Results for "Bordeaux+|+127"

😇 Bonjour à tous les Français. Je vous adore et je débarque chez vous pour septembre. Je dois m'acheter un sac de voyage et je veux savoir pour bien le remplir:

comment est la température pour septembre, octobre en France du nord au sud.

merci....d'autres questions suiveront au cours de l'été....merci de me répondre 😊

Bonjour!🙂

Je cherche à acheter un westfalia dans les prochains mois; je souhaiterais l'aménager, ce qui suppose quelques dépenses...

Que me conseillez-vous?

1) en acheter un déjà aménagé, donc prix élévé (je suppose?)

2) acheter un basic, à retaper petit à petit? (mon porte monnaie préfèrerait...)

Un grand merci à vous tous

Salut à tous,

j'ai une petite question au milieu de toutes ces intérrogations que chacun se pose sur la prise ou non d'un médicament pour la paudisme.Dans quelques semaines en Chine, je me demande si il est bon de prendre un traitement si je compte me rendre dans le Yunnan (Dali, Kunming, etc....) certains parlent que les moustiques sont même agréssifs sur Shangai !!!!

Avez vous un avis à ce propos schant qu'en principe je uis contre ce genre de traitement mais là, j'avoue ne pas trop savoir d'autant que l'été est tout de même la saison de la mousson ....

J'ai une boite de Lariam que je n'avais pas utilisé au Viet nam et me demande donc si prendre ou ne pas prendre ? 😮

Merci pour toutes vos réponses .

Bonjour tout le monde!!

Moi aussi je pars en France à la fin juin et j'ai très hâte, mais je suis en train de préparer mon voyage et j'ai un tas de questions. Je cherche des gens qui vont pouvoir répondre à mes interrogations... es-tu une de ces personnes?😉

En passant, je m'interroge sur les moyens de transports... Quelqu'un m'a dit que si je voulais visiter facilement ce serait préférable en auto. Moi, j'aime plus ou moins l'idée😐, mais si pour aller voir les châteaux de la Loire c'est préférable... j'en louerai une.

Est-ce que c'est préférable de réserver d'avance pour les auberges de jeunesse. De plus, quelqu'un m'a dit que la carte n'était pas nécessaire, c'est vrai??

J'ai plein de questions encore, alors ne vous gênez pas de partager votre vécu avec moi.

Au plaisir de vous lire.

Simple Girl

simplegirl_sb@hotmail.com

Bonjour,

Je n'habite pas Paris, donc c'est un peu galère pour obtenir des Visas (tout par courrier, Recommandés, ...).

En plus j'ai eu une mauvaise expérience dans cet exercice pour l'Inde (grève des postes, recommandé bloqué pendant près de 2 semaines...heureusement que le gars de l'ambassade était vraiment adorable & super efficace).

J'ai appelé l'Ambassade de Madagascar & on m'a dit que pour un Visa de tourisme de moins d'un mois (c'est mon cas), on pouvait prendre le visa à l'aéroport en arrivant à Antananarivo.

Avez-vous déjà fait ça ?

Est-ce que c'est galère, genre 2h d'attente ou bien est-ce que ça passe tout seul ?

Mon avion arrive à Madadgascar vers 22h & je ne voudrais pas rester planté à l'aéroport (guichet des visas fermé) ou faire la queue jusqu'au petit matin.

J'ai encore le temps de faire mon visa par correspondance.

Merci de me faire part de vos expériences.

Bonjour à tous!

Partir en Espagne et au Portugal mais où? Est-ce bien coûteux durant le mois d'août, les moyens de transports et hébergements... Nous voyageons sac au dos, pas peur des auberges ultra rudimentaires, amoureuse de la vie! D'ailleurs, qu'est-ce qu'il ne faut absolument pas rater là-bas!!

Merci beaucoup!🙂

Michèle

Comme beaucoup, j'ai adoré la Birmanie... Voilà un p'tit bout de voyage si vous voulez🙂

"J’ai pris l’avion ce midi, (ouf j’ai survécu) et je suis arrivée au Myanmar ! HEUREUSE!!! Je n’en reviens pas, je suis en Birmanie ! Pour ne pas avoir à changé 300 $ (qui vont au ***** de gouvernement militaire), j’ai papoté avec Olivier, canadien, et nous avons changé nos 300$ ensemble. On reçoit en échange des FEC, (Foreign Exchange Currency) qu’on dépense, nous les touristes, dans les hôtels et transports. De très sympa birmanes nous ont proposé le transport jusqu'à la « White House Guest House », comme c’est là que je pensais aller, avec 5 autres occidentaux nous avons profité du transport que nous avons finalement eu gratuit. L’hôtel est cool et propre, 8$ par personne, mais c’est le moins cher de Rangoon. J'ouvre mon sac, prends une délicieuse douche froide, et sors à la recherche d’une gargote où me restaurer. Mais tout est fermé, ils se couchent tôt les Birmans. Je me balade, et TOUS les gens me regardent en souriant et me lancent des Hello!!!! Welcome!!! Des sourires gigantesques ornent leurs visages, je leur réponds. Mon sourire béat, j’en ai mal aux zygomatiques, ne s'efface pas, ... Les leurs non plus... Je ne vois personne en pantalon, hommes et femmes portent le longhi (paréo) typique, roulé autour de la taille, attaché avec un nœud diffèrent suivant qu’on soit homme ou femme. C’est hyper joli et ça à l’air bien confortable. Je continue la balade, et rencontre une dame âgée vendant des nouilles avec sauce rouge sur le trottoir. Je m'assieds sur un microscopique tabouret, et explique en langage des signes que j'ai faim, et j'aimerais un de ses petits plats. Quelques personnes arrivent, puis 10, puis une vingtaine sort de je ne sais où, et me regardent. Je dois leur donner faim, certains commandent également à manger à cette petite dame. "Good?" me lance-t-on, "Good! Very good" (euh...🤪) On m'enseigne quelques mots de birmans, "Mingalaba" Bonjour, "Djézoutinbadé" Merci. Et tout le monde avec un sourire immense sur le visage... Je me lève, dis Djézoutinbadé, sors mon porte-monnaie, et ... la gentille dame refuse mes sous, « Né, né », me dit-elle... Mais aller, laissez moi payer mon repas! « Né, né ! » … Un des birmans rassemblés autour de moi me dit “welcome, no money welcome” avec toujours un grand sourire… Je suis sidérée, quelques centaines de dollars traveller's cheques en poche, un peu de monnaie locale, je suis super riche a coté d'eux, et je ne peux payer... Je rentre m'endormir sous la moustiquaire, me sentant bien petite à côté d’eux.

Shwendagon Pagoda, le lendemain... Je suis au pays des merveilles... C'est beau, c'est fabuleux, je ne trouve pas d'autres mots! Ces stupas, ces Bouddhas, ces sourires partout des birmans en longhis à carreaux pour les hommes, unis ou fleuris pour les femmes. Des moines avec leurs ombrelles assorties à leurs robes bordeaux, et tous me regardent! Certains me prennent en photo, et me regardent encore... Je me sens comme E.T!! D’ailleurs je suis une extra terrestre, fascinée et émerveillée dans un autre monde! Tous ces gens si souriants, si adorables, si aimables... C'est bien plus fabuleux que tout ce que je pouvais imaginer! Je prends des tonnes de photos, mais ça ne reproduira jamais assez la beauté et la féerie de l'endroit... Je papote avec des moines, des birmans, pose avec l’un d’eux pour une photo parfois. Je vais manger une noodle soup dans une petite gargote près du temple, et je n'ai de cesse de remercier Bouddha et tous les dieux de la terre de m'offrir un tel moment. J'ai du mal à croire que ce n'est pas un rêve! Je flotte sur un petit nuage rose... "

bonjour a tous, j'avais precedement laiseer une anoce concernant le volontariat au nepal pour un orphelinat, les personnes qui s'occupent de cet endroit sont des volontaires nepalais et ont besoin de volontaires pour enseigner l'anglais a ces enfants, il n'est pas necessaie d'avoir un diplome superieur pour pouvoir enseigner, il s'agit d'un anglais basique et surtout de les faire communiquer en anglais et les aider a s'ouvrir a parler car bien souvent ils ont une petite idee de l'anglais mais il faut deja avt tout leur apprendre a s'exterioriser, la mise en confiance est primordiale avant d'obtenir des resultats c'est donc a des volontaires disponible sur au moins un mois a qui je m'adresse, ils sont 60 enfants de 3 a 13 ans, je les cotoient tus les jours et je dois dire qu'en deux mois ils ont enormement changes, je suis la premiere volntaire qu'ils aient vu et j'aimerais que d'autres puissent venir pour ne pas laisser de vide s'installer, pour eux votre visite est un grand bonheur, alors pro ou moins pro on s'en tape, l'important pour le moment c'est d'engager une conversation et des liens affectifs, le reste suivra en bonne intelligence, les gosses font beaucoup de progres par amour, ils sont genereux.voila j'espere qu'un de vous projette de venir au nepal bientot moi j'y serai jusqu'au mois d'avril, contactez moi et je vous dnnerai de plus amples informations sur l'endroit et les projets prevu pour cet orphelinat, merci .

