email that started with, "Congratulations! You were successful in the Coyote Buttes North (The Wave) September 2022 Permit Lottery at Coyote Buttes North (The Wave)...". At 5:01 PM, I called Franck, whose dream it’s been for over 20 years—ever since the first photos were published in a travel magazine! He didn’t believe me when I told him, and I had to forward the email for him to finally accept the unbelievable: we were going to The Wave and all the incredible spots scattered across the protected area of Coyote Buttes North.
I’ve already been to Coyote Buttes South twice, but there are areas I couldn’t explore in the middle of summer because they were too remote. So, I had no trouble letting my buddies convince me to go back for a third time. Plus, given how hard it is to access, we had no trouble securing a permit online as long as we logged in at exactly 8 PM on the dot!
For The Subway, all three of us struck out. No big deal—we won at CBN and CBS!
Among the sites to visit, there are two that I’m particularly attached to because I know my chances of wanting to see them again are slim. The first is Angel Arch, one of the most legendary arches in the Southwest, due to its remoteness from any trace of civilization. To get there, the recommended hike is Upper Salt Creek, and you’re looking at a 50 km round-trip in an area with no water (in September) and populated by bears.
The second site is the Hopi Salt Trail, in Navajo land, which, after a very tough hike, lets you marvel at the turquoise-blue waters of the Little Colorado before it meets the Colorado River. The Hopi Salt Trail is, like The Wave, the holy grail for any Southwest enthusiast, and the windows of opportunity to see the water in that magical color are very short each year. For this, you have to monitor the Little Colorado’s gauges downstream from Cameron: if the level stays at its lowest for 10 consecutive days—meaning no rain—you can hope for turquoise water. The ideal period rarely exceeds 30 days a year, and it’s usually in June that all the stars align.
But unfortunately, one month before departure, while the flow rate at Cameron looked promising, several storms in September dashed our hopes of doing the Hopi Salt Trail, even at the end of the road trip.
We still had two consolation prizes, though:
After a last-minute cancellation, while keeping an eye out for available spots for The Subway, it turned out that three spots opened up exactly on the day we’d planned to go—so we rushed to grab them!! Regarding the 4x4 rental, the prices for full-size models dropped by several hundred dollars, and we ended up finding a Chevrolet Tahoe for less than $1000. A steal and a serious boost in comfort, so we could store all our gear and food without worry!
Here’s the initial plan in a perfect world: D1 The White Domes - Camping D2 Sunrise at The White Domes - The Subway D3 Coyote Buttes North D4 Coyote Buttes South - White Pocket D5 Wahweap Hoodoos - Sidestep Canyon - Colourful Canyon - White Rocks - Sunset at Yellow Rock D6 Broken Bow Arch - Reflection Canyon D7 Coyote Gulch D8 The Volcano (or The Oasis - Zebra Slot Canyon if the weather’s good) - North Caineville Mesa D9 The Needles: Squaw Canyon - Lost Canyon combo - Druid Arch - Chesler Park D10 Upper Salt Creek Day 1 - Camping D11 Upper Salt Creek Day 2 D12 Hopi-Navajo Territory: Ha Ho No Geh Canyon, Coal Mine Canyon, Bends of the Little Colorado D13 Grand Canyon: South Kaibab Trail and Bright Angel Trail D14 Upper East Zion: East Temple Loop, Jughandle Arch, Center of the Universe, and Checkerboard Mesa Summit And several backup options in case of bad weather, including Spencer Trail, West Cove, and Buffington Pockets.
Enough talking—time for action!
Mexico: The Magic of the Yucatán
Hello everyone,
What a pleasure to be back on VF after a few difficult years 😎 So, before diving into the topic, welcome back to VF and above all... keep going!
Well, I’m finally picking up my old habit of posting a new travel journal.
Before heading to Mexico in the summer of 2023 with my family (my partner and our two boys, aged 18 and 16), I had somehow convinced myself—though I can’t even remember why—that the Yucatán was too touristy, too cliché, too expensive, and overrated!
The country didn’t particularly appeal to me, but faced with my wife’s insistence—she’d been there years ago, before we met, and had promised to show our sons this incredible place—my arguments didn’t hold much weight.
And thank goodness, because I have to admit she was absolutely right to take us there! In the end, we encountered far fewer tourists than we’d feared (except at a few sites), and the prices, which we’d been told were geared toward American neighbors (US), turned out to be quite affordable. In short, it was pure joy on both counts. All that was left was for the trip itself to be beautiful and memorable—and it was...
1st stop: Isla Holbox and the whale sharks
Holbox (pronounced “Hol-bosh”) is a stunning island where you can relax in an enchanting setting.
Our main goal in coming to Holbox was to swim with whale sharks. So, the first thing we told our hotel, Los Arcos Holbox, upon arrival was to arrange an excursion with one of the island’s many tour operators: Glendy Tours Holbox. We set off the next morning, bright and early.
The itinerary for this outing is the same for all tour operators (and there are about thirty of them!): roughly two hours by speedboat, then snorkeling with the whale sharks, followed by another boat ride to Cabo Catoche for lunch, then more boating to a fish-filled snorkeling spot before heading back. In total, the excursion can take eight hours—or even longer.
Besides my two sons and me, there were only two other clients on board—a French couple. Our boat was one of the very first to leave, but after ten minutes, the pilot got a radio call. We turned back without any explanation, returning to the departure dock.
There, a young woman who clearly fancied herself a diva was waiting for us. She was Mexican and boarded the boat, snubbing all five of us while flirting with the pilot and guide, who were suddenly all eyes for her. We couldn’t understand how this diva had convinced our tour operator to turn the boat around just to pick her up when she hadn’t even booked and we were already far out. We left 20 minutes late.
The two-hour journey passed surprisingly quickly, and for good reason: we spotted dolphins six times! They were leaping out of the water as they moved. Pure joy. We stopped whenever they were near the boat.
The photo isn’t great—the ultra-wide-angle lens on my GoPro makes the dolphins look smaller—but at least I got a souvenir.
A few flying fish (exocets) also glided a meter or two above the water as we sped along. The false start was forgotten, and the day was off to a fantastic start in this stunning marine environment...
When we reached the area where the whale sharks were supposed to be, the guide explained that we’d now have to scan the sea until we spotted one. It could take five minutes or forty-five, he said, and if we were unlucky, we might not see any at all!
An hour and a half later—still nothing! The captain then headed toward a distant area where about twenty other boats were already gathered.
Sure enough, there was a juvenile whale shark (still a good eight meters long) there, and all the boats were lining up to approach it slowly, one by one, so as not to scare the animal. Each boat got about thirty seconds within a few meters of it, engine idling, before making way for the next. We were allowed to approach three times, but we weren’t permitted to dive in. That’s normal—such a crowd of divers around a single animal would stress it out, and here, whale sharks are protected by regulations: swimming with them is strictly controlled. There was even a coast guard boat with us at all times, monitoring everyone’s behavior.
We were torn between the luck of seeing such a magnificent animal, even from the surface, and the discomfort we felt about the absurd situation. All those boats lined up just to catch a fleeting glimpse of the shark for a few seconds—let’s be honest, it was ridiculous. In short, the whole thing was unpleasant, and probably even more so for the shark than for us, though it did keep gulping down kilos of plankton as if nothing were happening...
When it was our turn to approach, I dipped my GoPro into the water at arm’s length and framed the shot blindly, hoping for a decent image of the shark.
On the third and final approach, the sixth passenger on board—the one we’d had to turn back for ten minutes after departure—quietly spoke to the guide and captain after putting on her flippers (even though, I’ll remind you, no one was allowed to dive). She wanted them to ask the coast guard for permission to dive with the shark—just her! She whispered so we couldn’t hear what she was offering in exchange.
The two lackeys complied and shouted the request to the officials in front of all the other boats, with no shame whatsoever. With so many witnesses, the coast guard had no choice but to refuse. The diva wouldn’t let it go and asked them to insist, which they did, but the refusal was firm and final.
On the nearest boats, everyone had heard and was stunned. They openly mocked this bimbo who clearly had no shame. Hidden behind her star sunglasses, she responded with a dismissive smile. Pathetic.
The encounter with the shark ended, and we set off for Cabo Catoche, a site on Holbox Island where we were to have lunch.
We were a little disappointed not to have had the chance to see the usual school of whale sharks (they’re often dozens swimming together!), but that’s nature’s way, and we knew it.
And then, an unlikely stroke of luck: a boat ahead of us was putting divers in the water with a pair of adult whale sharks. We joined them, and while we were putting on our masks and snorkels, the guide briefed us. He said my sons and I would go first, followed by the French couple and the diva.
But Miss World, clearly unhappy with this order, quietly complained to the guide, who eventually switched the order. It didn’t bother us since we’d only get a minute in the water anyway—what’s a minute more or less?
So the three of them got in the water, and a moment later, they were done. My two sons and I, sitting on the edge of the boat with masks on and snorkels in our mouths, were ready to finally take the plunge. But instead of continuing to follow the shark, the captain was suddenly all eyes for Miss Silicone! He even let go of the wheel for a moment to help her back on board.
One of the two sharks had already left minutes earlier, and the second was swimming farther away. Other boats were arriving, and the captain went to join the queue 100 meters from the shark. Soon, even more boats showed up. There were way too many people, the shark left, and diving was no longer possible.
I was, of course, a little disappointed not to have fulfilled my long-time dream of swimming with a whale shark, even briefly. But I was mostly disgusted for my two boys, who had been so excited about it. I told the guide exactly what I thought and asked for compensation—not for missing out on swimming with the shark (you can never guarantee seeing one, nature isn’t at our beck and call), but for clearly skipping our turn to dive. He promised a refund.
At the end of the day, back on land, he dropped us all off, and as he was about to leave, I reminded him about the refund. He agreed again, calmly got back on board, and sped off as if nothing had happened—just him and the captain, two total cowards. I couldn’t believe it.
Of course, back at our hotel (which had booked this tour operator—Glendy Tours), I explained the situation and asked for my refund again. The receptionist called the manager, who arrived with the guide. Our runaway wasn’t so cocky anymore. Inside, I was fuming, but I kept my cool during the discussion that followed.
Right off the bat, I made a point of looking the so-called guide in the eyes while telling him he’d run off like a coward. I did my best to stay calm, speaking clearly, staring him down the whole time, and repeating several times that he was a coward, in front of the manager, who didn’t say a word. The guide had clearly been told by his boss to keep quiet because he didn’t utter a word during the entire twenty-minute conversation.
Anyway, I’ll spare you the details, but in the end, the manager only offered us another excursion the next day as compensation for the “inconvenience.” It was just snorkeling with fish, not another whale shark trip. He admitted their fault, but since we had to leave early the next morning and had other bookings for the rest of the trip, we couldn’t accept. And he refused to refund us.
On Tripadvisor, Glendy Tours has a mediocre rating (3 out of 5), but more importantly, it ranks 29th out of 36 nautical tour operators rated by customers. I was pretty upset with the hotel for booking such an amateur for us.
If you want to swim with whale sharks in Holbox, you might end up with Glendy Tours. And it might go well—I certainly hope so. But given the price of such an excursion (3,000 pesos per person, about 160 €!), I’d still suggest quickly checking online before you go to see which providers have the best ratings. You’ll have a much better chance of things going smoothly with the top-rated ones than with those as poorly ranked as Glendy Tours.
On the other hand, if you’re a beautiful young woman, you can choose them without worry—you’ll get better treatment than the rest of us...
To wrap up this excursion, I have to mention the “respect for nature” angle that all these tour operators highlight. They tell us they respect the whale sharks: only two or three people can dive at a time, and only for a few minutes, so as not to disturb these gentle giants...
We believed them before we left, but that’s not what we saw. When the sharks are hard to find except for one, everyone rushes it, and only the constant presence of the coast guard prevents the tour operators from putting their clients in the water.
Because for the second shark we saw, when the divers from our boat got out of the water and we left to join the queue while it was our turn to dive, other boats quickly arrived and started swarming the poor shark, which eventually left.
In other words, it’s clear these companies only respect the sharks when they’re being watched.
Boat reversing a meter away from a pelican
And for the snorkeling near Cabo Catoche, they attract fish daily by feeding them—a practice that’s normally discouraged. Afterward, these fish can’t feed naturally anymore and become dependent on Glendy Tours and its competitors.
A quick note on the rest of the excursion: Cabo Catoche (the site where we had lunch, on Holbox Island) is the northernmost point of the entire Yucatán. The place is paradise.
On the way back, we spent half an hour snorkeling at a site that turned out to be fish-filled only because the tour operators had the bad habit of feeding the fish. But this practice, which isn’t respectful of nature, is normally discouraged.
Plus, life jackets—like in many places in the Yucatán—are mandatory!!
As divers, we didn’t find the site very interesting, but objectively, it should delight those who aren’t used to putting their heads underwater in beautiful dive spots.
We hated feeling trapped in those life jackets, stuck at the surface, and for me, the highlight was swimming next to a pelican that wasn’t too shy—it was paddling right beside me in green water.
Anyway, it seems we can’t post more than 10 photos at once on VF, so I’ll come back with the rest of the journal in another message. Because after these early trip mishaps, the rest of the journey turned out to be magnificent...
What a pleasure to be back on VF after a few difficult years 😎 So, before diving into the topic, welcome back to VF and above all... keep going!
Well, I’m finally picking up my old habit of posting a new travel journal.
Before heading to Mexico in the summer of 2023 with my family (my partner and our two boys, aged 18 and 16), I had somehow convinced myself—though I can’t even remember why—that the Yucatán was too touristy, too cliché, too expensive, and overrated!
The country didn’t particularly appeal to me, but faced with my wife’s insistence—she’d been there years ago, before we met, and had promised to show our sons this incredible place—my arguments didn’t hold much weight.
And thank goodness, because I have to admit she was absolutely right to take us there! In the end, we encountered far fewer tourists than we’d feared (except at a few sites), and the prices, which we’d been told were geared toward American neighbors (US), turned out to be quite affordable. In short, it was pure joy on both counts. All that was left was for the trip itself to be beautiful and memorable—and it was...
1st stop: Isla Holbox and the whale sharks
Holbox (pronounced “Hol-bosh”) is a stunning island where you can relax in an enchanting setting.
Our main goal in coming to Holbox was to swim with whale sharks. So, the first thing we told our hotel, Los Arcos Holbox, upon arrival was to arrange an excursion with one of the island’s many tour operators: Glendy Tours Holbox. We set off the next morning, bright and early.
The itinerary for this outing is the same for all tour operators (and there are about thirty of them!): roughly two hours by speedboat, then snorkeling with the whale sharks, followed by another boat ride to Cabo Catoche for lunch, then more boating to a fish-filled snorkeling spot before heading back. In total, the excursion can take eight hours—or even longer.
Besides my two sons and me, there were only two other clients on board—a French couple. Our boat was one of the very first to leave, but after ten minutes, the pilot got a radio call. We turned back without any explanation, returning to the departure dock.
There, a young woman who clearly fancied herself a diva was waiting for us. She was Mexican and boarded the boat, snubbing all five of us while flirting with the pilot and guide, who were suddenly all eyes for her. We couldn’t understand how this diva had convinced our tour operator to turn the boat around just to pick her up when she hadn’t even booked and we were already far out. We left 20 minutes late.
The two-hour journey passed surprisingly quickly, and for good reason: we spotted dolphins six times! They were leaping out of the water as they moved. Pure joy. We stopped whenever they were near the boat.
The photo isn’t great—the ultra-wide-angle lens on my GoPro makes the dolphins look smaller—but at least I got a souvenir.
A few flying fish (exocets) also glided a meter or two above the water as we sped along. The false start was forgotten, and the day was off to a fantastic start in this stunning marine environment...
When we reached the area where the whale sharks were supposed to be, the guide explained that we’d now have to scan the sea until we spotted one. It could take five minutes or forty-five, he said, and if we were unlucky, we might not see any at all!
An hour and a half later—still nothing! The captain then headed toward a distant area where about twenty other boats were already gathered.
Sure enough, there was a juvenile whale shark (still a good eight meters long) there, and all the boats were lining up to approach it slowly, one by one, so as not to scare the animal. Each boat got about thirty seconds within a few meters of it, engine idling, before making way for the next. We were allowed to approach three times, but we weren’t permitted to dive in. That’s normal—such a crowd of divers around a single animal would stress it out, and here, whale sharks are protected by regulations: swimming with them is strictly controlled. There was even a coast guard boat with us at all times, monitoring everyone’s behavior.
We were torn between the luck of seeing such a magnificent animal, even from the surface, and the discomfort we felt about the absurd situation. All those boats lined up just to catch a fleeting glimpse of the shark for a few seconds—let’s be honest, it was ridiculous. In short, the whole thing was unpleasant, and probably even more so for the shark than for us, though it did keep gulping down kilos of plankton as if nothing were happening...
When it was our turn to approach, I dipped my GoPro into the water at arm’s length and framed the shot blindly, hoping for a decent image of the shark.
On the third and final approach, the sixth passenger on board—the one we’d had to turn back for ten minutes after departure—quietly spoke to the guide and captain after putting on her flippers (even though, I’ll remind you, no one was allowed to dive). She wanted them to ask the coast guard for permission to dive with the shark—just her! She whispered so we couldn’t hear what she was offering in exchange.
The two lackeys complied and shouted the request to the officials in front of all the other boats, with no shame whatsoever. With so many witnesses, the coast guard had no choice but to refuse. The diva wouldn’t let it go and asked them to insist, which they did, but the refusal was firm and final.
On the nearest boats, everyone had heard and was stunned. They openly mocked this bimbo who clearly had no shame. Hidden behind her star sunglasses, she responded with a dismissive smile. Pathetic.
