Results for "Bardia+|+7+>+1"

Bonjour,

Mon amie et moi souhaiterions voyager 3 semaines début aout en Islande. Nous avons déjà visité l'Australie et la Nouvelle Zélande en van, mais en Islande les locations de voiture ou camping car sont hors de prix. Du coup nous avions pensé à marcher ou le vélo et parfois le bus.

Seul soucis, nous sommes voyageurs mais pas de grands randonneurs même si la volonté et la débrouillardise sont là.

Pensez vous que 3 semaines de vélo / marche sont possibles? Quel type de materiel est à prévoir ? Un GPS ? quel budget? Peut on louer une tente facilement en Islande? Quel trajet, pas trop compliqué, pourrait nous offrir de beaux paysages, notamment des Fjords?

Merci de votre aide.

Bonjour à tous,

Nous avons obtenus un permis pour descendre dans le grand canyon le 26 août prochain. Nous serons 7, moi, mon conjoint et mes 5 enfants de 10,11,12,14,16 ans. J'aimerais savoir s'il y a d'autres familles qui ont vécu l'aventure. Comment vous êtes vous organisé. On va descendre par South Kaibab départ vers 6h00 avec 3 litres d'eau chacun dormir campground et remonter par la bright angel. Tout vos conseils, commentaires sont les bienvenue. Annick

Un billet en cadeau pour le Sénégal qu'elle joie!!! Car jamais j'aurais pensé pouvoir partir visiter un paye aussi lointain 6 heures de vol en aller et 5h 45h au retour surtout à notre âge car nous ne sommes plus de la 1ére jeunesse. A partir de là nous avons recherché les différents commentaires sur le forum et pris contact avec certains habitués de voyages au Sénégal et je profite, une fois de plus, pour remercier tous ceux qui m'avais adressé, non seulement des conseils précieux mais également encouragements car je n'étais pas très rassuré. La corvée avait commencé après la visite de mon médecin de famille. Pour commencer, vaccin pour la fièvre Jaune, un mois après le vaccin contre la Typhoïde avec l'Hébitite A, puis fallait se procurer la Malarone contre le paludisme, les répulsifs contre les moustiques et afin d'être protégé la nuit un répulsif électrique, sans oublier la crème solaire, chapeau etc.. Envole à 7 h du matin, arrivée à Dakar 6 h après et en arrivant la bonne température 28 ° à l'ombre, alors que chez nous avant de partir nous avions 6°. Puis direction Domaine de Nianing. La traversée de Dakar n'était pas très intéressante, cette une ville en pleine expansion, des constructions inachevées sur des Kms, une autoroute en travaux mais qui ne pourra à terme difficilement résorber le trafic actuel car le réseau secondaire est tellement sur chargé, des bouchons a longueur de journée. Arrivée au domaine, accueil très chaleureux, situé dans un parc de 130 ha, site coupé en 2 parties, une partie coté plage et l'autre coté parc, domaine en pleine nature, très bien entretenu avec les bungalows entre les arbres et d'autres buissons en fleurs, endroit vraiment agréable. Quand à la restauration, pas de chef étoilé, mais elle est bonne, l'ambiance qui y règne est très sympa, pour ce qui concerne la natation pas besoins de se rendre sur la page, il existe 2 grandes piscines + une autre pour les tout petits. Pour ce qui concerne les excursions possibles, le choix ne manque pas, Ile de Gorée chargée d'histoire et marquée par la triste traite des Noirs, Lac Rose entourée des dunes de sable qu' avait emprunté le Paris Dakar avec une balade en véhicule tout terrain, Parc animalier de Bandia, Joal Fadiouth où est né l'ancien président de la République du Sénégal, etc… Pour les visites de la région il y à les bus de l'hôtel et il y à le choix des taxi qui ne manque pas. A ce sujet, et avec l'expérience que j'ai pu faire, je propose, si cela peut intéresser quelque uns d'entre vous, de donner l'adresse d'un guide particulièrement sympathique et compétent, qui en plus, peut vous mettre en relation avec un marchant de souvenirs particulièrement intéressant sans en prendre de commissions sur les ventes, ce qui fait qu'après un achat, un petit geste pourrait certainement lui faire plaisir. Je voudrai faire remarquer également que beaucoup de gens au Sénégal, essentiellement dans les village de la brousse sont extrêmement pauvre et si vous y allez, réserver une valse remplie d'habits démodés encore en bonnes états ou que vous ne portés plus ou des médicaments que vous n'avez plus besoin pour remettre à un centre de soins (Dafalgan, Sirop pour enfants etc…). En visite dans une école quelques euros feront grand plaisir au maître de l'école qui projette la construction d'une cantine pour le repas de midi pour les élèves, car certains habitent si loin qu'il leur est impossible de rentrer chez eux pour manger et de revenir en classe l'après midi, alors que d'autres ne peuvent aller à l'école parce qu'elle est trop éloignée de leur village. Pour conclure je dirais simplement qu'au Sénégal il y à tellement de chose à visiter, la gentillesse des Sénégalais est tellement présente partout, la température est extrêmement agréable surtout pendant la période sèche qui s'étend de Novembre à juin, la période de pluie de juillet, août, octobre ce qui permet un séjour formidable. Après avoir passé qu'un bref séjour (une semaine) je ne peux que vous y encourager. Avis aux amateurs pour un dépaysement certain.

