Results for "Sacramento+|+3+>+99"

Bonjour a tous et bonne année 2005,

Je viens d'aller chercher les premiers catalogues de voyages et je suis tombé sur la page des maldives et les prix semblent trés intérressant cette année, ce qui me ferais peut etre choisir cette destination a celle que j'avais en tete .

Le hic, c'est que je ne connais pas le type de temps auquel je pourrais m'attendre entre le 25 juillet et le 10 aout (date aux quelles je partirais ).

J'aimerais faire un petit circuit d'une semaine au sri lanka (toute infos me seraient utile)et une semaine aux maldives (ile de vilamendhoo, dans l'atool ari sud).

Les questions première sont :quelle est la météo a cette époque au sri lanka et surtout aux maldives?

Suite au tsunami :est ce que ce coin des maldives a été touché ?n'ayant pas beaucoup de temps pour m'intérréssé aux infos en ce moment, je suis complétement ininformé sur l'état de catastrophe dans les endroits préçis .

Faut-il prévoir un traitement contre la malaria?

J'aurais bien encore quelques questions, mais les principales sont déjà exposées et j'éspère obtenir une réponse .

Merçi a tous .

A+

On vient de se faire piquer 800 USD et tous nos papiers (passeports, visas, CB, vaccins, papiers assurance) lors de la soiree de réveillon d'un hotel 5 étoiles. Le voleur a profite de l'occasion que l'on fêtait la nouvelle année et a guetté un moment d'inattention de notre part pour tout nous piquer...

On est verts et apparemment dans le "pays du sourire" ce cas n'est pas isolé. A Bago des américains se sont tout fait voler dans un temple, a Mandalay des motards déséquilibrent les touristes à vélo pour piquer les sacs..

Bref faites hyper gaffe, la Birmanie c'est lion d'être si "safe" qu'on le dit !

Pour info quand vous perdez vos passeports comme ça, vous êtres bloqués pour 1 à 2 semaines à Yangon pour refaire les papiers...

BE CAREFUL

ET ARRETONS DE DIRE QUE LA BIRMANIE C'EST SAFE !!

j envisage un voyage en juillet au ladakh et j aimerais avoir des renseignements sur le mal des montagnes

je vais sejourner à 3500 m et passer des cols à plus de 5000 m

quels sont les précautions à prendre à ces altitudes?

y a t il des contre indications ?

si l altitude élevée pose des problèmes comment y remedier?

merci pour vos conseils.......😎

Bonjour, je cherche des conseils sur les îles pulo seribu vers Jakarta. babiroussa tu m'en avais parlé (ou si qq d'autre a des infos). Je voudrais y aller passer quelques jours mais certaines sont mieux que d'autres. j'"aimerais plonger o du moins snorkeler.. et puis je voudrais u coin mignon pour passer 2 jours avec mon copain... tranquilles... Sinon sais tu où je dois m'adresser? Sinon oui oui je suis bien au Pasaraya, tu avais raison!!! je vais rester longtemps ici finalement donc je vais suivre tes conseils de cours d'ndonésien... et j'ai été au port aussi... t'avais raison ça craint pas tant que ça.... Tu as ds idées de resto (normes occidentales)? Merci beaucoup!!!!!!

Dans le cadre d'un futur voyage en Afrique du sud, j'ai le projet de passer qq jours au parc du pilanesberg ( Août 2005) . Ce parc est parfois critiqué pour son côté Zoo, qu'en est-il? N'est-il pas surfréquenté(surtout le week-end) car proche de prétoria, à qq heures de jo'burg et à qq km de Sun city ( le center parc local....) . Pour ceux qui sont comme moi des photographes animaliers, que pensez-vous des conditions pour les prises de vues ( richesse faunistique ...) merci pour les infos que vous me transmettrez []

Je suis très intéressée par l'observation des baleines et j'ai entendu dire qu'on pouvait en voir en RD. Je me pose les questions suivantes : est-ce-que ça en vaut la peine ou sont-elles rarissimes ? Est-ce hyper touristique (genre 10 bateaux pour 500m2...) ? Existe-t-il des croisières de plusieurs jours ? Merci d'avance pour vos réponses.

Bonjour à tous,

Quelqu'un saurait-il quelles sont les plus hautes chutes d'eau du monde ?

Jusqu'à présent, j'hésitais toujours entre les chutes Victoria en Zambie et les chutes d'Iguacu en Argentine. Maintenant, voilà que lis que le Salto Angel au Vénézuela est considéré comme les chutes les plus hautes. Je suis un peu perdue 🤪.

Peut-être y a-t-il plusieurs façon de calculer ?

Merci

Bonjour,

je suis rentre du lookea fiesta à punta cana.

