Results for "Nice+et+camping+|+127"

Bonjour! à tous(tes)

Je suis à planifier un voyage en France de 2 semaines en septembre. Ma première idée était 1 semaine à Paris et 1 semaine en Val de Loire pour les châteaux.

Maintenant, en naviguant sur Internet, nous serions intéressés par le Mont St-Michel et les alentours. Pensez-vous que 4 jours pour les châteaux seraient suffisants, même si nous n'aimons pas trop être à la course? 4 ou 5 châteaux parmi les plus visités feraient notre bonheur.

En cette période de l'année, début septembre, pensez-vous qu'il faille réserver à l'avance pour les auberges ou gites en Bretagne et Loire? A Paris, nous réserverons d'avance.

Merci pour les avis et suggestions... j'aurai sûrement d'autres questions.

Bonjour,

Je souhaite visiter le Yellowstone en septembre prochain, mais j'ai +/- 15 jours à prévoir => J'ai déjà fait un circuit SF-Yosemite-Death valley-Gd canyon-Monument valley-Bryce-LV => Je pense prévoir 4 jours au Yellowstone, il reste donc 10 bonnes journées pour le reste !

Je sollicite donc des idées "à voir/à faire" dans cette région au mois de septembre, en espérant ne pas "revoir" +/- les mêmes choses que mon 1er circuit...

Merci pour votre aide ;-)

Bonjour je pense de plus en plus que pour nos 2 semaines en aout nous allons louer une voiture (nous sommes 7, dont 3 enfants)

Au dlbut je pensais aller dans la région de Chiang Mai ( l 'année passée nous avons été vers Chiang Rai) mais je pense de plus en plus plutot aller dans la région de Kanchanburi ...

Nous arriverons a l'aéroport de Bamgkok a 18h00 ... Mon soucis est le suivan : si on veux louer une voiture on va devoir l a prendre tout de suite vu qu a Kanchanburi on ne trouve pas de grande enseigne de location . Mais voilà le temps de sortir de l aéroport et de louer une voiture il sera 20h00 et c est tard tout cela :-(

Alors soit on trouve un endroit pas trop loin (max 1h00 de voiture) ou s arreter et se poser le lendemain matin pour repartir ensuite pour notre tour ... soit on pars en Taxi et on loue plus tard ... mais ou louer a votre avis ?

A savoir que le but c est de faire un tour kanchanburi arret chez francois puis descendre en voiture vers le sud...

Ce qui m amène a une deuxième question... Les enfants et mon chéri veulent aller a la mer bien sure ... donc a cette période c est le golf de la Thailande ... mais est ce que les iles ou il y a t il des endroit bonne saison sur le continent ?

merci beaucoup

Cycling Through Provence's Big Climbs

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Day Five: Fréjus to Solliès-Pont – 92 km

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cette rando est la suite logique de notre parcours de la marche du Lac Léman à Briançon de l’été dernier.

Cette année, mon fils a 8 ans. Il portera son duvet en plus de sa gourde et de ses menues affaires.

1er jour : Briançon - Villard Saint Pancrace - Le Lauzin D+ : 450 m, D- : 150 m

Arrivés à Briançon par train de nuit, synchrone avec le mauvais temps : On essaie de jongler avec les averses. Pas facile.

Vers midi, on se met à l’abri dans la très belle chapelle privée du Lauzin, étonnante « folie ». Il pleut. Il pleut.

Finalement, on ne repart pas, because la pluie. On dormira dans le coin.

2ème jour Col des Ayes, Brunissard, Lac de Roue, Bivouac au dessus de Château Queyras. D+ 1295 m, D- : 1205 m

Très belle journée. Comme le lendemain une dépression devrait nous tomber dessus, et que la première journée à été bien courte et bien arrosée, on fait une « longue » journée. Du col des Ayes, on observe des paysages parcourus cet hiver. Bien différents.



3ème jour : Château Queyras, Col Fromage, Ceillac D+ 1045 m D- 965 m

L’idée générale est de se lever tôt, de passer le col Fromage en fin de matinée pour arriver à Ceillac avant la perturbation annoncée en début d’après midi.

On tient globalement notre programme. Vers 10h30, on se prend quelques gouttes. Petites gouttes deviennent plus grosses, et se transforment en neige. Il fait bien froid, et la neige s’accumule. Limite pluie neige à 1900 m. Ça nous change de la journée de la veille, avec un ciel sans nuages !