Bonjour tout le monde, comment-allez vous?? Depuis les dernières années, j'ai eu la chance d'aller à des club dans les antilles.Bien sur, j'étais trop jeune pour vraiment m'amuser avec les G.O..Ils ne me prenait seulement comme un enfant vacancier.J'ai toujours aimé ce qu'ils faisaient mais rien de plus.Cependant, je suis allé à Santiago de Cuba il y a 2 semaines et c la que j'ai vraiment compris que je veux essayé ce travail.Pour la première fois, on me prennait au sérieux, à un tel point que je connaissait tout les membres de l'équipe d'annimation, leur boss et même les autres vacancier.Je vivais comme les G.O.: faire activité après activités, manger avec eux, connaitre aussi bien les danses de l.hôtel qu'eux, donner des cours de dance avec eux, faire des spectacles avec eux...Pour faire une histoire courte:COMMENT FAIT-ON POUR ALLER TRAVAILLER DANS UN DE CES CLUBS.jE SUIS TRÈS SÉRIEUX.

J'apprécirais vraiment tout l'aide que vous allez pouvoir me donner.

Merci d'avance

olivier

Bonjour à vous tous, Je suis nouvelle sur le forum, et pour cause je part en voyage avec mon mari, destination le Mexique, première quinzaine de Février Nous avons pris une forumule tout inclus dans un hôtel à CANCUN. Nous souhaiterions savoir dans un premier temps combien d'heures d'avion PARIS-CANCUN ? ensuite : -y a t'il des chose à faire ou pas faire (dans se pays, j'ai entendu dire qu'il n'appréciait pas que l'on siffle un taxis ?? - comment se déplacer pour visiter les alentours ? location voiture, ou taxi à la journée ? - que visiter ? où aller ? - existe t'il un sîte qui pourrait nous guider ? - les médicaments à emporter, les vaccins, et le paludisme ?? enfin plein de trucs qui rendrais notre voyage agréable Nous attendons avec impatience vos réponses merci pour vos réponse

D'abord une petite parenthèse: ça fait quelques temps que je me balade sur des forums de voyageurs, et certaines réponses m'exaspèrent vraiment! le voyage rendrait-il cynique à ce point? et moi qui pensait qu'il rendait plus tolérant! pardon, je suis bien naïve...et déçue aussi, et du coup, il faut réfléchir à deux fois, voire s'excuser d'avance pour la question "idiote"que l'on va oser poser, de peur d'être aussitôt attaquée de toute part!

Bon, alors voilà mon cas: ça fait 4 semaines que j'attends mon visa indien et toujours pas de nouvelles, ça m'inquiète vraiment, qui peut me rassurer?

Bonjour à tous!

D'abord, merci d'avance pour toutes réponses que vous allez m'offrir!:)

Ceci dit, je suis québécois et je pars pour la France le 4 décembre et je reviens le 24 décembre. C'est mon premier voyage!!!!:D

J'ai des préoccupations au sujet de la température que je dois prévoir affronter. Aussi en rapport au fait que je ne tomberai certainement pas dans la saison touristique... Je me demande donc si je ne serai pas limitté, ou au contraire, dans les activités que j'entreprendras!?

Mon itinéraire général et qui reste à être conffirmé par ma spontanéité rendu là-bas est :

Arrivée à Paris. Visite de quelques trucs que je ne veux pas y manquer; suivi de Nantes où des gens que je ne connais pas m'attendent... (Je peux vous expliquer au besoin:P) à Bordeau, le même scénario. Je veux voir le château de Versaille et ceux de la Loire.

Pour le reste, c'est si j'ai du temps.

Mes préoccupations sont de voir du beau pays(Architectures, châteaux, paysage, gens...), déguster du vin et développer des contacts avec des gens (parce que je pars seul).

Avec cette vue d'ensemble, tous ceux qui peuvent ajouter quelque chose seront les très bienvenus! MERCI!!!

Pascal

Bonjour,

Nous projetons un séjour de deux à trois semaines en France l'été prochain. Il s'agira d'un voyage familial avec notre fille, qui aura alors 8 ans.

Nous sommes donc à la recherche d'idées et de suggestions pour planifier notre itinéraire.

Quelle(s) région(s) devrions-nous cibler compte tenu que nous serons accompagnés d'un enfant ?

Quel genre d'hébergement offrirait, dans ces circonstances, un bon rapport qualité-prix ?

Est-ce que la location achat-rachat d'une auto constitue toujours une bonne option ?

Bref, bien des questions nous trottent dans la tête...

Merci à l'avance pour vos commentaires.

Stéphane et Josée🙂

Salut à tous😉

Je suis un étudiant anglais et pendant ma troisième année je suis obligé de passer un an en France, ce que j'attends avec grand impatience. Je dois choisir l'endroit, trouver un emploi et trouver du logement assez bientôt, donc je vous serais très reconnaissant de n'importe conseil que vous pouvez m'offrir en ce qui concerne vos propres villes et vos experiences de voyage en France.

J'espere que vous me pardonnerez mes erreurs de langue - je suis épuisé! Merci Jimothé

Hi there,

Three years after exploring northern Argentina and Chile, my two travel buddies and I want to discover the southern part of these two countries. We’re traveling on a budget, backpacker-style, favoring public transport and modest accommodations, but we don’t hesitate to splurge a little when it’s worth it. The classic spots that have been fueling our dreams: Bariloche, the lakes, Chiloé, El Chaltén, Torres del Paine, Perito Moreno, El Calafate, Fitz Roy, Ushuaia and Tierra del Fuego, and wrapping up in Valparaíso. We’ll take a round-trip flight to Santiago, then I’m thinking of a one-way flight from Santiago to Punta Arenas. From there, we’ll explore and do several day hikes in the south, including Ushuaia and, if possible, Tierra del Fuego. Then we’ll head back north by bus to Bariloche and the lakes, followed by Chiloé, then a bus to Santiago and Valparaíso. Based on your experience, could you help me figure out the best way to structure this trip and maybe suggest some ideas? Thanks in advance. Didier

Hi there, I’m planning a winter trip across India. Departing in early December and returning to France in mid-April. My main concern is finding an airline that offers this round-trip with the fewest hassles regarding cancellations or flight schedule changes. The unstable geopolitical situation in the Middle East isn’t making this search any easier—recent reviews online about airlines from Gulf states describe quite a few struggles over the past few months. The direct Paris-Delhi round-trip flights offered by Air France or Air India are probably the safest options, but not the cheapest! Given this uncertainty, I’m still holding off on finalizing my ticket purchase... Maybe some of you India lovers on VoyageForum have tips or experiences to share? Thanks, and happy travels to all.

Hi there! I’m in the middle of planning my first solo trip (as a woman). Do you have any ideal destinations with activities like hiking, diving, sightseeing, and easy ways to meet locals—all on a small budget?

I’d love to hear from anyone who’s had this experience before! :)

Hi there,

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

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

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

Episode 1: Spain, from Avignon to Algeciras

Episode 2: Morocco, from Tangier to Tarfaya

Episode 3: Western Sahara, from Tarfaya to Guerguerat

Episode 4: Mauritania, from Guerguerat to Nouakchott

Episode 5: Senegal, from Rosso to Saloulou

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

Happy reading, and safe travels!

Hello everyone,

It’s something we often notice in this forum—and many others—this behavioral shift.

A long-time member, or even a new one, asks a question. They get one or more answers, some brief, some detailed, and then... nothing???

Not even a simple thank you!!!

From what I’ve gathered, if the answers don’t align with what they wanted to hear, it seems natural for the asker to just disappear!! 😕 Unless—(and I fear this is the case)—basic politeness is no longer part of our society????

Please forgive my little rant.

Wishing everyone all the best. Cheers,

Puma2A



...

Hi there,

I arrived in Tunisia this afternoon for a full 14-day stay.

I took a direct Tunisair flight from Nice, which departed about thirty minutes late (that’s nothing compared to the "nightmares" I’ve had on some of my recent trips).

The flight lasts around 1 hour and 20 minutes, and a small snack was served on board (a sort of quiche with chickpea purée, a small bread roll, a portion of cheese like La Vache qui rit, and a small chocolate cake). It’s worth mentioning because it’s becoming increasingly rare on short flights. I was seated between two Tunisian gentlemen who gave me some great tips for my trip, especially about negotiating prices. One of them is a former cameraman for France Télévisions, very cultured and well-traveled—his daughter is a journalist at France Télévisions (I found some of her articles online). In short, the flight was very pleasant and quick.



I’m staying at the Hôtel Royal Victoria. I booked it yesterday afternoon by email without providing my credit card number. The room costs 241 TND (71 €) with breakfast included. It has heating, a small fridge, a safe, a hairdryer, Wi-Fi, and a TV with international channels. There’s a police van permanently parked in the square where the hotel is located.

This hotel is housed in the former British consulate and later embassy. It has a lot of charm with its painted wood ceilings and doors, and its bathroom covered in ceramic tiles. The tiny elevator is from another era. The main advantage of the hotel is its location between the medina and Avenue Bourguiba. Nearby, there’s the Magasin Général, where you can find groceries and some typical products like rose water, geranium water, and tons of halwa (a customer kindly explained how to eat it and which is the best).

After nightfall, I took a short stroll down Avenue Bourguiba. There weren’t many people around—it’s windy and cold.

I’ve already noticed the warm welcome from Tunisians. The supermarket cashier welcomed me to Tunisia, and a gentleman I asked for directions to the Magasin Général (I was about to climb stairs leading to a mosque!) insisted on inviting me for coffee, but I declined.

The rest of my itinerary will depend on the weather. If it doesn’t rain tomorrow, I might visit Carthage since the Bardo Museum is closed on Mondays, as are the museums in Sidi Bou Said.

TO BE CONTINUED...