Peux de personnne donne des infos sur ce club.

n'hesitez pas je vous repondrais

Bjr

Je pense que sous peu des nouvelles plus précises et plus fiables vont venir de la situation sur place dans les hotels et en génétal

Un vol AF est prévu arivant de Punta Cana en début d'apres midi il y en a un qui a déjà atteri a Londres ce matin a 10h d'autres sont prevus a Londres et Bruxelles dans l'apres midi. Corsair a un vol qui est parti ce matin sur Punta Cana aussi et en aura deux venant de Punta Cana demain.

A suivre donc en espérant des nouvelles pas trop mauvaise pour la RD et les dominicains car actuellement l'information est souvent contradictoire

(source de ces infos horaires des divers aéroports mentionnés)

Bonjour à tous ceux qui liront ce message, celtes ou non!

La civilisation celte, couvrant autrefois des territoires immenses, a été dominée, éteinte.On a voulu l'écraser comme on écrase une cigarrette encore rougeoyante, comme on veut étouffer un feu.Eteinte? C'est ce que l'on croyait mais une étincelle a résisté, et avec une étincelle on peut faire naitre une flamme. Un brasier brûle dans le coeur de milliers de gens aujourd'hui, des celtes!!! Comme chaque année depuis 34 ans, aura bientôt lieu leur grand rassemblement, et vous les verrez, arpenter les rues de Lorient, dansant au son de musiques et d'étranges chants.

De tous les pays celtes il viendront pour le grand Festival Interceltique de Lorient, du 30juillet au 8août. C'est un rendez vous à ne pas manquer. VENEZ

Qq'un serait-il intéressé(é) pour m'accompagner en Australie et NZ en Novembre et Décembre.

J'aimerais également des infos concernant les treks dans ces 2 pays, le camping sauvage ou autre plan éco car après le prix du vol, il ne me restera plus grand chose😛. Je me demande si j'aurais le temps de faire les 2 pays en 2 mois, ça me parait bien juste! Merci d'avance pour les infos!

Bonjour à tous, je suis nouveau je viens juste de m'inscrire. J'ai découvert par hasard le site la semaine dernière. Actuellement je me prépare pour faire un petit tour à velo en bretagne. Je souhaite en faire le tour en partant chez moi la roche sur yon (vendée). Seullement aujourdh'ui je n'ai pas encore de vélo. Je suis sur le point d'en acheter un mais je n'arrive pas à faire mon choix.Mon budget 800 à 900 euros pour le vélo et remorque ou valise en plus. J'ai lu pas mal de discussions très interressantes qui sont à l'opposé du choix que j'allais faire aujourd'hui ou demain, c'est à dire acheter un sportster P2 de chez SCOTT et une petite remorque bob yak.Biensur ce genre de matériel convient pour la bretagne mais si je le souhaite évolutif pour des périples plus important je crains que mon choix ne soit pas judicieux. J'attends toutes les remarques et critiques.Merci d'avances.

WB

16 ans! On dit que c'est un âge bête... 🤪 Voilà bien cette très chère petite fleur qui est là pour nous prouver le contraire!!! 😄 Ne grandit surtout pas trop vite, réalise tes rêves, et que le chemin te soit absolument grandiose, c'est le meilleur que je te souhaite! Encore un très heureux anniversaire!!! 🙂

🙂Salut nous voulons parcourrir la Russie la Mongolie et la Chine afin de réaliser un documentaire.

Jaimerais s'avoir si aux passages frontières nous pouvons avoir des ennuis car nous allons transporter beaucoup de materiels. Nous ne voudrions pas passer pour des espions avec 300 pellicules photos une centaines de k7 mini dv .

Comment cela ce passe ? Les douaniers sont indulgents?

J'aimerais savoir aussi si l'on peut louer une jeep en Mongolie sans chauffeur, et quel en est le prix ?

Enfin peut t'on survoler le lac Baikal en hydravion? quel en est le prix?

Je vous remercis de toutes les informations que vous pourrais me donner .

