Results for "Dorat+|+127"

Bonjour gens du voyage,

Je pars m'aventurer 1 année en Asie, beaucoup de personne me parle de problème que je pourrais avoir dans les trains de nuit ( couchettes... j'crois qu'elles sont 2 places!!!) ou dans les bus (même sans couchette). Est-ce que ça craint tant que ça ?? Ou puis-je espérer quelques éxagérations....

Merci..bcp..

Quelqu'un saurait-il combien de temps est-il nécessaire pour relier la Patagonie en bus depuis la frontière bolivienne??? Les transports sont-ils bien développés? Sont-ils hors de prix, tout comme la vie là-bas??? Merci...

Bonjour,

J'aimerais savoir comment faire faire la sieste à un bébé de 5 mois lorsqu'on est en voyage. Par exemple, si on part pour une randonnée d'une journée, où puis-je le coucher, comment va t-il savoir qu'il doit dormir puisqu'il n'est pas dans sa chambre, qu'il fait jour ? Bref, je suis bien embêtée. Merci à tous ceux et celles qui ont des astuces.

Bye

Je voyage routard, mais j'ai la chance, étant agent de voyage, de loger une nuit pour pas trop cher, au Mena House Oberoi à la fin de mon voyage. Est-ce l'arnaque assurée pour négocier une journée excursion Memphis et Dachour à partir de cet endroit ou dois me rendre au Caire absolument pour négocier un taxi pour ces visites? Merci! Quelqu'un a déjà été à cet hôtel par hasard???

Bonjour à tous,

Je serai au Ladakh à partir du 15 juin et je souhaiterais savoir quelles peuvent être les températures nocturnes à cette saison.

Tout ça pour partir avec un sac de couchage adapté.

Merci d'avance,

Didier

bonjour,

je dois partir en corée du sud fin mai. Je suis à le recherche de bons plans pour loger et voyager à 'intérieur du pays pas chers. Avez vous des conseils ?

Concernant les déplacements, quel est le coût de location de véhicules, et le coût des trains ?

Merci

Brice

bonjour,

je viens de découvrir ce site, c'est super! je fais un voyage de 10 mois, plus si je n'ai pas assez de temps, quelle chance!

normalement je devrais arriver au le Népal (via le Tibet) début Octobre 2004, et y rester 3 semaines/un mois. De là récupérer l'Asie Centrale par le Pakistan. Plusieurs questions: comment revenir sur le Kirgystan depuis Islamabad par les voies terrestres pendant la saison d'hiver Novembre/Décembre/Janvier? pensez vous que l'on peux assez facilement rencontrer un autre voyageur (de préférence un homme) sur la route pour na pas entrer seule au Pakistan? Peux-t-on obtenir un visas Pakistanais à Katmandou, et faut il une lettre d'invitation?J'ai plein d'autres question mais plus tard...

merci, Dora.

bonjour tout le monde,

je recherche des détails, des impressions sur les combinés Réunion/maurice proposé par les tours opérator....

est-ce qu'en 5 nuits à la Réunion on a quand même le temps de découvrir un grand nombre de site?

est-ce qq. a déjà testé le combiné proposé par Air Transat (5nuits à la Réunion et 5 nuits à l'île Maurice)? est-ce un bon rapport qualité-prix?

merci d'avance - biz

bonjour

nous partons en 07 à cayo guillermo hotel daiquiri. avez vous des commentaires sur cet hotel

y a t il des excursions a faire, nous partons avec notre fille de 24 mois, que me conseillez vous pour l'avion cela va être long pour elle,

dans l'attente de vous lire

Y aurait-il un ami français pour m, expliquer ce qu'est : un F-1 F-2 etc.... un T-1 T-2 etc... et il y aurait parait-il des M-.....???

Je planifie coqchose du coté de la Martinique mais je suppose que c, est pareil en métropiole....???

Merci à vous...

Memphre

SVP....arrangez-vous pour avoir tous la même réponse....

Salut à tous,

Pouvez vous me renseigner sur le villa bavaro car j'ai lu des critiques vraiement pas rassurantes (mais relativement anciennes)sur cet hôtel.

Est-ce quelqu'un a séjourné récemment dans ce complexe?

