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

Bonjour je suis en train de planifier mon voyage pour aller en guadeloupe et j'ai trouve une place ou rester mais j'aimerais savoir si quelqu'un a deja entendu parler de ce bungalow?

le nom est Chez l'habitant c'est en face de Montserrat sur la route d'Antigua. C'est a 1 km de la plage Perle a Rifflet et c'est indique Karukéra l'ile aux belles eaux

SVP j'aimerais savoir si quelqu'un est deja alle la ou entendu parler de ce logement?

Merci

MANIFESTATION POUR ARRETER LA DERIVE TOTALITAIRE AU CAMBODGE

Les Cambodgiens de France et leurs amis de toutes nationalités sont invités à participer à une manifestation pacifique à Paris pour Protester contre la dérive totalitaire au Cambodge Demander la libération du député Cheam Channy Réclamer le rétablissement de l’immunité parlementaire des députés Sam Rainsy, Cheam Channy et Chea Poch Exiger l’arrêt des mesures répressives contre l’opposition démocratique par le biais d’un système judiciaire aux ordres du gouvernement.

Les manifestants demanderont au gouvernement français de veiller au respect des Accords de Paris de 1991 qui garantissent un véritable processus de démocratisation au Cambodge. Ils lanceront un appel à la communauté internationale et à tous les pays donateurs pour aider au renforcement de la démocratie sans laquelle le Cambodge continuera de sombrer dans une pauvreté croissante en dépit d’une aide internationale massive mais mal utilisée à cause de la corruption.

Plus que de charité le Cambodge a besoin de bonne gouvernance. La bonne gouvernance – qui signifie notamment Etat de droit, transparence des décisions publiques, redevabilité des dirigeants envers les représentants élus du peuple, lutte systématique contre la corruption – va de pair avec la démocratie. La démocratie implique nécessairement un système de pouvoirs et contre-pouvoirs, ce qui suppose l’existence d’une opposition forte et vigilante. En cherchant à museler ou à éliminer l’opposition, le gouvernement actuel de Phnom Penh ne fait pas que détruire la démocratie: il encourage et perpétue la corruption, accélère le pillage du Cambodge et prolonge les souffrances du peuple khmer.

TOUS ENSEMBLE ALLONS MANIFESTER

Dimanche 20 février 2005, à 14 heures 30 Place du Trocadéro (Paris 16 ème)

Bonjour tout le monde,

je pars à l'hôtel iberostar bella costa à Varadero le 28/02/05 en voyage de noces, pourriez-vous me dire si c'est un bon choix? On m'a dit que ce n'est pas le plus grand luxe mais que c'est quand même d'un très bon niveau. Si ceux qui y ont été pouvaient me donner quelques renseignements, j'en serais très reconnaissant.

Il paraît aussi que la première semaine du mois de mars est très prisée car les canadiens ont une semaine de congé, est-ce vrai?

(je précise que je n'ai rien contre les canadiens, c'est juste pour savoir si je dois m'attendre à une plage déserte ou bondée....😉)

😏 Départ pour BAYAHIBE est à j-6, je suis donc en train de réfléchir à ce que je vais pouvoir mettre dans mes valises

Qui revient de BAYAHIBE ? quel temps fait il ? comment sont les soirées fraiches ou pas ....

Merci d'avance pour toutes vos réponses

Bonjour à tous,

J'aimerai avoir des avis, connaitre un peu l'experience des personnes ayant déja travaillés pour le club med, l'ambiance, s'il fallait parler plusieur langues etc

MERCI à vous pour tt les réponses que je receverai😉

Allo les voyageurs, 😉

est-ce qu'il y a des gens ici qui sont déja aller travailler dans un Club med ? Comment les employé sont-ils traités? Est-ce de grosses journée? Qu'elle sont les avantage et les désavantge? est-ce un beau trip? Donnez moi vos commentaire aidez-moi dans mon choix de carrière j'ai eu une offre.... Merci beaucoup 😎

Pour completer mon article 'RETour du punta bonita' je voudrais dire que j'ai eu honte d'etre français par rapport au comportement de certain de mes compatriotes . Cet hotel est le moins cher de la plus belle, naturelle REgion de RD . Les dominicains sont chaleureux . La république dominicaine c'est pas le meme niveau de vie .. certains ne l'ont pas compris...Pour ma part excellent sejour jy retournerai..

salut à tous

avec des amis nous partons en république dominicaine au sunscape beach punta cana connaissez vous cet hotel ? est ce que depuis punta cana il ya des visites du pays sans passer par l'hotel mais par des locaux ? style visite du pays, ile de saona etc...pour payer moins cher. ou alors il vaut mieux partie du coté de bayahibe ? merci de vos réponses

Bonjour à tous!😉

Est ce que ça vous dirait de rajouter dans votre signature la destination de vos rêves? Juste pour que l'on sache où vous rêvez d'habiter!

Alan et moi venons de le rajouter dans notre signature, alors ça vous tente?

Bisous Alan et Telma🙂

BONJOUR A TOUS, NOUS AIMERIONS PARTIR EN VACANCES POUR CUBA AVEC LES ENFANTS 11 ET 7 ANS. IL FAUT DIRE QUE NOUS AVONS BEAUCOUP VOYAGER EN TOUT INCLUS MAIS SANS LES ENFANTS. NOUS SOMMES DONC UN PEU INSÉCURES. Y A T-IL QUELQU'UN QUI POURRAIT NOUS CONSEILLER SUR LE CHOIX D'HOTEL. NOUS SOUHAITONS PROFITER PLEINEMENT DE LA MER, NAGER AVEC LES DAUPHINS, FAIRE DE L'APNÉE, CATAMARIN ET PLONGÉ. LES ENFANTS ADORENT JOUER DANS L'EAU . ILSSONT TRÈS ACTIF...NOUS SOUHAITONS ÉGALEMENT AVOIR UN CLUB ENFANTS AVEC DES ACTIVITÉS QUI PUISSENT CONVENIR A LEUR AGE.