4ème jour : Col Girardin, Bivouac à la Meire, avant Fouillouse D+ 1295 m, D- 800 m

Belle journée, bien que couverte le matin. On part doucement, assez tard. Les lacs sont très beaux, et on n’y est pas seuls… L’option du départ tardif est la bonne : le col Girardin, très enneigé le matin, passe très bien en milieu d’après midi, le soleil et les passages successifs des randonneurs ayant eu raison de la neige sur le sentier.





Arrivés sur la route en fond de vallée, on s’essaie au Stop. La première voiture nous prend, alors que nous sommes 4, et eux déjà 3 ! Elle nous dépose à la bifurcation de la route vers Fouillouse. On monte un peu vers les ruines de La Meire, qui promettent un bon emplacement de bivouac sur la carte. Bingo : super bivouac.

5ème jour : Larche Via le Col du Vallonnet. D+ : 1080, D- : 1145 m

Encore une « longue journée », mitigée côté météo, avec beaucoup de vent fort. On découvre beaucoup d’Edelweiss en quittant le sentier pour ravitailler en eau.

Après le col du Vallonnet, nous ne prenons pas l’itinéraire classique par le col de Mallemort, mais décidons de passer par le Clos de l’Amant et le plateau de Mallemort. On y trouve un fort retapé en résidence secondaire, avec une vue imprenable. Paysage surprenant sur le plateau de Mallemort, relativement plat et très ouvert. C’est plus long que l’itinéraire classique, mais nous ne regrettons pas notre détour.



6ème jour : Lac du Lauzannier D+ 605 m

Journée de repos après avoir enchaîné quelques journées relativement longues, pour mon fils de 8 ans comme pour nous même. On passe la journée au bord du torrent, pour partir en fin d’après midi bivouaquer au Lac du Lauzannier.

Beau bivouac.





7ème journée : Pas de la Cavale, Col des Fourches, Bousiéyas, bivouac D+ 875 m, D- 1015 m

Quelques trous étonnants derrière le pas de la Cavale. Un bivouac bien sympathique bien que venteux 1 heure au dessus de Bousiéyas.

Ce sera notre dernier bivouac avec notre copain qui nous accompagne depuis Briançon, jusqu’au lendemain soir.









8ème journée : Saint Etienne de Tinée via Saint Dalmas de Selvage D+ 415 m, D- 1400 m

Journée très chaude, belle, où on rencontre les premiers pieds de lavande.



Le gîte de Saint Etienne restera celui que nous ne recommanderons pas : demi pension chère, repas et accueil très moyens, comme le petit déjeuner.

9ème journée. Auron, Col de Blanon, Roya et Bergerie de Sallevielle. D+ : 600 m, D- 1400 m

Pour faire plaisir à mon fils qui adore les machines, nous prenons les remontées mécaniques de Saint Etienne. C’est une erreur : on descend ensuite le long d’une crête malcommode, pour arriver par des pistes de ski à Auron qu’il faut traverser.

Auron, c’est le pire endroit traversée lors de toute notre rando sur le GR5. Je pense qu’il vaut mieux prendre une navette de Saint Etienne menant à Auron, et quitter la station au plus tôt.

Bivouac un peu au dessus de la bergerie de Sallevielle, où nous discutons avec le berger. Du loup, entre autres, qui lui tue quelques moutons chaque semaines. Dans la nuit, une nouvelle attaque de loups aura raison d’un de ses chiens de garde. Grosse pluie de quelques heures à partir du milieu d’après midi.



10ème journée. Refuge de Longon D+ : 845 m, D- 925 m

Lever matinal pour tenter d’échapper à la pluie annoncée en début d’après midi. Nous croisons beaucoup de chamois. Matinée relativement froide, maussade avec du brouillard.

Pluie toute l’après midi, que nous passerons en partie près de la cheminée du refuge. Super accueil.



11ème journée Saint Sauveur de Tinée D+ 60 m, D- 1415 m

Encore une journée annoncée pluvieuse. Et qui le sera. Pluie assez violente et continue à partir de midi. Le village de Roure où nous cassons la croute est superbe. Nuit au gîte à Saint Etienne.

12ème journée : Saint Dalmas via Rimplas D+ 1030 m D- 235 m

Les jours se suivent et se ressemblent : pluie annoncée en début d’après midi, et encore une courte journée pour tenter d’arriver avec de se faire rincer. Très chaud.