Northern Laos, Nov 25

Thursday, Oct 23. Left home at 8:25 AM, took the bus from St Cyp to Perpignan, then a BlaBlaBus to Barcelona airport. Last night, a huge storm crossed France, and the bus was an hour late. We finally left at 11 AM. At the Spanish border, we were checked—several Africans were traveling on the bus, and their document verification took quite a while. In the end, everything was in order, and we set off again a good half-hour later. We finally arrived at Barcelona airport after 2 PM, but no stress since my flight was scheduled for 4:30 PM with Saudia. At check-in, the hostess told me there’d be a 1-hour delay due to bad weather in France and Belgium. In the end, the flight didn’t just have a 1-hour delay but a 5-hour one because of a technical issue. The next flight wouldn’t wait for us. When we arrived in Jeddah, they gave us another ticket for the following day—the flight to Bangkok was scheduled for 11:55 AM. The airline assigned us a room, which was good news since I was exhausted. Friday morning, the flight was still scheduled for 11:55 AM, but the gate wasn’t displayed. It was announced with a 1-hour delay, but that stretched to 4 hours. They handed out drinks and a snack—again, the delay was due to technical problems. In Bangkok, I had a connecting flight to Chiang Rai, where I’d also booked a room—I lost everything. We finally arrived in Bangkok on Saturday at 4 AM. I had to buy another ticket for a 7 AM flight. The formalities were quick, and my flight went smoothly. A taxi took me to Bus Terminal 1, where I caught a bus leaving at 10 AM, and we arrived at the Thailand-Laos border. I shared a taxi with other travelers, which took us to Houay Xai. The guesthouse I’d booked was right across from the stop—that was great. I exchanged some money and bought a SIM card at the guesthouse. Despite the fatigue, I needed to stretch my legs, so I walked down the street to the temple.









and continued to Fort Carnot, built by the French.



The views of the Mekong are beautiful for a first glimpse of the country.





yum-yum, bon appétit!

At 6:30 PM, I went to dinner at a restaurant across from the guesthouse—a chicken curry with vegetables.



I didn’t linger and went back to bed. I slept well, even if I woke up often.

Hi there,

When I run searches on Skyscanner, I see that only Lufthansa has flights to Seoul with just one stop. Air France doesn’t show up, even though I thought the French airline served Seoul? I can’t even log into the Air France website—it keeps glitching.

Good evening everyone,

This is where we chat and post non-competition photos. Happy wandering (jogging is also welcome).

See you soon.

Cat

“Hey, your Marker... - My Marker? - The one you used to make hitchhiking signs.”

The marker in question is sitting proudly on the kitchen table. Marielle found it at the bottom of a moving box.

I’ve been meaning to tell the long story of my love affair with hitchhiking for years. Here we go.

To be honest, I’m not quite sure when it started. My earliest memory goes back to a fair with a bike race in my maternal grandparents’ village. I was with my cousin, my little sister, and three girl cousins. There were six of us, ages ranging from six or seven to thirteen or fourteen. Our parents stayed at the fair, and we’d had enough. So we decided to walk home. Only it was four kilometers away. So we hitchhiked. A guy driving an old car picked us all up and dropped us off at the farm. He probably found it amusing to see us thumbing a ride by the side of the road, but maybe it also worried him a bit. With everything you read in the papers...

Around fifteen or sixteen, I started hitchhiking regularly, alone or with a friend, to go to the nearby town. But it was especially when I started boarding school in Orléans that it became more regular. The first year, I’d leave Monday morning and come back Saturday noon by bus. It was an old, uncomfortable bus where we froze in winter. To make matters worse, I often got motion sickness if, as was too often the case, I ended up sitting in the back. In the spring, a high school friend suggested I hitchhike back. It meant a slight detour, but the advantage was taking only national roads.

So that’s how, from the end of tenth grade to twelfth grade, I’d thumb a ride every Saturday on the Pont de Bourgogne. Drivers were used to seeing young people hitchhiking, and it worked pretty well. Our biggest fear? Soldiers! At that time, military service was still mandatory, and on weekends, it wasn’t rare to see them competing with us. They’d keep their uniforms on to go home. That gave people confidence—with everything you read in the papers—and they’d rarely wait more than five minutes. We, with our long hair, were definitely less popular. From time to time, three big red-faced guys in a van coming back from a construction site would flip us off, yelling things like “go get a haircut, you bums!” Those were the good old days.

We still had a good laugh, though. Patrice, the friend I’d hitchhike back from school with on Saturdays, is a musician—I’d later discover he’s an excellent composer. A die-hard Beatles fan, he knows their repertoire by heart and spends his time singing at the top of his lungs while we thumb a ride. One Saturday late morning, we’d been waiting for a while at the exit of Châteauneuf-sur-Loire when a little lady came up to him and asked if he could please sing a little quieter: a baby was sleeping in the house. He put on the most sorry face: “Oh, sorry ma’am, we didn’t realize.” No sooner had the lady gone back inside than he started again. Luckily, a car stopped just then, sparing me the embarrassment of seeing the lady come back out.

Saturday was also the day when the cigarette pack was dangerously low. So before leaving, we’d go buy some “Parisiennes,” the “P4s” as we called them back then. They were slightly thinner cigarettes with a mix of tobacco scraps. Sometimes they tasted like light tobacco, sometimes like dark. Not great, but by the end of the week, our pocket money was gone. They were sold in small packs of four, hence the name P4. We’d only pay 20 centimes. On Saturdays, it was rare for the two of us to manage to scrape together 1.50 F to buy a whole pack of Gauloises...

The last twenty kilometers, I’d usually do alone, Patrice having reached his destination. From time to time, luck would smile on me: an acquaintance would just happen to pass by and stop. One January Saturday, at the exit of Gien, I ran into another guy from Argenton whom I knew a little. That day, the weather was nice, but the temperature was well below zero. It was around noon, and it was the off-peak hour. We were shivering, stamping our feet by the side of the road, when a Citroën “Tube” arrived: it was his father’s boss’s, a mason. They were both sitting in the front, but since they were obese, they had us climb onto the open back. Even though we huddled against the cab to shelter from the wind, the twenty kilometers felt very long, especially since we were only going sixty kilometers an hour. Our hands and cheeks were blue when we finally arrived.

The year I took my baccalaureate, a friend with a 2CV would take me Monday mornings with one or two others we’d pick up in nearby villages. We’d share the gas costs, but it was still cheaper than the bus. And in winter, the bus was my nightmare. You had to get up at five to catch it at six. Not enough sleep, and outside it was freezing or raining—or both. The 2CV was luxury. Plus, Philippe would pick me up at home. On the other hand, since I didn’t have class Saturday mornings—well, I did, but we only had PE the first two hours and nothing after—I’d skip class and slip out right after breakfast to thumb a ride at the Pont de Bourgogne.

Those three high school years were formative in this optional subject that was hitchhiking. Little by little, I learned the rules of the game. First, you shouldn’t walk along the road while thumbing. Cars go too fast and can’t stop easily. Accepting a ride that’s too short is also a no-go. The guy who offers to take you a little way but drops you off at some vague crossroads in the middle of nowhere? No thanks. You need to get dropped off in a town. If it’s a fairly big city, you often have to cross it from one end to the other, but it’s better. At the exit, you have to choose your spot well. Actually, you have to put yourself in the driver’s shoes: they need to see you early enough, not be going too fast, and be able to stop easily without risking an accident. So when leaving a city, it’s better not to go too far. It’s wiser to find a spot where cars go slowly and can stop easily. And preferably near a café. The café is for when you still have a few coins for a coffee and need to warm up. From time to time, you’d run into someone nice who’d make a detour to drop you off at a better spot to start again. Finally, if possible, avoid hitchhiking on Sundays. Cars are packed with whole families who, most of the time, aren’t going far. And then there’s the little worry of those people who rarely leave home: with everything you read in the papers...

During those high school years, it was only short trips, rarely exceeding a hundred kilometers. Later, I aimed bigger, and things were a bit different. In 1973-74, I crossed part of France for the first time on two or three occasions, coming back from the German border or returning to Bordeaux, where we lived briefly. Since there weren’t many highways back then, we took national roads. It was during these trips that I realized it was better to leave in the evening. As I said earlier, Sunday is to be avoided, but on weekdays, there’s another problem: if you leave in the morning, you only make short hops. First, it often takes longer to get going because drivers are people going to work nearby. Which brings us back to those who drop you off in a bad spot, far from everything. There, you have to know how to refuse. You thank the driver for stopping—oh, if only everyone could be like you—while explaining why you’d rather stay put. People don’t take offense, by the way. Those who pick up hitchhikers often hitchhiked themselves when they were in the military or before they had a car. In the late afternoon, you’d often run into salespeople or truckers, in other words, people who drive a lot. At that time, salespeople no longer had appointments and were more relaxed. They wanted to talk about something other than the merits of their products. On the radio, it was time for *Les Grosses Têtes*. You’d also quite often run into small business owners, professionals, or even hippies. The conversations were pleasant and often enriching. A little later in the evening, truckers would take over. They’d already driven a few hundred kilometers, and the depot or customs was still far away. So they’d gladly take a hitchhiker to stay awake at the wheel and chat. The radio with Max Ménier’s show *Les routiers sont sympas*, you’d eventually get tired of it. So a hitchhiker was a change. Others, who’d hit the road at midnight to be at their destination by morning, were nice and offered to let you lie down on the bunk while they drove. When you’d been hitchhiking since six in the evening, freezing in the wind between two vehicles, you weren’t unhappy to take a little nap.

Speaking of Max Ménier, he’d often make announcements for hitchhikers. One evening, I called him. It was getting late, and I still had quite a way to go. No luck: the show had ended for good the day before!

In short, it’s better not to rush, sleep in, and leave after lunch, or better yet, in the late afternoon. Obviously, I’m talking about when you have several hundred kilometers to cover. That’s when you have to play it pro.