MERCI DE VOTRE COLLABORATION!

🙂Bonjour vous tous !

J'aimerais recevoir des infos sur l'hôtel Iberostar Bella Costa, des photos seraient le bienvenue...

Est-ce un bon choix pour 2 gars dans la jeune trentaine cherchant un bel hôtel, service, ambiance de jour comme de nuit et pour la nourriture. Nous partons sur 2 semaines le 15 mai.

Nous hésitons entre le Bella Costa, le Bahia principe et le Tuxpan ???

Merci d'avance !

Ciao 😎

Salut tout le monde !

J'habite Paris, d'ou mon problème : voyager c bien, débourser plus de 200 euros pour un we à Bruxelles ou Amsterdam (ou 300 euros pour Londres même) c moins bien !

Je sais, pour en avoir discuté avec plusieurs personnes et l'avoir régulierement constaté par moi même, que si le prix du transport est généralement attractif (le prix d'un billet de train pour alller en Angleterre, en Allemagne, ou meme encore à l'autre bout de l'Europe comme la Roumanie ou de l'autre cote de l'Atlantique, est souvent dérisoire), le logement sur place incite bien souvent a ne pas rester plus de 2 ou 3 jours (des villes comme londres, paris ou new york atteignant meme les limites du supportable).

C pourquoi je pensais a la creation d'une sorte de plateforme interetudiante (ou pas qu'etudiants d'ailleurs) ou chacun mettrait a disposition son appart, un bout de sa chambre, un sac de couchage, a tout voyageur qui l'aurait contacte ; en echange d'une petite participation de 3 euros par jour, ou d'un pot de confiture, d'un jambon serrano... et bien sur d'une invitation dans le pays d'origine !

Qu'on ne hurle pas tout de suite a l'utopie irrealisable ! Les conditions pour la réalisation de ce genre de projet sont :

1_ si un maximum de gens est au courant, ca fait un maximum de nouveaux lieux a decouvrir.

2_ un lieu unique pour se retrouver et mettre a disposition les differentes adresses.

3_ des gens de plusieurs nationalites differentes (de toute l'europe et d'amérique) ; ce qui induit aussi qu'il faudrait traduire ce genre de projet en plusieurs langues, afin de le rendre accessible à tous.

4_ un esprit "voyageur" qui ne s'encombre pas a l'idee de devoir dormir sur un sol dur et non pas dans une chambre d'hotel ; le respect de l'hote (dans les 2 sens : celui qui recoit et celui qui est recu).

Voila, voila... Je suis tout bouillant d'attendre vos réponses, propositions, contre propositions... et meme les "eh cretin ! mais ca existe deja sur voyagegenialetgratuit.net" !

“When the Whites came to Africa, we had the land and they had the Bible. They taught us to pray with our eyes closed: when we opened them, the Whites had the land and we had the Bible.” Jomo Kenyatta (p.7)

The Maggi cube, an unchallenged hegemony, and so much more

“The hopeless continent,” headlined The Economist, a British magazine, in July 2000 about Africa. Eleven years later, the same magazine headlined “Africa rising” instead. Images of Africa in the prosperous North constantly oscillate between apocalyptic scenarios and enthusiastic projections. A key issue with such images lies in the generalization they entail. If you look at the continent, considerable contrasts emerge depending on space and time. It’s no surprise that a region of the world encompassing such diverse ecological zones, maintaining such varied ties with other continents, comprising nearly fifty nation-states in sub-Saharan Africa alone, and characterized by a great diversity of languages, belief systems, and historical paths, doesn’t share a single destiny.

And yet, for many people outside Africa, as well as for many Africans, the continent constitutes a single entity, defined by criteria such as skin color, a colonial past, poverty, and the art of survival. Until now, these perspectives were generally accompanied by the idea that Africa had to—or should have—followed a single path together, sometimes called development, sometimes modernization, sometimes liberation, then a market economy. None of these paths delivered on their promises.

The two writers Alain Mabanckou and Abdourahman Waberi—one from Congo, the other raised in Djibouti, both long settled in France and now professors at renowned North American universities (Los Angeles, Washington)—have had enough of pessimistic scenarios: “We are aware that Africa is in the world and the world is in Africa. The same goes for all other continents, as our destinies are inextricably linked for better or worse. We refuse to see Africa as a reservoir of misfortunes or a continent cursed by atavistic misfortune and characterized by ethnic conflicts. [...] It’s this passionate flame we wanted to capture in a book [...] a kind of stroll through African cultures, without any demands, each letter of the alphabet leading us to a notion, a practice, a concept, a moment in history, literature, painting, politics, economics, cuisine, etc.” (p.10-11). Africa, they write, is on the verge of “imposing a signature, a style, a way of being in the world and in relation to the rest of the world.” (p.11) To put words to the continent’s diversity and dynamism, the two authors created a “rambling ABC,” a kind of portrait—or more precisely, a mythography—that lets you see and feel the pulse of a vast continent whose cultural power is unfolding before our eyes. Once marginalized or even mocked, the voice and importance of the Continent in global affairs are now undeniable” (p.11), containing over a hundred entries, mostly concise, written in a relaxed and casual style. The optimistic, even exuberant tone is set from the brief introduction. The duo of authors wants to “sing a love song to the cultures of our continent, to its inhabitants past and present, to its exceptional resources and its spectacular globalization despite a certain pollution that still clouds our skies due to the unmatched duration of dictatorships in some of our regions.” (p.12) In doing so, they don’t want to be too distracted by today’s Afewerki-Biya-Bongo-Déby & Co. ...