The encounter with the shark ended, and we set off for Cabo Catoche, a site on Holbox Island where we were to have lunch.
We were a little disappointed not to have had the chance to see the usual school of whale sharks (they’re often dozens swimming together!), but that’s nature’s way, and we knew it.
And then, an unlikely stroke of luck: a boat ahead of us was putting divers in the water with a pair of adult whale sharks. We joined them, and while we were putting on our masks and snorkels, the guide briefed us. He said my sons and I would go first, followed by the French couple and the diva.
But Miss World, clearly unhappy with this order, quietly complained to the guide, who eventually switched the order. It didn’t bother us since we’d only get a minute in the water anyway—what’s a minute more or less?
So the three of them got in the water, and a moment later, they were done. My two sons and I, sitting on the edge of the boat with masks on and snorkels in our mouths, were ready to finally take the plunge. But instead of continuing to follow the shark, the captain was suddenly all eyes for Miss Silicone! He even let go of the wheel for a moment to help her back on board.
One of the two sharks had already left minutes earlier, and the second was swimming farther away. Other boats were arriving, and the captain went to join the queue 100 meters from the shark. Soon, even more boats showed up. There were way too many people, the shark left, and diving was no longer possible.
I was, of course, a little disappointed not to have fulfilled my long-time dream of swimming with a whale shark, even briefly. But I was mostly disgusted for my two boys, who had been so excited about it. I told the guide exactly what I thought and asked for compensation—not for missing out on swimming with the shark (you can never guarantee seeing one, nature isn’t at our beck and call), but for clearly skipping our turn to dive. He promised a refund.
At the end of the day, back on land, he dropped us all off, and as he was about to leave, I reminded him about the refund. He agreed again, calmly got back on board, and sped off as if nothing had happened—just him and the captain, two total cowards. I couldn’t believe it.
Of course, back at our hotel (which had booked this tour operator—Glendy Tours), I explained the situation and asked for my refund again. The receptionist called the manager, who arrived with the guide. Our runaway wasn’t so cocky anymore. Inside, I was fuming, but I kept my cool during the discussion that followed.
Right off the bat, I made a point of looking the so-called guide in the eyes while telling him he’d run off like a coward. I did my best to stay calm, speaking clearly, staring him down the whole time, and repeating several times that he was a coward, in front of the manager, who didn’t say a word. The guide had clearly been told by his boss to keep quiet because he didn’t utter a word during the entire twenty-minute conversation.
Anyway, I’ll spare you the details, but in the end, the manager only offered us another excursion the next day as compensation for the “inconvenience.” It was just snorkeling with fish, not another whale shark trip. He admitted their fault, but since we had to leave early the next morning and had other bookings for the rest of the trip, we couldn’t accept. And he refused to refund us.
On Tripadvisor, Glendy Tours has a mediocre rating (3 out of 5), but more importantly, it ranks 29th out of 36 nautical tour operators rated by customers. I was pretty upset with the hotel for booking such an amateur for us.
If you want to swim with whale sharks in Holbox, you might end up with Glendy Tours. And it might go well—I certainly hope so. But given the price of such an excursion (3,000 pesos per person, about 160 €!), I’d still suggest quickly checking online before you go to see which providers have the best ratings. You’ll have a much better chance of things going smoothly with the top-rated ones than with those as poorly ranked as Glendy Tours.
On the other hand, if you’re a beautiful young woman, you can choose them without worry—you’ll get better treatment than the rest of us...
To wrap up this excursion, I have to mention the “respect for nature” angle that all these tour operators highlight. They tell us they respect the whale sharks: only two or three people can dive at a time, and only for a few minutes, so as not to disturb these gentle giants...
We believed them before we left, but that’s not what we saw. When the sharks are hard to find except for one, everyone rushes it, and only the constant presence of the coast guard prevents the tour operators from putting their clients in the water.
Because for the second shark we saw, when the divers from our boat got out of the water and we left to join the queue while it was our turn to dive, other boats quickly arrived and started swarming the poor shark, which eventually left.
In other words, it’s clear these companies only respect the sharks when they’re being watched.
Boat reversing a meter away from a pelicanAnd for the snorkeling near Cabo Catoche, they attract fish daily by feeding them—a practice that’s normally discouraged. Afterward, these fish can’t feed naturally anymore and become dependent on Glendy Tours and its competitors.
A quick note on the rest of the excursion: Cabo Catoche (the site where we had lunch, on Holbox Island) is the northernmost point of the entire Yucatán. The place is paradise.
On the way back, we spent half an hour snorkeling at a site that turned out to be fish-filled only because the tour operators had the bad habit of feeding the fish. But this practice, which isn’t respectful of nature, is normally discouraged.
Plus, life jackets—like in many places in the Yucatán—are mandatory!!
As divers, we didn’t find the site very interesting, but objectively, it should delight those who aren’t used to putting their heads underwater in beautiful dive spots.
We hated feeling trapped in those life jackets, stuck at the surface, and for me, the highlight was swimming next to a pelican that wasn’t too shy—it was paddling right beside me in green water.
Anyway, it seems we can’t post more than 10 photos at once on VF, so I’ll come back with the rest of the journal in another message. Because after these early trip mishaps, the rest of the journey turned out to be magnificent...
Bike trip: from Carcans Maubuisson to Plaisir (Yvelines)
Monday, August 21, 2023 - Rochefort - Marans
No journal for the first two days. Day 1 - CARCANS-ROYAN Day 2 - ROYAN - ROCHEFORT Tonight I'm in MARANS in the "dry marsh" according to the campsite manager—it’s the first time I’ve heard of a "dry marsh"?!
Photos from the first two days
My gear
The Landes region—nothing extraordinary, but the calm and serenity are nice.
Le Verdon
The wild coast
This marsh isn’t dry, though.
Today is the third day of my trip, and I’m writing to you from a campsite in Marans. I’ve set out to bike from Carcans Maubuisson back to Plaisir. Why Carcans? Because we spent a week there as a family—a great week that lets everyone reconnect for a long stretch. Also, on Saturday, we all headed home—some by car, and me by bike. This journey is about 850 km via bike paths and small cycling roads. It’s not a sporting feat, just a nice long ride for fun. As the old Chinese sage says, "The destination doesn’t matter—it’s the journey that counts." But he also told me, "Traveling is great, but what’s the point if you don’t share it?" You see, this old sage has told me a lot of things—he often keeps me company when I’m biking. Of course, he doesn’t pedal, but we travel in harmony. Sure, he can be a bit annoying sometimes, but we still get along. All this to say I’ve created a group to share my story. I’d be happy to share this experience with you—it’s an adventure for me. On Saturday, I wasn’t sure I’d even leave because I’d been dealing with sciatica for days. Luckily, Juliette, a friend of the old Chinese sage, recommended a lifesaving remedy: Alternately stretching your legs with an elastic band under your foot. Obviously, a jam jar rubber band won’t cut it.
From Marans - The mosquitoes are attacking; time to head back to shelter.
The first two legs took me to Royan and then Rochefort. The Sèvre Niortaise flows nearby, and I followed a canal from La Rochelle. You could say the area is as dry as the marsh, judging by the state of the crops.
As I mentioned, it’s the third day, and if Jesus rose again on this day, for me it was more like the crucifixion. The scorching heat—only bearable when you’re moving—combined with rough trail conditions, and the old Chinese sage says, "Terrible roads, slow speed, and watch your limbs." I set out to do 60 km but ended up doing 80, and the last 20 were tough. I kept checking the GPS to see how much farther until the campsite. Today: Rochefort to Marans, sticking to the coast until La Rochelle, then no notable towns after that—just a constant canal. But since the sky isn’t too low, it hasn’t gotten lost. I’ve still got plenty of anecdotes to share, but it’s pitch black out, and the mosquitoes are still around. This morning, I counted ten in my tent, all full of my blood. Yesterday, at the end of the leg to Rochefort, I was really looking forward to crossing the Charente using the transporter bridge, but a sneaky GPS conspiracy led me far from it. I ended up crossing the Charente on a completely ordinary bridge, watching the transporter bridge in the distance with disappointment.
End of the first episode. Until tomorrow, if you’d like!
No journal for the first two days. Day 1 - CARCANS-ROYAN Day 2 - ROYAN - ROCHEFORT Tonight I'm in MARANS in the "dry marsh" according to the campsite manager—it’s the first time I’ve heard of a "dry marsh"?!
Photos from the first two days
My gearThe Landes region—nothing extraordinary, but the calm and serenity are nice.
Le Verdon
The wild coast
This marsh isn’t dry, though.
Today is the third day of my trip, and I’m writing to you from a campsite in Marans. I’ve set out to bike from Carcans Maubuisson back to Plaisir. Why Carcans? Because we spent a week there as a family—a great week that lets everyone reconnect for a long stretch. Also, on Saturday, we all headed home—some by car, and me by bike. This journey is about 850 km via bike paths and small cycling roads. It’s not a sporting feat, just a nice long ride for fun. As the old Chinese sage says, "The destination doesn’t matter—it’s the journey that counts." But he also told me, "Traveling is great, but what’s the point if you don’t share it?" You see, this old sage has told me a lot of things—he often keeps me company when I’m biking. Of course, he doesn’t pedal, but we travel in harmony. Sure, he can be a bit annoying sometimes, but we still get along. All this to say I’ve created a group to share my story. I’d be happy to share this experience with you—it’s an adventure for me. On Saturday, I wasn’t sure I’d even leave because I’d been dealing with sciatica for days. Luckily, Juliette, a friend of the old Chinese sage, recommended a lifesaving remedy: Alternately stretching your legs with an elastic band under your foot. Obviously, a jam jar rubber band won’t cut it.
From Marans - The mosquitoes are attacking; time to head back to shelter.
The first two legs took me to Royan and then Rochefort. The Sèvre Niortaise flows nearby, and I followed a canal from La Rochelle. You could say the area is as dry as the marsh, judging by the state of the crops.
As I mentioned, it’s the third day, and if Jesus rose again on this day, for me it was more like the crucifixion. The scorching heat—only bearable when you’re moving—combined with rough trail conditions, and the old Chinese sage says, "Terrible roads, slow speed, and watch your limbs." I set out to do 60 km but ended up doing 80, and the last 20 were tough. I kept checking the GPS to see how much farther until the campsite. Today: Rochefort to Marans, sticking to the coast until La Rochelle, then no notable towns after that—just a constant canal. But since the sky isn’t too low, it hasn’t gotten lost. I’ve still got plenty of anecdotes to share, but it’s pitch black out, and the mosquitoes are still around. This morning, I counted ten in my tent, all full of my blood. Yesterday, at the end of the leg to Rochefort, I was really looking forward to crossing the Charente using the transporter bridge, but a sneaky GPS conspiracy led me far from it. I ended up crossing the Charente on a completely ordinary bridge, watching the transporter bridge in the distance with disappointment.
End of the first episode. Until tomorrow, if you’d like!
November 2024 Photo Contest: Art Nouveau Around the World
Hello!
With no authority whatsoever, I’m taking the liberty of relaunching the photo contests on VoyageForum, which is now active and alive again 😉
The theme for November 2024 is Art Nouveau, an artistic and architectural movement (1893 to 1913—just before, well, World War I) that has nothing to do with (or does it?) Art Deco, another artistic and architectural movement (1925 to 1940—right before World War II).
**Participation** Every VF member can submit up to 3 photos, until Monday, November 25 at 11:59 PM Brussels time. Each photo must be posted in a separate message, with its number (1, 2, or 3) indicated. Don’t forget to add a short explanation (commentary, location, etc.).
**Voting** Every VF member can vote for the 3 photos they consider the best, based on their own criteria and the theme. Voting will take place from Tuesday, November 26 to Saturday, November 30 at 11:59 PM Brussels time.
Photos will be ranked in order of preference: - 1st photo: 3 points - 2nd photo: 2 points - 3rd photo: 1 point
The winner is the photographer whose photo receives the most points. Results will be published on December 1. In case of a tie, the number of first-place votes will decide. The winner will have the honor of organizing December’s contest.
Photos that have already been nominated (1st, 2nd, or 3rd place) in another contest are not eligible for this one.
**Example of Art Nouveau architecture**
Victor Horta’s house and workshop (considered the "Father of Art Nouveau") on Rue Américaine in Saint-Gilles (Brussels, Belgium).
Villa Melchiorri, Via Cavour in Ferrara (Emilia-Romagna, Italy).
Art Nouveau Around the World – discussion post
With no authority whatsoever, I’m taking the liberty of relaunching the photo contests on VoyageForum, which is now active and alive again 😉
The theme for November 2024 is Art Nouveau, an artistic and architectural movement (1893 to 1913—just before, well, World War I) that has nothing to do with (or does it?) Art Deco, another artistic and architectural movement (1925 to 1940—right before World War II).
**Participation** Every VF member can submit up to 3 photos, until Monday, November 25 at 11:59 PM Brussels time. Each photo must be posted in a separate message, with its number (1, 2, or 3) indicated. Don’t forget to add a short explanation (commentary, location, etc.).
**Voting** Every VF member can vote for the 3 photos they consider the best, based on their own criteria and the theme. Voting will take place from Tuesday, November 26 to Saturday, November 30 at 11:59 PM Brussels time.
Photos will be ranked in order of preference: - 1st photo: 3 points - 2nd photo: 2 points - 3rd photo: 1 point
The winner is the photographer whose photo receives the most points. Results will be published on December 1. In case of a tie, the number of first-place votes will decide. The winner will have the honor of organizing December’s contest.
Photos that have already been nominated (1st, 2nd, or 3rd place) in another contest are not eligible for this one.
**Example of Art Nouveau architecture**
Victor Horta’s house and workshop (considered the "Father of Art Nouveau") on Rue Américaine in Saint-Gilles (Brussels, Belgium).
Villa Melchiorri, Via Cavour in Ferrara (Emilia-Romagna, Italy).
Art Nouveau Around the World – discussion post
Southwest! 8 weeks with the family, Denver-to-Denver loop, 1st part...
Hey there, VoyageForum!!!
I’ve combed through this site up, down, and sideways to plan our two-month road trip across the American Southwest during the summer of 2022, so it only feels right to give back and revive the USA travel journal section—helping others prep, travel, or relive their own memories! 😏
A quick intro to the stars of this trip is coming soon... in an upcoming post!
Table of Contents:
Road trip introduction Day 1 & 2: the days we double-checked all our papers... Day 3 & 3 bis: The day we discovered Denver... Day 4: The day of the race, the carriage, and the little one’s cough... Day 5: the day the road trip truly began... Day 6 & 6 bis: the day of Nature’s first wonders... Day 7: the day the sky fell on our heads... Day 8 & 8 bis: the day we saw ghosts... Day 9: the day we climbed the mountain... Day 10: the day the theme song from "The Last Picture Show" played on loop in my head... Day 11: the day we lived like Native Americans... Day 12: the day we left civilization behind... Day 13 & 13 bis: the day we explored another planet... Day 14 & 14 bis: the day Caro reunited with HER rocks... Day 15 & 15 bis: the day of the fantastic ride... Day 16: the day we cooled off in Lake Powell... Day 17: the day the Colorado River’s meanders were all ours... Day 18: the day we dipped our feet in the Colorado... Day 19: the day the guys discovered true vastness... Day 20 & 20 bis: the day we covered a few acres of Route 66 before sunset... Day 21: the day the credit card said stop... right before the STRIP... Day 22: the day we finally discovered Cirque du Soleil... Day 23: the day we returned to calm... well, almost... Day 24: the day we reached our home base for 6 nights: Saint George Day 25: the day we should’ve explored Yant Flat... Day 26: the day it was 13°C at Cedar Breaks... Day 27: the day we explored The Narrows in Zion NP... Day 28: the day we discovered Snow Canyon... Day 29: the day we hiked to the "SUBWAY"... Day 30: the day we encountered the abyss—from the north this time... Day 31: the day we arrived in a place where dreams begin... Kanab... Day 32: the day we discovered the first treasures along House Rock Valley... 2nd part: the second part of the journey... Day 33: the day we discovered a magical place... Edmaier's Secret... Day 34: the day Cottonwood Road didn’t open up to us... Day 35: the day of the classic Queen’s Garden + Navajo Loop—and another event that became a classic... Day 36: the second day in Bryce... pure bliss!!! Day 37: the day we swam at the foot of Calf Creek Falls... Day 38: the day we took the Burr Trail, even with storms lurking... Day 39: The day of the goblins... Day 40: the day we enjoyed the peaceful Capitol Reef NP... Day 41: the day of the Rim Overlook and another letdown... Day 42: the day we arrived in... Moab... Day 43: the first day in Arches National Park... Day 44: the day of the Fisher Towers... Day 45: the day of Bow Tie & Corona Arches... Day 46: The day of Shafer Trail + Potash Road... Day 47: The second day in Arches NP... Day 48: the day we discovered Colorado NM in a flash... Day 49: the day of Black Canyon... Day 50: the day we passed through Durango before falling for Silverton... Day 51: the day we went through Ouray and ended up in Gunnison... Day 52: the day of Kebler Pass and arriving at the hot springs... Day 53: the day of hot springs II, then the road back to Denver... Day 54: the last day... Day 55: back home and the RECAP...
I’ve combed through this site up, down, and sideways to plan our two-month road trip across the American Southwest during the summer of 2022, so it only feels right to give back and revive the USA travel journal section—helping others prep, travel, or relive their own memories! 😏
A quick intro to the stars of this trip is coming soon... in an upcoming post!