First thing, especially at night, but it also applies in the middle of summer when the light is blinding: dress to be seen from far away. I’ll admit I have an advantage over most other hitchhikers: I’m small and don’t scare people. To balance that out, racist drivers often take me for an Arab and are less likely to pick me up, but overall, the balance tips in my favor. Back to the need to be seen: at night, I wear light-colored clothes. In headlights, you can see me from far away.

Second thing: travel light. Forget the big backpack with a frame. Drivers don’t always have room in the trunk or on the back seat, especially if it’s rained and the ground is wet. Plus, it forces them to get out of the car. If they’re nice enough to pick up a hitchhiker, you shouldn’t ask for too much either.

Third thing: bring a cardboard sign and a big marker—like the ones in the photo at the start of this post—to write the name of your destination. In the early 80s, I ran a tourist house in the Cher, but I lived in the Netherlands. In the off-season, it was only open on weekends. On Fridays, I’d leave Holland and return on Mondays. 1200 km round trip. On the way there, in Paris, I’d stand at Porte de la Chapelle. At that spot, the road is very wide, and drivers could stop easily. Obviously, on the sign, I didn’t write Eindhoven, which not everyone knows, and even less Amsterdam because of its seedy reputation. In that case, you’d expect to see a police car stop and two officers in kepis ask for your papers. So as a first destination, I’d write Compiègne. We were well out of Paris, and since it wasn’t too far, a trucker or salesperson was less reluctant to stop. Once past Compiègne, I’d take out my Lille sign. Once in Belgium, it wasn’t really necessary to use a sign anymore, since everyone was going in the same direction. Usually, the guy who picked me up at Porte de la Chapelle would say he wasn’t going far but could take me a little way. Before that, I’d still ask if there was a gas station on the highway where he could drop me off before exiting. While talking, the guy would realize he wasn’t dealing with a dangerous criminal. He’d pretend to check his watch, think for a moment, then say that actually, he was going to Belgium and could take me to the border or a little beyond. To leave Paris on the way back, I’d take the train to Melun, where it was easier to hitchhike than at Porte d’Italie.

Over all those years, I think I was pretty lucky. Or maybe philosophical enough not to imagine a car would stop after a few minutes. An hour’s wait was average. Sure, I sometimes waited three, four, or five hours. Most often at odd hours and in terrible weather. When it doesn’t work, it doesn’t work. But there’s always a moment when things pick up. Sure, when you’re soaked in freezing rain in the early morning after a sleepless night, you’re less philosophical than when I’m writing these lines comfortably at my computer, but it still holds true.

Earlier, I mentioned clothing and the importance of being well-rested before leaving. When you’ve eaten well and just gotten out of the shower, shaved, you’re in a better mood. And somehow, drivers sense it. Or at least, that’s the impression I’ve always had. It’s better to look in shape than disgusted at standing there, half-heartedly thumbing a ride. In short, when I’d start to get fed up with waiting, I’d go into the first café I saw for a coffee. Coming back out, I’d be refreshed, and most of the time, a car would stop within minutes. I’ve often said that when I stood by the side of the road thumbing a ride, I felt a bit like a gambler in front of a slot machine. It was a matter of giving luck a chance. And well, it worked out pretty well.

Then, there are countries where hitchhiking works really well and others where it’s harder. In the 70s-80s, it worked best in Germany and England. In the late afternoon, it wasn’t rare to be invited for tea. Well, that was in England. Tea meant being offered room and board. In Germany, they’d offer you coffee. Once there, they’d first show you the guest room and point out the bathroom before sitting you down in front of a big plate of cold cuts. In the evening, they’d go out in town, and the next morning, they’d usually drop you off at a good spot for hitchhiking. On the other hand, in Mediterranean and Scandinavian countries, you’d better be patient. In Spain or Italy, it’s better to take the train, which was dirt cheap back then. However, if you’re a couple traveling light, it’s already easier in most countries.

In 1982, I went on a trip around Turkey with my girlfriend. We only had two small bags, which was plenty. It was November-December, and we wore our warm, bulky clothes. Leaving Eindhoven at nine in the morning, we arrived in Graz, near the Yugoslav border, at eleven at night. 1300 km in a day! In just four or five vehicles. One to the German border, about fifty kilometers from Eindhoven, the second to Hagen in the Ruhr, the third to Salzburg, and the last to Graz at the Yugoslav border. Record broken. During the night crossing of Yugoslavia, we ran into a trucker close to retirement who lent us the truck’s bunk. So we arrived fresh and rested near Skopje the next morning. We continued to Thessaloniki in northern Greece before taking the train to Istanbul. In Turkey, we traveled a good part of the country by hitchhiking too. With truckers in old, overloaded, slow trucks that climbed hills at fifteen kilometers an hour, but also in cars where five or six people were already crammed in. And every time, we were invited for tea. Once, we were even picked up by a big shot in his Mercedes with a chauffeur. Until then, the average speed was around fifty kilometers an hour. There, we were going two hundred. On a national road, not a nice European highway.

I’ve also hitchhiked in Nepal, from Lumbini, Buddha’s birthplace, to a village on the way to Pokhara. It must have been midday. No bus until the next day. I gave it a try. A small truck overloaded with rice sacks, with two or three young people already perched on top, stopped. I rode on the roof of the cab. At fifty kilometers an hour when it was going well, with a breathtaking view. Coming back from India, I also crossed part of Iran by hitchhiking, from Tehran to the Turkish border. I did this trip with an Austrian I met at the hotel who, like me, had to watch his pennies. We gave it a shot. There was almost no traffic, but to our great surprise, the first car that passed in the area would always stop. They’d just ask for a modest contribution for gas, and it cost next to nothing.

Sometimes, you get scared too. After leaving Turkey in early December 82, we spent about two weeks in the southern Peloponnese harvesting olives. A few days before Christmas, we hitchhiked back to Holland. A girl picked us up in her little Fiat 500. We were driving on a mountain road, and that morning there was a bit of black ice. After crossing a pass, we saw the old Ford Taunus ahead of us at fifty meters start to skid. The driver let out a “heeee!” while grabbing my knees. I reflexively grabbed the wheel. Finally, the Taunus got back on track. And we didn’t swerve. But those few seconds felt very long.

In January 77, while I’d been living in Germany for a few months, I decided to spend a few days in Italy. By hitchhiking, of course. I left in the early afternoon, and by ten at night, I wasn’t far from Frankfurt. I saw a big Mercedes stop. The four or five young people crammed inside were listening to Schlager at full volume. Beer cans littered the floor. They didn’t have a precise destination, and as long as they were going south, that was fine with me. They’d finished their military service that very day and had clearly already celebrated their discharge. The driver was going 160, zigzagging dangerously from one side of the highway to the other. I should have realized he wasn’t entirely sober either. Luckily, there was almost no traffic. Finally, I managed to get dropped off at a gas station just before Frankfurt, relieved. I hope their trip didn’t end tragically.

Another time, coming back from Holland with my wife, we were picked up early in the morning near Senlis by two guys from Lille. They were going to work near Tours and could drop us off at Porte d’Italie. Apparently, they were coworkers but barely knew each other. The driver offered us a beer—at six in the morning, sure!—before opening another can for himself. He was clearly having trouble staying in the right lane. We politely declined, the passenger too. Everyone was tense. Luckily, it was rush hour on the ring road, and we were going slowly. When we got out of the car, the passenger said goodbye with the look of a guy being offered the condemned man’s rum and cigarette.

Finally, there are the annoying remarks from drivers who are either gay when you’re alone or turned on by the sight of your girlfriend when you’re a couple. In those cases, I’d get in the back so the guy wouldn’t feel too confident. And if the conversation got a little too suggestive, we’d deflect until we got dropped off.

And luckily, there are the times, not so rare after all, when you run into really nice people who invite you to eat and sleep at their place and drive you to a good spot the next morning. In Germany and England, that was common. And then there are the big strokes of luck, like during our trip to Turkey when we crossed most of Germany in one car, or that other time when some Germans drove me from the exit of Geneva all the way to the Costa Brava.

Going back to “with everything you read in the papers” and its variant “with everything you see on TV”—and now on the internet—it’s always left me perplexed. Personally, I’ve never heard of hitchhikers assaulting drivers, even if it may have happened. On the other hand, what was most common were hitchhikers being assaulted, especially girls. Anyway, even armed, it seems a bit stupid to assault the driver—wouldn’t that risk causing an accident?

Finally, since that time, I’ve occasionally wanted to hitchhike somewhere far away in France. Most often, too busy with work, it never happened, but the nostalgia hasn’t completely disappeared.

* * *

Other Hitchhikers

And then one day, I... settled down to become a driver myself. Ten years had passed, and you saw fewer and fewer hitchhikers. Or maybe I saw fewer because I had a regular job and wasn’t traveling the same way. And then I understood a few things.

Several times, I was tempted to pick up a hitchhiker, but they didn’t meet the required conditions. They were walking along the road instead of staying at the exit of the previous town. Hard to stop without risking an accident. Or the guy looked really scruffy. Or he was sulking, if not both. Then you think of that famous “with everything you read in the papers.” Not that I was scared, but unfortunately, the few hitchhikers I did pick up later were rarely interesting.

A few years ago, we picked up a young guy at the exit of a small town in Sologne. Not an easy spot for hitchhiking. Bad luck, he was a pretentious little jerk. He was barely 20 or 25 and talked like a bitter old man. He was a waiter in a restaurant. According to him, it was lucky he was there, otherwise the boss would have closed up shop long ago. You’d think he had thirty or forty years of professional experience behind him. As we approached Blois, he started ranting about Arabs, blaming them for all evils. And he laid it on thick. That morning, we were going to a teenager’s funeral who had just committed suicide, so he really got on our nerves, Mr. Know-It-All. Out of anger, I dropped him off next to a shopping center a few kilometers from downtown. Not nice, but it felt good.