Of course, you’ll find tributes to great precursors like Frantz Fanon (“[...] it was a love story and admiration that wasn’t dimmed by the four decades separating his birth from ours. Let’s add that we were born while the native of Fort-de-France had left the world’s stage four years earlier, in the prime of life” p.141), Mongo Beti (“You must read and reread Mongo Beti, a genius who used his fame to support often just causes in Africa, like defending oppressed groups. His place is already in History. His oppressors, like the dictators Ahmadou Ahidjo and Paul Biya, can’t compete in the same category” p.64), the Malian Amadou Hampâté Bâ

(“Posterity remembers him mainly as an tireless defender of African cultures. His plea for the collection and preservation of traditional African knowledge remains a major event for all men and women of good will. One day in 1960, at the UNESCO podium, the native of Bandiagara sounded the alarm: ‘[...] Since we’ve admitted that the humanity of each people is the heritage of all humanity, if African traditions aren’t collected in time and written down, they’ll one day be missing from the universal archives of humanity.’” p.51),

Kwame Nkrumah, “one of the founders of Pan-Africanism, father of Ghana’s independence” (p.239), as well as the historian Cheikh Anta Diop, the writer, poet, and politician Aimé Césaire, and the economist and thinker Samir Amin, but also very warm tributes to certain contemporary African intellectuals like Souleymane Bachir Diagne and Achille Mbembe

(“A few years ago, in dominant economic circles, a rumor often resurfaced, usually disguised as a cold and scientifically proven analysis: Africa is useless. It’s a burden for the rest of the human community. With its 2% share in world trade, it would disappear from stock market radars without anyone noticing. So? Maybe it’ll be pulled up by other continents. Wanting to surpass itself is a crazy bet for Africans, they concluded. Arrogant or clueless, President Nicolas Sarkozy declared before an audience of students and teachers at Cheikh Anta Diop University in Dakar: ‘The African man hasn’t entered history enough [...] He only knows the eternal repetition of time marked by the endless repetition of the same gestures and words.’ That was in 2007. For decades, armed only with reason, an intellectual often steps up to debunk prejudices, lazy readings, and dishonest frameworks used as false fronts by those who, like Nicolas Sarkozy or former journalist Stephen Smith, out of ignorance, contempt, or condescension, distort African reality. This intellectual is none other than the historian and political scientist Achille Mbembe. This heir of Frantz Fanon, Amílcar Cabral, Jean-Marc Ela, and Fabien Eboussi-Boulaga was born in 1957 in Cameroon, in the Bassa region. Marked early by the upheavals of a fratricidal war, Achille Mbembe became the guardian of the memory of martyrs. After brilliant studies in Paris, he went on to teach at the best American universities, but the call of the Continent was stronger than anything else. In Dakar, he once directed CODESRIA (Council for the Development of Social Science Research in Africa) before joining the University of the Witwatersrand in Johannesburg, South Africa. Even though the author of *Critique of Black Reason* (Éditions La Découverte, 2015) spends a few months at Duke University in North Carolina, his observation post remains South Africa. From Johannesburg, Achille Mbembe scrutinizes Africa and the whole world. A lucid observer with an elegant and generous pen, Achille Mbembe knows how to blend big and small history: ‘I was born one day in July, as the month was drawing to a close. It was 1957, in that part of Africa recently named ‘Cameroon,’ a memory of the wonder that seized Portuguese sailors in the 15th century when, sailing up the river near Douala, they couldn’t help but note the presence of a multitude of crustaceans, and named it *Rio dos Camarões*, meaning ‘River of Shrimp.’ I grew up in the shadow of this nameless land, since, in a way, the name it bears is only the product of someone else’s astonishment: a lexical mistake, if you will.’ From this mistake or wound, he made leaven, a springboard to compose a rich work, recognized worldwide. To denounce barriers and barbarians too. But that’s not enough. Among his peers in circles of thought and action, Achille Mbembe passionately and consistently defends human dignity and the beauty of the world. In doing so, he fulfills the mission Frantz Fanon entrusted to him.” (p.227-229),

as well as entries dedicated to lesser-known artists and intellectuals, like the French journalist and activist Rokhaya Diallo, daughter of Senegalese and Gambian parents, or the Ethiopian filmmaker Haile Gerima, who has long lived in the United States. Other names from politics, sports, music, art, and literature: Kofi Annan, p.36; Barack Obama, p.243; Thomas Sankara, p.277; Ousmane Sow, p.285; Yambo Ouologuem, p.250; Léopold Sédar Senghor, p.282; Muhammad Ali, p.30; Nuruddin Farah, p.146; Salif Keita, p.203; Ahmadou Kourouma, p.206; Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o, p.236; Winnie Mandela, p.224; Kylian Mbappé, p.226 ...

The authors, who resolutely commit to a “mythography” (p.11) of Africa, also pay special attention to local social movements, cultural events, and aspects of daily life. *Y’en a marre*, “which also meant ‘we’re fed up with sitting on our hands’” (p.320-321), emerged about a decade ago in Senegal as a citizen movement of peaceful resistance and symbolizes, the authors emphasize, the fact that African youth are increasingly fed up “with the political circus deployed in Africa since independence, as our parents would say, ‘since the White man left’...” (p.321). A full entry is dedicated to the Maggi bouillon cube, which has flooded African markets for about forty years and enjoys immense popularity (“It’s everywhere in Africa, from Dakar to Djibouti, and from Tangier to Cape Town. It’s in every pot, every stew. Little hands put it in every sauce, every local or adapted dish. An unchallenged hegemony! You’ll find it in diasporas too. The culinary strolls in Paris, in the [...] neighborhood” p.90). Critics blame it not only for impoverishing the aromatic diversity of local dishes but also for being harmful to health. And yet, “he poorest Africans, those who eat only once a day, a few spoonfuls of white beans and a ball of *foufou*, for example, are the most fervent users of the magic cube.” (p.92-93)

For *fonio*, “the new trendy cereal. [...] From the millet family, fonio is probably the oldest cereal cultivated in West Africa, and mainly in its sub-Saharan part, for millennia. [...] Easy to grow, water-efficient, fonio grows everywhere except on clay soils. Long neglected because it was considered the poor man’s crop, fonio is now a source of pride for the farmers who cultivate it and cherish it like the apple of their eye” (p.156-157), the authors immediately offer a detailed recipe, letting the reader know that “e can’t resist sharing this fonio with chicken recipe from Mali with you:

Ingredients: 1 chicken 3 large ripe red tomatoes 4 tbsp tomato paste 4 large onions 1 garlic clove 1/2 cup oil 2 Maggi cubes or salt 2 large carrots 1 turnip 1 large cabbage 2 large potatoes 1 celery stalk 1 packet pre-cooked fonio 4 okra (or okra powder) salt, pepper

Preparation: 1. Prepare the sauce: wash and cut the chicken. Peel the onions, garlic, and vegetables. 2. In a pot, fry the chicken pieces. 3. Dice the onions, tomatoes, carrots, and turnip very small and add them to the pot. 4. Add the tomato paste, salt, and pepper. 5. Simmer for 15 min, then add 2 L of water and the cooked chicken pieces. 6. Simmer for 30 min, then add the crushed garlic and celery, plus the cabbage cut into 4 and the potatoes cut in half. 7. Prepare the fonio: cover it with warm water, let it rest for 15 min, and cook it over low heat. 8. In a small pot, boil the okra and crush them. 9. Mix the crushed okra with the cooked fonio, then salt. Serve hot.” (p.158-159)

The comedy *Black Mic Mac*, released in French theaters in 1986 and addressing France’s increasingly restrictive immigration policy at the time, also gets an entry, as do *Tintin in the Congo*, the popular comic, and *Jip’s Café* (“[...] a little Africa in the heart of Paris, with passersby stopping to admire the ‘ambianceurs’ on the dance floor or attend the cultural events offered by the place” (p.194), an African establishment in Paris that Alain Mabanckou already immortalized in one of his novels.

The duo of authors also tackles thorny subjects like jihadism (p.119), the Rwandan genocide (p.272), the CFA franc (p.82), and dictatorship (p.110). While the two strike the right tone here, many entries leave a slightly bitter taste. Two examples: why doesn’t the text on Barack Obama mention the great disappointment of many people in Africa, who expected more from the African policy of the first U.S. president with African roots than just occasional warm words? Why do the comments on Winnie Mandela gloss over the fact that she was a highly controversial icon of the anti-apartheid movement due to her involvement in kidnappings, acts of torture, and murders of alleged apartheid collaborators? Instead, there’s a compassion that brings tears to the eyes: “She was often reduced to a secondary role, the wife of a great man” or “When victory came, she didn’t taste its fruits. Divorced, isolated. She would never be a ‘first lady’ in an evening gown, posing before a bed of chrysanthemums. They’d keep her far from the circles of power” (p.224-225). At this point, I would’ve liked the authors to take a slightly more critical stance...

That said, these “weaknesses” (if you can call them that) shouldn’t overshadow the book as a whole. It remains an informative, sometimes very entertaining, and often even original work in its own way.

Book information (the original French and the German translation):

Alain Mabanckou/Abdourahman Waberi. Dictionnaire enjoué des cultures africaines. Fayard, 2019. Alain Mabanckou/Abdourahman Waberi. Der Puls Afrikas. Eine Liebeserklärung von A bis Z. Reclam, 2022.

Hery

Day 1 – December 6

Our decision is our decision. And it’s firm and final. Next winter, our plane will spread its great wings toward the island of Ceylon! "Wait a minute... Ceylon... Ceylon... that name rings a bell, but I can’t quite place it on the globe Grandma gave me for Christmas! Ceylon... Oh right, I’ve got it: Ceylon is the name of my tea!" Exactly. But the name on your pretty tea box is also the one used until 1972 for this island nation, a speck on the Indian Ocean at the southern tip of the Indian subcontinent: Sri Lanka!

For this new adventure, I’m exceptionally leaving my Flo behind, cowardly replaced by a double dose of testosterone. To write the book of this journey with me, I’m bringing along my brother, who’s used to this kind of thing, and... a guest star: My model of resilience. My dad! All aboard! Or rather, all aboard our tuk-tuk! Yes, you read that right: A real tuk-tuk, a little colorful rolling box that putters along at two miles an hour. The idea? Well, Sri Lanka and its winding roads overlooking the vastness of lush nature are tailor-made for this kind of vehicle. And since it’s one of only two countries in the world that allow foreigners to rent and drive these mini speedsters, we’ll be crisscrossing the island in our two-square-meter rolling box. Plus, adopting this mode of transport is a surefire way to connect directly with the locals, who’ll surely be curious to see a foreigner driving their iconic vehicle. Not to mention the... let’s say... spicy anecdotes it might generate. I mean, heading into a subtropical zone with my jet-black dad and his unpredictable digestive flora while deliberately choosing the tuk-tuk as our *only* means of transport? That’s the winning combo for an unforgettable adventure! "More seriously, Dad, Sullivan, I’m already loving the idea of living this adventure together, the three of us—brothers and father..."

So, does the intro to this new adventure get your salivary glands going? Yes? Too bad. Because unfortunately, the program handed out by the lady at the entrance has been slightly... let’s say *crumpled*. Some might even say "scrunched up and nearly tossed in the trash." First, six days ago, as the countdown echoed in us like a call to adventure, Cyclone Ditwah grabbed Sri Lanka, played with it like a rag doll, and left it battered on the ground. The toll is devastating: over a thousand dead, thousands of homes wiped out by relentless rains, roads and railways swallowed by massive mudslides. A country wounded once again, after the civil war, the 2004 tsunami, and the post-Covid economic crisis.

But as if this weather disaster wasn’t enough to shake our unbreakable adventurer spirit, fate decided to mess with us further by cutting our trio down to two. The victim? My brother, violently turned away because of a simple date on his passport that didn’t match the border officials’ expectations. Return to sender!

So now it’s just the two of us allowed to board the Qatar Airways Airbus A380 for this trip. If he were here, Denis Brognart would say, "And in the end, only one remains!" Except I know you’ll be with us, following our adventures! Right?

Hi,

Right now, with the war raging in Iran and affecting all the neighboring countries of the Persian Gulf, many airports are completely closed to all traffic.

Several airlines like Qatar Airways, Emirates, and others have almost completely halted their operations.