Mon fils et moi même sommes malades, comme nous l’avions été la nuit à Longon. Tout bien réfléchi, nous ne digérons vraiment pas bien du tout le fromage au lait cru de la Bergerie de Longon…

Pluie à partir de 15 heures.



13ème journée : Col de Barn, Col de Salèse. D+ : 1365 m, D- 665 m

Notre plus grosse dénivelée de la rando. Qui curieusement passe très bien, alors que nous n’avons rien mangé hier soir, et même « rendus » nos repas précédents.

La forme revient au fur et à mesure de la journée. Nous abandonnons bien vite l’idée du bivouac au bord d’un lac en descendant du Col de Barn : tout le vallon est infesté de moustiques. Ce qui nous pousse à le descendre en entier, et à remonter au col de Salèse.

Journée plus longue que prévu donc, because moustiques.

14ème journée : Le Boréon, Bivouac au lac de Trécolpas. D+ 740m, D- 590 m.

Nous découvrons le Mercantour, et le très beau lac de Trécolpas.

Pour la pluie, ce n’est plus une découverte. Étonnant qu’il n’ait pas plu hier…





15ème journée : Pas des Ladres, Pas du Mont Collomb, Refuge de Nice. D+ 865 m, D- : 820 m.

Lever matinal. La journée, qui devait être belle, se couvre très vite. Beaucoup de chamois. Et les très beaux paysages du Mercantour. Refuge de Nice presque neuf, accueillant. Pluie dans l’après midi, la routine.

16ème journée. Baisse du Basto, Bivouac à proximité du Refuge des Merveilles. D+ : 695 m, D- 795 m.

Beaux paysages, très beaux lacs, chamois, bouquetins. Beaucoup de monde dans la vallée des Merveilles. Après midi maussade, mais correcte.









17 ème journée : Pas du diable, Col de Raus, L’Authion, sommet de Mongiabo. D+ : 835 m, D- 1150 m

Longue journée, très chaude, avec pas mal de distance.

Attention à trouver le seul point d’eau sur le parcours, un peu après l’Authion.

On discute une heure avant l'Authion avec un berger anarchiste.

Le bivouac au sommet de Mongiabo est superbe, avec une très belle vue panoramique. On y voit la mer, les bateaux…







18ème journée : Sospel. D+ : 5 m D- 1465 m.

Journée de repos. On arrive à Sospel à midi. Restau.

Il fait très très chaud, d’autant plus qu’on a perdu beaucoup d’altitude. Nous voici à 400 m après les dernières journées passées le plus souvent au dessus de 2 000 m. Le camping de Sospel est un peu bruyant à cause de sa proximité avec la route.

19ème journée : Col du Razet : D+ 695 m, D- 35m.

Encore une journée de repos.

Je décide de me dégourdir les jambes en partant tôt le matin pour faire un portage d’eau au col du Razet. A la fraiche et à l’ombre, la montée est agréable.

La journée sera ensuite très chaude. On part en fin d’après midi, dans l’idée d’arriver au col le soir. Mais malgré cette précaution, il fait vraiment très chaud dans la montée. Du col, on aperçoit Menton, fin du périple.

20ème jour : Menton, via Castellar : D+ 135 m, D- 1135 m

Dernière étape !

Une nouvelle fois, on se lève tôt, pour marcher à la fraiche. Malgré tout, il fait encore bien chaud, et finalement – comme je m’y attendais – nous préférons passer par Castellar plutôt que de suivre le GR52 jusqu’au bout, ce qui nous évite une dernière remontée.

Finalement, contrairement à ce que j’imaginais, c’est une bonne option. Arrivée à Castellar vers 10h30. On y flâne, y boit un coup. Ensuite, la descente sur Menton est somme toute agréable.

Baignade, glace, restau !





Au final : la rando s’est très bien passée. Malgré une météo capricieuse, avec pas mal de journées pluvieuses, puis en contraste des journées très chaudes en fin de parcours, lorsqu’on est à basse altitude.

Ce furent de bonnes vacances. On est arrivé à Menton une semaine plus tôt que prévu.

Une rando qui me conforte dans mon envie de marcher avec mon fils, même si on ne croise pas beaucoup d’enfants de son age sur les chemins.