Table of Contents:
Road trip introduction Day 1 & 2: the days we double-checked all our papers... Day 3 & 3 bis: The day we discovered Denver... Day 4: The day of the race, the carriage, and the little one’s cough... Day 5: the day the road trip truly began... Day 6 & 6 bis: the day of Nature’s first wonders... Day 7: the day the sky fell on our heads... Day 8 & 8 bis: the day we saw ghosts... Day 9: the day we climbed the mountain... Day 10: the day the theme song from "The Last Picture Show" played on loop in my head... Day 11: the day we lived like Native Americans... Day 12: the day we left civilization behind... Day 13 & 13 bis: the day we explored another planet... Day 14 & 14 bis: the day Caro reunited with HER rocks... Day 15 & 15 bis: the day of the fantastic ride... Day 16: the day we cooled off in Lake Powell... Day 17: the day the Colorado River’s meanders were all ours... Day 18: the day we dipped our feet in the Colorado... Day 19: the day the guys discovered true vastness... Day 20 & 20 bis: the day we covered a few acres of Route 66 before sunset... Day 21: the day the credit card said stop... right before the STRIP... Day 22: the day we finally discovered Cirque du Soleil... Day 23: the day we returned to calm... well, almost... Day 24: the day we reached our home base for 6 nights: Saint George Day 25: the day we should’ve explored Yant Flat... Day 26: the day it was 13°C at Cedar Breaks... Day 27: the day we explored The Narrows in Zion NP... Day 28: the day we discovered Snow Canyon... Day 29: the day we hiked to the "SUBWAY"... Day 30: the day we encountered the abyss—from the north this time... Day 31: the day we arrived in a place where dreams begin... Kanab... Day 32: the day we discovered the first treasures along House Rock Valley... 2nd part: the second part of the journey... Day 33: the day we discovered a magical place... Edmaier's Secret... Day 34: the day Cottonwood Road didn’t open up to us... Day 35: the day of the classic Queen’s Garden + Navajo Loop—and another event that became a classic... Day 36: the second day in Bryce... pure bliss!!! Day 37: the day we swam at the foot of Calf Creek Falls... Day 38: the day we took the Burr Trail, even with storms lurking... Day 39: The day of the goblins... Day 40: the day we enjoyed the peaceful Capitol Reef NP... Day 41: the day of the Rim Overlook and another letdown... Day 42: the day we arrived in... Moab... Day 43: the first day in Arches National Park... Day 44: the day of the Fisher Towers... Day 45: the day of Bow Tie & Corona Arches... Day 46: The day of Shafer Trail + Potash Road... Day 47: The second day in Arches NP... Day 48: the day we discovered Colorado NM in a flash... Day 49: the day of Black Canyon... Day 50: the day we passed through Durango before falling for Silverton... Day 51: the day we went through Ouray and ended up in Gunnison... Day 52: the day of Kebler Pass and arriving at the hot springs... Day 53: the day of hot springs II, then the road back to Denver... Day 54: the last day... Day 55: back home and the RECAP...
4 friends discover a piece of North India
Hello fellow travelers!
I’m adding my small contribution to the reopening celebration by posting this travel journal from India, made in January 2024. We’re 4 friends (2 couples), and we did a 3-week loop in Rajasthan, stopping by Delhi and Agra (which, as everyone knows, aren’t in Rajasthan 😛). Delhi - Agra - Jaipur - Bundi - Udaipur - Jodhpur - Jaisalmer - Delhi
We rented a car with a driver from Agra to Jaisalmer, 550 € for 14 days. https://chauffeurpriveeninde.com/fr/
We took the train from Delhi to Agra and the plane (Spicejet) from Jaisalmer to Delhi.
Most of the accommodations were booked on Booking before we left.
I’m sharing this story written by Richard and illustrated by me. We dedicate it to Nathalie and Bruno, our amazing travel companions.
I’m adding my small contribution to the reopening celebration by posting this travel journal from India, made in January 2024. We’re 4 friends (2 couples), and we did a 3-week loop in Rajasthan, stopping by Delhi and Agra (which, as everyone knows, aren’t in Rajasthan 😛). Delhi - Agra - Jaipur - Bundi - Udaipur - Jodhpur - Jaisalmer - Delhi
We rented a car with a driver from Agra to Jaisalmer, 550 € for 14 days. https://chauffeurpriveeninde.com/fr/
We took the train from Delhi to Agra and the plane (Spicejet) from Jaisalmer to Delhi.
Most of the accommodations were booked on Booking before we left.
I’m sharing this story written by Richard and illustrated by me. We dedicate it to Nathalie and Bruno, our amazing travel companions.
Jerusalem, the Earthly
5 AM, I’m shivering.
The icy February 2022 fog wraps around the deserted Terminal 2, closed for renovations, on the outskirts of which my hotel stands. I wait alone at the stop in the pitch-black night for the first shuttle of the day, which is supposed to take me to T1. I have no idea where I’m going. All I know is the name: Jerusalem. I’m entirely goy, just as entirely atheist, but I’ve been visiting that imaginary city for decades. It haunts, fantastical, the medieval images that once occupied me for so long. It regularly creeps into my ears through the misfortune of news reports from radios around the world. It crystallizes so many of humanity’s delusions, of which I’m a part. I know nothing about it, haven’t read a single guidebook. But I want to see it, walk its streets, live it for a few days. Make it real, tangible.
The flight is on time. This is the era of mandatory FFP2 masks on all flights landing in Italy (Europe?). The crew valiantly fights against passengers’ ingenious attempts to remove them: sipping their drinks milliliter by milliliter, nibbling their snacks cubic millimeter by cubic millimeter, feigning breathing difficulties, yanking off the elastic bands... A rabbi passes through the rows collecting donations. Men put on their tefillin, drape their prayer shawls, and rock to the rhythm of their prayers. Already, the sense of elsewhere.
Ben Gurion Airport is a stunning airport—monumental, bright, functional, adorned with archaeological remnants and enormous photographs showcasing the country’s great leader in its works. I collect my visa from a kiosk, quickly endure the routine interrogation from a military officer slumped in his seat, withdraw some shekels from an ATM, get my nostrils swabbed at one of the many molecular testing stations in exchange for a yellow all-inclusive resort-style wristband that grants me passage through the outer doors. I spend ages (I think I’m just not good at this) in the crowd trying to find a sherut heading to Jerusalem, then lose myself in the landscape. Mediterranean-style—red earth, stunted vegetation, overrun with sprawling construction. I do glute exercises in this traffic, where a Neapolitan driver would embody road indolence. Endless traffic jams signal the city’s approach. The sherut drops me a few steps from my hotel, the Saint George’s Cathedral Pilgrim Guest House, right on the edge of the dotted lines on maps marking the divide between Jewish and Arab Jerusalem. It’s a pleasant complex with an inner garden and beautiful rooms featuring exposed stone vaults—and thank goodness, because I’m not allowed to leave until I get my test results. The reception staff, incredibly helpful, guide me through the myriad of meal delivery options. A roof over my head, a full stomach—all that’s left is to wait. Read Caillois, check the increasingly precise, increasingly ominous rumors of war brewing, yet again, in Europe, and navigate the city’s virtual map to get a sense of where to head once freed.
The next day, it’s done, and my first destination is, quite naturally, the Old City. The first gate I come across is Jaffa Gate, so Jaffa Gate it is—leading from the chaos of vehicles of all kinds into the labyrinth of alleys packed with goods of all kinds.
The flight is on time. This is the era of mandatory FFP2 masks on all flights landing in Italy (Europe?). The crew valiantly fights against passengers’ ingenious attempts to remove them: sipping their drinks milliliter by milliliter, nibbling their snacks cubic millimeter by cubic millimeter, feigning breathing difficulties, yanking off the elastic bands... A rabbi passes through the rows collecting donations. Men put on their tefillin, drape their prayer shawls, and rock to the rhythm of their prayers. Already, the sense of elsewhere.
Ben Gurion Airport is a stunning airport—monumental, bright, functional, adorned with archaeological remnants and enormous photographs showcasing the country’s great leader in its works. I collect my visa from a kiosk, quickly endure the routine interrogation from a military officer slumped in his seat, withdraw some shekels from an ATM, get my nostrils swabbed at one of the many molecular testing stations in exchange for a yellow all-inclusive resort-style wristband that grants me passage through the outer doors. I spend ages (I think I’m just not good at this) in the crowd trying to find a sherut heading to Jerusalem, then lose myself in the landscape. Mediterranean-style—red earth, stunted vegetation, overrun with sprawling construction. I do glute exercises in this traffic, where a Neapolitan driver would embody road indolence. Endless traffic jams signal the city’s approach. The sherut drops me a few steps from my hotel, the Saint George’s Cathedral Pilgrim Guest House, right on the edge of the dotted lines on maps marking the divide between Jewish and Arab Jerusalem. It’s a pleasant complex with an inner garden and beautiful rooms featuring exposed stone vaults—and thank goodness, because I’m not allowed to leave until I get my test results. The reception staff, incredibly helpful, guide me through the myriad of meal delivery options. A roof over my head, a full stomach—all that’s left is to wait. Read Caillois, check the increasingly precise, increasingly ominous rumors of war brewing, yet again, in Europe, and navigate the city’s virtual map to get a sense of where to head once freed.
The next day, it’s done, and my first destination is, quite naturally, the Old City. The first gate I come across is Jaffa Gate, so Jaffa Gate it is—leading from the chaos of vehicles of all kinds into the labyrinth of alleys packed with goods of all kinds.
South Africa in Three Trips
Hello,
In these post-COVID years, South Africa (SA) has drawn me back again... The long-time forum members will say I'm a bit obsessed (I've now surpassed 20 trips to this country, including 2 in Namibia)... But new readers can find my old travel journals and enjoy this new installment. So, three new trips... each lasting a month... always too short. I’ll try to be pragmatic.
Let’s start with the basics! You can plan your trip from your couch with complete peace of mind. Through any Booking site or directly (sometimes cheaper), I’ve never had any issues with my direct bookings—they’ve always matched what was promised. For national parks outside KwaZulu-Natal (where it’s KZN Wildlife), use the SANparks website, or Nature Reserve for that type of "accommodation." Air France, Lufthansa, or KLM... depending on the year and circumstances. Most flights are overnight, allowing you to arrive early in Joburg and... leave this city I don’t much like as quickly as possible. KLM offers a daytime flight to Cape Town... just arrange your first night’s stay. You drive on the left in SA (you knew that, right?)... you get used to it. Passport: must still be valid for 6 months with several blank pages... Car rental? A car is pretty much essential, whether for short or long trips. It’s safer too. Aside from the secure Gautrain in Joburg and Cape Town (CT from now on), I don’t take the train. Except for the red bus drop-off/pick-up in CT, I don’t take the bus. In this specific case, it’s practical because you can access all of CT’s spots—including the famous Lion’s Head—without worrying about parking or traffic. These past three years, I’ve chosen Around About Cars as my rental company. I’m very satisfied with them. What kind of car? It depends on what you’re doing and your budget. The vast majority of roads don’t require a special vehicle. In a park, the "high ground clearance" of SUVs lets you see animals better and helps avoid potholes (the SA version—ostrich-sized), speed bumps (our "sleeping policemen" with a big belly), and tackle the last few kilometers or 100 meters that can be a bit rough with complete peace of mind. Do your research. For me, it’s 4x2 or 4x4 depending on... South Africans drive fast... and I feel safer that way. International driver’s permit? Legally required! Never asked for by a rental company, only once by the police—but I stood my ground, confident, and it went smoothly. Road checks? Yes, often—at least two every time, but they’re relaxed... Note that if a police officer wants to give you a fine, it must be done at the police station—insist on going there... they’ll usually drop it. If they suggest paying on the spot in cash to "make things easier"... it’s just for their pocket. There’s a special "police alert" number—remind them of it! The rand is the South African currency. Nowadays, cards work in many places. But note: a car rental company will ask for a credit card, not a debit card. Be careful: cash is no longer accepted in SANparks camps and other places (entrances, etc.)! It’s card only! I always carry some cash. I order it from Yeschange (sounds dodgy, but it’s very reliable). Phew... What an introduction!
In these post-COVID years, South Africa (SA) has drawn me back again... The long-time forum members will say I'm a bit obsessed (I've now surpassed 20 trips to this country, including 2 in Namibia)... But new readers can find my old travel journals and enjoy this new installment. So, three new trips... each lasting a month... always too short. I’ll try to be pragmatic.
Let’s start with the basics! You can plan your trip from your couch with complete peace of mind. Through any Booking site or directly (sometimes cheaper), I’ve never had any issues with my direct bookings—they’ve always matched what was promised. For national parks outside KwaZulu-Natal (where it’s KZN Wildlife), use the SANparks website, or Nature Reserve for that type of "accommodation." Air France, Lufthansa, or KLM... depending on the year and circumstances. Most flights are overnight, allowing you to arrive early in Joburg and... leave this city I don’t much like as quickly as possible. KLM offers a daytime flight to Cape Town... just arrange your first night’s stay. You drive on the left in SA (you knew that, right?)... you get used to it. Passport: must still be valid for 6 months with several blank pages... Car rental? A car is pretty much essential, whether for short or long trips. It’s safer too. Aside from the secure Gautrain in Joburg and Cape Town (CT from now on), I don’t take the train. Except for the red bus drop-off/pick-up in CT, I don’t take the bus. In this specific case, it’s practical because you can access all of CT’s spots—including the famous Lion’s Head—without worrying about parking or traffic. These past three years, I’ve chosen Around About Cars as my rental company. I’m very satisfied with them. What kind of car? It depends on what you’re doing and your budget. The vast majority of roads don’t require a special vehicle. In a park, the "high ground clearance" of SUVs lets you see animals better and helps avoid potholes (the SA version—ostrich-sized), speed bumps (our "sleeping policemen" with a big belly), and tackle the last few kilometers or 100 meters that can be a bit rough with complete peace of mind. Do your research. For me, it’s 4x2 or 4x4 depending on... South Africans drive fast... and I feel safer that way. International driver’s permit? Legally required! Never asked for by a rental company, only once by the police—but I stood my ground, confident, and it went smoothly. Road checks? Yes, often—at least two every time, but they’re relaxed... Note that if a police officer wants to give you a fine, it must be done at the police station—insist on going there... they’ll usually drop it. If they suggest paying on the spot in cash to "make things easier"... it’s just for their pocket. There’s a special "police alert" number—remind them of it! The rand is the South African currency. Nowadays, cards work in many places. But note: a car rental company will ask for a credit card, not a debit card. Be careful: cash is no longer accepted in SANparks camps and other places (entrances, etc.)! It’s card only! I always carry some cash. I order it from Yeschange (sounds dodgy, but it’s very reliable). Phew... What an introduction!
To the Top West End
In this time of general travel-journal scarcity, I’m stepping up to tell you about a far-too-short getaway to the Top West End, a local term for the very northern part of Western Australia, right on the border ( ;) ) with the Northern Territory.
As usual, I didn’t manage to keep it short, but this time I’ve got photos to go with it!
August 2020. Since the opportunities to explore the world are extremely limited right now, all we (R&X) can do is explore our own island! Well, just a part of it, because with the state borders still closed, we’re stuck in Western Australia (WA).
Luckily, we’re pretty fortunate because this state is huge: over 2.5 million km² (that’s more than four times the size of France or 1.5 times Quebec). What’s more, stretching over 20 degrees of latitude between the Antarctic Ocean and the Timor Sea, you’ll find climates ranging from Mediterranean to arid to tropical. That’s actually why we decided to head as far north as possible. Sick of the endless rainy winter in Perth, bring on the heat of the Kimberley... way up Nooorth!
Friday. At the airport, the main terminal was closed (not enough flights), so we ended up in the annex (where flights to the various mines usually depart from). There was no crowd at the gate, and in this huge, single departure lounge, empty seats were plentiful. Only three flights were listed on the screens for the rest of the morning: the first to Coondewanna (?), the second to Darwin, and ours to Kununurra (code KNX).
A cool breeze swept through the half-open corridors along the runways. At the top of the walkway leading to the Fokker 100 (the Airbuses and Boeings are now parked!), a flight attendant greeted us with a basket full of sanitary masks. We were actually the only masked passengers (the staff weren’t wearing them either). With zero Covid-19 cases in WA at the time, the only rule was to maintain social distancing—something pretty hard to do on a full plane!
It was also my first time wearing a mask—it felt weird, pretty uncomfortable, and after a while, painful behind the ears. I really feel for those who have to wear one all day, every day. The flight lasted three long hours, but luckily, I had a good book. From the window, I watched an endless expanse of salt lakes in all shapes and sizes—round, elongated, gray, white, sometimes blue and green—and an infinity of winding, capricious meanders, along with long straight lines that led nowhere. The last half-hour got more interesting as rocky, swollen formations and long, sloping plateaus appeared. Against the vast ochre landscape, green patches became more frequent.
Just before landing, rows of green fields briefly appeared, along with an surprisingly wide river—but we were already rolling down the tarmac. A few hangars, a myriad of small, stationary planes, and a tiny terminal topped with a sign: “Welcome to Kununurra.”
We wanted heat, and here it was—34°C the moment we stepped off the plane! We felt alive again and totally ridiculous in our jeans and sweaters. We quickly grabbed our suitcase and picked up the 4x4 we’d rented—more out of necessity, since only that type of vehicle can access the national parks we planned to visit.
Just four kilometers separated us from Kununurra, a town of 5,000 people founded in 1961 during the construction of the Lake Argyle Dam and the development of the Ord River Irrigation Area Scheme (more on that later). On the horizon, mountain ranges (a bit of an exaggeration, since we know Mt. Meharry, WA’s highest ‘mountain,’ doesn’t even reach 1,250 meters!) and closer to the road, a few irrigation canals cutting through stretches of bush, then a huge park overlooking a small lake lined with reeds.