Liesel

Bonjour!

Je m'étais promise depuis notre retour en février 2011, d'y publier notre compte-rendu, considérant que le forum voyage nous a été d'une grande aide lorsque nous avons planifié le tout. Si cela peut aider et éclairer quelques uns, tant mieux🙂 J'y ai également publié plusieurs photos sur ma page facebook: Photographie Marie-Ève Larochelle ou sur www.photographiemarieevelarochelle.weebly.com

Nous avons passés 18 jours au Sénégal, nous étions 3 adultes. C'était notre premier voyage en Afrique et autant vous avertir que c'est carrément un monde à part. Pour ceux qui n'ont jamais voyagés, il se peut que vous soyez déstabilisés par une si grande différence de mode de vie et de culture.

On a vite compris pourquoi on ne nous conseillait pas de louer une voiture. Je ne le vous conseille pas dutout non plus, surtout pour votre sécurité. On a vite appris en débarquant de l'aéroport que peu de lois et de panneaux de signalisation sont présentes au Sénégal, alors coeurs sensibles, cramponnez-vous! Si vous avez peur en voiture vous devrez apprendre à lâcher prise sinon vous ne ferez pas bon voyage! Surtout que les voitures sont plutôt mal en point...

Première semaine, nous sommes allés au Sine Saloum: personnellement c'est notre coup de coeur. Nous avions réservé un campement sur l'île de Mar Lodj: où nous avons été accueillis comme de la famille. Quel contact avec les enfants qui se lançaient vers nous les bras ouverts...moments inoubliables, à qui je conseille fortement, surtout si vous voulez vous rapprocher des gens et prendre contact avec le peuple. Nous aurions passés davantage de jours...

La réserve de Bandia a été une véritable déception. Si vous avez le temps et les moyens, faites plutôt le niokolo koba: plus sauvage et authentique. La réserve de Bandia peut plaire aux enfants, personnellement, je trouve que pour les adultes il n'y a rien d'impressionnant. On y voit très peu d'animaux: quelques girafes, des zèbres, des crocos...dispendieux pour ce qu'on y voit. Cela n'en vaut pas le détour.

Nous avons passés une nuit au désert de lompoul, nous avons bien aimé. Ce petit désert est magnifique et y passer la nuit est très agréable. Plusieurs campements sont offerts à des prix très raisonnables.

Il faut savoir que le commerce est très présent au Sénégal et c'est ce qui de notre côté, avons trouvé le plus difficile. Nous sommes constamment sollicités pour ne pas dire harcelés...nous avons trouvé cela extrêmement dur par moment, et c'est d'ailleurs la raison pour laquelle nous ne pensons pas retourner au Sénégal...

Le lac rose est agréable surtout si vous désirez vous y baigner et flotter! C'est une expérience unique. Si vous ne prévoyez pas vous y baigner, je ne suis pas certaine qu'il en valle vraiment le détour.

Le village des tortues est très cher pour très peu de temps de visite. Je ne vous le conseille pas. Allez plutôt vous promener dans les petits villages.

Toubab dialaw est absolument magnique avec sa plage propre (une des seules que j'ai vu), l'eau magnique et la tranquilité. Nous avons bien aimé y passer une journée à flâner et marcher. Il y a aussi quelques restaurant très sympathiques pas très loin. L'ambiance est très sympa!

Pour ce qui est de Dakar, il s'agit d'une ville extrêmement polluée. Nous sommes en parfaite santé et avons soufferts de la pollution (asthmatiques, n'y allez surtout pas!!!) Rien d'intéressant non plus, à part pour l'achat de souvenirs...