Reading an excerpt from "The Art of Boring People by Telling Your Travel Stories" by Matthias Debureaux first made me smile, then got me thinking… Are we "travel-bores" with our travel stories?

"Annoying is the one who, like Ulysses, had a wonderful trip. Because for every silver-tongued storyteller with marvelous tales, how many bores and nuisances… The traveler, drunk on grand images and magical encounters, has only one thing on their mind: pelting us with anecdotes, life lessons, and ideals. They’ll paint the most beautiful and distant Edens… the traveler has an endless pharmacy of stories. But nothing is designed to immunize us against travel tales. We should impose a quarantine on returning travelers. At least a dozen hours in a sobering cell. What’s the point? Months, years later, they’ll never miss an opportunity to reminisce. The evocation of their odyssey is a perpetual fireplace fire."

A provocative text, sure, but isn’t the person telling their travel story doing it mostly for themselves? Just to relive the joy of their trip? At friendly gatherings or with family, we sometimes have to endure the enthusiast… without necessarily sharing their passion for the destination!

The advantage of writing—and also of exchanges on sites like VF—is that only those who want to read a story do so… with the option to skip it anytime!

So, what do you think, authors and fans of travel stories published online?

Jean

P.S.: "The Art of Boring People by Telling Your Travel Stories" by Matthias Debureaux, Éditions Cavatines, 2005 Excerpts read in "The Taste of Travel" Éditions Mercure de France, 2008

P.S.: As a little wink… I still invite you to check out my latest travel story about a trip to the Aeolian Islands… see the story and photos by following this link: http://voyageforum.com/v.f?post=4409520;page=unread#unread

I hope I didn’t "bore" you too much with this story 😉

Bonjour

Nous souhaitons partir deux semaines en Thaïlande (novembre) aux hasard des rencontres sans rien trop planifier ...

Nous aimerions nous poser quelques jours au nord, quelques jours au sud et passer 2/3 jours à Bangkok

Nous cherchons des lieux radicalement éloignés des flux touristiques pour voir un autre visage de la Thailande, avez vous des conseils ?

Notre objectif est avant tout de faire de belles rencontres

Merci pour vos réponses

Bonjour tout le forum, ma question va peut-être vous étonner, mais je voudrais savoir, ayant pour le moment encore le choix, quelle différence y a t'il avec une traversée de nuit pour se rendre en Corse en mai juin, sur le Napoléon Bonaparte ou le Jean Nicoli, question confort des cabines, à priori le Jean Nicoli est plus récent que le Napoléon Bonaparte, mais sachant que le Jean Nicoli est un navire mixte, peut-être cela a t'il une incidence, et lorsqu'ils notent cabine a 4 lits est ce qu'il y a une séparation, car je n'ai pas trouvé sur le net de photos d'intérieur des cabines afin de me rendre compte, et enfin il y a une heure de moins de voyage sur le Napoléon, merci pour vos réponses.

Bonsoir,

y a t'il des personnes qui partent au mois de mai prochain avec croisière de France sur le Sovereign??? Qui a des infos sur la compagnie ainsi que le bateau????

Merci, bon week end!!!!!

Bonjour,

Fin août-début septembre 2011 nous avons 10 jours de vacances. Prévoyons un circuit en Harley en Californie. Aurons donc 8 jours à disposition sur place. Est-ce quelqu'un aurait une proposition de circuit? Je n'ai aucune idée de ce qui est réaliste au niveau des kilomètres journaliers et des heures passées sur la moto.

Merci de votre aide.

Une bikeuse helvétique

Nous sommes nombreux grace a notre statut de ...retraitée-(é-) a avoir plein la tete de projets de voyages....mais pas envie de partir seule-ou seul

Ce rendez vs nous permettra de nous connaitre et de partager nos futurs projets

Lieu et horaire sera fixé ultérieurement

Bonjour,

je souhaiterais savoir si quelqu'un d'entre vous pourrez me montrer le programme idéal, pour découvrir la Floride. Cet état est assez difficile à cerner, car je pense qu'il y a beaucoup de chose à faire, mais par quel bout commencer?

Je voudrais aussi connaître les hôtels bon marché qui se trouve dans cet état.

Merci.