D'avance merci

LIONEL

.....clac, fais le verre en tombant par terre.....putain, 8H il faut que je me lève pour aller bosser, l'oeil torve et la bouche collante suite aux verres d'absynthe avalés hier soir, j'essaye de sortir ma jambe retenu par ce drap torsadé autour d'elle.....crac, déchiré...vais me faire engueuler tout à l'heure mais pour l'instant enfouie sous ses couettes, ma douce amie dort encore et même Laika ne bouge pas.....

....vite mon écran, pour saisir les dernières news des copains sur VF et savoir si SUNISABEL est déjà parti ou non....ouh ! ce temps de merde qu'il fait, ciel gris, pluie et apparemment fait froid et aie...! le pied contre la chaise...fait mal, la glace qui me renvoie l'image d'un zombie...mais comment j'arrive encore à charmer toutes ces filles.....peut être un coup de bistouri, là sous les yeux...on verra....

Enfin je m'affale sur ma chaise, face au poster de mon idole, Soisfranc cherbou le fondateur de VF, rallume les petites bougies de l'autel qui lui est dévolu et envoie une pitchenette à ma souris pour rallumer l'écran....je clique sur l'îcone VF et......." impossible d'afficher la page "....pfutt ! mal réveillé, dur le démarrage, tiens il reste un fond d'asbynthe...et hop dans le gosier..eh ! eh ! ils ont bien fait de la recommercialiser.....re clique..." impossible d'afficher la page "...quoi, impossible d'afficher la page ! c'est quoi ces conneries, j'ai besoin de ma dose moi, faut pas déconner....une, deux, trois fois...même message, j'y crois pas...je vais essayer comme Jacky Chan au cinéma si ça continue, mais j'y crois pas..qu'est ce qui se passe.....

Vite, un jean.....je déboule dans le couloir, descends les escaliers et fonce chez Mayann, la petite voisine du dessou, sympa...et jolie comme tout, qui est sur le site également...tiens la porte est ouverte....pas un bruit et ce putain d'orage à l'extérieur...la radio est allumée mais je comprends pas de quoi ils parlent..." Mayann "...c'est bizarre, elle dort quand même pas encore, et en plus avec la porte ouverte, j'enfile le couloir dans lequel en rigolant on a peint le nom des membres de VF avec qui on a le plus d'affinités.....tiens elle a mis un coeur à côté du nom de Loopkin...j'y crois pas, quelle fleur bleue celle là......!

Je pousse la porte de la salle de bains...et là, non pas vrai je rêve...elle a pas fait ça....elle git par terre dans une mare de sang, les poignets ouverts..mais c'est pas vrai, putain réveille toi, Mayann qu'est que tu as foutu...mais qu'est ce que je vais faire moi....et cette radio de merde qui n'arrête pas de tchatcher..mais pour raconter quoi......

Eteindre la radio d'abord....vite la cuisine..mais de quoi ils parlent..

" Suite à nos dernières informations, le fondateur de VF, Soisfranc Cherbou aurait pris la fuite, laissant derrière lui une ardoise de plusieurs millions de dollars suite aux nombreuses escroqueries dont il est l'auteur, on cite le cas de nombreux membres se suicidant suite à cette nouvelle, une Simba qui se serait précipité au zoo et jeté dans la gueule des lions, Loopkin qui se serait allongé sous le transsibérien, Afbé75 en voyage en Zambie et qui se serait jeté sous les pattes d'une horde d'éléphants, Trekkerbeub qui aurait avec ses dernières économies loué un jet pour se jeter sur les montagnes de l'Himalaya, Trans qui se serait injecté par dix fois le vaccin de la fièvre jaune, Sandrineinde qui se serait imolé par le feu, Sunisabel qui serait retourné vivre auprés de sa mère ( sic ! ), Kiki qui serait rentré au couvent, Nancy qui visiterait toujours Angkor depuis trois mois.... et la liste est malheureusement trop longue......."

....c'est pas vrai, j'y crois pas, pas lui, pas Soisfranc, il aurait pas fait ça...c'est pas possible, mais comment je vais faire....j'ai besoin de ma dose chaque jour, ouh...je suis pas bien là, une corde peut être, non ça laisse des traces..et tous les copains qui disparaisent......mais c'est le cauchemar.....

DRIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIG...! fait le réveil...je crois...

" Chéri...t'as encore oublié de faire le café ce matin.....".....ah ! mais.....ce n'était qu'un cauchemar, mais froide la sueur dans le dos là....vite, toujours ce drap.....clique...VF.....ouf....salut les potes, putain j'ai eu peur...et il fait beau...ah ! elle est quand même belle la vie sur VF....