Some time ago, we were driving around the Limousin on a Sunday to try out the used Twingo we’d just bought. We picked up a guy in his forties. A German who spoke French well. He started talking about the environment. He was a green Khmer. He got worked up all by himself with his pseudo-eco rant and, after a few kilometers, was almost yelling at us. As we were about to leave the main road for a small one, I dropped him off at a crossroads in the middle of nowhere. Normally, I would have made a little detour to take him to a better spot, but this time, I didn’t feel like doing the... eco-warrior a favor.

On the other hand, I’ve still done my good deed a few times. One June morning, coming back from Orléans, I saw a man in his sixties hitchhiking. The poor guy had had a rough time. He was from Montpellier and was coming back from Caen, where he’d been promised a job. Once there, they bluntly told him the position was already taken, and he had to go back. Except he didn’t have enough money left for the train. He’d spent the night hitchhiking without success. I could only take him as far as Lamotte-Beuvron, where I dropped him off near the fire station. Apparently, there was some vague shelter there or something, but it only opened a few hours later. In the meantime, he settled on the grass in a corner to sleep a little. While he was doing that, I quickly went to the train station to check the price of a ticket to Montpellier. It was within my means. Since he was sound asleep, I slipped the train ticket and 100 francs into his pocket. I couldn’t imagine him continuing to hitchhike all the way to Montpellier. And I bet he didn’t even have a piece of cardboard and a marker!

When we go to Brazil, we usually rent a small car. One day, we were coming back from Paracuru to Fortaleza when we saw a whole family hitchhiking. Two adults and two or three small children. Here near the equator, the sun sets very quickly, and it would soon be night. There was little traffic, and trucks wouldn’t stop because there was no room in the cab. As for the rich people driving big 4x4s, they wouldn’t stoop to picking up the lower classes. The only hope for this kind of family was usually a farmer or artisan who’d let them ride in the back of his pickup. Obviously, they were a bit surprised to see us. Everyone crammed in as best they could in the back of our little car. When we dropped them off, we got a whole string of “Deus lhes abençõe”—God bless you.

Still in Brazil, we were on the road from Barreirinhas to São Luís do Maranhão. About 150 km of deserted road with an isolated mud house here and there. A young woman flagged us down. She was very pregnant and had to get to the clinic twenty or thirty kilometers away to give birth. Someone was supposed to drive her, but the first signs of labor started earlier than expected, and the driver was unavailable. Even driving fast, we weren’t feeling great: it would be just our luck if she gave birth in the car!

Today, we’re in the age of smartphones and carpooling apps. Safety. With everything you see on TV... Three or four years ago, we signed up on a platform. Our first, and only, “client” was a little jerk who didn’t say a word the whole trip. No hello, no goodbye, and certainly no thank you. The next day, we found his Ray-Bans in the car. We didn’t run after him to give them back. Ha!

hi there Here’s the cruise schedule for 2026. It’s a great way to get ideas and maybe even meet up with other members. 2 essential rules:

1) never "quote" the calendar when replying—this’ll avoid any confusion 2) follow the format below DD/MM - username / SHIP IN CAPS / number of days / cruise title / departure port DON’T FORGET THE SPACES between the / /

REMINDER Despite my requests, few people follow the requested format. Cruises that stray too far from it won’t be listed anymore—sorry!PLEASE respect the templates! COPY AND PASTE THE FORMAT BELOW AND REPLACE WITH YOUR DETAILS IF YOU’RE STRUGGLING DD/MM - username / SHIP IN CAPS / number of days / cruise title / departure port DON’T FORGET THE SPACES between the / / It takes time to fix mistakes, so THANKS TO EVERYONE for your help!

YOUR TURN 😉

NUMBER OF CRUISES 2026: JANUARY FEBRUARY MARCH APRIL MAY JUNE JULY AUGUST SEPTEMBER OCTOBER NOVEMBER DECEMBER

From Southern Shikoku, between land and sea, to the blue waters of Miyakojima and finally Tokyo’s megacity

Hi everyone,

I have to admit, I really hesitated before deciding to write this travel journal... Writing one takes a lot of time and energy, and since this is my 4th trip, I wondered if it would actually interest anyone other than myself (both for the discovery and the writing). But after a few "Are you going to write a journal?" requests and especially the renewed pleasure from reading other travelers’ travel journals about Japan or elsewhere on this forum or elsewhere, I’ve decided to share this 4th installment in the Land of the Rising Sun here.

The itinerary: 27 full days, from late May to late June 2025, right in the middle of the rainy season, including:

-->13 days in Shikoku, from Kochi (Kochi Prefecture) to Matsuyama (Ehime Prefecture)



-->7 days in Miyakojima (Okinawa Prefecture)



-->7 days in Tokyo



The trip was decided on fairly last-minute this year, as usual.

I regularly check flight prices to track fluctuations for this destination, even without concrete plans. Finding a slightly cheaper direct flight (900 €) than what I’d seen in previous months (around 1,200–1,400 € on average) for a Paris-Tokyo route with Japanese airline ANA was too tempting to resist the urge to return to this enchanting country. After long hesitations between exploring the San’in region (Matsue, Tottori, Yamaguchi) and southern Shikoku, the decision was made—I took the plunge! The tickets are booked: Paris to Kochi with a layover in Tokyo, all with ANA, the airline I’d been dreaming of... for 1,120 € per person. Okay, it’s not cheap, but it’s still better than in 2023.

We leave in 2 weeks!! Now it’s just a matter of getting everything ready!

Intense work ahead in these 2 weeks to:

finalize a more precise itinerary and reach an agreement—yep, because even though we both love Japan, our preferences differ slightly, and we have to choose between exploring new places or taking time to revisit beloved spots... decide how much time to spend in each selected area without rushing while still exploring research places that might interest us and watch videos about Japan book accommodations: yes, it’s possible to do this on the spot as we go, but last year, we noticed that last-minute options were pretty expensive, so we’re booking ahead—even if it means keeping a few options open while we decide or see if better deals pop up later reserve rental cars order yen check the weather regularly and wonder if choosing the *tsuyu* (rainy season) was really a good idea—and whether we’ll be stuck in non-stop rain???

What a tough job, right? Traveling to Japan for a month—such a hard life! Despite this being my 4th trip, the excitement is just as intense as the first time.

The only small downside is that when we booked the flight tickets, there were only a few seats left, so we’re only sitting together on the international return flight. Plus, on the outbound flight, we’ve got the middle seats. Another lingering question: what French-language films will be available? According to the internet, the selection seems limited. Oh well, these are just minor details—it’s almost time to fly!

PS: I’ll be posting slowly and irregularly... so for those interested, be patient or maybe set an alert...

February 9th is a pivotal day during my trip to Thailand. Up until this date, my focus had been on cities, temples, and other urban landmarks. Starting February 10th, I’ll finally leave the city behind for the outskirts—one town, one life, farther from tourism, more real, more authentic... Then comes the bucolic surroundings of Chiang Mai, nature, the countryside, the mountains.

This morning, I head to visit the ethnographic museum. I’d been told about another one, but it’s permanently closed. I wonder if it’s the same one that might have changed its name and location.

I thoroughly enjoy visiting this museum. At first, I’m a bit annoyed because the place is packed with noisy school groups blocking the display cases without even showing the slightest interest. But soon, their chaperones manage to lead them into another room, giving me some peace. They maintain this distance throughout the tour, allowing me to explore the museum in complete tranquility. I really appreciate their tact.

I’m amazed by the absolutely stunning fabric displays and the countless everyday objects, especially the very old pottery. There’s so much beautiful basketry and intricately carved wood. The statues are also incredible... After seeing all of them, I no longer feel like buying any from the shops.

On my way back, not far from my hotel, I discover a rather unique place that only serves one drink, which they’ve made their specialty: egg coffee! A pretty surprising novelty. I have to try it.



At the bottom of the cup, they pour a layer of milk, topped with a layer of liquid coffee, followed by a layer of egg yolk, and finally a top layer that turns out to be a mix of coffee and cocoa powder. It’s a cold drink that, in the end, doesn’t have much flavor, and the price is pretty steep for such a small cup. You’re paying for the exclusivity!

Later in the day, I venture once again into small alleys, something I love doing when exploring a new city—no specific goal, just wandering east of the city, outside the walls.



I encounter very few tourists there and discover unsuspected little shops overflowing with lovely items, much cheaper than what you find in the heart of the tourist district. Then I wander through the floors of Warorot Market. I discover another kind of temple there: the temple of good deals. I love finding clothes that are really original for locals, not the flood of shirts and pants that tourists love but no Thai would ever buy, which invade the shops in the "Historic Square." I stop in my tracks in front of a stall with beautiful shirts featuring stunning geometric patterns in elegant color combinations and very short sleeves. Hmm, these would be perfect for showing off my biceps, one of which is adorned with the magnificent Ganesh tattoo I got last year in Bali. "When you’ve got nice things, you’ve got to show them off!" he said. 😜🙏💪 I pick out two for 380 baht and negotiate them down to 300. But the seller won’t go any lower. I understand I’ve reached the limit of her commercial possibilities. Just as I’m leaving the shop, happy with my purchase, my ever-helpful inner voice, Petite Voix, suggests: - You didn’t try them on because you were too lazy to take off the one you’re wearing and also because of the sweat, but you could just put one on over the one you’re wearing. It’s light enough that it won’t bother you.