Bonjour à tous! Je suis en train de regarder pour partir à Nashville au mois de juin pour la Fan Fair Des conseils sur des trucs sympas à ne pas manquer? Pour le logement, des hôtels ou bed and breakfast à conseiller? Merci pour vos réponse Sandra

Bonjour à tous!😉

S'il y a des "professionnelles" ds le domaine de la randonnée ou encore des grands voyageurs a travers le monde, je souhaiterai qu'ils me donnent quelques informations Importantes quant au matériel nécessaire et indispensable à avoir afin d'envisager un tour du monde à pied ds des conditions optimales....

Je sais qd meme qu'il me faudra au minimum du materiel de base comme: - une bonne paire de chaussure, voir 2! - tente, duvet, un tapi de sol??, - necessaire de cuisines (réchaud, ptite casserolle, couvert, tasse, gourde...), - des vetements d'hiver, d'ete, chaussette, gant, poncho, k-way.... - carte d'orientation, médicaments, briquet...

Je dois oublié tout plein de choses ou peut etre meme vais-je meme m'encombrer avec certains détails que j'ai énuméré ci dessus?? AIDEZ MOI🙂

c'est la que j'ai besoin de vos précieuses informations qui me permettront de rassembler le materiel afin de partir pour l'automne 2010...

si vous pouviez me donner le maximum d'info sur les medicaments indispensable a prendre, le genre de vetement a se fournir et toutes les choses que j'ai oublié alors j'en serai tres heureux et vous participerez a votre maniere a l'elaboration de mon projet qui me tient tant a coeur!

Bien entendu et je l'ai déjà annoncé a plusieurs reprises sur ce site, je suis toujours a la recherche de compagnons courageux, volontaires et doté d'un mental solide pour que ns pussions partager cette aventure a plusieurs!

Je le redis une fois encore: "TOUR DU MONDE A PIED ET SANS ARGENT"héhéhé et oui!

ou du moins, peut etre juste ce qu'il faut pour les visas mais pour cela on en reparlera qd vous aurez decidé de vs lancez, on mettra sa sur pied quant aux "details" et pas des moindres, relatif a cette belle aventure!!

Pour l'heure je remercie d'avance celles et ceux qui m'accorderont un peu de leur temps pour repondre a mes questions concernant le matériel indispensable et necessaire pour realiser un de mes reves!!

MERCIIIIII BEAUCOUP!😛

bonjour,

juste un post pour raconter ma mesaventure avec un taxi men à Bangkok cette semaine. Nous étions avec des amis prets à partir pour l'aeroport, un taxi s'arrete devant notre hotel et on monte. il roule quelques metres et nous lui rappelons de mettre le METER. il commence à raler et demande 750 baths pour nous amener à l'aeroport!!! mais bien sur !!! on commence bien entendu à se défendre et en instant encore et encore il met le meter en route. de là il commence un long discours comme quoi vu le prix de nos billets d'avions pour venir on pourrait lui donner plus, que vu le prix de notre hotel, que si on paye juste le prix du meter il perd de l'argent, que c'set un taxi de notre hotel donc y a une surtaxe etc etc...il continue son speech plusieurs minutes, on ne lache pas prise.

dela on se rend compte qu'il nous promene, donc on lui redemande gentillement de reprendre la bonne route car la c'est un peu abusé..20 minutes de balade...ensuite apres etre rentré sur la highway, il commence a tomber des cordes et il fait nuit...et là pas culoté il nous dit que non vraiment il faut qu'on change de taxi car il va vraiment perdre de l argent!! en gros il nous menace de nous lacher sur la route avec nos bagages !! alors là on hausse le ton sérieusement. Monsieur n'est pas content mais finira pour nous amener à l'aeroport en roulant comme un fou alors que c'est le déluge!

Au moment de descendre il me demande en plus de la course 100 baths de frais pour le dépot à l'aeroport, là s'en est trop..je lui donne les 300 baths indiqués par le meter en lui disant que vu son comportement depuis le début de la course il n'aura rien d autre et que si il le faut je prends son numero de taxi et vais voir la police. Ils nous laisse sortir sous la pluie battante, ( il s'était bien mis pour qu'on se fasse tremper à l'écart de la zone de dépose habituelle) et nous fait sortir. Un de nous reste ds le taxi en attendant qu'il ouvre le coffre ce que ce cher monsieur fait au bout de quelques instants histoire qu'on prenne une bonne sauce!!! on recupere donc nos sacs tout tremper et de rage on part en lui laissant les portes et le coffre ouvert (je sais c'est pas sympa mais là c'était vraiment de l'abus de sa part!!!).

il est sorti furax en hurlant des F*CK et autres noms d oiseaux...

heureusement ils ne sont pas tous comme cela, mais là vraiment c'était du grand n'importe quoi. je ne suis pas radine et aurait effecivement laissé un pourboire ce que je fais systematiquement mais là au vue de son arrogance c'était pas un baths de plus. Je suis juste désolée pour le client suivant qui a du essuyer sa colère!