A row of baobabs (yes, there are baobabs in Australia too!), a series of motels with immaculate lawns, a gas station, and there’s the main street leading to the town center—that is, the parking lots of the two supermarkets, the bottleshop, the pub, the Town Hall, the municipal pool, and the Tourist Office (already closed!), and at the next roundabout, another park, the Presbyterian church, and a few other shops. In short, two or three green blocks that you can explore in no time.
One road leads to the small industrial area and one of the town’s three or four campgrounds, while another heads toward the residential neighborhoods, which look just like the typical suburbs you find in any Australian city—except with tropical vegetation. We stocked up at Coles, an identical copy of the one near our place, and—surprise—the prices were practically the same.
We checked into one of the motels. The receptionist listed the town’s three or four restaurants, insisting that it’s always better to book a table. She recommended the Pump House, a bit outside town on the lake’s edge. “Best spot to watch the sunset, but hurry up.” she told us. It was only 5:00 PM!
When we got there half an hour later, the place was packed, and the sun had already disappeared behind a row of trees! Sure enough, we’d see a few days later that the sunset can be a stunning spectacle—if you wait a bit for the sky (especially if it’s cloudy) to blaze and reflect in the lake’s calm waters. A little disappointed, we headed back into town, where we easily found the other lively spot in town: the pub (nothing like an old English pub). Above the long L-shaped bar, several giant screens (thankfully muted) were broadcasting live footy, rugby league, etc. In one corner, players circled the pool table, while in another, customers were digging into plates of the day’s special. Instead of rooms, there were various patios where groups of friends and coworkers (easily recognizable by the fluoro vests they were still wearing) were gathered. We found a table under a mango tree—unfortunately, a little too close to the guitarist strumming his entire Country Music repertoire, complete with Keith Urban-style tremolos. Guaranteed culture shock!
Since it’s the custom here, we called the Country Club to book a table before the kitchen closed! The CC is the town’s—and even the region’s—fancy spot. Dark decor, modern furniture, dim lighting, and the air conditioning blasting. The twenty or so customers had taken refuge on the vast terrace, lit by torches. The view of the tall eucalyptus trees, illuminated by spotlights shifting from red to blue, was breathtaking.
The menu was minimal, but the grilled salmon was excellent, and the Pavlova (the meringue dessert Kiwis and Aussies have been arguing over since 1906) with melon and watermelon was absolutely divine.
It wasn’t even 9:00 PM, and we were already in bed. Had we already adopted the Top West End’s chicken schedule?!
To be continued... Journal dedicated to Attila
As usual, I didn’t manage to keep it short, but this time I’ve got photos to go with it!
August 2020. Since the opportunities to explore the world are extremely limited right now, all we (R&X) can do is explore our own island! Well, just a part of it, because with the state borders still closed, we’re stuck in Western Australia (WA).
Luckily, we’re pretty fortunate because this state is huge: over 2.5 million km² (that’s more than four times the size of France or 1.5 times Quebec). What’s more, stretching over 20 degrees of latitude between the Antarctic Ocean and the Timor Sea, you’ll find climates ranging from Mediterranean to arid to tropical. That’s actually why we decided to head as far north as possible. Sick of the endless rainy winter in Perth, bring on the heat of the Kimberley... way up Nooorth!
Friday. At the airport, the main terminal was closed (not enough flights), so we ended up in the annex (where flights to the various mines usually depart from). There was no crowd at the gate, and in this huge, single departure lounge, empty seats were plentiful. Only three flights were listed on the screens for the rest of the morning: the first to Coondewanna (?), the second to Darwin, and ours to Kununurra (code KNX).
A cool breeze swept through the half-open corridors along the runways. At the top of the walkway leading to the Fokker 100 (the Airbuses and Boeings are now parked!), a flight attendant greeted us with a basket full of sanitary masks. We were actually the only masked passengers (the staff weren’t wearing them either). With zero Covid-19 cases in WA at the time, the only rule was to maintain social distancing—something pretty hard to do on a full plane!
It was also my first time wearing a mask—it felt weird, pretty uncomfortable, and after a while, painful behind the ears. I really feel for those who have to wear one all day, every day. The flight lasted three long hours, but luckily, I had a good book. From the window, I watched an endless expanse of salt lakes in all shapes and sizes—round, elongated, gray, white, sometimes blue and green—and an infinity of winding, capricious meanders, along with long straight lines that led nowhere. The last half-hour got more interesting as rocky, swollen formations and long, sloping plateaus appeared. Against the vast ochre landscape, green patches became more frequent.
Just before landing, rows of green fields briefly appeared, along with an surprisingly wide river—but we were already rolling down the tarmac. A few hangars, a myriad of small, stationary planes, and a tiny terminal topped with a sign: “Welcome to Kununurra.”
We wanted heat, and here it was—34°C the moment we stepped off the plane! We felt alive again and totally ridiculous in our jeans and sweaters. We quickly grabbed our suitcase and picked up the 4x4 we’d rented—more out of necessity, since only that type of vehicle can access the national parks we planned to visit.
Just four kilometers separated us from Kununurra, a town of 5,000 people founded in 1961 during the construction of the Lake Argyle Dam and the development of the Ord River Irrigation Area Scheme (more on that later). On the horizon, mountain ranges (a bit of an exaggeration, since we know Mt. Meharry, WA’s highest ‘mountain,’ doesn’t even reach 1,250 meters!) and closer to the road, a few irrigation canals cutting through stretches of bush, then a huge park overlooking a small lake lined with reeds.
A row of baobabs (yes, there are baobabs in Australia too!), a series of motels with immaculate lawns, a gas station, and there’s the main street leading to the town center—that is, the parking lots of the two supermarkets, the bottleshop, the pub, the Town Hall, the municipal pool, and the Tourist Office (already closed!), and at the next roundabout, another park, the Presbyterian church, and a few other shops. In short, two or three green blocks that you can explore in no time.
One road leads to the small industrial area and one of the town’s three or four campgrounds, while another heads toward the residential neighborhoods, which look just like the typical suburbs you find in any Australian city—except with tropical vegetation. We stocked up at Coles, an identical copy of the one near our place, and—surprise—the prices were practically the same.
We checked into one of the motels. The receptionist listed the town’s three or four restaurants, insisting that it’s always better to book a table. She recommended the Pump House, a bit outside town on the lake’s edge. “Best spot to watch the sunset, but hurry up.” she told us. It was only 5:00 PM!
When we got there half an hour later, the place was packed, and the sun had already disappeared behind a row of trees! Sure enough, we’d see a few days later that the sunset can be a stunning spectacle—if you wait a bit for the sky (especially if it’s cloudy) to blaze and reflect in the lake’s calm waters. A little disappointed, we headed back into town, where we easily found the other lively spot in town: the pub (nothing like an old English pub). Above the long L-shaped bar, several giant screens (thankfully muted) were broadcasting live footy, rugby league, etc. In one corner, players circled the pool table, while in another, customers were digging into plates of the day’s special. Instead of rooms, there were various patios where groups of friends and coworkers (easily recognizable by the fluoro vests they were still wearing) were gathered. We found a table under a mango tree—unfortunately, a little too close to the guitarist strumming his entire Country Music repertoire, complete with Keith Urban-style tremolos. Guaranteed culture shock!
Since it’s the custom here, we called the Country Club to book a table before the kitchen closed! The CC is the town’s—and even the region’s—fancy spot. Dark decor, modern furniture, dim lighting, and the air conditioning blasting. The twenty or so customers had taken refuge on the vast terrace, lit by torches. The view of the tall eucalyptus trees, illuminated by spotlights shifting from red to blue, was breathtaking.
The menu was minimal, but the grilled salmon was excellent, and the Pavlova (the meringue dessert Kiwis and Aussies have been arguing over since 1906) with melon and watermelon was absolutely divine.
It wasn’t even 9:00 PM, and we were already in bed. Had we already adopted the Top West End’s chicken schedule?!
To be continued... Journal dedicated to Attila
Come discover the North Shore
INTRODUCTION
Travel journal updated in MAY 2025
Since our travel plans outside Canada were canceled due to Covid-19, we decided to take our vacation in Quebec this summer and cover over 5,270 kilometers to explore the various tourist attractions of the North Shore and Gaspésie.
This summary will cover our experiences on the North Shore, while Gaspésie will be the subject of a future summary.
The North Shore, known for its stunning nature, is the perfect spot for outdoor enthusiasts since you can enjoy activities like hiking, wildlife observation, sea kayaking, fishing, and hunting (to name just a few).
It’s also one of the best places in the world to see whales.
Our journey along the North Shore took place between the villages of Tadoussac and Kegaska, as Route 138 ends at the beautiful, long beach in Kegaska.
Travel journal updated in MAY 2025
Since our travel plans outside Canada were canceled due to Covid-19, we decided to take our vacation in Quebec this summer and cover over 5,270 kilometers to explore the various tourist attractions of the North Shore and Gaspésie.
This summary will cover our experiences on the North Shore, while Gaspésie will be the subject of a future summary.
The North Shore, known for its stunning nature, is the perfect spot for outdoor enthusiasts since you can enjoy activities like hiking, wildlife observation, sea kayaking, fishing, and hunting (to name just a few).
It’s also one of the best places in the world to see whales.
Our journey along the North Shore took place between the villages of Tadoussac and Kegaska, as Route 138 ends at the beautiful, long beach in Kegaska.
Flânerie le long de la rivière Luangwa English translation pending
Bonjour à toutes et tous,
En avril dernier, à la suite de Régis puis de Claire, nous avions partagé sur ce forum notre pérégrination atypique au Kenya dans la réserve du Masaï-Mara. A l'issue de ce récit, nous avions imaginé repartir soit en randonnée sur les plus hautes terres d'Ethiopie (une dizaine de jours dans les montagnes du Simien lors d'un long séjour en 2009), soit de suivre le cours tranquille de la rivière Luangwa, dans sa partie sud (deux semaines à cheval sur octobre et novembre 2019). Dans le but d'animer les colonnes désertées de Voyage Forum en raison d'une sournoise pandémie, nous avons choisi l'Afrique Australe, précisant que ce texte, destiné à notre entourage ne correspond pas tout à fait à l'esprit "Carnets de Voyages" du site, vous nous en excuserez. Comme la précédente, cette escapade est l'une des rares que nous ayons réalisée avec une agence : y prendrait-on goût ou vieillirait-on ? Pour agrémenter ses longues pages d'écriture (une trentaine pour la partie South Luangwa N P et une dizaine pour la visite de Mosi-oa-Tunya et alentours), Yolande a sélectionné les photos les plus représentatives de cette vadrouille zambienne, dont cette magnifique panthère, rencontrée dès notre entrée dans le sanctuaire.
En route pour le rêve, seule frontière encore ouverte. Bien amicalement. Jety 34.
Impossible de joindre la photo (au secours !), ci-joint le message de VF (??????)
En avril dernier, à la suite de Régis puis de Claire, nous avions partagé sur ce forum notre pérégrination atypique au Kenya dans la réserve du Masaï-Mara. A l'issue de ce récit, nous avions imaginé repartir soit en randonnée sur les plus hautes terres d'Ethiopie (une dizaine de jours dans les montagnes du Simien lors d'un long séjour en 2009), soit de suivre le cours tranquille de la rivière Luangwa, dans sa partie sud (deux semaines à cheval sur octobre et novembre 2019). Dans le but d'animer les colonnes désertées de Voyage Forum en raison d'une sournoise pandémie, nous avons choisi l'Afrique Australe, précisant que ce texte, destiné à notre entourage ne correspond pas tout à fait à l'esprit "Carnets de Voyages" du site, vous nous en excuserez. Comme la précédente, cette escapade est l'une des rares que nous ayons réalisée avec une agence : y prendrait-on goût ou vieillirait-on ? Pour agrémenter ses longues pages d'écriture (une trentaine pour la partie South Luangwa N P et une dizaine pour la visite de Mosi-oa-Tunya et alentours), Yolande a sélectionné les photos les plus représentatives de cette vadrouille zambienne, dont cette magnifique panthère, rencontrée dès notre entrée dans le sanctuaire.
En route pour le rêve, seule frontière encore ouverte. Bien amicalement. Jety 34.
Impossible de joindre la photo (au secours !), ci-joint le message de VF (??????)
Été Covid, un ferry pour la Grèce (en famille) English translation pending
Bonjour à tous,
Voici mon carnet de voyage lors de cet été un peu spécial. Je limite volontairement sur vf à une ou deux photos par jour (certains trouveront que c'est encore trop...) C'est parti 🙂
Les billets étaient pris depuis novembre. Très incertain depuis ce printemps marqué par l'épidémie, ce voyage en Grèce est une bouffée d'air (chaud) après cette période de confinement et d'immobilisme. Nous reprenons donc la route en camion, vers la Grèce continentale. Routes montagneuses, sites antiques, eaux cristallines et ports de pêche, voici en quelques mots les contours d'un voyage riche en couleurs et en saveurs... Les cigales ? Elles ne s'arrêtent qu'à la nuit tombée...
18/07/2020 Jour : 478 km Total : 478 km Départ traditionnel et tardif de Vendée après une quinzaine de jours de vacances.
La cathédrale de Nantes est en feu, le périphérique est bloqué. Challans, Niort, Montluçon, nous prenons la poudre d'escampette en dehors des sentiers battus afin d'éviter le coût exorbitant des péages français. Petit parking très au calme à Rocles quelque part dans l'Allier entre La Prugnole et Blanchetière. Pour celles et ceux qui ne visualisent pas, nous sommes à une trentaine de kilomètres au sud-ouest de Moulins. Les enfants ramassent des bâtons qu'ils jettent dans le lac tandis que mes talents de bricoleur se confirment: le mitigeur nouvellement installé inonde le camion.
Voici mon carnet de voyage lors de cet été un peu spécial. Je limite volontairement sur vf à une ou deux photos par jour (certains trouveront que c'est encore trop...) C'est parti 🙂
Les billets étaient pris depuis novembre. Très incertain depuis ce printemps marqué par l'épidémie, ce voyage en Grèce est une bouffée d'air (chaud) après cette période de confinement et d'immobilisme. Nous reprenons donc la route en camion, vers la Grèce continentale. Routes montagneuses, sites antiques, eaux cristallines et ports de pêche, voici en quelques mots les contours d'un voyage riche en couleurs et en saveurs... Les cigales ? Elles ne s'arrêtent qu'à la nuit tombée...
18/07/2020 Jour : 478 km Total : 478 km Départ traditionnel et tardif de Vendée après une quinzaine de jours de vacances.
La cathédrale de Nantes est en feu, le périphérique est bloqué. Challans, Niort, Montluçon, nous prenons la poudre d'escampette en dehors des sentiers battus afin d'éviter le coût exorbitant des péages français. Petit parking très au calme à Rocles quelque part dans l'Allier entre La Prugnole et Blanchetière. Pour celles et ceux qui ne visualisent pas, nous sommes à une trentaine de kilomètres au sud-ouest de Moulins. Les enfants ramassent des bâtons qu'ils jettent dans le lac tandis que mes talents de bricoleur se confirment: le mitigeur nouvellement installé inonde le camion.
La Bretagne avec le Jacques Cartier "Ponant" du 18 au 25 juillet 2020 English translation pending
Bonjour
J'avais envisagé d'attendre début Octobre et notre retour à Rennes pour faire le C/R
de notre croisière " La Bretagne : entre côtes sauvages et phares "
Mais tout compte fait , je change d'avis et démarre ce C/R dès maintenant :
Au retour de notre 20 ème croisière , fin Novembre 2019 , ( Transat de Marseille à
Miami sur le MSC Divina ) , nous avions décidé de faire une (petite ) pause pour les
croisières et donc de ne rien réserver avant plusieurs mois .
Sage décision en fait au vu des évènements sanitaires du Printemps puisque nous
avons échappé aux problèmes subis par nombre de touristes qui se sont retrouvés
avec des avoirs qu'il ne pourront utiliser ( au mieux ) que dans plusieurs mois .
A la fin de l'an dernier , je m'étais inscrit à la newsletter de Ponant , plus pour rêver
qu'autre chose .
Mais début Juin , alors que toutes les croisières sont annulées les unes après les autres ,
Ponant , profitant notamment de la capacité réduite de ses navires et du retour en
France métropolitaine de presque tous , met en place 2 itinéraires en Méditerranée et
3 en Manche et Atlantique .
La croisière au départ de Nice pour contourner la Corse nous plaisait bien mais rejoindre
Nice posait , à ce moment là , problème .
Nous décidons donc de nous rabattre sur la croisière au départ de St Malo car là , pas de
souci pour nous y rendre 🙂
Les raisons de notre choix : de mémoire , St Malo est fréquemment une ville d'escale pour
les bateaux de croisière mais quasiment jamais une ville d'embarquement ( et là aussi
de débarquement ) , donc autant en profiter .
De plus l'itinéraire nous plait avec la visite d'iles connues ( mais que nous reverrons avec
plaisir ) et de vraies découvertes dont les Scilly , au large de la Cornouaille britannique .
Mi Juin , nous décidons de réserver la croisière au départ de St Malo du 18 Juillet , sachant
que nous avons la possibilité d'annuler , sans pénalités , jusqu'à 72 heures avant le départ .
L'annulation , nous y avons pensé quand , fin Juin , nous avons appris que l'escale aux
Scilly était supprimée 😠 , remplacée par Ouessant , une escale à Groix se substituant
à celle de Hoëdic .