A bientot!!!😉

Octobre 2003: étudiante en Finlande (Erasmus-cf l'Auberge Espagnole), plus précisément à Rovaniemi, sur le cercle polaire arctique (si si !!), nous avons fin octobre 2003 une semaine de vacances comme en France. mercredi: Avec ma colocataire russe, nous décidons d'aller à Stockholm, en Suède: rapide passage par l'Office de Tourisme de Rovaniemi pour avoir infos sur tarifs de trains et ferry, jeudi: on regarde sur internet les auberges de jeunesse à Stockholm...bingo y'en a 4 au moins...toutefois un peu inquiète je conseille à ma coloc de réserver, mais elle me dit "mais non regarde il reste plein de places, ça changera pas d'ici 2 jours"...hmhmhm vendredi aprem: je décide de me limiter à mon fidèle sac à dos Quechua pour ces 5/6 jours prévus, en + bien sur de mon sac photo !! je bourre donc dedans qqs fringues, produits hygiéniques, bouffe que je veux pas laisser au frigo pendant mon abasence. je prends mes 2 app-photos, et les 5 pellicules qui me restent, damned !! moi qui aodre la photo, dans une ville comme Stockholm ça risque d'e^tre juste !! vendredi soir: filons à la gare à pied (1/2 heure), faisons faire rapidement une carte pour avoir les tarifs étudiants (comme la 12/25 de la SNCF, sauf que là ca coute que 2€, pas 44 !!), puis prenons le billet Rovaniemi-Turku via Tampere, pour 33 € (50% de réduc, et pas de chichi genre "ah mais c période machin dc c que 25%, ou "y(a plus de places a 50%: non ! on est étudiantes donc on a le tarif étudiants, point ! à méditer pour la SNCF !!): 18H, montons dans le train et départ 2 minutes après, on a failli le rater... samedi: 03H45: arrivée à Tampere, changement de train, le suivant pour Turku est à 06H ! et nous devons rester dans le couloir sombre, la gare n'étant pas encore ouverte...un type complétement bourré erre dans le couloir, titubant, on va donc s'enfermer dans les toilettes pour femmes, on a beau être en Finlande, pas de risques inutiles ! lumière bleue étrange dans les toilettes, jamais vu ça ailleurs, paraît que c'est pour empêcher les gens de se shooter ! 05H:la gare ouvre; 06H: montons dans le train pour Turku; 07h50: arrivée; re-cgangement de train, pour aller jusqu'au port: 08h00: arrivée au port, acaht du billet de ferry (pas de cabine, juste un siège sur le pont, 11€, ça va c pas cher la traversée...) et embarquement quasi direct sur le ferry de la compagnie "Viking Line" ! on est bien en Scandinavie, pas de doute !! 08h30: départ 20h00 (heure suédoise, 1h de moins que la finlande donc la même qu'en France): arrivée à Stochholm illuminée, enfin ! + de 24h de voyage, on est crevées... débarquement du ferry puis, plan de la ville en main, on se dirige vers le centre ville; on a du mal à trouver le chemin alors on demande à un groupe de jeunes, qui nous expliquent tout, en anglais bien sûr mais no problem pour comprendre. arrivée devant la 1è AJ où nous trouvons...porte close et cette affiche redoutée: "sorry we are full-booked" !! Damned !! c bien parti ! il en va de même avec les autres AJ...on décide, routardes que nous sommes, de dormir sur un banc à la gare...que nenni ! après douche et toilettes dans la gare (hyper propre et pas cher, serviettes et savon fournis), on s'installe sur un banc et une demi heure + tard a 00h30, on se fait éjecter avec d'autres gens ayant apparamment le même problème que nous ! l'avenue sur laquelle se situe cette CentraleStation est pleine d'hôtels tous + chers les uns que les autres, et en + pas de chambre libre, oups... le dernier hôtel auquel nous demandons, a, miracle !! quelques chambres libres mais vu le prix on en prend qu'une (1000 couronnes soit 150 €...les économies réalisées sur le transport passent là dedans !!): re-damned !! nuit réparatrice et p'tit déj extra à la scandinave, inclus, le lendemain matin. dimanche 12h: devons libérer la chambre; on libère, on paye et on file à l'AJ la + proche réserver pour les 4 nuits suivantes, ouf, 20€ la nuit c mieux ! je préfère ça... et là, c parti pour 4 jours extra à la découverte de la capitale suédoise ! à pied, avec juste mon sac photo et mon pic-nic de la journée... jeudi matin, 05h30: mes bagages prêts de la veille, douchée de la veille également je me lève silenceiusement pour pas réveiller les autres dans le dortoir...ma coloc russe a décidé de rester 3 jours de +, apprenant le suédois depuis 1 an en Russie... je file à la cuisine récupérer ma bouffe; 06h00: je file à la gare pour prendre le bus qui va m'amener jusqu'au port; 06h30: je suis au port, je prends mon billet, et j'embarque sur le ferry. 07h15: départ pour Turku avec escale à Mariehamn dans l'archipel d'Aland entre les 2 pays. 20h15: arrivée en Finlande à Turku (heure Finlandaise) 21h00: départ du train pour Tampere, rencontre avec une jeune finalndaise bossant à Stockholm, allant en Finlande pour les vacances. 23h: arrivée à Tampere, changement de train 01h20: départ du train pour Rovaniemi 0600: je me réveille en sursaut, la porte du compartiment a claqué violemment...n'ayant dormi que 5h en plus de 24h, je vous laisse imaginer dans quel état j'étais ! impossible de me rendormir... le jour se lève un peu plus tard, et à travers la fenêtre tout est blanc, de la neige partout ! 10h00/10h30 : arrivée à Rovaniemi: il fait sacrément froid, ça pince quand je sors... trop fatiguée pour rentrer à pied, et surtout grosse flemme (1/2 heure dans la naige à marcher avec mon gros sac à dos + un autre sac (que j'avais emporté au cas où en prévoyant les achats de souvenirs) plein de souvenirs, + mon sac photo, en étant fatiguée, bref je saute dans un taxi et 15 min + tard je suis de retour dans mon "dormitory", tout ça pour 7 euros !! 11h00: après avoir défait rapidement mes bagages, c à dire à l'arrache, fourgué la bouffe au frigo, et laissé le linge tel quel dans mon sac, la lessaive peut bien attendre le lendemain... je saute dans la douche (pur bonheur après + de 38h... je me jette ensuite sous ma couette et dors jusqu'à 16h ! je me lève, prend mon repas de "midi"; le soir pas faim, je me recouche à 22h après avoir lézardé sur le canapé devant la TV depuis que je suis levée...et je redos jusqu'à 11h le lendemain matin !!!