... ben c'est sympa... puisque ça me permet de vous faire un coucou depuis l'holiday inn express de Santa Barbara !

Quelques impressions depuis notre arrivée samedi : Le vol : BMI (Bruxelles-Londres) + Air New Zeland (Londres-Los Angeles) : A l'heure et sans problème.

Le border contrôle : Lui même hyper rapide mais beaucoup de monde donc file d'attente et on nous a "gardé" assis dans l'avion 1/2heure de plus à cause de l'encombrement dans le hall du contrôle...où les agents régulaient finalement assez bien la foule de façon a répartir au mieux les arrivants par vols...

Sheraton aéroport : Une usine

L'aéroport : Une usine mais facile de se repérer et de nombreuses navettes

Avis : Aucune attente à l'heure à laquelle nous nous y sommes rendus (9h30)

Voiture de location : J'avais réservé une routière en attendant d'être sur place pour aviser vu qu'il n'y avait pas grand chose en 4x4 sur le site belge. En bon commerçant le gars nous a proposé un SUV.. et mon mari a dit ok. Nous avons donc hérité d'un PONTIAC TORRENT récent, tout blanc, sièges en cuir... si certains d'entre vous connaissent, je suis preneuse d'avis... On est parti sans la notice, on ne savait même pas quoi mettre comme carburant dedans, on a pas mal cherché pour les boutons aussi.

LE brunch et la visite du QUEEN MARY : Super sympa pour une visite hors du temps. Le brunch est animé par un chanteur de blues/jazz et le buffet se présente sous la forme de "stations" par type de cuisine. La visite du paquebot est très sympa avec des expositions et des parties "promenades".

Cali'fun : Tour de la ville en soirée en français. Le guide était canadien. Parcours sympa qui nous a permis d'aller, outre les traditionnels Berverlu Hills, Bel air et Hollywood boulevard, dans downtown mais aussi à Alverra près de la station où il y avait une fête mexicaine avec des danseuses aux costumes très colorés... très sympa avec le petit marché dans la rue pietonne !

Universal studios VIP tour: Un traitement privilégié pour une visite sans stress et sans les foules. On a apprécié. Côté tournage on n'a pas vu grand chose mais on s'y attendait. En revanche on a pu faire un tour dans des bâtiments où il y a tous les accesoires, la fabrique des décors et les studios d'enregistrement du son. Le tour à un côté "attraction" avec son lot de surprises... mais il est vrai que Universal est aussi ... un parc d'attractions!

Le restaurant YAMASHIRO 😎😎😎: Sur le "top" de la Hollywood Hill. La vue est magnifique et la cuisine délicieuse. Ce n'est pas du "tout japonais" loin de là, mais c'est une cuisine qui dirais-je, accorde les goûts et les saveurs. Ce n'est pas donné mais c'est vraiment très bon . Le service est impeccable et l'expresso est très bon (qui disait que le café n'était pas toujours bon ici ???😉)

L'hotel MAGIC CASTLE : J'avais réservé au HOLLYWOOD HILL HOTEL, juste en dessous du YAMASHIRO mais en arrivant pour le check inn au Magic castle (c'est là que se fait le check inn du HHH) on me dit qu'il y a des problème de plomberie en haut (ptète que finalement il n'étaient pas plein et qu'ils préféraient ne pas le mettre en service avant d'avoir rempli le magic castle). Finalement ce n'est qu'une semi deception car en voyant en bas le petit hotel très bien tenu avec sa mini piscine, je me demandais pourquoi j'étais allée m'embêter à retenir en haut... D'autant plus que le receptionniste se plie en 4, insiste sur le fait que là au je n'aurais eu qu'une vue sur la colline etc.. Il nous propose une chambre plus grande avec tous les snacks gratuits et patati et patata... Donc au final on est contents, on a un grand appartement très calme et le parking est en dessous. Petit déjeuner sympa auprès de la piscine.