Parc du Djoudj...nous aurions dû passer notre tour. La route est non seulement extrêmement mauvaise mais nous n'y avons presque pas vus d'oiseaux...

Joal Fadiouth est très plaisant. Cette petite île aux coquillages détient un cachet unique, allez s'y balader est très relaxant. Le cimetière mérite le détour.

Les baobabs sont magnifiques, les femmes sont tellement belles avec leurs boubous colorés, les enfants sont adorables, le dépaysement est total...le Sénégal est une destination qui ne vous laissera pas indifférents. Mais attendez-vous à vous faire solliciter...beaucoup....

Si vous êtes capables d'y faire abstraction vous y passerez certainement un beau séjour!

Bon voyage!!!

Bonjour

J'hésite entre ces 2 types de sacoches. La taille est la même. Mis à part le système de fixation (QL1 et QL2) et la matière (Polyester vs Cordura), y a t il des différences entre les 2 (étanchéité, résistance à l'usure/frottements)? De plus, savez vous s'il existe des sacoches avant de 30 litres la paire (je cherche un intermédiaire entre le 25l et le 40l que l'on trouve habituellement). Merci pour vos réponses

Bonjour à tous,

Nous souhaitons aller en Californie pour 2 semaines au mois de Juin, au départ de Paris.

Nous savons simplement que nous voulons passer 3 jours à Los Angeles et 3 jours à San Francisco. Par contre, pour le reste, le choix de parcs nationaux et de villes à visiter semble extrêmement vaste, nous sommes un peu perdus.

Quelques questions : - Selon vous, quel serait le "meilleur" aéroport d'arrivée? Entre LAX, SFO et Phoenix, Phoenix serait notre 1er choix, car les billets reviennent bien moins cher que les autres arrivées. - Par conséquence, quel serait l'aéroport de départ le plus intéressant? - La liste de parcs et de villes est longue, lesquels nous conseillez-vous principalement de visiter? - Savez-vous à combien revient une location de voiture (sur une base de 10 jours)? - Est-il intéressant de prendre des réseaux de bus?

Merci beaucoup pour votre aide.

Cdt, Elaine & Florent.

Bonjour à tous,

Voilà, en imaginant que tout se passe bien, combien de temps après accouchement peut-on envisager de faire une rando à vélo de plusieurs jours ( mode familiale, vélotourisme). J'ai souvent vu 4 mois mais ça me parait beaucoup, j'envisageais un premier séjour au 3 mois après la naissance.

Avez vous des retours d'expérience? des avis de vos médecins?

Merci d'avance pour vos réponses.

Que faire en une dizaine de jours seulement, au Sénégal à fin février ? Je voyage en totale indépendance et j'ai une préférence marquée pour les sites naturels. Cependant je suis ouvert à toutes formes de ballades à pied, cheval, voiture ....... J'aimerai cependant éviter les parcours marathon. Merci pour vos bons conseils.

🙂bonjour a tous et toutes et meilleurs vœux pour cette nouvelle année

Nous allons séjourner en couple du 20 au 27 janvier a l'hotel LAGUNA BEACh a mbodiene au Sénégal. Quelqu'un connait -il cet hotel et pourrait nous conseiller sur les restos alentours et l'excursion a ne pas rater ? Nous y allons surtout pour nous reposer, mais voudrions tout de même découvrir cette région. Par ailleurs, l’agence nous a annoncé autour de 28 ° , est ce la réalité a cette période? Merci pour vos précieux conseils.

Bonjour à tous, C'est fin mars 2012 que je passerai une semaine au Nianing et j'aimerais savoir comment je pourrais me procurer des informations me permettant de préparer quelques excursions tel que Dakar, St Louis, l'ile de Gorée ou des sites qu'il ne faut surtout pas manquer si déjà on séjourne au Sénégal. Est-ce que quelqu'un aurait l'adresse e-mail de l'office de tourisme de Dakar? Merci d'avance.