Et si ça arrivait réellement.......

Bonjour,

Nos désirons partir en France avec nos deux enfants de 4 mois et 2 ans pour une période de 4 semaine. Est-ce quìl y a quelquùn qui a vécu une expérience semblable et qui pourrait nous aider à prendre notre décision à savoir si cela est posible. Nous avons peur de Lavion qu est dùne durée de 7 heures, comment va réagir notre garcon de 2 ans... le décalage horaire et l`éloignement de la maison.

Merci pour votre aide à nous décider

This trip had been on my mind for about fifteen years.

But the discomfort of overnight stays, the difficulty of communication, and the prices of the few car rental options kept making me postpone the project.

And then, everything suddenly fell into place—I told myself, it’s time!

The preparations took longer than usual; the destination is still far from mainstream.

A bit of Kazakhstan? Not in the end.

The south or not the south? Yes, in the end.

Pre-book or go with the flow? Only two stops were a leap into the unknown.

To help me find the ideal route, I made great use of this forum (thanks to everyone for patiently answering my questions!), pored over travel journals and blogs (Christian, Jeff), zoomed in on Google Maps and Yandex, and bought the guide published by OunTravela about this destination (the guide has been updated since).

---/---

You’ve got your passport, international driver’s license, bank cards, and euros?

Off we go to Lyon—just one night left before our early morning flight.

Tomorrow night, we’ll be sleeping in Bishkek! (Steak for my partner’s mischievous nephews...)



You’ll find here a post with some practical information.

And here, the version of the travel journal without comments.

---/---

As a supplement, the route track. Not necessarily ultra-accurate since Google has serious gaps for this destination...

From Bishkek to Karakol:



From Karakol to Kochkor:



From Kochkor to Baetov:



From Baetov to Kara-Köl:



From Kara-Köl to Bishkek:

hi there

I’m planning to spend about twenty days in Réunion in November. I’d like to get around using the *car jaune* (2 € per ticket), but from what I’ve heard, it doesn’t cover the whole island. I’m not looking to head toward the ocean and the beautiful beaches—more toward the mountainous landscapes, even if I’ll just be admiring them from below. 😉 Maybe other buses go where I want to go. By the way, are there any relatively easy mountain hikes, and where?

But here’s the most important part: I don’t want to book anything in advance because I don’t know what my itinerary will look like—it’ll change depending on my mood. 3 days here, 5 days there, etc. On top of that, I’d like to arrange half-board stays with locals—not professionals—by approaching them and asking if they’d be willing to host me (overnight stay, breakfast, and dinner) for 30 € to 40 € per day.

What do you think? Does the price seem reasonable? And is it okay to take the initiative and ask Réunionnais directly?

The tourist office in Réunion told me that since November is peak tourist season, I should book without delay. 🤪

For four years in a row, I traveled across Canada for a month and a half each time, relying only on hitchhiking and half-board stays with Canadians who welcomed me (and refused to let me pay them).

If I’d listened to my family and friends, I never would’ve taken the leap—and that adventure remains one of the best experiences of my life.

Thanks for your input!

Hello everyone, We’re heading to Vietnam for 14 nights over the Christmas holidays as a family of four—I haven’t booked anything yet. I’d love your insights on Halong Bay (or Lan Ha Bay). We’re torn between going or not and spending an extra night in Ninh Binh (or somewhere else you’d recommend! Somewhere with a more picturesque vibe) given the late-December weather and cost (which agency do you recommend?). The upside might be that we’ll be there during the low season, so maybe fewer tourists? (Even though it’d be New Year’s Eve night.) Here’s our itinerary: Arrival in Ho Chi Minh City around 1 p.m. 2nd night in HCMC (no time for the Mekong Delta ☹️) Flight to Da Nang 3 nights in Hoi An Bus to Hue, 1 night in Hue City visit, overnight train to Ninh Binh 2 or 3 nights in Ninh Binh? Halong Bay or Lan Ha Bay? 2 nights in Hanoi Departure Thank you so much in advance for your invaluable tips!

“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 everyone, I’m looking for addresses for guesthouses or, even better, houseboats or rafting houses on the River Kwai, between Kanchanaburi and Sangkhlaburi, to spend a few weeks contemplating this beautiful river. Thanks for your suggestions! Premaria

Hi everyone!