Hollywood boulevard au matin : Beaucoup plus cool que l'après midi. Permet de prendre son temps sans être bousculé par la foule... appréciable !

Studios WARNER BROS : Super bien organisé. Là aussi pas de tournage en vue . Plus orienté prod de séries TV et show.

SANTA BARBARA : Charmante bourgade très animée. La balade sur le "Pier" en fin de journée est très agréable. Balade nocturne dans le "vieux quartier" et les rues commerçantes. Accents très "hispaniques" à 2 jours des "olds spanish days". Je ne regrette pas un instant cette étape !

Restaurant PALACE GRILL 😎😎😎: Un restau qui ne paye pas de mine comparé aux accueillantes terrasses "pièges à touristes" de la State street, mais cuisine cajun excellente au son du jazz New orleans... (expresson à éviter...🤪). Il était très bien cotté sur tripadvisor... pas étonnant !

Hotel Holidays inn express VIRGINIA: Un hotel inn à l'espagnole dans un bâtiment ancien (pour els USA); Chambre petite mais jolie déco "espagnole of course". Lits confortables... bon on m'attend pour le petit dej !! A +😎

bonjour à tous

y a t il quelqu un qui part comme nous à ce séjour sur le costa fortuna dans les îles grecques ?

CLAIRE

... à désirer quitter la France? ( En ce qui me concerne pour la ThaÏlande)...nous y sommes nés, nous y avons notre famille, notre travail, nos amis...Un certain confort... Faites part de votre état d'esprit...Discussion ouverte...

pour un tour du monde à vélo beaucoup sont les préparations avant le départ, mais le je crois qu'il faut commencer par investir dans un bon vélo; quels choisir entre vtt ou vtc? quels marques et modèles? merci pour les éventuelles réponses. chiquito1000

Je serai dans la region de zion autour du 30 mai prochain, évidament je veux voir la virgin river narrow. Je me questionne sur le niveau d'eau a cette periode de l'année. Les crues printanieres sont elle fini s'il y a lieu? Le niveau et la temperature de l'eau rent elle difficilement possible ce passage obligé du sud ouest americain.

En juillet, nous aimerions rouler en France, en cyclo-touristes. Nous sommes à la recherche d'une destination qui permettrait de voir plusieurs petits villages, routes et campings accessibles, pour un trajet d'environ 1000 km. (moyenne de 60km par jour). Nous aurions besoin de suggestions. Niveau de difficulté moyen. Merci de prendre le temps de partager avec nous vos sorties. Michèle

Voilà, c'est un très vieux rêve, alors, je ne veux pas me tromper de destination. Je ne veux pas voir que des cailloux... Je ne veux pas non plus faire que du 4x4 Peut être un mix de chameau, rando, et 4x4 ? Merci à tous ceux qui voudront bienn m'aider.

J'espère que cette discussion ne sera pas déplacée dans la rubrique 4x4... (je pense toucher plus de personne ayant eu cette expérience dans cette rubrique-ci.

Je commence donc à faire des devis pour un 4x4 (je compte faire des pistes genre Cathédral Valley à Capitol reef -à mes risques et périls pour l'assurance...-) et je cherche un modèle "haut sur pattes" (high clearance), confortable et spacieux (4 personnes, 4 valises, 4sacs à dos, 1 glacière) et puissant tout de même.

J'ai compris que généralement on a le choix sur le parking du loueur : alors, quel est votre retour sur le modèle choisi et réellement conduit et conviendrait-il à ma recherche ? Merci de préciser le loueur et l'intermédiaire.

Autre question :

En lisant de nombreux post, j'ai vu que le toyota 4runner serait pas mal entre autre ? A quelle catégorie appartient-il ? Chaque loueur a sa manière de présenter les 4x4 et par exemple, il y a un excellent prix chez holidays-auto mais pour un 4x4 intermédiaire type chevrolet équinoxe : est-ce que cette catégorie correspond à ma recherche ? Le Chevrolet trailblazer est-il un modèle supérieur ?

Grand Merci d'avance pour vos réponses !

Ben oui, j'ose 😎😎😎😎 En espérant que j'arrive à concrétiser cette fois !! 🤪🙂

Bonjour à toute la communauté !

J’aimerais savoir ( si quelqu’un de la communauté a déjà fait ce voyage ) quel est l’itinéraire - avec Atlassib – de France jusqu’en Roumanie.