I go back to the two sellers, who burst out laughing when I ask to try them on. - Oh no, it’s way too small for you! It’s a women’s shirt! - But they don’t look particularly feminine in style! And I chose XXL... I put the shirt on, and of course, it won’t close. Then I notice the buttons are on the wrong side. That’s why the sleeves seemed so short!!! They put the shirts back on the rack and refund me without any fuss, commenting amid total hilarity: - Well, thank goodness you tried it on just as you were leaving the shop!

Since I don’t want to walk too much before tomorrow’s first Big Outing with the driver, I end my stroll with a visit to two very pretty temples recommended by Joël.



I’d rather not post more temple photos. But these ones smell like village and countryside...







I’ve never seen anything like Wat Ket Karam, so extravagant...





And I end my day with two other lesser-known temples: Wat Noung Kham, simple and finally free of gold and glitter,



and Wat Dap Phai, where an intimate ceremony is taking place at the end of the day.

Five years of an unintended break... The closure of VF, COVID... What a joy to rediscover the pleasure of sharing!

I’ve stayed true to my habits: the following account is a collection of practical tips rather than a travel journal...

Madagascar is as big as France and Belgium combined. In three weeks, choices have to be made! It was the Great Tsingy that inspired our trip. We decided to focus on the southwest and the RN7. We skipped the Deep South and the North. Oh well...

OUR ITINERARY IN 3 WEEKS:

Fri 6 June – Direct AF flight to Tana – Flight arrives at 10:30 PM – Tana Sat – Antsirabe Sun – Miandrivazo Mon – Drive to the Masiakampy pier – Descent of the Tsiribihina River by pirogue - Bivouac Tue – Descent of the Tsiribihina River by pirogue - Bivouac Wed – Descent of the Tsiribihina River by pirogue – Bekopaka Thu – Pirogue on the Manambolo River and Small Tsingy of Bemaraha – Bekopaka Fri – Great Tsingy of Bemaraha – Bekopaka Sat – Avenue of the Baobabs – Morondava Sun – Belo sur Mer Mon – Free day – Belo sur Mer Tue – Manja Wed – Andavadoaka Thu – Free day – Andavadoaka Fri – Salary Lagoon – Mangily Sat – Ranohira Sun – Isalo National Park - Ranohira Mon – Anja Reserve - Ambalavao - Fianarantsoa Tue – FCE train canceled – Visit to a Tanala village - Manakara Wed – Pirogue on the Pangalanes Canal – Ranomafana Thu – Ranomafana NP – Ranomafana Fri – Ambositra – Antsirabe Sat 28 June – AF flight to Paris – Flight departs at 11:55 PM

TRIP ORGANIZATION: I prepared my trip using the usual guides (LP and Rough Guide), the internet, and the Freytag & Berndt map (1:1,000,000). I’m old-school—I still love visualizing my route on a paper map, even though in Madagascar, it’s misleading because some National Roads are only national in name!...

The agency: Since we couldn’t deal directly with a driver-guide (we lacked reliable info to take the plunge), we went through an agency to organize the logistics of our trip. We didn’t feel like using bush taxis (not enough time) or driving a 4x4 ourselves (neither the skills nor the boldness). The French agency connected us with a local agency, to whom I sent my detailed itinerary by email. A few exchanges via email and WhatsApp calls allowed us to finalize everything quickly after some adjustments. As you’ve gathered... we multiplied the commissions, which inflated the budget. That said, in the end, we were thrilled with our decision and our choice. Our trip was booked by the end of 2024, and reservations were made immediately. No bad surprises: the bookings in the planned hotels were honored, often with one of the best rooms. On our last day in Tana, before departure, we were lucky enough to meet the director I’d been communicating with, who helped build and validate our circuit. A very warm debriefing.

The driver-guide: The agency assigned us Faly, 33, a driver-guide for over 10 years. He stayed with us from start to finish: he picked us up at the airport on arrival and dropped us off 23 days later. A very experienced driver (which is important here), an open and cultured guide, reliable, punctual, and a great companion. And a provider of good advice throughout the trip. We made the most of the long stretches on dirt roads or highways to listen to him talk about daily life, rituals, wildlife, and flora... No time wasted! With a great playlist in the background, we combined business with pleasure! Faly’s accommodation and meals were included (quite often, hotels offer free lodging and meals to driver-guides who bring clients), as was the fuel. That didn’t stop us from inviting Faly to share a beer or our evening meal sometimes. He didn’t always accept, wanting to let us "enjoy our romantic evenings," as he put it. Present without being intrusive! Faly is fully capable of organizing a tailor-made trip directly. I recommend him without any hesitation—we were delighted with his service. I’ll gladly share his contact details via PM to anyone who asks.

Local guides: It’s the national guide’s prerogative to choose the local guides (mandatory in the parks). Thanks to his experience, Faly always booked us amazing, competent, and interesting local guides.

Hotels: I told the agency I wanted charming, comfortable accommodations, without falling into flashy luxury. We loved all the hotels (except the Hôtel Kanto in Manja). The rooms, mostly bungalows, were always spacious and clean. Unfortunately, I can’t give the prices—I didn’t get the details. Breakfast is always included, usually fresh and hearty. Very often, a small bottle of water is provided in the room.

Tana Hôtel Les 3 Métis Power cuts are common (!) in Tana. Bring a headlamp.

Antsirabe Ecolodge – Les chambres du voyageur Maybe our favorite! A few bungalows, beautifully arranged in a splendid tropical garden. The dog Kodak welcomes us warmly.

Miandrivazo Hôtel Princesse Tsiribihina Magnificent view of the valley.

Bekopaka Hôtel Orchidée du Bemaraha 2 (yes, 2) beautiful pools, a large open common room.

Morondava Hôtel Baobab Café Brand new or at least, according to Faly, just renovated. Very comfortable but without much charm (international style).

Belo sur Mer Ecolodge du Menabe The bungalows, all made of wood, bamboo, and thatch, are set on the beach. Very spacious and fully equipped! Large open-air restaurant by the sea. No hot water from the tap—it’s available in plastic bottles heated by the sun in front of each bungalow. Actually, we never used it... Another very, very beautiful spot.

Manja Hôtel Kanto The only hotel on this leg of the journey, so no choice. The owner knows it and, as a result, doesn’t bother. It’s a real dive! Tiny, dark room, a sordid bathroom with only a trickle of water—we skipped the shower! Clean sheets, though. Obviously, no Wi-Fi. The only place where I didn’t leave a tip. We were well warned about the discomfort of this stop, both by the agency and Faly. We weren’t surprised, and it even became a running joke during the trip. On the other hand, we found a nice little market in town.

Andavadoaka Manga Lodge What bliss! Especially after the horrible Hôtel Kanto. A paradise-like spot, overlooking three beautiful deserted white-sand beaches. Meals are served on the terrace facing the sea. Stunning sunset. We loved spending a day lounging here! We were the only guests and were pampered.

Mangily (Ifaty) Mangily is the "suburb" of Ifaty. Hôtel Vovo Telo A large beachfront bungalow complex. More touristy but pleasant—we spent a lovely evening there with our feet in the sand.

Ranohira Le Relais de la Reine A splendid resort built by a Frenchman, at the foot of the rocks, very well integrated into the environment. Beautiful marked trail starting from the garden.

Fianarantsoa Villa Sylvestre Contrary to what its name suggests, it’s a hotel right in the city center. Quite decent, though.

Manakara Parthenay Club Pretty bungalows in a large garden by the sea, but swimming isn’t safe—the water is too dangerous and rough.

Ranomafana Hôtel Thermal Very spacious rooms.

Meals: Not all our meals were included. It’s really not expensive. 1 meat or fish dish: around 35,000 Ar 1 full menu (starter, main, dessert): around 70,000 Ar 1 large THB beer (65 cl): between 8,000 and 12,000 Ar 1 piña colada: 15,000 Ar 1 flavored rum: 6,000 Ar (sometimes free) 1 glass of baobab juice (!): 5,000 Ar

We always ate very well. Rice is everywhere, served in large quantities. Zebu meat is quite good if not overcooked. Personally, I prefer fish, and I feasted: grouper, captain, crab, small lobsters...

We happily discovered baobab juice (especially in Belo, on the west coast). And of course, flavored rums!

We bought 2 packs of 6 bottles of mineral water at Carrefour (!) (about 5,000 Ar per large bottle) at the start of our trip. That was enough, especially since we often got water in the bungalows.

We had a few picnics included in our trip. Instead of picking up the hotel’s lunchbox, Faly prepared delicious, fresh, and varied picnics for us: tuna pasta salad, fried rice with eggs, grilled vegetables, and avocado...

An exceptional address not to miss: Mad Zébu – Belo sur Tsiribihina A highly reputed restaurant, a favorite of LP and Rough Guide, and rightly so! Gourmet cuisine, refined and elegant. Barely more expensive than elsewhere, and it’s worth it. We stopped there on our way up to Bekopaka and the Tsingy NP. Fully booked! So Faly reserved for our return, three days later. We’re still thanking him! What a treat!

THE BUDGET: Ariary exchange rate: 5,000 Ar = 1 €

Pre-trip expenses: Direct Air France flights: 930 € per person round trip Cost of the circuit with the agency: 2,880 € per person

The visa: Issued on arrival, very quickly. 35 € per person for a stay under 30 days. Super simple. Super fast.