Let me introduce us quickly—I’m Matteo (21, originally from Paris, but I’ve been living near the Pyrenees and the Alps for the past 3 years), and my girlfriend Justine (21, grew up in the Alps). We’re starting to get really fed up with being cooped up and sitting in chairs (yep, we’re studying physics and geography at the École Normale Supérieure in Lyon). So, we’re taking a gap year to make a slightly crazy project happen: hitting the road, meeting people, and most importantly—climbing, skiing, and exploring the mountains!

We’ve always been into the mountains: •🧗‍♂️ 6c-7a/b sport climbing, 6b trad •❄️ Skiing and ice climbing (grade 4/5) •🏔️ Alpine climbing in the Alps (Chamonix, Écrins…) and the Pyrenees—I’m training to become a High Mountain Guide

Our project in a nutshell: •Buying a van (or 4x4) converted in British Columbia around September/October 2025. Ideally, we’d go straight to the US to buy the vehicle there (but reselling might be easier if we buy in Canada). •Heading down to the US to climb at legendary spots like Yosemite, Tuolumne (if it’s too hot), Indian Creek, Moab, and Joshua Tree. •Heading back up to the Canadian Rockies around December for skiing, ice climbing, and winter alpine climbing (might be easier to buy skis there). •Selling the vehicle in Canada at the end of the trip (we need to be back in France by early March 2026 because Justine is preparing for the AMM). I’ve already been to the Rockies, but I want to go back in winter for ice climbing. It’ll probably be too cold to sleep in the van, so we’re hoping to find a small cabin, lodge, or chalet (ideally alone or shared to cut costs). Otherwise, we could work for a month or two at a hostel or something to get free accommodation and earn money to rent a place another month just for climbing. •Visa-wise: we’re hoping to get our Working Holiday Visa (WHV) (still waiting for a response) so we can work there during the trip. For the US, we’ll stay as tourists (no work visa—too complicated and expensive). Any feedback on the WHV or differences from a regular work visa would be great. •With our savings (we’re working in mountain huts this summer), we should be able to buy the van. For daily expenses, I’m hoping to tutor online (math and physics). We live pretty simply and resourcefully: we plan to sleep mostly in the van, cook for ourselves, wash in rivers, and make the most of free nature spots. We’re super motivated, pretty well-rounded when it comes to mountain sports, and we’re not afraid to live simply for a year (we’ve got other projects too: biking to Greece with our climbing gear, a trip to Patagonia for alpine climbing).

Questions and advice: Of course, a road trip like this raises a lot of practical questions. This is our first time embarking on an adventure of this scale, so we’d love to hear your experiences and tips. If any of you have done a long van trip in North America or a WHV in Canada, your insights would be incredibly helpful! Here are some of the questions we’ve got: How do we buy (and later sell) a converted van in British Columbia? We’ll probably land in Vancouver. Is it better to look for a vehicle on online classifieds, Facebook groups, or used car dealerships? Are there any pitfalls to avoid when buying? And for selling it a year later, any tips to make it go smoothly (best time to sell, paperwork, etc.)? What budget should we plan for van life in North America and Canada? If you’ve got any info or feedback on the cost of living in a van in Canada/the US, we’d love to hear it. We’re thinking about expenses like gas (a big one, I imagine!), van maintenance, car insurance, possible tolls, campgrounds or paid spots, etc. We’d like to get an idea of a daily or monthly budget so we’re not too tight. In France, we never stay at campgrounds—we prefer being alone or going where we want. Is that possible in the US and Canada? Any tips for saving money (free camping spots, useful apps…) would be great! Visas, borders, and paperwork: We’re hoping to get a WHV for Canada, but in the US, we’ll be on a tourist visa (90 days max with ESTA, I think). Has anyone combined a WHV in Canada with a trip to the US on the same trip? Anything we should know about crossing the border in a van (insurance, customs, how long we’re allowed in the US, etc.)? We want to avoid any administrative hassles, so any advice on this would be super helpful. Route and seasonality for climbing and skiing: We’re thinking of starting climbing in the US around fall 2025 (probably September/October). Is that the right season for Yosemite, Indian Creek, and Moab? Any must-see spots along the way? For winter, we’re aiming for December to March in the Canadian Rockies (Banff, Jasper, Golden…) for skiing and ice climbing. Any tips on ice climbs or major backcountry skiing spots? We’ve got all our climbing, skiing, and alpine gear—should we bring it all or buy some stuff there? Is the “Wilderness Season Pass” for winter in the Rockies worth it? We came across this pass that offers 7 months of unlimited nights in HI mountain hostels in the Rockies. Has anyone here tried it? Are the dorms usually crowded? Working on the road: To fund the trip, we’re planning to work a bit along the way. Any tips for finding work in Canada while traveling (peak seasons at ski resorts, WWOOFing, odd jobs…)? That’s it for our (many) questions 😅! If you’ve done a similar trip—or even just parts of it (van life, climbing tour, winter in Canada…)—we’d love to hear your experiences, or even if you’re in the area and want to share a few days of climbing. All your contacts, advice, and tips will be a huge help.