Toutes les autres croisières étaient aussi affectées par la suppression des escales à l'étranger
pour raisons sanitaires ( jours de quarantaine )
Nous trouverons donc peut-être une autre occasion pour nous rendre aux Scilly
Comme d'habitude , je m'égare avec ce préambule un peu long .
Je vais donc faire une pause avant de vous embarquer sur le Jacques Cartier .
A plus
Jean-Pierre
On part en vadrouille au Cambodge! English translation pending
Hello tout le monde !
Vous trouverez ci-dessous mon carnet dédié au voyage que j'ai réalisé l'an passé au Cambodge...
La restriction du nombre de photos imposée par VF m'empêchera de publier ici tous mes clichés. Vous pouvez donc les consulter sur mon site : https://www.onpartenvadrouille.com/ où toutes les journées sont déjà accessibles. Bonne lecture !!!
9 février - Vers un nouveau départ...
L’air de rien, monsieur l’hiver s’est installé confortablement, apportant avec lui dans ses bagages ses amis les nuages grisâtres, nuits tombant à dix-sept heures, gouttes au nez et vieux barbu tout de rouge vêtu. Alors, l’humain lambda boude dans son coin, prétextant une déprime passagère hivernale et une envie d’hibernation foudroyante. Chanceux que je suis, c’est à ce moment précis que chaque année, le génie sort de ma lampe de chevet : « Bonjour maître ! Qu’est-ce qui vous ferait plaisir ?... Un nouveau petit voyage, peut-être ? - Je dis oui, oui et re-oui » ! Chouette, il est temps de préparer les valises et de faire un choix. Choix très difficile entre mes tongs bleues et mes tongs orange. Et puis choix de la destination ! Pique-nique-douille, c’est toi l’andouille de Guéméné ! Suosdei !!! Si je te dis « Salut » dans une langue qui fleure bon l’exotisme, c’est que nous allons ensemble partager un nouveau voyage en direction de l’Asie du sud-est. Et oui, l’Asie du sud-est en hiver, il n’y a rien de mieux pour te requinquer un homme. Et puis l’Asie du sud-est, je l’ai dans la peau, au sens propre comme au sens figuré. Et cette fois-ci, ce sera dans un pays frontalier de la Thaïlande, du Laos et du Vietnam. Pays sous protectorat français jusqu’en 1953, titre d’une chanson de Kim Wilde, pays dont la capitale est Phnom Penh, je suis, je suis, … Ding dong, trop tard !... Le Cambodge !
Qui dit introduction à un nouveau voyage dit aussi interrogatoire. Je mets ma petite robe blanche moulante, je croise, je décroise les jambes, … Oups, j’avais oublié de mettre une culotte… C’est bon, l’interrogatoire peut débuter :
Qui ? Pour m’accompagner, ma femme et mes deux filles qu’on appellera pour cette histoire Sandrine, Anna et Sasha... tout simplement parce que ce sont leurs prénoms ! On devait être accompagné par mes deux parents qui nous ont déjà suivis en Thaïlande il y a maintenant sept ans, mais une petite opération du genou a contraint ma mère à jeter l’éponge dans le visage de son chirurgien au dernier moment. Seul mon père sera de la sauterie en tant que guest star ! On souhaite donc tous ensemble la bienvenue à notre fournisseur d’anecdotes !
Combien ? On part un vendredi et on rentre un dimanche deux semaines plus tard…. Donc si tu comptes bien sur tes dix doigts, ça fait dix-sept jours, voyage compris.
Quoi ? Un voyage mi-routard, mi-pénard. Un circuit optimisé en restant au minimum trois jours par endroit pour éviter de perdre trop de temps dans les transports. De la découverte, des vieilles pierres, de la gastronomie, des rencontres, de la bonne bière, de l’exploration, … Et puis on n’oublie surtout pas de brosser « Martine » dans le bon sens en finissant par quelques jours de repos à l’ombre des cocotiers.
Où ? Pour commencer, le noooooord avec Siem Reap, puis Koh Rong tout au sud. On enchaîne ensuite par Koh Rong Samloem, pour finir tranquillement par Phnom Penh d’où nous regagnerons nos pénates.
Comment ? Scooter, tuk tuk, bus, bateau et tongs. Voilà nos moyens de locomotion ! Come on baby, do the locomooootion...
Bon, je crois avoir répondu à toutes tes questions. Aladin, à la deux, il est donc l’heure d’y aller mon bon génie : Pour tous les amoureux de l’Asie du sud-est ou pour te donner l'envie de le devenir, je déclare donc officiellement ce nouveau voyage ouvert ! Et là, tu te dis peut-être : « Oh, la chance qu’il a !!! » C’est marrant toutes ces personnes qui te répondent systématiquement ça quand tu leur annonces que tu pars en voyage… Premièrement, je ne vois pas ce que la chance vient faire là-dedans puisqu’il suffit de saisir son numéro de carte bancaire sur internet pour gagner un billet d’avion. Crois-moi sur parole, rien de plus simple, on gagne à tous les coups ! Deuxièmement, à tous ceux qui s’imaginent que les voyages, ce n’est que Bisounours et licornes pailletées, je rappelle quand même que la première journée d’un voyage, c’est-à-dire la journée d’aujourd’hui, rime toujours avec aéroport, avion, attente, décalage horaire, fatigue, … Un beau programme à te faire aimer le RER un jour de grève ! Mais rassure-toi, avec moi, inutile d'attacher ta ceinture, ça va être un voyage pépère, hyper rapide, sans zone de turbulences, ni même d’hôtesse à reluquer… puisqu'on est déjà arrivé !! Et oui, moi président, je t’ai exonéré des trois vols qui nous ont menés de Paris à Siem Reap en passant par Amman et Bangkok. Moi président, je t’ai fait grâce de vingt-quatre heures de transport éreintantes. Moi, président, je te dispense solennellement de toutes ces cernes sur ton visage puisque Sandrine se les est toutes accaparées... Seul fait marquant à se mettre sous la dent : Le petit Jésus des avions a sournoisement essayé de nous faire louper notre correspondance à Bangkok ! En direct live rien que pour toi, en voici le récit : On s’installe confortablement dans les sièges en face de notre porte d’embarquement F1A, on s’endort, on se réveille trois heures après, Jean-Michel Ecran au-dessus de notre porte affiche désormais « Shanghai » en lieu et place de « Siem Reap » qui y trônait pourtant fièrement tout à l’heure ! As-tu déjà vu le film « Maman j’ai raté l’avion » ? Et bien voici, « Maman, j’ai presque raté l’avion » ! En voici le scénario… Je m’enquière de la situation auprès d’une gentille hôtesse qui me répond que l’embarquement pour Siem Reap a déménagé en porte D1A à l’autre bout de l’aéroport pendant notre sommeil. « Vite, vite, la porte ferme dans huit minutes !... » S’il te plait, pour la suite de l’histoire, il te faut mettre la musique de Mission impossible... Pan ! C’est partie pour la finale du cent-dix mètres haies en direct de l’aéroport de Bangkok !... Ouf, un brin essoufflé, je remporte la victoire haut la main !... Sauf que, … déconfiture totale ! Du même genre que lorsque tes deux meilleurs attaquants sont forfaits pour la finale de la ligue des champions : En porte D1A, ils embarquent pour un vol pour « Abou Dhabi » !!! « Siem Reap, Siem Reap, please ? - Gate J1A ! » C’est pas possible, l’autre andouillette de tout à l’heure ne sait pas prononcer les « J » correctement ! Nouvelle course folle dans l'aéroport. Je prends de nouveau la tête du convoi, les autres tentant laborieusement de me coller au train. Me voyant arriver en courant, l'hôtesse d’embarquement me fait des signes de loin pour m'indiquer que c'est fini… Horreur, malheur !!! Une fois à sa hauteur, Youhou, champagne, elle m’indiquait en fait qu'il n'était pas nécessaire de courir car le vol a du retard. Allez, Champomy, c’est moi qui régale ! Enfin, … verre d’eau pour tout le monde, quoi !
La description de ce 9 février se termine avec une arrivée tardive à Siem Reap, un passage des formalités administratives bien longuet et rudimentaire, et un transport en tuk tuk affrété par notre hôtel pour traverser pour la première fois cette ville que je découvre enfin ; elle que je connais par procuration grâce à toutes mes innombrables lectures préparatoires d’avant voyage. J’ai un peu l’impression de rencontrer pour la première fois une personne rencontrée virtuellement de longue date sur internet. J’ai aussi l’impression de me sentir comme à la maison. Ça me fait ça à chaque fois avec l’Asie du sud-est. Les odeurs, les bruits, l'ambiance… Je ne saurais comment l'expliquer, mais il n'y a pas de période d'adaptation… Un petit mot sur notre hôtel, La Rose Blanche, établissement un peu excentré mais qui nous ravit les yeux dès notre arrivée. Comme dit l'adage, « avec l'âge, on s'embourgeoise ». Il est possible de trouver à Siem Reap des hôtels vraiment pas chers. Mais en mettant un tout petit peu plus que pas cher, il est possible de trouver de petites perles comme le nôtre dans lequel nous passerons les cinq prochaines nuits bien au chaud.
Allez, quelques morceaux de crocodile grillés sur un petit barbecue cambodgien dans un restaurant pas très loin de notre camp de base et c’est déjà l’heure de l’extinction des feux. Je sais que quelques heures seulement nous séparent de nos premières découvertes et il ne faudrait pas qu’on y arrive fatigués. Je te dis donc tout simplement à demain si tu le veux bien, et surtout si tu souhaites nous accompagner dans ce nouveau numéro de Dora l’exploratrice. De toute façon, demain est une autre aventure...
9 février - Vers un nouveau départ...
L’air de rien, monsieur l’hiver s’est installé confortablement, apportant avec lui dans ses bagages ses amis les nuages grisâtres, nuits tombant à dix-sept heures, gouttes au nez et vieux barbu tout de rouge vêtu. Alors, l’humain lambda boude dans son coin, prétextant une déprime passagère hivernale et une envie d’hibernation foudroyante. Chanceux que je suis, c’est à ce moment précis que chaque année, le génie sort de ma lampe de chevet : « Bonjour maître ! Qu’est-ce qui vous ferait plaisir ?... Un nouveau petit voyage, peut-être ? - Je dis oui, oui et re-oui » ! Chouette, il est temps de préparer les valises et de faire un choix. Choix très difficile entre mes tongs bleues et mes tongs orange. Et puis choix de la destination ! Pique-nique-douille, c’est toi l’andouille de Guéméné ! Suosdei !!! Si je te dis « Salut » dans une langue qui fleure bon l’exotisme, c’est que nous allons ensemble partager un nouveau voyage en direction de l’Asie du sud-est. Et oui, l’Asie du sud-est en hiver, il n’y a rien de mieux pour te requinquer un homme. Et puis l’Asie du sud-est, je l’ai dans la peau, au sens propre comme au sens figuré. Et cette fois-ci, ce sera dans un pays frontalier de la Thaïlande, du Laos et du Vietnam. Pays sous protectorat français jusqu’en 1953, titre d’une chanson de Kim Wilde, pays dont la capitale est Phnom Penh, je suis, je suis, … Ding dong, trop tard !... Le Cambodge !
Qui dit introduction à un nouveau voyage dit aussi interrogatoire. Je mets ma petite robe blanche moulante, je croise, je décroise les jambes, … Oups, j’avais oublié de mettre une culotte… C’est bon, l’interrogatoire peut débuter :
Qui ? Pour m’accompagner, ma femme et mes deux filles qu’on appellera pour cette histoire Sandrine, Anna et Sasha... tout simplement parce que ce sont leurs prénoms ! On devait être accompagné par mes deux parents qui nous ont déjà suivis en Thaïlande il y a maintenant sept ans, mais une petite opération du genou a contraint ma mère à jeter l’éponge dans le visage de son chirurgien au dernier moment. Seul mon père sera de la sauterie en tant que guest star ! On souhaite donc tous ensemble la bienvenue à notre fournisseur d’anecdotes !
Combien ? On part un vendredi et on rentre un dimanche deux semaines plus tard…. Donc si tu comptes bien sur tes dix doigts, ça fait dix-sept jours, voyage compris.
Quoi ? Un voyage mi-routard, mi-pénard. Un circuit optimisé en restant au minimum trois jours par endroit pour éviter de perdre trop de temps dans les transports. De la découverte, des vieilles pierres, de la gastronomie, des rencontres, de la bonne bière, de l’exploration, … Et puis on n’oublie surtout pas de brosser « Martine » dans le bon sens en finissant par quelques jours de repos à l’ombre des cocotiers.
Où ? Pour commencer, le noooooord avec Siem Reap, puis Koh Rong tout au sud. On enchaîne ensuite par Koh Rong Samloem, pour finir tranquillement par Phnom Penh d’où nous regagnerons nos pénates.
Comment ? Scooter, tuk tuk, bus, bateau et tongs. Voilà nos moyens de locomotion ! Come on baby, do the locomooootion...
Bon, je crois avoir répondu à toutes tes questions. Aladin, à la deux, il est donc l’heure d’y aller mon bon génie : Pour tous les amoureux de l’Asie du sud-est ou pour te donner l'envie de le devenir, je déclare donc officiellement ce nouveau voyage ouvert ! Et là, tu te dis peut-être : « Oh, la chance qu’il a !!! » C’est marrant toutes ces personnes qui te répondent systématiquement ça quand tu leur annonces que tu pars en voyage… Premièrement, je ne vois pas ce que la chance vient faire là-dedans puisqu’il suffit de saisir son numéro de carte bancaire sur internet pour gagner un billet d’avion. Crois-moi sur parole, rien de plus simple, on gagne à tous les coups ! Deuxièmement, à tous ceux qui s’imaginent que les voyages, ce n’est que Bisounours et licornes pailletées, je rappelle quand même que la première journée d’un voyage, c’est-à-dire la journée d’aujourd’hui, rime toujours avec aéroport, avion, attente, décalage horaire, fatigue, … Un beau programme à te faire aimer le RER un jour de grève ! Mais rassure-toi, avec moi, inutile d'attacher ta ceinture, ça va être un voyage pépère, hyper rapide, sans zone de turbulences, ni même d’hôtesse à reluquer… puisqu'on est déjà arrivé !! Et oui, moi président, je t’ai exonéré des trois vols qui nous ont menés de Paris à Siem Reap en passant par Amman et Bangkok. Moi président, je t’ai fait grâce de vingt-quatre heures de transport éreintantes. Moi, président, je te dispense solennellement de toutes ces cernes sur ton visage puisque Sandrine se les est toutes accaparées... Seul fait marquant à se mettre sous la dent : Le petit Jésus des avions a sournoisement essayé de nous faire louper notre correspondance à Bangkok ! En direct live rien que pour toi, en voici le récit : On s’installe confortablement dans les sièges en face de notre porte d’embarquement F1A, on s’endort, on se réveille trois heures après, Jean-Michel Ecran au-dessus de notre porte affiche désormais « Shanghai » en lieu et place de « Siem Reap » qui y trônait pourtant fièrement tout à l’heure ! As-tu déjà vu le film « Maman j’ai raté l’avion » ? Et bien voici, « Maman, j’ai presque raté l’avion » ! En voici le scénario… Je m’enquière de la situation auprès d’une gentille hôtesse qui me répond que l’embarquement pour Siem Reap a déménagé en porte D1A à l’autre bout de l’aéroport pendant notre sommeil. « Vite, vite, la porte ferme dans huit minutes !... » S’il te plait, pour la suite de l’histoire, il te faut mettre la musique de Mission impossible... Pan ! C’est partie pour la finale du cent-dix mètres haies en direct de l’aéroport de Bangkok !... Ouf, un brin essoufflé, je remporte la victoire haut la main !... Sauf que, … déconfiture totale ! Du même genre que lorsque tes deux meilleurs attaquants sont forfaits pour la finale de la ligue des champions : En porte D1A, ils embarquent pour un vol pour « Abou Dhabi » !!! « Siem Reap, Siem Reap, please ? - Gate J1A ! » C’est pas possible, l’autre andouillette de tout à l’heure ne sait pas prononcer les « J » correctement ! Nouvelle course folle dans l'aéroport. Je prends de nouveau la tête du convoi, les autres tentant laborieusement de me coller au train. Me voyant arriver en courant, l'hôtesse d’embarquement me fait des signes de loin pour m'indiquer que c'est fini… Horreur, malheur !!! Une fois à sa hauteur, Youhou, champagne, elle m’indiquait en fait qu'il n'était pas nécessaire de courir car le vol a du retard. Allez, Champomy, c’est moi qui régale ! Enfin, … verre d’eau pour tout le monde, quoi !
La description de ce 9 février se termine avec une arrivée tardive à Siem Reap, un passage des formalités administratives bien longuet et rudimentaire, et un transport en tuk tuk affrété par notre hôtel pour traverser pour la première fois cette ville que je découvre enfin ; elle que je connais par procuration grâce à toutes mes innombrables lectures préparatoires d’avant voyage. J’ai un peu l’impression de rencontrer pour la première fois une personne rencontrée virtuellement de longue date sur internet. J’ai aussi l’impression de me sentir comme à la maison. Ça me fait ça à chaque fois avec l’Asie du sud-est. Les odeurs, les bruits, l'ambiance… Je ne saurais comment l'expliquer, mais il n'y a pas de période d'adaptation… Un petit mot sur notre hôtel, La Rose Blanche, établissement un peu excentré mais qui nous ravit les yeux dès notre arrivée. Comme dit l'adage, « avec l'âge, on s'embourgeoise ». Il est possible de trouver à Siem Reap des hôtels vraiment pas chers. Mais en mettant un tout petit peu plus que pas cher, il est possible de trouver de petites perles comme le nôtre dans lequel nous passerons les cinq prochaines nuits bien au chaud.