On-site expenses: As soon as we arrived at the airport (it was nearly midnight), Faly advised us to exchange our euros for all our needs. There are few opportunities on our route to find an ATM or an open bank with a good rate. To be more comfortable, he took us to a small office under military protection just outside the airport. I exchanged 1,200 € (I had asked the agency for advice on the amount to bring) at a rate of 4,750 Ar and became a millionaire. Faly recounted all the stacks. That covered all our expenses (meals, drinks, tips) without ever feeling deprived. Personal purchases were made at the end of the trip. Convenient—it served as an adjustment variable. We spent our last million (200 €) on marquetry and vanilla. Tip: We asked for 200,000 Ar in 5,000 Ar bills for tips. That wasn’t too much—I even ran short of small bills in the last two days.

Tips: Madagascar is a poor country where every service deserves a small reward. While not mandatory, it’s customary. But no one ever demanded or expected it openly. On the contrary, I sometimes had to remind a porter to give them my small bill. We never carried our luggage—porters were always present when the car arrived or waiting at our door to watch for our departure. I gave each of them 5,000 Ar. In restaurants, I rounded up to the nearest ten and left the change. Local guides also expect a tip: I gave around 20,000 Ar per day for the two of us. Finally, the national guide also expects a gratuity. I had read online to budget 5 € per day per person. I added more since we were so happy with his services. The tip was given at the end of the trip, in euros, outside the budget.

Total budget all included (excluding personal purchases): 8,690 € Clearly, Madagascar is a country where life isn’t expensive, but travel costs add up quickly due to the need to rent a 4x4 with a driver.

HIGHLIGHTS:

· The dirt roads Yes, I’m listing them among the highlights! We loved those long hours spent driving at 20 km/h on rocky, muddy, white, red, or gray sand tracks... surrounded by tropical vegetation, palm trees, pandanus, mango trees... The experiences were sometimes thrilling: crossing a river on a ferry (just planks of wood fixed on two motorized pirogues side by side) or crossing a river without a ferry, with just a kid running ahead of the 4x4 to show the way; soft sand where the 4x4 easily gets stuck... The tracks are quite narrow, and crossing paths with a bush taxi, a zebu cart, or a herd of goats is always epic. So many beautiful images, so many beautiful photos! Much more beautiful than on asphalt. So yes, we loved those long stretches on dirt roads. For us, it was clearly part of the journey. Faly was particularly careful, and the 4x4 was comfortable. No injuries, no fatigue, even after 7 or 8 hours on rough tracks. The national roads (including the famous RN7) are badly damaged by cyclones, huge trucks, and lack of maintenance. Potholes have turned into ostrich nests, and we didn’t drive much faster than on the dirt roads.

· The landscapes, villages, encounters... We crossed a variety of stunning landscapes: mountains with slopes covered in terraced crops, rice fields from apple green to emerald green, sugarcane fields, then tropical forests, baobab forests (they deserve a special paragraph below), traveler’s tree forests. And then coastlines with white sand dunes against a backdrop of blue hues!... Magical! We also passed through many villages with houses whose architecture varied by region. The Betsileo houses display beautiful decorative brick reliefs. On the west coast, the houses are more precarious, made of bamboo with palm-thatched roofs. In the Highlands region, we found solid houses with pastel plaster. Each region has its own landscape, crops, habitat, and clothing. Zebu carts are often the only means of transport in remote villages. We saw them very frequently. Again, the cart’s decoration depends on the region. And then, we met many villagers coming out of the bush and walking to the next market, carrying their crops on their heads or shoulders. More beautiful photos!

· The descent of the Tsiribihina River We boarded around 9 AM in a long pirogue with Gana, the local guide, and two pirogue men. So, five of us. The pirogue is long but narrow, about 65 cm wide. We sat one behind the other at the front on seats padded with what would become our mattresses during the bivouacs. We only took the bare essentials for two nights. A little goodbye to Faly, whom we’d see again in three days! Don’t forget us! The river is silty—meaning orange, opaque but clean. We glided along silently. Gana showed us the trees, birds, crocodiles (we saw five—apparently, we were lucky). The pirogue men rowed to get us as close as possible to these crocs sunbathing on the roots of big trees. Yeah, right!... as soon as we got too close, *splash*, they disappeared into the water. We marveled at the mini rice fields lining the river. Every tiny plot, no matter how small, is cultivated. Above them, banana fields. And on the water, a whole life of fishermen and villagers living with and from the river. Gana warned us we’d eat on the pirogue because the journey was long. So, I expected chips... But no—fried rice and zebu steak, cooked right in the pirogue!! Incredible! In the middle of the afternoon, we reached a small beach where we disembarked. Gana led us about a hundred meters to a sublime waterfall. We were alone there. We had time to swim. We’d brought our swimsuits and a towel (bought at the Carrefour in Antsirabe on Faly’s wise advice!). This swim in this paradise-like spot remains one of our best memories. We found our pirogue again and set off until our first bivouac. We’d sailed for 7 hours today. The tents were set up on a wide beach, without a single tree. A moment of solitude... Uh, where can we go to the bathroom?... Especially since it was a full moon, so we felt like we were in the spotlight. Anyway... we did as everyone else—walked away, dug a hole, and the others turned their backs. A hearty meal on the beach before a comfortable and silent night. The next day, same program, with slightly different landscapes. The gorges widened, the trees were different. But still many colorful birds. Again, we ate on the pirogue: grilled chicken and vegetables. 9 hours of sailing. A similar bivouac. This time, we got it. On the third day, we finished the descent with 5 hours of sailing. So, 7 hours, 9 hours, 5 hours... doing nothing. It might sound boring... but it wasn’t. Like the dirt roads, these were contemplative moments. It glides, it’s calm, relaxing, and there’s a lot of life on this river, animal and human. Contemplation. Suspended time. On arrival, we disembarked at a sort of joyful, bustling river port. Of course, Faly was already there to pick us up.

· The Tsingy de Bemaraha NP (Small and Great) I have vertigo. During my research, several agencies advised me against visiting the Great Tsingy. "Stick to the Small ones," they said. Grrr, no, not what I wanted—we’ve dreamed of this for years! The agency we chose also warned me but didn’t discourage me. So we started with the Small Tsingy, quite close to Bekopaka, guided by Alisha. This forest of sharp limestone rocks is impressive. No vertigo issues here. The day was completed with a short pirogue ride on the Manambolo River and a visit to two caves with pretty formations. The next day, Faly and Alisha drove us to the Great Tsingy (a good hour on a terrible track). Arriving at the park entrance, Alisha equipped us with harnesses, carabiners, and gave us some safety instructions. Faly was also equipped. Wait? He’s coming with us? I quickly understood he was there for me—if I got stuck, he could go back with me, and Philippe could continue with Alisha. A wise precaution that delighted and reassured me. In the end, it was unnecessary since the famous bridge crossing was fully secured by the harness and carabiners. 18 meters on planks, one by one, it didn’t sway too much—I walked looking straight ahead, not a glance down. I even managed to smile in the middle of the crossing—I have a photo to prove it! I was overjoyed! The circuit in the Great Tsingy is a loop, so we didn’t have to cross the bridge again. We climbed to viewpoints offering breathtaking panoramic views. It’s extraordinary, unique, incredible. All this to say that if you have vertigo, don’t hesitate! It’s doable! It’s completely safe and really worth pushing your limits a bit! For those who’ve done treetop adventure courses, it’s similar. Also, no need to be a great athlete—just a bit of agility to climb a few ladders and high steps. Don’t censor yourself! I even had a small regret—the loop was a bit short (about 2 hours). I would’ve liked to continue or even redo it, with less apprehension. Tip: Do the Small Tsingy before the Great ones, or not at all. And if you can only do one, do the Great ones without hesitation.

· Canoeing in the Belo mangrove The Belo sur Mer ecolodge lends small individual canoes for free to go to the mangrove. We left at high tide, paddled for about twenty minutes to reach a fairly sparse forest where we could easily venture in. Very shallow water, crystal clear—we could see the roots of all these trees, schools of tiny fish... It was quite surprising. Until then, I only knew impenetrable, tangled mangroves. Here, nothing like that—we walked through an aquatic forest. We loved this adventure so much we left a bit late. The tide had gone out, and we had to carry our canoes for the last few meters... Of course, the staff came to help (probably laughing silently!). The lodge owners gave all the necessary explanations and lent a waterproof bag for the phone (because yes, it’s worth taking photos!). A very useful precaution—the canoes are small, low in the water, and paddling quickly soaks you. Again, this isn’t just for Tony Estanguet! It didn’t cause us any problems, not even sore muscles the next day. A great experience. It’ll take about 2 hours.

· Isalo NP Big surprise when we saw this huge rocky massif appear on the RN7! A massif of colored sandstone, carved with crevasses giving it a ruined look. Le Relais de la Reine is a little gem cleverly nestled in the heart of these rocks. A small marked trail starts from the garden. We picked up the description at reception and set off. Without a guide, alone following the markers, it took us 2 hours to complete this magnificent little trail, giving us a first glimpse of the massif before the hike the next day. And we enjoyed being completely alone for this walk. It’s free, easy, and well-signposted. Don’t miss it. In the evening, Faly took us to the so-called Isalo Window site—a hole in a wall through which we could see the sunset. We met all the tourists in the area here. We weren’t blown away by the show... The next day, we left early to reach the start of the hike. We met Zozoly at the guides’ office in the small town of Ranohira. During this hike, we climbed through the rocks to a viewpoint offering stunning 360° views of the massif. Then we reached a site called the "natural pool," breathtakingly beautiful, especially since we were alone again. A sort of oasis, a cascading waterfall, palm trees and tree ferns, fine sand, all nestled at the bottom of a small canyon. Paradise-like. We resisted swimming, but it was really tempting. A long walk on the plateaus then led us to a well-equipped picnic site where a local team prepared grills. Concrete tables were tiered in a spacious, shady clearing where a whole family of ring-tailed lemurs frolicked. They knew the tourists’ habits and tried to snatch food. Playful and not very shy, they amused us with their antics! We had to resist not luring them with a piece of banana!! Thousands of photos!! After the meal, we set off again with Zozoly for another landscape. This time, we were by a small river at the bottom of a canyon with high walls covered in vegetation. The trail was narrow and slippery, on a ledge of the wall. We progressed carefully. No danger, though. We first reached the Blue Pool, which only turns blue in photos (surprise!), then the Black Pool fed by a shower of waterfalls. Two magnificent spots that showed us a completely different aspect of the massif.