Liesel

Bonjour, je compte passer mes vacances au Sénégal en septembre 2012 à Saly. Si vous c onnaissez ou y êtes déjà allée, merci de me faire part de votre impression. Merci pour vos réponses

Cycling Through Provence's Big Climbs

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Day Five: Fréjus to Solliès-Pont – 92 km

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bonjour à tous ! D'ici un mois je vais partir en Amérique du sud, en argentine plus précisément et j’atterrirais en avion à Buenos Aires. Je dois ensuite retrouver quelqu'un à San Carlos de Bariloche, j'aimerais savoir si il est possible de faire ce trajet en bus (je crois que oui mais je ne suis pas sur) et ensuite j'aurais avec moi un vélo VTT avec une remorque Bob yak pour pédaler dans la suite du voyage, est-il possible d'embarquer le tout dans la soute d'un bus en partance pour San Carlos de Bariloche ? Et y a-t-il un surcoût et si oui est ce cher ? Voilà un peu toute les questions que je me pose, merci d'avance si vous prenez le temps d'y répondre et que vous m'éclairez de vos lumiéres (faut flatter un petit peu ça marche mieux !)

Bonjour,

J'envisage pour 2013 un congé sans solde de plusieurs mois pour me rendre au Cap Nord à vélo. A la lecture des nombreux messages traitant des pays sacandinaves sur ce forum et des blogs de voyageurs au long cours, j'ai l'impression que ce n'est pas une destination très prisée par les femmes en solo (peur du climat 🤪 !). Ceux qui ont pédalé sur les routes de Scandinavie ont-ils croisé des femmes seules randonnant en vélo ou est-ce une idée totalement farfelue comme semble le penser mon entourage ?

Bonjour aux connaisseurs. Nous venons de fêter nos 4 ans autour du monde, 18 pays Asiatiques visités, et voilà enfin le moment d'arriver en Australie. Nous avons notre vol de Taipei sur Perth le 28 de ce mois. En arrivant, première question ? Vu que nous voulons faire 1 an voir plus, nous aimerions acheter des cartes Sim pour avoir des numéros Australiens à mettre dans nos Nokia E72, pour pouvoir téléphoner plus facilement en Australie. Pour les autres pays nous avons Skype.

Seconde question, nous aimerions faire un abonnement ADSL avec ces numéros de téléphone. Soit 1 pour mon lap top ou 2 pour aussi que mon mari aie son I Pad 2 connecté. ES-CE POSSIBLE et à quel prix ? Je pense qu'il faut un mini routeur avec clé USB ? Ou éventuellement une carte ? A notre arrivée à Perth, nous allons acheter un bus camping, pas besoin qu'il soit beau, mais solide. Si vous avez des contacts qui en vendent, ça nous intéresse. Si vous avez voyagé en bus camping, où vous êtes vous procuré de bonnes cartes routières ? Et d'après vous à part l'eau de réserve, qu'es-ce qui est le plus important à prendre ? Merci pour vos réponses. Monique

Bonjour,

Notre itinéraire est le suivant : à dos de bicyclette, France, Belgique, Pays-Bas, Allemagne, Danemark (north sea cycle road), le long de la côte. Traverser en ferry vers Göteborg. A vélo jusqu'à Stockholm puis ferry direction ou Helsinki ou Tallinn pour rallier après Saint-Pétersbourg. De là, train via Moscou, jusqu'au Baïkal. Notre plus grand souhait : traverser la Bouriatie et une partie de la Mongolie à vélo (d'où la nécessité de transbahuter nos vélos jusqu'en Asie !). Ensuite, nous reprendrons le train pour Pékin. La suite de notre voyage se faisant entre Asie du Sud-Est (prioritairement Malaisie, Indonésie) et Inde-Népal, nous préférons lâcher nos montures en Chine, les routes asiatiques en famille n'attisant point nos envies de pédalage !

Le souci à ce jour, est relatif au matériel. 3 de nos enfants sont autonomes sur leurs bicyclettes. Le dernier de 5 ans ne pourra pas pédaler 40 kms par jour mais serait trop frustré de ne jamais pédaler. Nous cherchons donc l'équipement qui ferait l'affaire. La seule solution que je vois sur le site, qui revient dans les discussions est d'investir dans un tandem pino équipé du kit enfant. Ceci dit, il en va de 4000 euros ! J'envisageais de vendre ou de céder nos vélos à Pékin si nous partions avec nos basiques (car au-delà de nos 3-4 semaines entre Russie et Mongolie, le reste de notre parcours se fait en Europe où il est relativement aisé de bricoler voir racheter un vélo si gros problème en chemin.) Or on ne largue pas un pino en route !