Allez, quelques morceaux de crocodile grillés sur un petit barbecue cambodgien dans un restaurant pas très loin de notre camp de base et c’est déjà l’heure de l’extinction des feux. Je sais que quelques heures seulement nous séparent de nos premières découvertes et il ne faudrait pas qu’on y arrive fatigués. Je te dis donc tout simplement à demain si tu le veux bien, et surtout si tu souhaites nous accompagner dans ce nouveau numéro de Dora l’exploratrice. De toute façon, demain est une autre aventure...
Traversée de la Chartreuse en solo English translation pending
Trek solo n°6
On admettra que cette année fut spéciale. Je devais faire la traversée de Majorque en avril et puis... SALUE JE M'APPELLE COVID 19 ET JE VIENS VOUS FAIRE CHIER. Du coup, peu de projets pour cet été, difficile d'estimer les possibilités de voyage à l'étranger, pas très envie non plus de faire circuler cette merde... Alors je me rabats sur mes chères Alpes, ma foi de très bonne qualité. Début juillet, je consulte mon pote David, un normand exilé au pays des montagnes, pour savoir quand il sera chez lui, à Chambéry. Je cale donc un périple fin juillet, de Grenoble à Chambéry, via le massif de la Chartreuse, et en profiterai pour lui rendre visite.
Trajet réservé : départ le 25 juillet en train vers Grenoble, retour le 2 août en bus depuis Chambéry.
Je m'attends pas à quelque chose d'exceptionnel, je sais pas pourquoi. Ça a l'air très joli, mais pas très haut, et pas très sauvage. Mais après ces derniers mois bizarres, ce confinement éprouvant et les longs mois sans nature, un peu de montagne ne peut me faire que du bien. Et au moins, même si la météo n'est pas avec moi, je vais pas crever de froid, pour une fois (les plus hauts sommets sont à 2000m environ).
Après un petit séjour en Normandie natale et quelques trips de Caen, me voici en halte en région parisienne pour faire mon sac, la veille du départ. Ce qui m'inquiète le plus, c'est l'accès à l'eau. Il n'y a pas beaucoup de neige l'hiver (voire pas du tout certaines années), donc très peu de rivières en altitude. Les sources sont pour abreuver les troupeaux et bergers, mais souvent, l'été, elles sont à sec... Je checke quand même les dernières mises à jour des randonneurs sur refuge.info, qui recense tous les abris et les sources, pour voir un peu l'état des lieux. Ça devrait le faire. Je prends quand même 3 gourdes de 75 ml au lieu de 2 habituellement, ce qui me fait au maximum 2,25L d'eau en réserve.
Je blinde mon sac de 50L : 13 kg sans eau. Mh. Je sais pas comment je me démerde pour me retrouver avec autant de poids. Je lis pas mal de carnets de randonneurs qui portent 8 kg. Pourtant, j'ai pas prévu beaucoup de bouffe, peu d'habits, le strict minimum pour l'autonomie... Je comprends pas comment ça peut monter aussi haut pour seulement une semaine, d'ailleurs je me pose la question tous les ans.
On admettra que cette année fut spéciale. Je devais faire la traversée de Majorque en avril et puis... SALUE JE M'APPELLE COVID 19 ET JE VIENS VOUS FAIRE CHIER. Du coup, peu de projets pour cet été, difficile d'estimer les possibilités de voyage à l'étranger, pas très envie non plus de faire circuler cette merde... Alors je me rabats sur mes chères Alpes, ma foi de très bonne qualité. Début juillet, je consulte mon pote David, un normand exilé au pays des montagnes, pour savoir quand il sera chez lui, à Chambéry. Je cale donc un périple fin juillet, de Grenoble à Chambéry, via le massif de la Chartreuse, et en profiterai pour lui rendre visite.
Trajet réservé : départ le 25 juillet en train vers Grenoble, retour le 2 août en bus depuis Chambéry.
Je m'attends pas à quelque chose d'exceptionnel, je sais pas pourquoi. Ça a l'air très joli, mais pas très haut, et pas très sauvage. Mais après ces derniers mois bizarres, ce confinement éprouvant et les longs mois sans nature, un peu de montagne ne peut me faire que du bien. Et au moins, même si la météo n'est pas avec moi, je vais pas crever de froid, pour une fois (les plus hauts sommets sont à 2000m environ).
Après un petit séjour en Normandie natale et quelques trips de Caen, me voici en halte en région parisienne pour faire mon sac, la veille du départ. Ce qui m'inquiète le plus, c'est l'accès à l'eau. Il n'y a pas beaucoup de neige l'hiver (voire pas du tout certaines années), donc très peu de rivières en altitude. Les sources sont pour abreuver les troupeaux et bergers, mais souvent, l'été, elles sont à sec... Je checke quand même les dernières mises à jour des randonneurs sur refuge.info, qui recense tous les abris et les sources, pour voir un peu l'état des lieux. Ça devrait le faire. Je prends quand même 3 gourdes de 75 ml au lieu de 2 habituellement, ce qui me fait au maximum 2,25L d'eau en réserve.
Je blinde mon sac de 50L : 13 kg sans eau. Mh. Je sais pas comment je me démerde pour me retrouver avec autant de poids. Je lis pas mal de carnets de randonneurs qui portent 8 kg. Pourtant, j'ai pas prévu beaucoup de bouffe, peu d'habits, le strict minimum pour l'autonomie... Je comprends pas comment ça peut monter aussi haut pour seulement une semaine, d'ailleurs je me pose la question tous les ans.
Petit tour dans le Péloponnèse English translation pending
Tous nos séjours en Grèce nous ont enchantées alors, après un séjour en Crète, à Rhodes, à Zakynthos et en Grèce centrale, pourquoi pas un tour du Péloponnèse?
Nous avons quelques hésitations quant à la chaleur possible (notamment pour les randonnées) mais finalement, hop! la réservation des billets d'avion est faite fin janvier: ce sera un départ de Bruxelles (avec Brussels airlines) le 05/07 à 7h30. Puis arrive le (la) Covid avec son lot d'incertitudes: partira? Partira pas? Partira? Partira pas? Faut-il tout annuler, reporter? Au mois de juin les règles d'ouverture des frontières changent en permanence mais il arrive un moment où il faut bien se décider car certains hébergements ne sont plus annulables. Les frontières de la Grèce doivent théoriquement ouvrir totalement le 1er juillet (sous réserve de...) on doit partir le 5 ...alors, c'est décidé, on part! ...enfin, si tout se passe comme prévu!
L'ouest du Péloponnèse ne m'inspire pas plus que ça. Par contre Cythère me tente bien, alors voilà à quoi ressemblera notre circuit (on prendra le bateau pour Cythère à Neapoli):
Muriel
Nous avons quelques hésitations quant à la chaleur possible (notamment pour les randonnées) mais finalement, hop! la réservation des billets d'avion est faite fin janvier: ce sera un départ de Bruxelles (avec Brussels airlines) le 05/07 à 7h30. Puis arrive le (la) Covid avec son lot d'incertitudes: partira? Partira pas? Partira? Partira pas? Faut-il tout annuler, reporter? Au mois de juin les règles d'ouverture des frontières changent en permanence mais il arrive un moment où il faut bien se décider car certains hébergements ne sont plus annulables. Les frontières de la Grèce doivent théoriquement ouvrir totalement le 1er juillet (sous réserve de...) on doit partir le 5 ...alors, c'est décidé, on part! ...enfin, si tout se passe comme prévu!
L'ouest du Péloponnèse ne m'inspire pas plus que ça. Par contre Cythère me tente bien, alors voilà à quoi ressemblera notre circuit (on prendra le bateau pour Cythère à Neapoli):
MurielÉvasion en Thaïlande English translation pending
J'ai déjà expliqué ici le contexte de mes publications et pourquoi je remonte à ce point dans le temps. Cette fois-ci, on est en 2014. Je pars du présupposé que les choses n'ont pas considérablement changées et que ces voyages peuvent encore, malgré le temps passsé, en inspirer d'autres...
dimanche 30 novembre 2014 Mulhouse - Amsterdam
Bien sûr, tu le sais, ça fait des mois que j’en parle, ce matin on part vers Bangkok, Thaïlande. Pour Dom et moi, la voyago-thérapie : le must pour réduire à rien les agressions du moment, essentiellement liées à des histoires de boulot; mais je vais pas m'égarer là-dedans, ce n'est pas l'endroit!
Escale à Amsterdam...
Lundi 1 décembre 2014 Bangkok
Même si c’est hautement probablement faux, on arrive à Bangkok alors qu’il m’a semblé n’avoir, à aucun moment, fermé l’œil. Les habituelles files d’attente à la douane présentent, il faut le souligner, des visages aimables… les bagages...Le taxi (rigolard comme ce n’est plus permis en occident :), l’hôtel...Nickel avec une magnifique terrasse au bord de la Navalaï River...Tous les flags sont au vert ! Tu nous connais, on traîne pas trop avant d’aller découvrir la ville ! On demande notre chemin à un type super accueillant qui hèle aussitôt un môme avec un « tuk tuk », une sorte de mobylette encarénée très appréciée des touristes because costless en diable ! Notre mentor négocie pour 40 baths (1 euro !), un tour des temples du nord. On se laisse driver sans discuter...
Après le troisième temple, le môme tourne bizarre. Il a arrêté d’être juste aimable. Nous presse. Puis, au milieu d’une visite, nous enjoint de le suivre, il veut nous montrer, dans une certaine urgence, quelque chose. Il nous emmène vers un homme d’âge respectable, une sorte de bonze aimable, affable, qui nous raconte, dans un français correct, sa jeunesse à Bordeaux, puis glisse insensiblement sur la théorie économique et ses inconstances, de la difficulté induite à placer le fruit de notre dur labeur dans quelque chose de pérenne. On le sentait venir. Devine où il est le plus sûr de placer son argent ? Dans la pierre précieuse, naturellement ! Et là, le monde est quand même bien fichu, figure toi que notre interlocuteur connait justement quelques joailliers d’art qui accepteraient de nous vendre à prix coûtant des saphirs de la région, et sans taxes encore! Bon. Le môme nous a embarqués dans un traquenard. On réussit cependant sans trop de difficulté à se débarrasser du fâcheux et reprenons l’expédition où nous l’avions laissée. Quand je demande au môme où se trouve la prochaine destination, je l’oblige à répéter plusieurs fois tant la chose me semble incongrue, mais c’est bien ça, sa réponse s’entend : « Thaï export !». On décide aussitôt d’abandonner la virée. On lâche 40 baths au gamin et sautons de sa mobylette au premier feu rouge. Ensuite, on a agité nos petites mains pour tenter d’attirer un taxi sous le cagnard, un Thaï d’un âge plus que respectable, nous a embarqué dans un véhicule qu’il a eu toute les peines du monde à maintenir sur la route, propulsés dans une sorte de jeu vidéo mortel, un grand thief auto à travers une circulation en délire… Mais ça va. Pour une poignée d’euros il nous a ramené à notre hôtel, sains et saufs ! Là, faut se remettre, pot au bord de la rivière... « Ça doit être possible de faire une ballade sur le fleuve, tu crois pas? » J’en parle à notre hôte à l’accueil, le truc est organisé dans la foulée ! Une efficacité qui laisse ébahi ! On a un bateau pour une virée d’une heure à travers la ville.
En traversant un petit village sur pilotis, je vois nager un drôle de truc, comme un chien. A force d’écarquiller les yeux, on distingue tout un groupe de Varans!
dimanche 30 novembre 2014 Mulhouse - Amsterdam
Bien sûr, tu le sais, ça fait des mois que j’en parle, ce matin on part vers Bangkok, Thaïlande. Pour Dom et moi, la voyago-thérapie : le must pour réduire à rien les agressions du moment, essentiellement liées à des histoires de boulot; mais je vais pas m'égarer là-dedans, ce n'est pas l'endroit!
Escale à Amsterdam...
Lundi 1 décembre 2014 Bangkok
Même si c’est hautement probablement faux, on arrive à Bangkok alors qu’il m’a semblé n’avoir, à aucun moment, fermé l’œil. Les habituelles files d’attente à la douane présentent, il faut le souligner, des visages aimables… les bagages...Le taxi (rigolard comme ce n’est plus permis en occident :), l’hôtel...Nickel avec une magnifique terrasse au bord de la Navalaï River...Tous les flags sont au vert ! Tu nous connais, on traîne pas trop avant d’aller découvrir la ville ! On demande notre chemin à un type super accueillant qui hèle aussitôt un môme avec un « tuk tuk », une sorte de mobylette encarénée très appréciée des touristes because costless en diable ! Notre mentor négocie pour 40 baths (1 euro !), un tour des temples du nord. On se laisse driver sans discuter...
Après le troisième temple, le môme tourne bizarre. Il a arrêté d’être juste aimable. Nous presse. Puis, au milieu d’une visite, nous enjoint de le suivre, il veut nous montrer, dans une certaine urgence, quelque chose. Il nous emmène vers un homme d’âge respectable, une sorte de bonze aimable, affable, qui nous raconte, dans un français correct, sa jeunesse à Bordeaux, puis glisse insensiblement sur la théorie économique et ses inconstances, de la difficulté induite à placer le fruit de notre dur labeur dans quelque chose de pérenne. On le sentait venir. Devine où il est le plus sûr de placer son argent ? Dans la pierre précieuse, naturellement ! Et là, le monde est quand même bien fichu, figure toi que notre interlocuteur connait justement quelques joailliers d’art qui accepteraient de nous vendre à prix coûtant des saphirs de la région, et sans taxes encore! Bon. Le môme nous a embarqués dans un traquenard. On réussit cependant sans trop de difficulté à se débarrasser du fâcheux et reprenons l’expédition où nous l’avions laissée. Quand je demande au môme où se trouve la prochaine destination, je l’oblige à répéter plusieurs fois tant la chose me semble incongrue, mais c’est bien ça, sa réponse s’entend : « Thaï export !». On décide aussitôt d’abandonner la virée. On lâche 40 baths au gamin et sautons de sa mobylette au premier feu rouge. Ensuite, on a agité nos petites mains pour tenter d’attirer un taxi sous le cagnard, un Thaï d’un âge plus que respectable, nous a embarqué dans un véhicule qu’il a eu toute les peines du monde à maintenir sur la route, propulsés dans une sorte de jeu vidéo mortel, un grand thief auto à travers une circulation en délire… Mais ça va. Pour une poignée d’euros il nous a ramené à notre hôtel, sains et saufs ! Là, faut se remettre, pot au bord de la rivière... « Ça doit être possible de faire une ballade sur le fleuve, tu crois pas? » J’en parle à notre hôte à l’accueil, le truc est organisé dans la foulée ! Une efficacité qui laisse ébahi ! On a un bateau pour une virée d’une heure à travers la ville.
En traversant un petit village sur pilotis, je vois nager un drôle de truc, comme un chien. A force d’écarquiller les yeux, on distingue tout un groupe de Varans!
Petit tour à vélo dans des départements du bout du monde août 2020 English translation pending
Le voyage pourquoi ? Chacun sa définition en fonction de ses envies et de ses aspirations. Le plaisir, le bonheur de la découverte, aller regarder les grandes merveilles du monde, dont on nous dit qu’il faut les avoir vues dans sa vie au moins une fois, un peu à la manière de la Rolex de Séguéla. Certes, au cours d’une interview plusieurs années plus tard, il a répondu que ce jour-là, il avait dit la plus grosse connerie de sa vie !
Le cyclo-voyageur ajoute une dimension particulière au voyage. En quelque sorte son déplacement constitue son voyage. Il ne se rend pas en un lieu pour le visiter, il pérégrine en recherchant les routes, les chemins ou les pistes les moins courues, et il en fait son voyage. L’itinéraire, lorsqu’on le parcourt à la force de ses mollets, on change l’esprit du déplacement. Bien sûr l’idée de challenge est toujours, plus ou moins, sous-jacente.
Ce type de réflexion, tout naturellement m’a conduit à envisager de partir à la découverte de la France profonde à travers les départements suivants, la Haute-Marne, la Meuse et la Meurthe-et-Moselle. Bien évidemment, nous sommes nombreux à y être passés, mais en voiture dans nos traversées browniennes, où l’on ne souffre pas le moindre retard, les yeux rivés sur le compteur, en essayant d’être toujours un peu au-dessus de la limite, à l’orée de déclencher les radars. Entre le compteur optimiste et la petite tolérance, sur route 90 affiché au compteur et 140 sur autoroute, généralement tout se passe bien. Mais les grands axes sont devenus une jungle, où toute notre attention est absorbée. Donc, même si nous avons traversé ces départements 52, 55 ou 54 que connaissons nous des campagnes profondes qui s’y cachent ? C’est justement à leur découverte, hors des voies habituelles du tourisme, que je veux m’aventurer quelques jours. Certes, les départements agricoles j’en ai une petite idée, ayant habité en Haute-Saône et ayant beaucoup parcouru à pied tout le sud-ouest de la France, en particulier le département du Gers, très impressionnant par ses moutonnements de terres cultivées qui se succèdent jusqu’à l’infini. Mais voilà, tous les départements ne se ressemblant pas, c’est donc plein de curiosité et aussi d’attentes que je me lance dans un « petit tour » de 400 kilomètres à partir de chez moi.