Whether in the Middle East or Africa, many travelers are stranded—maybe for a long time... A heartfelt thought for them and the struggles this will cause.

Four months ago, I was in Kenya with a flight booked through Qatar Airways... I can’t even imagine how I’d react if I were stuck there now. ??

Wishing all these travelers courage, patience, and success in making it back home.

...

Doha Airport on October 21, 2025:



...

As I’ve mentioned elsewhere, I inherited my love of travel from my parents and some of my grandparents. A strong passion, but one that was unfortunately limited by our family’s modest resources. Back then, living in northern Alsace, a simple trip to the southern part of the region—with the Wine Route as our destination—felt like an extraordinary journey to a land of plenty for the little boy I was in the late 60s and early 70s. Everything seemed so huge when you were still just a kid. Back then, I was overwhelmed by countless sensations—I was already highly sensitive, with a keen mind and a nose and taste buds that were developing like a pro’s. Which, as I’d later realize, wasn’t always an advantage.



Those magical days always began with a gentle late-spring or midsummer morning. The interior of the white Peugeot 404, license plate 210 LZ 67, had already soaked up the sun before the engine purred to life, and the cabin gave off a scent I could still recognize today—a fragrance I found so pleasant. Back then, I had no idea it was just the smell of warm plastic from the car’s interior. Yes, the scents of the 404 on sunny days became my madeleine de Proust... What’s more, the whole family was unusually cheerful because those moments of relaxation and leisure were rare. Everyone worked, and no one had an easy job or was well paid. Without the *Trente Glorieuses*, these experiences might never have happened.



Once we crossed the canton’s borders, I felt like I was light-years away from my everyday surroundings, and every kilometer plunged me deeper into *terra incognita*. It was thrilling. Far from my so-called "medium-sized" town, wheat fields, cornfields, and cabbage patches stretched out, punctuated by tall poles connected by long wires and topped with vegetation—like giant clotheslines without laundry, where magical beanstalks might grow to touch the sky. Back then, I was still far from tasting their product, which was simply beer. At the time, there was still a significant local hop production. Fun fact: it wasn’t until 2002 that Anglo-Saxon scientists proved hops and cannabis belong to the same biological family.

After the fields, the landscape took another step up as it rolled past the little boy’s eyes, often glued to the windows. First came modest hills, then a succession of rolling slopes that soon formed an unbroken chain. Their 700 meters in altitude felt like Himalayan peaks to me—impressive, inert giants, a whole new world. Gazing at them, an intense emotion welled up somewhere between my stomach and lungs, nearly taking my breath away. What mysteries, what treasures did these heights hold? And then there were the cherries on top—the crowning touch that made the scene even more magical: proud, majestic castles perched on the summits like impassive sentinels. Monuments from the past, yet firmly rooted in the present on their rocky spurs. The little boy’s eyes sparkled—he’d been given a castle for Christmas, complete with battlements, towers, a drawbridge, and fully armed knights. He’d watched and lived *Ivanhoe* on the only French TV channel that existed back then.

Only once did my paternal grandfather join us on one of these trips. A tall, intelligent man with a face that could shift from stern to mischievous, clearly full of humor and charisma. Sadly, his relationship with alcohol had taken a toll on his life and, by extension, those of his loved ones. He had a strong personality—if his boss crossed the line, he wouldn’t hesitate to punch him, which meant he went through a lot of different jobs. Back then, you could quit one job and easily find another. It was quite something to see him in his final stages, hallucinating pink elephants and even drinking perfume when he had nothing else left. The last time I saw him, he’d slipped away from the doctors and nurses while hospitalized in pretty bad shape—at least, I assume his liver was the issue. We were sitting down for a family lunch when the door burst open, and there he stood in his pajamas, eyes twinkling with mischief, clearly pleased with the dramatic entrance. That theatrical moment didn’t spare us from burying him a few months later at the age of 71. One day, my mother told me the family doctor had quietly remarked that it was a shame—with his robust constitution, he could’ve lived to be a hundred. Yes, the family doctor—this was the man who’d come treat you any day, at almost any hour, just for a phone call. It really existed, it’s not a myth!

That day, his wife—my paternal grandmother—was also along for the ride. Everyone agreed that Jeannette was a good woman. She worked as a waitress at *Le Tigre*, the biggest brasserie in town, right in the center. Most customers preferred to be served by her, including local dignitaries and even the mayor. As a kid, I didn’t find her very fun, open, or warm—she seemed a bit stern. Back then, women in their fifties already had the face and build of grandmothers. Same went for men, don’t get me wrong. I had no idea about the struggles she faced because of her husband. I didn’t know that 30 years earlier, she’d had to flee Alsace while pregnant, under threat from Nazi fighter-bombers. I didn’t know she’d had several miscarriages, and that my father—her only surviving child, born prematurely in March 1940 at the other end of France—weighed less than a kilo at birth and was so tiny he could fit in a shoebox. Hard to imagine he’d grow into a strapping man nearly 1.80 meters tall, tipping the scales at 100 kilos. When you come back from summer camp in early August and ask why she didn’t pick you up with your parents, and they gently tell you she’s "in heaven," you don’t realize she passed away at 54 after suffering greatly from stomach cancer that had spread.

Back to that family outing, that enchanted parenthesis. I even remembered where we’d had lunch when I passed through Dambach-la-Ville decades later. One of those charming, flower-filled towns Alsace produces in abundance—and preserves so well. This one sits high on a hill, and I was a bit stunned on the parking lot because the view stretched far, revealing the Alsace plain below—its fields, villages, hills, and forests. The world seemed so vast and enticing that day, even though I was only glimpsing a tiny fraction of it.