Thanks in advance! We can’t wait to read your replies and refine our project with your help.

Matteo & Justine

PS: I’m looking for a summer job from August to September, preferably in a mountain hut (extra help, replacements, etc.). If you’ve got any contacts, don’t hesitate! I’ve also posted on another forum about this with my CV and cover letter (DEMANDE dxsdxsdsxdsx - Forum de www.refuges.info).

Hi everyone, I’ve browsed this forum a lot about Ladakh and haven’t found answers to my questions... so here’s my post. I’m heading there next July with a friend for a solid ten days of cycling (no e-bikes) in Ladakh. The flight to Leh is booked for both of us and our bikes. I’ve got my route planned out pretty precisely; the main goal is to climb Umling La, which is currently the world’s highest motorable road at 5,798 m. We’re also planning to tackle 3 or 4 other passes over 5,000 m, including Photila, just next door at a little over 5,500 m.

I’ve read accounts from Europeans saying it’s impossible for foreigners to spend a night in Hanle... that the closest accommodation to the Chinese border would be in Nyoma. What do you think about that?

Also, some say the road between Hanle and Chushul (the one via Tsaga) is off-limits to non-Indians... Is the parallel route, the one via Mahé and Kaksang La (5,400 m), open to foreigners?

Is the road along Pangong Lake (the one through Merak and Man) also off-limits to foreigners?

Thanks for your feedback!

My friend and I are arriving in New Delhi on March 4th at 12:05 AM. Could anyone recommend a decent and affordable hotel? Is 20 € the going rate? Thanks!

Hi! I’m an amateur photographer and I dream of photographing the Venice Carnival. I’m not really much of a partygoer, so I’m wondering how I’d feel at this event—I’m afraid I might feel a bit like an intruder... I know I’m overthinking it since hundreds of photographers go there. How did you feel about it? Thanks!

Hi everyone, We're a family of five: two adults and our three kids (18, 17, and 13 years old). We’ve just bought our flight tickets for Vietnam from August 6th to 26th, 2025. We know it’s not the best month to explore Vietnam, but we don’t have a choice—our vacation is in August! We’ll pack ponchos ;-) I’ve read a lot of blogs online, but I’d love your advice, please: Here’s the itinerary we’re considering: We’ll arrive in Hanoi (2-3 days), and if the weather allows, we’d like to head to Sapa to discover the landscapes, rice terraces, and mountains... (2 days). We’re not planning to book anything (train, hotel, etc.) because we’ll decide based on the weather whether to include this stop or not. Do you think it’s doable to not book anything in Sapa for a family of five? After that, we’re planning to explore Lan Ha Bay and the surrounding areas, Ninh Binh... (4-5 days). I’d love your tips for exploring this area because I’ve read so much that I’m a little overwhelmed... Ideally, we’ll then head down to Hue and Hoi An. We’ll enjoy a few days at the beach (4-5 days). Then Ho Chi Minh City and the Mekong Delta (3-4 days). What do you think of this plan for 21 days? If you know any great spots, guides, etc., I’m all ears! Especially for Lan Ha Bay and the surrounding areas, as well as the Mekong Delta. And of course, any great tips you’d like to share. There’s info scattered around the forums, but I’m struggling to find recent updates. Thanks for taking the time to read this, and thanks to those who help us prepare for this trip! Happy travels to you all ;-) Florence

Come on, let’s give a little shout-out to this stunning country that desperately needs more tourists...

Soon, the Medayin Festival of Ancient Cities in December. It happens every year... It rotates between Ouadane, Tichitt, Oualata, and Chinguetti, where it’ll be this year...