Je vais renouer avec le bikepacking, terme barbare qui signifie que l’on part avec un matériel allégé, avec des sacoches au look futuriste qui n’ont pas besoin de porte-bagages pour être accrochées. Bien évidemment la contenance en est moindre. Mais on se déplace toujours avec beaucoup trop d’affaires, qu’il s’agisse d’habits ou d’appareils électroniques en tous genres, sans parler des matériels de bivouac trop volumineux. Evidemment, ces derniers il en existe de poids et volume réduits, mais il faut oser passer le pas et mettre au rebus un équipement que l’on considère toujours efficace. Et puis, il faut s’adapter aux saisons et aux lieux. Cela conduit à avoir une tente pour l’été en Europe, une pour l’hiver, éventuellement celle de l’été suffit, mais pour les voyages lointains dans des pays au climat très hostile, là pas le choix du très costaud s’impose. Le voyage à vélo, afin de s’équiper de façon optimale selon les différentes options demande des moyens financiers.
Comme à chaque fois, que je pars pour un voyage engagé de longue durée sur un autre continent ou pour un petit tour de côté de chez moi, alors l’appel de la route s’impose. J’ai perdu l’habitude (à vrai dire je ne l’ai jamais eue) d’organiser mes affaires en bikepacking, il s’agit seulement de ma deuxième expérience, et de plus je pars dans l’euphorie de la première. En effet, j’avais effectué le premier jour 230 kilomètres, alors j’envisage avec un esprit tranquille mon étape initiale de 130 kilomètres. Quelle erreur ! 6h30, je prends la piste cyclable direction Remiremont. Les 25 premiers kilomètres sont rapidement expédiés. Les bosses apparaissent dès la sortie ouest de la ville et elles vont être nombreuses. Je ne serai pas en mesure d’en faire la somme des dénivelés cumulés, mon compteur va me lâcher aux environs des 80 kilomètres. Je prends la direction de Bains-les -Bains. Tout va bien, la forme semble bonne, la circulation est peu dense. Je me fais doubler au moment où je m’arrête par un couple de voyageurs équipés de vélos électriques. Evidemment je ne les rattraperai pas.
Pause-café, plutôt capuccino à Bains-les -Bains. Sur la terrasse on est autorisé à s’installer sans porter le masque. Sur mon vélo au milieu de la campagne déserte j’oublie rapidement la présence de la pandémie, mais dès que je pénètre dans une agglomération, les visages masqués me rappellent la situation que nous subissons à l’échelle mondiale. Sur cette terrasse, un homme m’aborde et me pose quelques questions sur mon périple. Il me donne une information intéressante concernant la piste cyclable qui longe le canal de l’est et qui passe à proximité. Je ne le savais pas et ma carte Michelin au 1/150 000ème couvrant les départements Haute-Saône et Vosges ne la mentionne pas.
Je vais la suivre une dizaine de kilomètres, parcours très agréable où je croise plusieurs voyageurs à vélo, dont deux familles lourdement équipées. Je rencontre aussi plusieurs bateaux, certains dans mon sens donc je les dépasse. J’éprouve toujours un grand plaisir à suivre les berges d’un cours d’eau ou d’un canal. Ce dernier insuffle la sérénité. Parfois la piste est cernée par l’eau. Mais tout a une fin, je reprends la route au village de Selle. En traversant des villages du bout du monde ou presque, tels que Regnévelle, Godoncourt ou Ainville je me dirige vers mon point de chute la ville de Montigny-le-Roy.
A vélo on passe rapidement de tout va bien à rien ne va plus. Mais il y a une explication à toutes choses. Sans doute l’absence d’entraînement depuis 18 mois, mais je ne me suis jamais entraîné avant de partir en balade. Peut-être l’âge ? mais plus probablement un mixte entre grosse chaleur et une très mauvaise gestion boisson nourriture. Il faut dire que dans ces coins durant les cinq jours de mon périple je ne rencontrerai quasiment aucun commerce ni bistrot. On a beau avoir une longue expérience en matière de voyage à vélo, les conneries de base on les fait encore parfois. Eh oui, cette idée de faire « seulement » 130 kilomètres m’a mis dans un état d’imprévoyance, m’imaginant que cela serait facile, et boum le coup de barre.
Je m’arrête dans un village asphyxié sous une chappe de chaleur, et à l’abri d’un mur, installé sur un petit carré de pelouse grillée je mange les deux œufs durs que j’ai pris la précaution d’emmener, ainsi que l’une des deux bananes que je possède. Je remplis mes bidons au magnifique lavoir.
Je sens la déshydratation assécher mon corps. En France, je n’avais jamais ressenti cela. Je ne crains pas le soleil, sans doute du fait de mon atavisme du sud de la Méditerranée, mais aujourd’hui je me sentirais presque en danger. Il me reste une trentaine de kilomètres pour boucler mon étape prévue. Généralement, je ne suis pas à cheval quant au respect de la planification, je peux sortir ma tente et m’installer dans le premier bosquet un peu à l’abri des regards. Mais aujourd’hui j’ai l’impression de cuire et je crains que sous la tente ce soit l’enfer. Donc je vais m’astreindre à rejoindre la ville afin de chercher un hôtel, en quête d’un peu de fraîcheur. Les derniers kilomètres sont un calvaire comme je n’en avais jamais connu. Les ultimes côtes, même pas très raides, je suis dans l’obligation de pousser mon vélo, bien qu’il soit en carbone et hyper léger, et même de m’arrêter sur le bas-côté et me vautrer dans l’herbe du talus à l’abri de l’ombre d’un arbre.
Cette première journée me laisse un peu dubitatif. J’ai eu l’impression de pédaler dans quelque pays exotique. Les jours à venir ne seront pas plus cléments, les prévisions météorologiques annoncent des pics de chaleur encore plus importants. Bon, nous verrons bien. Première mesure essayer de continuer à rouler très tôt et puis limiter les étapes à 70 kilomètres. Voilà il faut s’adapter, le corps commande et surtout rester à son écoute, ce que je n’ai pas vraiment fait aujourd’hui.
J’ai plusieurs amis qui sont des spécialistes du déplacement à vélo de nuit, en particulier au moment de la pleine lune, ils en parlent avec des trémolos dans la voix. Ce serait bien le moment d’essayer, la configuration actuelle de notre satellite s’y prête. Mais dans un premier temps j’aspire à une bonne nuit et, surtout à réhydrater mon corps. Ma devise « toujours pisser blanc » est mise à mal, mes urines sont d’un jaune plus que prononcé malgré les 4 litres d’eau de la journée. Je ne me souviens pas avoir subi de telles difficultés à avancer, conjonction d’erreurs et de canicule. Toujours très intéressant d’aller assez prêt de ses limites physiques, je me rends compte qu’il ne faut pas grand-chose pour dérègler la machine.
De la terrasse de l’hôtel, je regarde vers le nord, tout est jaune, desséché. Cela est presque inquiétant, on pourrait se croire quelque part au sud de l’Espagne, mais non il s’agit bien de la Haute-Marne. Demain je vais me contenter d’une étape de 60 kilomètres en rejoignant Neufchâteau, qui se trouve dans le département des Vosges.
Après une nuit correcte, au réveil je constate que la journée d’hier a laissé quelques traces et, contrairement à mon habitude, je ne démarre pas au lever du jour mais vers les 9 heures du matin. Très vite, la ville située sur une bosse est quittée et devant moi s’ouvrent à l’infini des prairies et des terres agricoles grillées par la sécheresse et les rayons ardents du soleil. Prendre une carte IGN ou Michelin, qu’elle soit au 1/100 00, 1/150 000 ou 1/175 000 -ème et y tracer son itinéraire le long de départementales matérialisées par un trait blanc bordé de deux lignes noires, alors vous êtes certain du résultat. Vous vous lancez dans une belle aventure loin des voitures, mais proche d’une nature et d’une vie locale que l’on a tendance à ne plus voir. Cette incursion dans le département 52, va me conduire de minuscule village en minuscule village, qui s’égrènent, de bosses en creux, tout au long d’une terre ondulante. Je ne vais y voir pratiquement aucun des êtres vivants que l’on s’attend à rencontrer, ni homme, ni chien, ni chat. Si, une fois, dans l’un de ces hameaux apparemment abandonnés, je vais croiser un homme seul, et il me rappelle que nous sommes en pandémie car il porte le masque, le fameux masque qui fait couler tant d’encre et de salive chez les Gaulois récalcitrants.
A vrai dire je vais côtoyer de nombreuses vaches, qui lorsqu’elles le peuvent s’agglutinent à l’ombre d’un arbre de leur pâture. Elles sont comme de gros points blancs dans cet environnement couleur blond, couleur paille. Les ondulations permanentes de cette terre procurent des contrastes du plus bel effet entre le doré du sol et le bleu du ciel. L’une et l’autre des couleurs ne se mélangent pas comme sur une aquarelle, au contraire elles se maintiennent bien séparées par une ligne horizontale sans accroc. Cette matinée me fait une impression étrange. Ce décor de villages déserts alanguis dans un autre temps, de champs, de vaches, d’odeur de purin et de présence de traces de bouses un peu partout me remémore ma traversée de la Pologne par ses grandes plaines, il y a maintenant une dizaine d’années. Certes, en Pologne l’environnement, les habitations les matériels agricoles étaient plus vétustes, mais je m’y vois presque dans ces immenses plaines où les Allemands livrèrent de dures batailles avant de reculer devant le rouleau compresseur soviétique. D’ailleurs, ironie du sort dans ces hameaux de Haute-Marne, la présence humaine est surtout représentée par les monuments aux morts rappelant les soldats tombés au champ d’honneur pour la France.
Au village de Pompierre je m’arrête vers midi, la température a déjà largement dépassé les 30 degrés, et cela va continuer à monter jusque vers 15 heures. Allongé au bout d’un pont à l’ombre d’un arbre je savoure la brise très ténue créée par le cours d’eau pas encore asséché, mais qui cependant a des airs de moribond qui ne devrait pas tarder à rendre les armes. Un coureur, plus très jeune, passe à trois reprises, suant et harassé sous le soleil vertical le dardant sans pitié. Au troisième passage je l’interroge. Il me répond qu’il vient d’effectuer par 3 fois un parcours de 2,5 kilomètres. Chapeau, car à part l’ombre de mon arbre son circuit se déroule en plein champ. Il me donnerait presque de la vaillance. Après trois quarts d’heure de station allongée, je prends à deux mains, sinon mon courage, du moins mon guidon et j’accomplis les 11 derniers kilomètres qui me séparent de Neufchâteau.
L’ambiance dans les villes est quand même un peu étrange, tout le monde ou presque est masqué. Dès que je descends de vélo je dégaine le mien. Il fait tellement chaud que je n’ai même pas faim. Je me force cependant à ingurgiter les différents éléments du menu que fort gentiment le propriétaire de l’hôtel me propose alors qu’il est déjà 14 heures. En ce troisième jour je compte rejoindre la ville de Commercy dans la Meuse, encore un département très agricole. Vu les conditions de forme pas au top et les conditions météorologiques par contre au top de la chaleur, ce sera le point le plus haut de mon parcours pour une sortie de 5 jours. Dans mon euphorie initiale je me serais bien vu monter au moins jusqu’à la frontière du Luxembourg. Mais voilà, entre ce que l’on désirerait et la réalité, cette dernière gagne généralement.
Comme hier, la même campagne assoiffée se déroule de part et d’autre de mon chemin. Je traverse le village natal de Jeanne-d ’Arc, Domremy-la -Pucelle. Il n’a pas de privilège particulier, lui aussi crie à boire. Puis je traverse une route plus importante et reprends mon itinérance au gré de départementales confidentielles. Je vais croiser quelques voyageurs à vélo, deux solitaires et un couple à vélo électrique. Généralement lorsque je croise d’autres adeptes du voyage à vélo je les intercepte pour discuter. Mais aujourd’hui non, d’ailleurs le bikepacker, bien qu’il se traîne, est-il considéré comme faisant partie de la même tribu ? Le deuxième solitaire rencontré est terriblement chargé, quatre énormes sacoches. Où va-t-il donc, quelle est la durée de son périple ? Tel que je suis équipé, je pourrais continuer beaucoup plus que les cinq jours prévus. J’ai tout pour être autonome, même 250 grammes de riz en cas de bivouac improvisé à la dernière extrémité. Apprendre à être minimaliste n’est pas facile. Je garde en mémoire les conseils d’un camarade spécialiste des grandes traversées en courant, du style Australie ou autre immenses étendues hostiles. Son slogan « si tu oublies quelque chose tu t’en passes ». Je me souviens aussi de ce Chamoniard rencontré au nord de la Thaïlande, qui roulait depuis 7 mois avec deux petites sacoches. Nous avions fait route ensemble quelques centaines de kilomètres et j’avais pu observer son fonctionnement. J’avais beaucoup appris en quelques jours.
En fin de parcours je traverse la Meuse à plusieurs reprises. Non seulement la végétation manque d’eau, mais la rivière aussi souffre de la sécheresse. Son débit est faible, partout affleurent de grands bancs d’algues aux couleurs diverses, mais son eau reste claire. Des différents ponts sur lesquels je m’arrête j’observe des multitudes de poissons. Je n’avais jamais vu une rivière aussi poissonneuse. A mon regard se dévoilent des chevennes, gardons et autres ablettes. Mais s’ils sont si nombreux, à n’en pas douter les carnassiers, comme brochets, sandres ou perches voire truites sont tapis quelque part en attente de les dévorer.
Avant d’atteindre mon but je me perds et fais des détours dans le village de Sorcy-Saint-Martin qui me permettent quelques contacts intéressants avec les rares personnes qui osent affronter le soleil de tout début d’après-midi. Commercy, petite ville avec un centre qui rappelle la place Stanislas de Nancy. Ce soir va s’y dérouler un concert en l’honneur de Johnny. Le chanteur est très bon, on s’y croirait tout à fait. Le contrôle de la police sera effectif en matière de distanciation. En ce quatrième jour je pars à huit heures du matin. Après un kilomètre je passe devant une pharmacie, déjà 28 degrés, il faut s’attendre encore une fois à une grosse attaque de la canicule. Pour le moment il est très agréable de pédaler. Aujourd’hui encore l’eau reste présente sur mon itinéraire. Entre le canal et la Meuse j’ai tout loisir d’observer l’eau et bien évidemment j’y vois des poissons de toutes tailles. Mes lunettes de soleil polarisantes m’aident grandement du fait qu’elles font disparaître les reflets. Je suis comme un intrus voyeur, j’adore ! Les trois premières heures sont un véritable plaisir. J’effectue une cinquantaine de kilomètres. Puis vers les 11 heures la chape de plomb comme les jours précédents s’abat. La moyenne tombe, les efforts deviennent pénibles. Je ne passe pas très loin de la colline de Sion « la colline inspirée » de Maurice Barrès. Le détour à vélo, agrémenté d’une belle côte par une température frisant les 40 degrés, me semble surhumain. Je vais rejoindre rapidement et au plus court la petite ville de Charmes et aller me planquer au frais dans un hôtel un peu au sud. Le soir, discussion sur la terrasse d’une pizzeria avec une Hollandaise qui parcourt à vélo l’itinéraire d’Achern aux Saintes-Maries-de-la Mer. Elle effectue de courtes étapes de l’ordre de 30 à 40 kilomètres, mais elle affronte le bivouac, ce que je n’ai pas le courage de faire.
En ce cinquième et dernier jour, une matinée plus propice au vélo, car un ciel légèrement voilé protège un peu du soleil, par la route au plus court je rejoins Remiremont. De là par la piste cyclable empruntant l’ancienne voie ferrée en 25 kilomètres je remonte la vallée de la Moselotte. Au cours de ce périple qui avoisine les 400 kilomètres les bistrots auront pratiquement été absents du bord de la route. Pour me rattraper, alors que je ne suis plus qu’à 6 kilomètres de chez moi, je m’arrête à l’ancienne gare de Saulxures, transformée en bar-restaurant et je déguste deux panachés. Ce coin m’est particulièrement familier, car souvent j’y laisse ma voiture pour partir assouvir l’une de mes passions la pêche à la mouche.
Belle brochette de vaches vosgiennes en remontant la vallée de la Moselotte, retour chez moi
Cinq jours sur la route, j’ai beaucoup apprécié de me déplacer sur ces routes hors des axes de circulation et aussi un peu hors du temps, ma curiosité toujours aiguisée par ces coins de France déserts. Mais malheureusement, je n’ai pratiquement jamais eu l’impression de me sentir à l’aise, le grand plaisir des kilomètres qui défilent comme si je volais. J’ai toujours ressenti cette impression de forcer excessivement comparativement aux distances accomplies. Espérons qu’il ne s’agisse que de l’effet de la canicule !
Le cyclo-voyageur ajoute une dimension particulière au voyage. En quelque sorte son déplacement constitue son voyage. Il ne se rend pas en un lieu pour le visiter, il pérégrine en recherchant les routes, les chemins ou les pistes les moins courues, et il en fait son voyage. L’itinéraire, lorsqu’on le parcourt à la force de ses mollets, on change l’esprit du déplacement. Bien sûr l’idée de challenge est toujours, plus ou moins, sous-jacente.
Ce type de réflexion, tout naturellement m’a conduit à envisager de partir à la découverte de la France profonde à travers les départements suivants, la Haute-Marne, la Meuse et la Meurthe-et-Moselle. Bien évidemment, nous sommes nombreux à y être passés, mais en voiture dans nos traversées browniennes, où l’on ne souffre pas le moindre retard, les yeux rivés sur le compteur, en essayant d’être toujours un peu au-dessus de la limite, à l’orée de déclencher les radars. Entre le compteur optimiste et la petite tolérance, sur route 90 affiché au compteur et 140 sur autoroute, généralement tout se passe bien. Mais les grands axes sont devenus une jungle, où toute notre attention est absorbée. Donc, même si nous avons traversé ces départements 52, 55 ou 54 que connaissons nous des campagnes profondes qui s’y cachent ? C’est justement à leur découverte, hors des voies habituelles du tourisme, que je veux m’aventurer quelques jours. Certes, les départements agricoles j’en ai une petite idée, ayant habité en Haute-Saône et ayant beaucoup parcouru à pied tout le sud-ouest de la France, en particulier le département du Gers, très impressionnant par ses moutonnements de terres cultivées qui se succèdent jusqu’à l’infini. Mais voilà, tous les départements ne se ressemblant pas, c’est donc plein de curiosité et aussi d’attentes que je me lance dans un « petit tour » de 400 kilomètres à partir de chez moi.