· Anja Reserve This ficus forest is home to many groups of lemurs. Used to humans, whom they don’t fear, they move around us, ignoring us completely. It’s almost annoying... The best place on our trip to see lemurs.

· The FCE train To the great regret of Manakara’s inhabitants, the FCE train hasn’t reached here for over a year and a half. As a result, there are far fewer tourists—the train was part of the experience. We drove there and didn’t regret coming to this port on the east coast.

· Visit to a Tanala village This visit wasn’t part of our program—it was added by the agency to compensate for the train not running. Which was the case. Not big fans of this kind of visit, where we feel like we’re at a zoo, voyeuristic, lacking authenticity, we followed the local guide with some skepticism and exchanged dubious looks. And yet... the guide’s explanations about village life and the warm, smiling welcome from the villagers charmed us and dispelled all our concerns. We learned a lot, met smiling families, and were able to enter these beautiful bamboo houses. A very pleasant surprise, rich in lessons.

· The Pangalanes Canal Arriving in Manakara, we crossed a bridge overlooking the Pangalanes Canal. A cry of surprise: the water is turquoise! We took a short pirogue ride with a team of three pirogue men and Joël, a local guide who explained the drama caused by the train’s halt. We stopped in a fishing village where Joël bought fish for the barbecue. We ended up on a beach where the team prepared the meal while we went to watch the fishermen return on the nearby beach. We admired the fishermen’s dexterity in untangling their nets, sorting their fish, cleaning their gear. On our return, we found a small table set up on the beach, in the shade of palm trees and casuarinas. Lobsters, captain fish, grilled vegetables, sautéed potatoes. A real feast (included in the trip cost).

· Ranomafana NP A 4-5 hour hike (some climbing) in a dense secondary forest to look for lemurs. As usual, we were accompanied by a local guide who, while waiting to find our furry friends, gave us lots of info on the vegetation, birds, and Tanala ethnic rituals. In the forest, we met 4 or 5 trackers, armed with radios to alert guides of their findings. In the end, we saw several lemurs of different types. Quite far, quite high... A nice complement to our lemur encounters in Isalo. Here, it rains 200 days a year. We started the hike in thick fog, but the forest’s density protected us from the humidity. Be careful—it can be a bit frustrating to see the lemurs so far away, so high. Nothing like the Anja Reserve or Isalo NP. Here, what’s fun is the hunt.

· The baobabs We were captivated by these kings of the forest, noble, imposing, majestic. We spotted them from very far away, towering over the rest of the vegetation. Alone, in small groups, or in forests, our trip allowed us to see hundreds of them! Mainly on the west coast. All different—bald, hairy, shaggy, short and stout, tall and thin, like Laurel and Hardy. Philippe took to naming them. Respectfully!

OUR FAVORITES: · The variety of landscapes. · The Tsingy NP.

OUR DISAPPOINTMENTS: · The Avenue of the Baobabs, very overrated and the only place where we saw crowds. We saw many other "forests" of baobabs that were much more impressive. · It’s hard to approach the population calmly as swarms of children run up as soon as we arrive, asking for sweets. Without any aggression, their smiles and laughter quickly made us forget this small inconvenience. We never gave out candy, clothes, or money. We left pens at a school and clothes with Faly.

IF WE WERE TO DO IT AGAIN: · Same period, same duration, same pace, same itinerary, but if we were to do it again today, I’d go through Faly directly! · Maybe we should’ve stayed in Ambalavao instead of Fianarantsoa. · Plan a longer loop in the Great Tsingy—it felt a bit too short.

MISCELLANEOUS: The welcome: ‘Samala Vazaha,’ there are many, many kids, sometimes overwhelming, never aggressive. We were impressed by the villagers’ smiles and good humor, towards us or even among themselves—laughter was everywhere. Safety: No problems. Out of (excessive?) caution, we spread all our money across several bags that we padlocked whenever we left the hotel. Bribes: We were stopped several times on the road by police or gendarmes. They checked our papers, sometimes our passports. Faly was perfectly in order. No discussion, no bribes, a cordial greeting from the officers. However, several times we found ourselves at small "tolls" on the tracks for villagers who had leveled the road or filled a hole, or for the young guy who ran through the river to show the way... Faly complied without discussion: every service deserves a small bill. Language: French is still widely spoken. Credit card: Unused. Cash: You need it! The climate at this time: Ideal—blue skies, sunshine, and mild temperatures (20-25°C) throughout our trip. Temperatures started to drop by our departure—winter was setting in. Clothing: T-shirt or polo and a vest sometimes in the evening, sandals on our feet, hiking shoes for all the hikes. Tip: We left a bag in the car (completely safe) with things we didn’t need daily and dirty laundry. The two bags to take out at each stop were much lighter. Before leaving, we left several polos and T-shirts with Faly, which, once washed, will make a few people happy. Tourist crowds at this time: Low—we were sometimes the only guests at the hotel. Faly explained that at the Isalo picnic site, in high season, you have to queue for a table, whereas we had our pick. Photos: Lots! Too many! That’s the problem with digital—we take so many! Health issues: Nothing serious, just the usual mild traveler’s diarrhea. Mosquitoes: They’re voracious. We took anti-malaria treatment. I’m still not sure if it was the right thing to do... I’m always very skeptical about such precautions. Internet: Free Wi-Fi at the lodges’ reception (except at Hôtel Kanto!), sometimes (rarely) in the bungalows. Phone: We didn’t try to get a local SIM card—the evening Wi-Fi was enough for us to make calls and send messages via WhatsApp. Make sure to turn off mobile data and switch to airplane mode (I activated it a bit late—received calls, spam ones at that, were charged...). Electricity: French plugs. Personal purchases: Beautiful wooden objects (sculptures and marquetry) or zebu horn items in Ambositra. 1 kg of vanilla (400,000 Ar – 80 € per kg) in Tana.

IN CONCLUSION: A trip of contemplation. A pause for admiration, as our local guide in Isalo NP said. Nothing else to do but walk, look, and enjoy. Here, there are no old stones, no museums—it’s a trip where nature reigns supreme. And what nature!

Before I begin, I’d like to thank Michèle Buisson and her "Misha’s travel journals," which really helped me plan this trip. It’s tough to find information about this part of India, which is quite different from the "more traditional India." I’m so grateful to her for introducing me to a family who hosted me for 4 nights and 3 days. I can’t wait to return the favor and welcome you all to my place in early July!

Thursday, March 20th. The alarm goes off super early, but I’m already awake—I was too worried I’d sleep through it. I leave the house at 4:00 AM. The rain has stopped, and at this hour, there aren’t many trucks on the road. I arrive at Barcelona Airport easily by 6:20 AM, let the valet know I’m there, and he quickly picks up my car. This time, I’m flying with Etihad Airways again. I booked the ticket during my trip to Cambodia: Barcelona/Kolkata, Delhi/Barcelona for 567 €. At that price, I didn’t hesitate for long—I knew I had to take it. And I’m glad I did because, by the time I returned, the price had gone up to 700 €. I can already hear the reactions: "Wow, how’d you get a ticket for that price? What site did you use? You’re amazing, MarieJo!" One thing’s for sure—I’m really happy with this deal. The flights from Barcelona to Abu Dhabi and Abu Dhabi to Kolkata go smoothly, and we arrive on time at 2:55 AM. There aren’t many people at immigration, so I get through quickly. My luggage isn’t on the carousel yet. After collecting my bag, I check in for my next flight with IndiGo, a 5:40 AM flight to Guwahati, arriving at 7:00 AM. I’m starting to feel pretty tired, so I take a taxi from the airport to Gruham Sojourn Homestay. The house is upstairs, and the neighborhood seems quiet, with restaurants lining the street. The room won’t be ready until 10:00 AM, so I rest on the bench in the meantime. Once in the room, I take a shower—it really helps me feel refreshed. I need to exchange some euros, so I look up a nearby exchange bureau on Google and head out to find it. I locate it easily, and the staff are super friendly. I get a great rate (1 € = 90 INR). I wander around the neighborhood. The train station isn’t far, and small markets line the streets. I head back to my area, walking along the main avenue. About 500 meters from my street, I discover a museum. The visit is fascinating—I see the famous Majuli masks, among other things.



I’m not far from the Brahmaputra River, and the temptation to visit is too strong to resist. I’d hoped to find a promenade along the river, but that doesn’t exist here. I walk back calmly and notice several restaurants in my street. On the doorstep of my accommodation, I spot a pastry shop with cakes that look more like the ones we have in France than the typical ones here in India. A visit is a must, and I’m not disappointed!



Tonight, I’m dining at a restaurant in the street. The menu is a bit disappointing—burgers, pizzas, pasta—nothing very Indian. So, I’ll go with tomato pasta.

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

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

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

I had a market overdose.

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

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

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

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

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

See? The digressions are starting already. Forgive me.

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