Access is easy by vehicle, and it’s a gorgeous area... Don’t hesitate to ask if you’ve got questions about the region...

Hi there, I’m planning a 3-week trip to Oman this coming November. As I list the different places I’d like to visit, I’m trying to match each one with whether: - a basic sedan is enough - a small SUV with higher ground clearance is really necessary - a 4x4 is absolutely essential.

This is to keep costs down and avoid renting a vehicle that’s too expensive for the whole trip.

Would you have any thoughts on the vehicle choices in the attached file?

Thanks for your insights, and have a great evening! Christophe

October 7, 2023, is a sunny day in Milan. Since morning, in this light, I’m WhatsApping with Afrooz in Tehran, and I decide to call her. A lively, joyful conversation—French with that Farsi accent becomes a wonderful language. Suddenly, everything feels possible. Isfahan, Shiraz, Damavand, Yazd, Yazd, Yazd—a delicious word savored endlessly—become within reach. Iran, so longed for, is finally here. Pure joy, absolute enthusiasm. Six months to plan and relish a trip before living it.

Then I open *Le Monde*.

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

Frozen. Empty. No. We decide to wait, not to give up right away, pretending to believe—just a little, just to keep from collapsing—that with this wretched human race, the worst isn’t necessarily certain. It is.

So... meh, Madeira? The Azores? Uzbekistan (a pale substitute)? New Zealand? Greece. Again, always. Nestling into the only European promise we’ve been given. Indulging in illusions, for the pleasure of it.

So, train from Milan to Ancona (9 AM–12 PM), a typically Marchigiano lunch (Italy is paradise for food lovers), a stroll through the city, then at 4 PM boarding the *Olympic Champion*. Arrival in Patras the next afternoon, car rental, and off to Lepanto—Nafpaktos today—to reminisce about glorious victories and pay tribute to Cervantes, who lost a hand there before writing.

That’s the plan, anyway. The train is unusually on time. The ferry, replaced in the meantime by the *Hellenic Spirit* (why not? Even if it’s less suited to the season), is 3 hours late, then 4, no 5, then finally 6—oh wait, 7. And on top of that, it’s pouring rain in Ancona, and the port waiting room closes at 6 PM. Great...

At 11 PM, the ferry’s lights emerge in the pitch-black night. We jostle through the downpour, board, and sleep well in a cozy cabin with the white noise of the engines. Then:

23 hours of rest. Of forgetting.

Hello tous🙂,

Pour notre voyage d'octobre nous avons cherché une destination accessible facile pour nous et "motivante" (comme le Botswana est inaccessible pour le moment). Après avoir sillonné la Méditerranée et l'Atlantique nord nous avons jeté notre dévolu sur les îles Eoliennes avec comme fil conducteur les volcans.

En gros voici ce que cela pourrait donner, c'est un premier jet:

21/10 vol CDG - Catane puis transfert à Milazzo (Eolian, Eolnet) - nuit Milazzo, où

22/10 Ferry matinal vers Stromboli (6h ou 7h10) - ascension Stromboli fin de journée (Magmatrek) - nuit Stromboli, où ?

23/10 Suite visite Stromboli avec deuxième chance pour l'ascension si pas fait la veille - nuit Stromboli

24/10 Ferry Stromboli - Lipari (7h15 ou 10h15) - visite Lipari - location voiture ou vélo électrique - nuit Lipari où ?

25/10 Excursion Vulcano - horaire ferry ou navette ?

26/10 Ferry - Lipari - Milazzo - location de voiture et on se rapprocherait de l'Etna, où loger ?

27/0 Ascension Etna, Etna 3340 ou ??? - nuit Catane, où?

28/10 Vol à 10h pour la France

C'est serré, mais jouable ?

Est-ce que vous feriez Vulcano en excursion ou vaut-il mieux faire Lipari - Vulcano et dormir à Vulcano pour en repartir le lendemain pour Milazzo ?

Avez-vous un agence à recommander pour le Stromboli (ou c'est Magmatrek la mieux) ? Pareil pour l'ascension de l'Etna ? Lipari louer une voiture bonne idée ?

Comme c'est un plan B je n'ai pas pu faire autant de recherches que d'habitude je suis preneur de tous conseils ou avis.😛

Par avance merci🙂

Ce n’est pas un carnet de voyage. C’est un petit carnet de vacances. Et, peut-être, avez-vous aussi vécu des instants, des heures, des jours, des semaines comme les miennes. Sur place, sans voiture, sans train, sans avion, sans vélo. Enveloppé de joie, de vie, de sourires, de douceur, de tendresse. Un été entre parenthèse.