Je vais renouer avec le bikepacking, terme barbare qui signifie que l’on part avec un matériel allégé, avec des sacoches au look futuriste qui n’ont pas besoin de porte-bagages pour être accrochées. Bien évidemment la contenance en est moindre. Mais on se déplace toujours avec beaucoup trop d’affaires, qu’il s’agisse d’habits ou d’appareils électroniques en tous genres, sans parler des matériels de bivouac trop volumineux. Evidemment, ces derniers il en existe de poids et volume réduits, mais il faut oser passer le pas et mettre au rebus un équipement que l’on considère toujours efficace. Et puis, il faut s’adapter aux saisons et aux lieux. Cela conduit à avoir une tente pour l’été en Europe, une pour l’hiver, éventuellement celle de l’été suffit, mais pour les voyages lointains dans des pays au climat très hostile, là pas le choix du très costaud s’impose. Le voyage à vélo, afin de s’équiper de façon optimale selon les différentes options demande des moyens financiers.
Comme à chaque fois, que je pars pour un voyage engagé de longue durée sur un autre continent ou pour un petit tour de côté de chez moi, alors l’appel de la route s’impose. J’ai perdu l’habitude (à vrai dire je ne l’ai jamais eue) d’organiser mes affaires en bikepacking, il s’agit seulement de ma deuxième expérience, et de plus je pars dans l’euphorie de la première. En effet, j’avais effectué le premier jour 230 kilomètres, alors j’envisage avec un esprit tranquille mon étape initiale de 130 kilomètres. Quelle erreur ! 6h30, je prends la piste cyclable direction Remiremont. Les 25 premiers kilomètres sont rapidement expédiés. Les bosses apparaissent dès la sortie ouest de la ville et elles vont être nombreuses. Je ne serai pas en mesure d’en faire la somme des dénivelés cumulés, mon compteur va me lâcher aux environs des 80 kilomètres. Je prends la direction de Bains-les -Bains. Tout va bien, la forme semble bonne, la circulation est peu dense. Je me fais doubler au moment où je m’arrête par un couple de voyageurs équipés de vélos électriques. Evidemment je ne les rattraperai pas.
Pause-café, plutôt capuccino à Bains-les -Bains. Sur la terrasse on est autorisé à s’installer sans porter le masque. Sur mon vélo au milieu de la campagne déserte j’oublie rapidement la présence de la pandémie, mais dès que je pénètre dans une agglomération, les visages masqués me rappellent la situation que nous subissons à l’échelle mondiale. Sur cette terrasse, un homme m’aborde et me pose quelques questions sur mon périple. Il me donne une information intéressante concernant la piste cyclable qui longe le canal de l’est et qui passe à proximité. Je ne le savais pas et ma carte Michelin au 1/150 000ème couvrant les départements Haute-Saône et Vosges ne la mentionne pas.
Je vais la suivre une dizaine de kilomètres, parcours très agréable où je croise plusieurs voyageurs à vélo, dont deux familles lourdement équipées. Je rencontre aussi plusieurs bateaux, certains dans mon sens donc je les dépasse. J’éprouve toujours un grand plaisir à suivre les berges d’un cours d’eau ou d’un canal. Ce dernier insuffle la sérénité. Parfois la piste est cernée par l’eau. Mais tout a une fin, je reprends la route au village de Selle. En traversant des villages du bout du monde ou presque, tels que Regnévelle, Godoncourt ou Ainville je me dirige vers mon point de chute la ville de Montigny-le-Roy.
A vélo on passe rapidement de tout va bien à rien ne va plus. Mais il y a une explication à toutes choses. Sans doute l’absence d’entraînement depuis 18 mois, mais je ne me suis jamais entraîné avant de partir en balade. Peut-être l’âge ? mais plus probablement un mixte entre grosse chaleur et une très mauvaise gestion boisson nourriture. Il faut dire que dans ces coins durant les cinq jours de mon périple je ne rencontrerai quasiment aucun commerce ni bistrot. On a beau avoir une longue expérience en matière de voyage à vélo, les conneries de base on les fait encore parfois. Eh oui, cette idée de faire « seulement » 130 kilomètres m’a mis dans un état d’imprévoyance, m’imaginant que cela serait facile, et boum le coup de barre.
Je m’arrête dans un village asphyxié sous une chappe de chaleur, et à l’abri d’un mur, installé sur un petit carré de pelouse grillée je mange les deux œufs durs que j’ai pris la précaution d’emmener, ainsi que l’une des deux bananes que je possède. Je remplis mes bidons au magnifique lavoir.
Je sens la déshydratation assécher mon corps. En France, je n’avais jamais ressenti cela. Je ne crains pas le soleil, sans doute du fait de mon atavisme du sud de la Méditerranée, mais aujourd’hui je me sentirais presque en danger. Il me reste une trentaine de kilomètres pour boucler mon étape prévue. Généralement, je ne suis pas à cheval quant au respect de la planification, je peux sortir ma tente et m’installer dans le premier bosquet un peu à l’abri des regards. Mais aujourd’hui j’ai l’impression de cuire et je crains que sous la tente ce soit l’enfer. Donc je vais m’astreindre à rejoindre la ville afin de chercher un hôtel, en quête d’un peu de fraîcheur. Les derniers kilomètres sont un calvaire comme je n’en avais jamais connu. Les ultimes côtes, même pas très raides, je suis dans l’obligation de pousser mon vélo, bien qu’il soit en carbone et hyper léger, et même de m’arrêter sur le bas-côté et me vautrer dans l’herbe du talus à l’abri de l’ombre d’un arbre.
Cette première journée me laisse un peu dubitatif. J’ai eu l’impression de pédaler dans quelque pays exotique. Les jours à venir ne seront pas plus cléments, les prévisions météorologiques annoncent des pics de chaleur encore plus importants. Bon, nous verrons bien. Première mesure essayer de continuer à rouler très tôt et puis limiter les étapes à 70 kilomètres. Voilà il faut s’adapter, le corps commande et surtout rester à son écoute, ce que je n’ai pas vraiment fait aujourd’hui.
J’ai plusieurs amis qui sont des spécialistes du déplacement à vélo de nuit, en particulier au moment de la pleine lune, ils en parlent avec des trémolos dans la voix. Ce serait bien le moment d’essayer, la configuration actuelle de notre satellite s’y prête. Mais dans un premier temps j’aspire à une bonne nuit et, surtout à réhydrater mon corps. Ma devise « toujours pisser blanc » est mise à mal, mes urines sont d’un jaune plus que prononcé malgré les 4 litres d’eau de la journée. Je ne me souviens pas avoir subi de telles difficultés à avancer, conjonction d’erreurs et de canicule. Toujours très intéressant d’aller assez prêt de ses limites physiques, je me rends compte qu’il ne faut pas grand-chose pour dérègler la machine.
De la terrasse de l’hôtel, je regarde vers le nord, tout est jaune, desséché. Cela est presque inquiétant, on pourrait se croire quelque part au sud de l’Espagne, mais non il s’agit bien de la Haute-Marne. Demain je vais me contenter d’une étape de 60 kilomètres en rejoignant Neufchâteau, qui se trouve dans le département des Vosges.
Après une nuit correcte, au réveil je constate que la journée d’hier a laissé quelques traces et, contrairement à mon habitude, je ne démarre pas au lever du jour mais vers les 9 heures du matin. Très vite, la ville située sur une bosse est quittée et devant moi s’ouvrent à l’infini des prairies et des terres agricoles grillées par la sécheresse et les rayons ardents du soleil. Prendre une carte IGN ou Michelin, qu’elle soit au 1/100 00, 1/150 000 ou 1/175 000 -ème et y tracer son itinéraire le long de départementales matérialisées par un trait blanc bordé de deux lignes noires, alors vous êtes certain du résultat. Vous vous lancez dans une belle aventure loin des voitures, mais proche d’une nature et d’une vie locale que l’on a tendance à ne plus voir. Cette incursion dans le département 52, va me conduire de minuscule village en minuscule village, qui s’égrènent, de bosses en creux, tout au long d’une terre ondulante. Je ne vais y voir pratiquement aucun des êtres vivants que l’on s’attend à rencontrer, ni homme, ni chien, ni chat. Si, une fois, dans l’un de ces hameaux apparemment abandonnés, je vais croiser un homme seul, et il me rappelle que nous sommes en pandémie car il porte le masque, le fameux masque qui fait couler tant d’encre et de salive chez les Gaulois récalcitrants.
A vrai dire je vais côtoyer de nombreuses vaches, qui lorsqu’elles le peuvent s’agglutinent à l’ombre d’un arbre de leur pâture. Elles sont comme de gros points blancs dans cet environnement couleur blond, couleur paille. Les ondulations permanentes de cette terre procurent des contrastes du plus bel effet entre le doré du sol et le bleu du ciel. L’une et l’autre des couleurs ne se mélangent pas comme sur une aquarelle, au contraire elles se maintiennent bien séparées par une ligne horizontale sans accroc. Cette matinée me fait une impression étrange. Ce décor de villages déserts alanguis dans un autre temps, de champs, de vaches, d’odeur de purin et de présence de traces de bouses un peu partout me remémore ma traversée de la Pologne par ses grandes plaines, il y a maintenant une dizaine d’années. Certes, en Pologne l’environnement, les habitations les matériels agricoles étaient plus vétustes, mais je m’y vois presque dans ces immenses plaines où les Allemands livrèrent de dures batailles avant de reculer devant le rouleau compresseur soviétique. D’ailleurs, ironie du sort dans ces hameaux de Haute-Marne, la présence humaine est surtout représentée par les monuments aux morts rappelant les soldats tombés au champ d’honneur pour la France.
Au village de Pompierre je m’arrête vers midi, la température a déjà largement dépassé les 30 degrés, et cela va continuer à monter jusque vers 15 heures. Allongé au bout d’un pont à l’ombre d’un arbre je savoure la brise très ténue créée par le cours d’eau pas encore asséché, mais qui cependant a des airs de moribond qui ne devrait pas tarder à rendre les armes. Un coureur, plus très jeune, passe à trois reprises, suant et harassé sous le soleil vertical le dardant sans pitié. Au troisième passage je l’interroge. Il me répond qu’il vient d’effectuer par 3 fois un parcours de 2,5 kilomètres. Chapeau, car à part l’ombre de mon arbre son circuit se déroule en plein champ. Il me donnerait presque de la vaillance. Après trois quarts d’heure de station allongée, je prends à deux mains, sinon mon courage, du moins mon guidon et j’accomplis les 11 derniers kilomètres qui me séparent de Neufchâteau.
L’ambiance dans les villes est quand même un peu étrange, tout le monde ou presque est masqué. Dès que je descends de vélo je dégaine le mien. Il fait tellement chaud que je n’ai même pas faim. Je me force cependant à ingurgiter les différents éléments du menu que fort gentiment le propriétaire de l’hôtel me propose alors qu’il est déjà 14 heures. En ce troisième jour je compte rejoindre la ville de Commercy dans la Meuse, encore un département très agricole. Vu les conditions de forme pas au top et les conditions météorologiques par contre au top de la chaleur, ce sera le point le plus haut de mon parcours pour une sortie de 5 jours. Dans mon euphorie initiale je me serais bien vu monter au moins jusqu’à la frontière du Luxembourg. Mais voilà, entre ce que l’on désirerait et la réalité, cette dernière gagne généralement.
Comme hier, la même campagne assoiffée se déroule de part et d’autre de mon chemin. Je traverse le village natal de Jeanne-d ’Arc, Domremy-la -Pucelle. Il n’a pas de privilège particulier, lui aussi crie à boire. Puis je traverse une route plus importante et reprends mon itinérance au gré de départementales confidentielles. Je vais croiser quelques voyageurs à vélo, deux solitaires et un couple à vélo électrique. Généralement lorsque je croise d’autres adeptes du voyage à vélo je les intercepte pour discuter. Mais aujourd’hui non, d’ailleurs le bikepacker, bien qu’il se traîne, est-il considéré comme faisant partie de la même tribu ? Le deuxième solitaire rencontré est terriblement chargé, quatre énormes sacoches. Où va-t-il donc, quelle est la durée de son périple ? Tel que je suis équipé, je pourrais continuer beaucoup plus que les cinq jours prévus. J’ai tout pour être autonome, même 250 grammes de riz en cas de bivouac improvisé à la dernière extrémité. Apprendre à être minimaliste n’est pas facile. Je garde en mémoire les conseils d’un camarade spécialiste des grandes traversées en courant, du style Australie ou autre immenses étendues hostiles. Son slogan « si tu oublies quelque chose tu t’en passes ». Je me souviens aussi de ce Chamoniard rencontré au nord de la Thaïlande, qui roulait depuis 7 mois avec deux petites sacoches. Nous avions fait route ensemble quelques centaines de kilomètres et j’avais pu observer son fonctionnement. J’avais beaucoup appris en quelques jours.
En fin de parcours je traverse la Meuse à plusieurs reprises. Non seulement la végétation manque d’eau, mais la rivière aussi souffre de la sécheresse. Son débit est faible, partout affleurent de grands bancs d’algues aux couleurs diverses, mais son eau reste claire. Des différents ponts sur lesquels je m’arrête j’observe des multitudes de poissons. Je n’avais jamais vu une rivière aussi poissonneuse. A mon regard se dévoilent des chevennes, gardons et autres ablettes. Mais s’ils sont si nombreux, à n’en pas douter les carnassiers, comme brochets, sandres ou perches voire truites sont tapis quelque part en attente de les dévorer.
Avant d’atteindre mon but je me perds et fais des détours dans le village de Sorcy-Saint-Martin qui me permettent quelques contacts intéressants avec les rares personnes qui osent affronter le soleil de tout début d’après-midi. Commercy, petite ville avec un centre qui rappelle la place Stanislas de Nancy. Ce soir va s’y dérouler un concert en l’honneur de Johnny. Le chanteur est très bon, on s’y croirait tout à fait. Le contrôle de la police sera effectif en matière de distanciation. En ce quatrième jour je pars à huit heures du matin. Après un kilomètre je passe devant une pharmacie, déjà 28 degrés, il faut s’attendre encore une fois à une grosse attaque de la canicule. Pour le moment il est très agréable de pédaler. Aujourd’hui encore l’eau reste présente sur mon itinéraire. Entre le canal et la Meuse j’ai tout loisir d’observer l’eau et bien évidemment j’y vois des poissons de toutes tailles. Mes lunettes de soleil polarisantes m’aident grandement du fait qu’elles font disparaître les reflets. Je suis comme un intrus voyeur, j’adore ! Les trois premières heures sont un véritable plaisir. J’effectue une cinquantaine de kilomètres. Puis vers les 11 heures la chape de plomb comme les jours précédents s’abat. La moyenne tombe, les efforts deviennent pénibles. Je ne passe pas très loin de la colline de Sion « la colline inspirée » de Maurice Barrès. Le détour à vélo, agrémenté d’une belle côte par une température frisant les 40 degrés, me semble surhumain. Je vais rejoindre rapidement et au plus court la petite ville de Charmes et aller me planquer au frais dans un hôtel un peu au sud. Le soir, discussion sur la terrasse d’une pizzeria avec une Hollandaise qui parcourt à vélo l’itinéraire d’Achern aux Saintes-Maries-de-la Mer. Elle effectue de courtes étapes de l’ordre de 30 à 40 kilomètres, mais elle affronte le bivouac, ce que je n’ai pas le courage de faire.
En ce cinquième et dernier jour, une matinée plus propice au vélo, car un ciel légèrement voilé protège un peu du soleil, par la route au plus court je rejoins Remiremont. De là par la piste cyclable empruntant l’ancienne voie ferrée en 25 kilomètres je remonte la vallée de la Moselotte. Au cours de ce périple qui avoisine les 400 kilomètres les bistrots auront pratiquement été absents du bord de la route. Pour me rattraper, alors que je ne suis plus qu’à 6 kilomètres de chez moi, je m’arrête à l’ancienne gare de Saulxures, transformée en bar-restaurant et je déguste deux panachés. Ce coin m’est particulièrement familier, car souvent j’y laisse ma voiture pour partir assouvir l’une de mes passions la pêche à la mouche.
Belle brochette de vaches vosgiennes en remontant la vallée de la Moselotte, retour chez moiCinq jours sur la route, j’ai beaucoup apprécié de me déplacer sur ces routes hors des axes de circulation et aussi un peu hors du temps, ma curiosité toujours aiguisée par ces coins de France déserts. Mais malheureusement, je n’ai pratiquement jamais eu l’impression de me sentir à l’aise, le grand plaisir des kilomètres qui défilent comme si je volais. J’ai toujours ressenti cette impression de forcer excessivement comparativement aux distances accomplies. Espérons qu’il ne s’agisse que de l’effet de la canicule !
Chorizo ou pas dans la paëlla? English translation pending
Tout fout le camp...
Chorizo ou pas ? Un illustre chef espagnol ravive le «paellagate»
(Mais moi j'en ai toujours mis... 😛 )