The region was already very touristy, but I wouldn’t notice the downsides until much later. That Sunday noon, I discovered a large restaurant filled with diners. I can still see the enormous piece of meat they served me, decorated with a little wooden skewer topped with a flag. I kept that one for a long time. Those were the golden days of rich, flowing, thick sauces—so flavorful—and the era of the world’s best fries, made on the spot with the best potatoes. To top it off, I was *exceptionally* allowed a small bottle of apple juice, Orangina, or—even better if possible—Sinalco. Yes, Sinalco—like Orangina, but better. A brand that must’ve disappeared in the 70s, but why, and what a shame! Since then, Orangina’s little bubbles have taken the brand to the other side of the planet—it’s now Japanese.

Year after year, I’d eagerly await that ecstatic moment when the most beautiful castle in Alsace, the Haut-Koenigsbourg, appeared in my field of vision. The perfect model, the archetype that blended into the landscape at the height of a child’s dreams. The trip home always felt like a reality check—less jarring than an alarm clock, but more diffuse and melancholic. From then on, there was only one wish: *When do we leave again?*

Hi everyone,

I hesitated for a long time before publishing this travel journal since it’s been 8 months now since I left Nisyros. But in the end, I found it too beautiful to keep quiet about. So here we go—I finally got around to writing it. Nisyros is a stunning little Greek island, and luckily, it’s well hidden. Located a good twenty hours by boat from Athens, its distance from the Greek mainland deters most tourists from visiting. That’s what makes it an off-the-beaten-path destination. So much for the general info.



Before diving into the details, I should mention that I visited by bike (despite its severe and constant volcanic elevation) as part of a solo trip from France to Turkey. Why this detail? Because out of the ten countries I crossed and the dozens of sites I saw, Nisyros is one of my top three favorites (along with Pag Island, off-season, in Croatia, and Albania for its overall beauty—stunning natural landscapes and the incredible hospitality of its people). Anyway, welcome to this travel journal dedicated to the lovely little volcanic island of Nisyros…



I arrived one beautiful morning in Mandraki, the island’s main port. The twenty-hour boat ride from Athens went by like a breeze. I slept on the deck for three or four hours, sprawled on a bench that was more or less sheltered from the wind. At this time of year (it’s May 2nd), tourists aren’t exactly flocking here, so the boat was far from full. My first glimpse of Nisyros is classic Greek island scenery: blazing sun, an azure sky, and an even deeper blue sea. The trip is off to a great start. I quickly found a small, out-of-the-way hotel (I’m one of those people who avoids crowds as much as possible when traveling, which is getting harder and harder to do). While everyone else from the boat turned right out of the port toward the center of Mandraki, I went left! My nice little hotel was just a hundred meters away, facing a pretty little Orthodox church whose red color contrasted beautifully with the deep blue sea.



I dropped off my panniers in my room so I could ride light for once, then headed toward the next village: Pali. It’s a small fishing village that apparently comes to life a bit in the summer with a few tourists.



As I pedaled along the dock, I passed right by a guy sitting in a chair in full sun. Unfazed despite the sweat pouring down his forehead, he untangled his fishing net with a precision that commanded respect. I gave him the obligatory kalimera (good morning), but he reacted like a deaf-mute—no response at all. On the other hand, his employee answered me kindly from the trawler docked right next to him. Standing on deck, he was also untangling a mess of nets and invited me aboard to chat. That’s Mohamed.



Communication wasn’t easy since he only spoke Greek and I didn’t, but he was cheerful, and his joy was contagious. He proudly showed off their catch of the day: two beautiful rays and a few brightly colored fish. We chatted like that for about fifteen minutes.



When it was time to hit the road again, I said goodbye to Mohamed, who smiled back. But this time, his boss—still dripping sweat in his chair under the scorching sun—greeted me too. Turns out he wasn’t deaf or mute after all.



I continued along the coast since that’s where most of Nisyros’ beaches are. They start lining up just outside Pali. These are black sand beaches, which can’t hide their volcanic origins.



Yesterday afternoon in Athens, I met Peter and Michelle, a Dutch-French couple, while we were waiting for the ferry to depart. The Greek sailors were on strike, so we ended up waiting about twelve hours before setting off. Anyway, we had plenty of time to chat, and Peter, who’s lived on Tilos—a small island near Nisyros—for about twenty years, told me that many migrants pass through these two islands. Most come from Afghanistan and Syria, fleeing authoritarian regimes and the massacres that come with them. They’re looking for *anywhere* else where the future can’t possibly be worse. Peter explained that you often find their belongings on the local beaches. And sure enough, I didn’t have to look far to spot some—clothes, life jackets…



I glanced around, hoping to see one of them to maybe exchange a few words, but no—no one. I was completely alone.



I got back on my bike and spent the rest of the day wandering aimlessly, just exploring this beautiful part of Nisyros. I also picked up some supplies because tomorrow, I’d be heading inland for two days, deep into its four-kilometer-wide caldera to explore the volcano. I’d be sleeping in a tent, so I needed to stock up on food. After a restful night in a real bed—something rare on this bike trip (and I won’t even mention the shower…)—I finally set off for the volcano (I’ll share details about that charming little hotel with the amazing breakfasts at the end of the journal). To reach Stefanos (the name of the main crater), I had to climb to the top of the caldera. It was hot, and some of the slopes were between 10 and 15%, which is steep, especially with a 54 kg bike. But who cares? I was admiring the scenery, and I have to say, I was surprised by how green it was. The higher I climbed, the more beautiful the vegetation became. It stood out against the blue of the sea, and the landscapes inside the island were truly stunning. So, I stopped every five minutes to take photos. Every now and then, I’d come across cows in the middle of the road—or goats in the trees! They climbed with the agility of monkeys to munch on the leaves. I couldn’t get a photo of them because they’d all scatter before I got close. It was actually the noise they made climbing down that tipped me off to their presence. Two villages sit at the top of the caldera: Emporios and Nikia. I passed the first one without climbing up to it, then continued to the second. And let me tell you, Nikia was love at first sight! I found myself pedaling through tiny streets, some barely wider than my bike with its panniers. The walls were white, and the doors were painted in all sorts of colors—green, blue, red… The streets were empty, and silence reigned. But it wasn’t a dead silence. It was more like the kind you find in small, secret, peaceful places. The village exuded tranquility, calm, and well-being. I leaned my bike—with all its gear—against a wall without locking it. It was the first time on this trip that I’d done that. Sure, its weight made it more like a tank than a bike, so you’d have to be *really* motivated to steal it, but here, for some reason, I felt completely at ease. Maybe it wasn’t the smartest move, but I go a lot by instinct, and here, it felt right. So I left my bike there and went to eat a little farther away, at a small restaurant on the village’s main square. It’s famous all over Greece for the beautiful mosaic that covers and decorates the floor. Once I’d eaten and drunk my fill, I hopped back on my bike, which had waited patiently without running off. And the best part? After riding uphill all morning to reach the top of the caldera, all I had to do now was coast downhill to the volcano. Pure bliss in such breathtaking scenery.