J'aimerais beaucoup avoir des témoignages de personnes ayant trouvé une alternative au pino pour voyager à vélo avec des enfants sur des routes relativement faciles ! Il n'y aura a priori ni grands cols, ni pistes sableuses sur notre parcours. On pense à emmener un petit vélo pour que le petit puisse savourer quelques kms quotidiens, garder un petit siège sur notre porte-bagages pour qu'il puisse la plupart du temps se reposer et que l'on puisse avancer (pour info, l'asticot est format crevette 11kgs à 4 ans) ; il nous faut donc trouver un système d'attelage à vide (follow me, barre de traction...) pour tirer le petit vélo. Je sais, cela peut sembler un peu spartiate, mais on se creuse les méninges pour jongler avec toutes nos contraintes car l'investissement de 4000 euros pino +casse-tête/inquiétudes/frais de réexpédition de Pékin pour une utilisation cantonnée à 4 mois nous pose sacrément question. J'en profite pour rajouter une question supplémentaire : d'expérience, quel équipement minimal indispensable rajouter à des VTT basiques pour un périple tel que celui présenté. Je dis bien indispensable, car en théorie, on peut toujours se barder de plein d'options qui dans la réalité s'avèreront superflues. Nous souhaitons parer au minimum de désagréments tout en sachant que nous ne pourrons parer à tout. Merci pour vos lumières !

Bonsoir,

Envisageant un périple en Asie mais ne souhaitant utiliser nos vélos que dans la première partie de notre voyage, à savoir jusqu'en Chine (poursuivant vers Inde, Népal... par les transports en communs), je cherche des infos sur les possibilités de rapatriement de nos montures (4 vélos dont un tandem vraisemblablement) vers la France : fret aérien, maritime ? J'aimerais surtout avoir une idée des tarifs auxquels il faut s'attendre, les délais n'ayant aucune importance . Merci

Salut Je possède actuellement la T2 ultralight de D4, depuis mai 2009, j'en suis relativement content (abside assez grande, de la place à l'intérieur mais montage de la tente intérieure en 1er, super quand il pleut 😕 et arceaux très très fragiles, une dizaine de cassés 😠) mais je sais qu'elle ne tiendra pas assez longtemps pour le voyage au long cours que je suis en train de préparé. Je cherche donc une nouvelle tente. Les tentes 2 places me paraissent trop petites (souvent l'abside), je suis en train de me tourner vers les tentes 3 places, notamment les Vaude taurus 2 (1 abside) et mark 2 (2 absides). Pensez-vous que ça vaut le coup ?

Bonjour,

Je suis actuellement en Thailande et je souhaite prende un billet aller simple pour Ho chi Minh. Est-ce possible ?

Car une agence me met le doute en me disant que je dois presenter un billet retour a l'aeroport. Hors j'envisage de rester quelques temps....

Merci d'avance pour votre reponse.

Xuan

Bien le bonjours a vous, Je prévois de partir seul avec mon vélo "VTC" et une remorque (que je n'ai pas encore) ! Pour une aventure de 800 Kms , sur 8 a 10 jours , donc 80 a 100 Kms par jours . J'airais besoin de savoir le poids de charge entre la remorque , les bagages , le vélo je sais qu'il fait 17 Kg . Je suis une femme de 50 Kg je pense qu'il faut en tenir compte , j'aimerais bien savoir la charge que je pourrais tractée sur une tel distance , merci de m'éclairer sur ce sujet . Krinette

Bonjour à tous !

Nous comptons faire un petit tour de Bretagne nord en tandem avec mon ami du 11 au 22 aout. N'ayant pas un budget extensible, je voulais savoir si vous aviez des conseils en matière de bons plans logements, les chambres d'hôtes étant tout de même chères, surtout si c'est juste pour dormir et ne pas vraiment en profiter... Nous irions de Cancale à Lannion, le tout en longeant au max la côte. Nos étapes, à redéfinir, mais à priori : - cancale 11/08 - entre St Lunaire et Cap Fréhel 12/08 - alentours de St Quay Portrieux 13/08 - alentours de Paimpol 14/08 (pour faire une halte sur Bréhat dans la journée !) - Perros Guirec 15/08

Je précise "alentours" car étant à vélo, nous pouvons nous excentrer un peu si cela peut nous permettre de payer moins cher... J'ai appris qu'il y avait un festival des chants marins à Paimpol du 12 au 14 aout, tout est blindé, rien de dispo, si vous avez des idées... Bien sûr je sais que le moins cher reste le camping, ou bivouac, mais n'étant pas habitués des longs trajets en vélo nous souhaitions nous alléger au max sur le vélo et dormir sur un matelas :)

Si vous avez des idées logements ou des bons conseils de crêperie ou autres, n'hésitez pas je suis preneuse !