...

Dans la grange, la deuxième couvée d’hirondelles apprend à voler. Les parents perchés sur la poutre, pépient avec ardeur et les oisillons semblent écouter. Encore quinze jours et c’est l’envol pour l’Afrique.

Dans la maison, notre volière estivale, le silence s’est installé. Enfants et petits-enfant ont migré vers la ville. Un silence si parfait que j’entends Tiko, l’animal favori de Petit Jules. Tiko est un escargot des haies. Sa coquille jaune vif cerclée de fines bandes noires à ne pas confondre avec l’escargot des jardins, arbore un minuscule morceau de sparadrap. J’ai la garde de Tiko jusqu’en Octobre, nouvelles vacances d’automne. Il croque la salade vert tendre et l’infime bruit de ses mandibules fait écho aux touches de mon clavier.

Notre saison s’est achevée sur le spectacle de théâtre, rituel familial. Pour la première fois les enfants étaient les seuls scénaristes et je n’ai fait qu’orchestrer les répétitions. L’affiche était : « Les virus et les médecins » et l’action se déroulait en 1398 durant la peste noire entre le médecin à cape et bec noir et le médecin du futur, 2020. Les cinq plus jeunes étaient des virus et avaient fabriqué de larges masques ronds et colorés avec deux trous pour les yeux, attachés avec de la ficelle. C’étaient Zika, Ebola, chikungunya, variole et covid (corona pour les intimes, dans le texte). Tous les adultes présents, les parents, ont beaucoup ri et la parodie était parfaite sans qu'ils en aient conscience.

La conclusion était qu’il fallait utiliser les moyens connus au moyen âge et ceux d’aujourd’hui et ils ont fabriqué sur scène une poudre de rat malade à boire diluée dans de l’eau. Astucieux ces petits. Zika, Ebola, chikungunya, les virus africains, trépignaient en disant « pour nous aussi, on nous oublie toujours, c’est pas juste »

Bref, quelle longue digression pour vous dire que même dans le monde magique de l’enfance, ceux-ci sont bien marqués par l’épidémie dont on nous remplit le tête et les oreilles. Ils appréhendent la rentrée masquée au collège, craignent de ne pas se reconnaître dans les nouvelles classes constituées et se demandent comment les profs les reconnaîtront. Et des questions fusaient : « Comment on va faire l’hiver, faudra mette le masque par-dessus l’écharpe dans le bus ? » « Et quand il pleut, comment mon masque va tenir quand il est tout mouillé » « Et pourquoi on peut manger tous ensemble à la cantine sans masque, on est tous collés à la cantine » « Et si j’ai pas ma règle, je pourrais prendre celle de ma copine ? » « Et Jules, il a dix ans et il sera au collège avec ceux de 11ans, il sera obligé de mettre le masque ? ».

Ici dans notre Morvan écrasé de chaleur, pourtant, tout l’été nous avons voyagé. Voyage immobile, sans avion, sans test, sans masque, dans les rires, les cris, les cavalcades, un bazar, un souk, un cirque permanent.

Italie : pizza maison (ahhh les pizzas de Papiluc!) Japon : sushi (beurq, c’était pas ma fête) Inde :poulet byriani (tu mets pas du piment hein mamido) Russie : pelmini ( 480 pelmini, 32 mains pour les faire, 6h pour les préparer) Argentine : asado (souvent et pratique) Grèce : moussaka France : ratatouille

Ainsi, les enfants fabriquaient les petits drapeaux correspondants pour décorer la table et les adultes inventaient des mini quizz sur chaque pays.

On s’est bien marré et l’été s’achève.

Notre maison, comme un coeur palpitant depuis mars, où se sont retrouvés toutes les générations, est redevenue silencieuse.

Je me sens remplie et vide. J’crois bien que si l’on approche un doigt sur mes antennes, j’vais rentrer dans ma coquille, comme Tiko. Mais pour l’heure, ce n’est pas le temps de l’hibernation et je ne vais pas fabriquer mon épiphragme protecteur.

On est bien sur vf, chuis en vacances, en vacance. Contente de vous retrouver.

Crouchhhh, crouchhhh, Tiko poursuit son festin.

A bientôt !

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 réserv�� : 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.