We just spent three weeks in Yunnan. I’ve started writing up a travel journal about the trip.

CORSICA From September 24, 2024 to October 9, 2024 Thank you, thank you, thank you for reactivating my favorite forum, which has given me so many ideas for my trips since... 2008—it’s been ages, as they say! So, to celebrate its return, I’m sharing this little travel journal from our latest road trip, not too long ago, since it was Corsica in the autumn. Autumn is the ideal season to visit Corsica: fewer tourists, perfect temperatures around 25°C, and, most importantly, less stress on the roads. You can feel it everywhere. Servers and shopkeepers are more relaxed and have time to chat (yes, Corsicans do talk... but not all of them!)

09/24 Arrival in Erbalunga Whether you're from northern France or Belgium, like us, the easiest way to reach the Isle of Beauty is by flying from Lille-Lesquin Airport. Volotea offers two destinations: Bastia and Ajaccio. Be careful, though—while the ticket prices are attractive, the airline makes up for it with baggage fees. A 25kg suitcase for 212 €—that really drives up the cost of transportation! For us, it’ll be Bastia. After this short flight and an arrival that lets you clearly see the east coast of Cap Corse, we’re welcomed by our friend Jean-Claude, who’s kindly hosting us for a few days. We met this Corsican and his wife during our four-year stay in French Guiana, and I have to say, he completely changed my opinion of Corsicans and even made me want to visit his island. The house, clinging to the rock above the sea, is stunning and offers a breathtaking view of the island of Elba. I’d always heard of Elba but must admit I wouldn’t have known where to place it before. We’ll stay here for five nights, long enough to explore the north of the island.



Since we’ve just arrived, Jean-Claude wants to show us his village, ERLALUNGA, a quiet little port, and the small village of CASTELLO above it, where he spent a lot of time in his childhood...

Trek solo n°6

On admettra que cette année fut spéciale. Je devais faire la traversée de Majorque en avril et puis... SALUE JE M'APPELLE COVID 19 ET JE VIENS VOUS FAIRE CHIER. Du coup, peu de projets pour cet été, difficile d'estimer les possibilités de voyage à l'étranger, pas très envie non plus de faire circuler cette merde... Alors je me rabats sur mes chères Alpes, ma foi de très bonne qualité. Début juillet, je consulte mon pote David, un normand exilé au pays des montagnes, pour savoir quand il sera chez lui, à Chambéry. Je cale donc un périple fin juillet, de Grenoble à Chambéry, via le massif de la Chartreuse, et en profiterai pour lui rendre visite.

Trajet réservé : départ le 25 juillet en train vers Grenoble, retour le 2 août en bus depuis Chambéry.

Je m'attends pas à quelque chose d'exceptionnel, je sais pas pourquoi. Ça a l'air très joli, mais pas très haut, et pas très sauvage. Mais après ces derniers mois bizarres, ce confinement éprouvant et les longs mois sans nature, un peu de montagne ne peut me faire que du bien. Et au moins, même si la météo n'est pas avec moi, je vais pas crever de froid, pour une fois (les plus hauts sommets sont à 2000m environ).

Après un petit séjour en Normandie natale et quelques trips de Caen, me voici en halte en région parisienne pour faire mon sac, la veille du départ. Ce qui m'inquiète le plus, c'est l'accès à l'eau. Il n'y a pas beaucoup de neige l'hiver (voire pas du tout certaines années), donc très peu de rivières en altitude. Les sources sont pour abreuver les troupeaux et bergers, mais souvent, l'été, elles sont à sec... Je checke quand même les dernières mises à jour des randonneurs sur refuge.info, qui recense tous les abris et les sources, pour voir un peu l'état des lieux. Ça devrait le faire. Je prends quand même 3 gourdes de 75 ml au lieu de 2 habituellement, ce qui me fait au maximum 2,25L d'eau en réserve.

Je blinde mon sac de 50L : 13 kg sans eau. Mh. Je sais pas comment je me démerde pour me retrouver avec autant de poids. Je lis pas mal de carnets de randonneurs qui portent 8 kg. Pourtant, j'ai pas prévu beaucoup de bouffe, peu d'habits, le strict minimum pour l'autonomie... Je comprends pas comment ça peut monter aussi haut pour seulement une semaine, d'ailleurs je me pose la question tous les ans.

Bonjour!

Je reprends donc la main en ouvrant un nouveau sujet.

Où est-ce?



Un indice? Je n'ai pas (encore?) fait de carnet sur ce pays....

À vous de jouer!

Nous sommes à un mois de notre départ et nous ne connaissons pas la destination puisque c'est un voyage mystère que nous avons réservé par l'agence CAP MYSTERE....

Nous avons donc rempli un questionnaire assez détaillé sur notre type de voyage, nos envies , nos budget...

C'est donc un voyage lointain avec une destination au soleil alliant la faune et la flore et hors des sentiers battus.

Nous allons bientôt recevoir le premier indice.

Nous sommes méga surexcités et en ce qui me concerne (moins mon conjoint plus sage) , je ne cesse de chercher les vols possibles avec les éléments que j'ai....

Arghhhh c'est horriblement dure d'attendre.

Bonjour,

Nous partons en Jordanie du 28 janvier au 04 février.

Nous souhaitons aller évidemment à petra, wadi rum et dana.