Je vous remercie par avance. Poesis

Bonjour,

Il y a longtemps que j'ai envie de partir en voyage, par contre il n'est pas toujours facile de touver qqn qui a les vacances, l'argent et les mêmes choix de destination que soit. Cet automne, je voudrais partir seul pour 3 semaines(septembre) en France. Ce sera mon premier voyage!

En premier lieu, j'aimerais avoir des informations sur les auberges de jeunesse, plusieurs personne m'ont dit que c'était bien d'autres pas... pour une fille seule, est-ce des endroit sécuritaire pour dormir? est-ce tranquille comme endroits (ou l'ont peut dormir!), et normalement facile d'accès (je ne pense pas louer de voiture). Est ce qu'ils sont non-fumeur? Il y en a à conseiller ou d'autres à éviter. Est ce qu'il est nécessaire de réserver à l'avance. Est ce que les dépots à bagages sont barrés(cadenas)?

Comme itinéraire, Je voudrais aller à Paris (Versailles, Notre-Dame, Louvre et lieu touristique principaux), dans la Loire Chambord, Blois, Angers, Fougere, ensuite retourné a Paris pour prendre le TGV pour aller à Avignon, Nimes, Arles et les Callanques. Si le temps le permet, j'aimerais aussi aller au mont St-Michel. Je suis ouverte à d'autre parcours aussi. Je n'ai pas vraiement les moyens de louer une voiture alors je prendrai le train. Est-il facile de se rendre aux chateaux (chambord, chenonceau) sans voiture? et ce déplacer dans les plus petites ville comme Arles, Nimes et Avignon?

Mes intérêts sont l'histoire et l'art, la nature et la photographie et rencontrer des gens. Le but de se voyage serait de me dépayser, relaxer et connaitre un peu plus sur le pays de mes ancêtres.

Est ce que vous avez des conseil de sécurité à me donner avant de partir? Des endroit à ne pas manquer ou des astuce de voyage. Mon budget serait de 2000$ pour 3 semaines sur place.

Merci à l'avance

Bonjours !

J'ai consulté plusieurs messages dans ce forum concernant les Cinqueterres, mais je n'ai jamais lu explicitement s'il était possible de parcourir le trajet en visitant en une journée à pied.

Idéalement, nous partirions de Bologne (nous sommes logés là-bas) pour la Spezia le plus tôt possible, et je suppose que nous arriverions vers les 10h. Nous prendrions ensuite un train jusqu'au village le plus au Nord et ferions le trajet en visitant les 5 villages par la suite. Nous retournerions finalement à Bologne le soir.

Est-ce réalisable en une journée seulement ???

Merci!

Bonjour à tous,

cet été, je compte traverser la france du nord au sud en partant de la belgique. J'imagine ne pas être le premier à réaliser cette randonnée. 🙂

Je prépare en ce moment mon itinéraire. Si d'aventure, certain(e)s d'entre vous avaient des infos à partager, ce serait très généreux de votre part. Je regretterai de passer à côté de tel ou tel itinéraire ou de commettre des erreurs faciles à éviter... Je suis ouvert à toutes suggestions.... Merci d'avance... 😉

Bonjour,

Je souhaite bénéficier de vos conseils. Je souhaite partir 3 semaines à New York (vol sec départ de Paris) avec mon ami en août 2008. Je préfèrerais prendre un vol direct pour ne pas avoir de souci de transit (genre grève dans les aéroports et rattage de la correspondance). J'ai commencé à regarder les prix : en moyenne min 900 euros par personne pour un aller-retour. J'en ai parlé autour de moi et ces prix me parîssent aberrants !!!!!! C'est quoi le prix "normal" pour cette période ? Faut-il réserver dès maintenant ou vaut-il mieux attendre début janvier ?

Quelles compagnies me conseillez-vous ?

Merci pour votre aide

elina

Bonjour a tous

Voilà nous voudrions faire une croisière "Perle des antilles" cela sera la 1 ere donc tout doit être le plus parfait possible car nous attendons cela depuis longtemps.

La meilleur compagnie Pour profiter des meilleur prix comment faire Nous voudrions visister chaque jour une ile car j'ai regardé un peu le site de Costa et quelque fois il y a plusieurs jours en mer. Biensur j'ai lu vos commentairs mais il y en a tellement et sur des bateaux differents que je suis un peu perdu.

Merci a vous tous

kasa