Merci d'avance, Kénavo :) marion

Bonjour à tous!!! J'envisage de réaliser un tour de corse à vélo pour l'été prochain et je me pose quelques questions notamment sur une partie du trajet à emprunter..ou non... J'envisage de longer la côte le plus souvent SAUF au niveau du coté EST de l'ile ou j'aimerais s'avoir s'il est possible à vélo de relier Porto Vecchio à Corte en passant par : Zonza, Aullène, Zicavo, Ghisoni, Venaco et enfin Corte. Je disposerai d'un VTC chargé d'environ 20/25kg en essayant d'alléger au maximum le poids du vélo avant départ, mais je pars seul, en autonomie et couchage sous tente...(avec du matériel par forcément ultralight faute de budget). J'aimerais savoir si certains d'entre vous ont déjà effectué ce trajet à vélo en étant chargé... A savoir si c'est réalisable.??? Combien de km par jours puis je espérer réaliser sur ce trajet??? Sachant que pour le reste j'envisage de faire une moyenne d'environ 70km par jours approximativement.

Si cette portion est trop difficile, j'envisage de relier Corte à partir d'Aléria pour ensuite rejoindre Bastia. Cette partie là est elle aussi difficile?

Merci d'avance pour vos réponses.🙂

Sportivement

Bonjour à tous,

Maman solo d'une pré-ados de 12 ans, je pars au Sénégal (Saly) en Aout. Suis preneuse de toutes les infos.

1er voyage (loin) avec ma puce.

Merci pour votre aide.

Bonjour à tous,

je pars dans moins de 3 semaines au Brésil voir ma meilleure amie qui fait ses études (sa 3ème année) à Salvador de Bahia. Je pars depuis Paris CDG, escale à Francfort puis direction Salvador de Bahia avec la compagnie Condor.

Étant au Brésil depuis près de 10 mois, la nourriture/l'alcool en provenance de France lui manque énormément ! C'est pourquoi elle m'a demandé de lui ramener entre autre des crêpes, du pain, du fromage, du chocolat, des pâtes (feuilletée/brisée) et 2 bouteilles de vin.

Ma question est donc : y a-t-il un soucis à ramener tous ces aliments ou pas ? J'ai entendu dire que le fromage n'était pas accepté aux USA, je me demande donc si c'est la même chose pour le Brésil... ? Et pour le vin ? Est-ce que c'est autorisé ? Est-ce que la douane peut me dire quelque chose ? J'aimerais en savoir un peu plus sur la nourriture/alcool que l'on a droit de ramener...

Si vous pouviez m'éclairer...

Merci d'avance !

bonjour à tous, j'ai le projet de partir en vélo (septembre 2011) de toulouse jusqu'à dédougou au burkina faso, en passant par espagne, maroc, mauritanie et mali. je n'ai jamais entrepris de voyage en vélo et me pose plein de questions! notamment, parmi les dernières en dates:

comment fait-on avec les bagages lorsque l'on arrive dans un endroit et que l'on veut poser le vélo pour être plus libre dans ses déplacements?

le vélo doit-il vraiment être un espèce de truc de compet' super cher?

je cherche vraiment à voyager à moindre frais, ce qui implique par exemple pas d'hôtel ni de resto (ou du moins trèèèèèèèès peu!)

voilà, merci de me faire partager vos expériences et vos avis! des bises!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

😉 Bonjour,

Mon motard et moi voudrions descendre vers le nord de l'Italie et la région des lacs en mai. On nous a parlé d'une route "mythique" à faire par tout motard une fois dans sa vie, cela vous dit-il quelque chose? La rt 1200 a déjà des fourmis dans les roues, mon motard aussi mais toute information sur un itinéraire Namur - Italie du nord et les beaux coins à voir nous ferait plaisir avant le départ.

Un grand merci,

Djabi 😄

Bonjour,

J'ai prévu cet été (mi juillet) de rallier en vélo, en autonomie, le lac de Constance au lac de Côme par le col du petit Saint Bernard. Quel est son niveau de difficulté, et est ce que je dois prendre des protections particulières contre le froid à cette altitude (vêtements et couchage). Merci de me communiquer votre expérience. Jules