Que pensez vous de bédouin friends svp ? Pensez vous qu’il est recommandé d’aller à la mer morte à cette période de l'année, c’est à dire malgré qu’on puisse pas se baigner.

Quels sont les incontournables à aqaba svp ?

En vous remerciant par avance

Bonjour à tous,

Je prévois d'aller faire un petit tour au Sénégal (une 12aine de jours) avec mon père et un ami. Pour ma part je connais la région de Saly / lac rose, que j'ai visité il y a 15ans, c'est pourquoi on va se diriger vers st louis cette fois et pourquoi pas faire un crochet vers le fleuve. Le but étant de sortir des itinéraires touristiques classiques quitte à louper les endroits "cartes postales" J'ai du coup plusieurs questions:

Trucs sympa à voir, à faire sur st louis et sa région?

J'aimerai bien organiser une journée (ou1/2 journée) de pêche (pas trop roots car mon père a 75ans) pensez vous qu'il vaut mieux passer par une agence ou voir directement avec les pêcheurs du coin?

Quel quartier de st louis me conseilleriez vous pour poser nos valises? à la fois central, typique et reposant. (oui je sais j'en demande beaucoup!!!)

J'aimerai bien faire un tour (2ou3jours) vers le fleuve dans des endroits moins touristique manière de voir le sénégal profond, que me conseilleriez vous sans faire des heures et des heures de route? J'ai vu Richard toll sur la carte ça me semble pas mal? Combien de temps pensez vous qu'il faut pour faire la boucle en revenant par Louga? A moins que vous ayez une autre région sympa ou aller faire un tour?

Dans la mesure du possible, on aimerait voyager sans guide (je sais qu'au senegal c'est pas tjs facile du moins dans la région de Saly) est ce que c'est pareil dans le Nord?

Je cherche un endroit sympa sur la côte entre st louis et dakar (en évitant les usines à touriste du genre Lompoul) pour passer une nuit, que pensez vous de Mboro? y'a t'il moyen de s'y loger pour la nuit?

Pour le retour je pense rester une paire de jours sur dakar afin d'explorer un peu la capitale avant de rentrer au bercail, quel quartier me conseilleriez vous pour se poser?

Tout ça en sachant que j'ai pas mal voyager un peu partout, dont plusieurs mois Mauritanie-Mali... Que j'aime bien laisser une part d'imprévu au voyage (surtout en afrique)et qu'il y a mon père de 75ans qui ne peut pas avoir un rythme de jeune homme!!! Merci à tous à l'avance pour vos réponses, si vous avez de bonnes adresses je suis preneur.

Coucou les voyageurs, ça gaze 😉 ???

Moi je me remets de mes émotions Marocaines où nous avons fait une petite virée de 7 nuits le mois dernier .

J'ose le dire, après 20 ans de voyage, le Maroc était une 1ere.

Rhooo la la le coup de foudre ! J'avoue qu'on ne s'y attendait pas.

Quasiment pas vu le tourisme de masse que nous imaginions ( bon, merci le Ramadan sans doute 😉) et les sollicitations ont été largement supportables : un sourire, 2 traits d'humour et ils vous lâchent en vous souhaitant la bienvenue (qu'on a entendu 250 fois à peu près).

Bref, globalement on les a trouvé tchatcheurs et sympathiques et les paysages ont juste été époustouflants.

Alors j'avoue que j'ai hésité à venir faire un retour sur VF tellement les carnets de voyages sur le Maroc sont nombreux. Et puis les grands connaisseurs de ce pays, très présents ici, n'ont plus grand chose à découvrir 😉. En même temps j'ai eu un tel coup de foudre que je trouvais bien dommage de ne pas le partager.

Evidemment, en si peu de temps, impossible de tout voir. Nous avons fait le choix de la ruralité et de l'océan 😎.

Je vous emmène donc en image vers Ouarzazate, Taroudant, Tafraoute puis le bord de mer d'Agadir à Essaouira.

Pour le texte ce sera juste quelques anecdotes, surprenantes ou rigolotes, liées aux rencontres faites sur notre route.

Si ça vous dit, à bientôt pour la suite 🙂

Bonjour Nous partons deux semaines au Maroc , nous n'aurons que le smartphone (pas de pc ) n'y connaissant rien je voudrais savoir comment puis je faire pour avoir internet illimité sur ce smartphone pour notre séjour , a un tarif correct Merci d'avance pour vos réponses Bonne journée

Bonjour à tous

Hier, en fin de journée, il m'est arrivé une chose assez inhabituelle.

Un homme d'une quarantaine d'année a sonné à ma porte. Il portait un gros sac à dos, il était assez bien habillé (tenue sportive), il souriait et s'exprimait avec aisance. Il m'a expliqué qu'il voyageait à pied et dormait chez l'habitant. Je n'ai eu aucun doute sur sa bonne foi mais me suis de suite sentie mal à l'aise car je savais que je lui refuserais l'hospitalité. Et j'ai commencé à culpabiliser. Mais au lieu d'abréger la conversation j'ai à tapé la causette, je lui ai conseillé d'aller dans un autre quartier, moins "bourgeois" (c'est idiot je sais mais mes voisins sont du genre à se barricader), j'ai réfléchi à des foyers, j'ai pensé à des copains susceptibles de. Pour l'homme il n'était pas question de dormir dans un foyer, ce n'était pas dans sa façon de voyager, ce n'était pas son trip. Je lui ai dit la vérité, que j'étais seule ce soir là, que j'avais peur. Il a insisté voulant me montrer sa carte d'identité, me disant qu'il se caillait, qu'il allait être obligé de dormir dehors...etc. Puis il est parti. Pas très content. A mon avis il devait galérer depuis un moment.

J'ai repensé à tout ce que je lisais sur le forum. Dormir chez l'habitant, faire du couchsurfing, échanger les maisons...etc. Et dire que je fais partie de ceux qui trouvent ça bien !... Chez les autres ? 😊

Qu'auriez vous fait à ma place ?