bref, un voyage extra en Suède, mais petites moralités: 1) prendre moins de bagages (je parles des fringues, mesdemoiselles et mesdames, on le dit jamais assez, les femmes ne voyagent pas léger !) 2) réserver les AJ avant de partir sous peine de devoir se partager le 1er soir une chambre d'hotel a 150€ ! 3) ne pas acheter trop de souvenirs sur place...je sais c'est dur.... allez bon voyage à Stockholm !!!!!!!!

J'ai la possibilité de me rendre pendant 7 à 10 jours au Caire. Pendant cette période, qu'est-il conseillé de voir ? Faut-il rester sur place ou aller dans d'autres villes ? Quels sont les coins sympa pour sortir le soir ?

Merci

bonjour, je compte me rendre au Tibet sans passer par un tour operator, et cherche désespérément des réponses à mes questions que je croyais simples ! depuis Kathmandu, peut-on obtenir le visa chinois + le permis spécial ? à qui s'adresser ? quelle est la durée maxi du "travel permit" et comment le faire rallonger ? qui a des tuyaux pour une agence népalaise ou tibétaine qui proposerait un aller en bus ou 4X4 jusqu'à Lhassa en plusieurs jours ? (sérieuse et pas trop chère bien sur !peut-on circuler librement à Lhasa et dans cette région sans être dans un groupe ? y a t'il des agences tibétaines louant des voitures, qui a des adresses ? peut-on à Lhasa, trouver un transport pour rejoindre le mont Kailash (combien de jours dure le trajet ?) à défaut, une bonne agence de trek ? les routes sont elles praticables en août (mousson ?) et enfin, peut-on acheter un billet d'avion Lhasa-kathmandu si on n'est pas dans un groupe, pour rentrer ? merci à tous ceux qui ont des bons tuyaux et des adresses tibétaines, pour ne pas se faire trop taxer par les chinois! PS, j'ai pour ma part circulé un peu au Népal, en Equateur, au Guatémala, au Mali...si qqun a besoin de renseignements !

Bonjour, si prochainement quelqu un se rendait a Nasca et plus precisement a l aerodrome pour survoler les lignes pourrait-il demander si un particulier peux louer un avion 3 places pour survoler les lignes. Si oui, combien cela coute-t-il?, de quel type d avion s agit-il? Dois-t-on laisser une caution, si oui de combien (liquide ou carte bleu?).

En esperant que quelqu un pourra me renseigner.

Merci

Salut tout le monde! J'envisage dans un proche futur (tout est relatif) un tour du monde en vélo, sur plusieurs années. D'abord décidé pour le bent (ou vélo couché), je me suis ensuite redirigé vers le simple et robuste VTT, qui est surtout beaucoup moins cher... et puis là, je recommence à me poser des questions... Le bent est un vélo qui m'attire par son coté différent, mais en même temps, j'ai peur qu'il soit source de galère, par ce caractère différent justement (vol, regard des autres, mais aussi trouver les pièces de rechange, etc). Et puis je me pose aussi des questions sur la tenue de route et l'équilibre que l'on peut avoir sur tous les terrain (piste défoncée, route mouillée et glissante, pente ou montée très raides, verglas, etc...)

Enfin, je ne sais vers quel produit ni quel marque me diriger... j'ai aussi vu qu'il existait des tricycles... pourquoi pas, mais l'encombrement sur la route doit être beaucoup plus important, en revanche, on gagne encore en aérodynamisme... Encore une chose : Guidon en haut, ou en bas?

Bon, voila, j'espère que vous serez nombreux à me donner vos impressions, ou à me faire part de vos expérience vécues. Que ce soit positif ou négatif, n'hesitez pas, que je puisse peser le pour et le contre...

Voila, c'est tout. Bonne route à tous. Bastoche.

Summer 2022 left me with a sense of unfinished business, so here I am back in Swedish Lapland for summer 2024, ready to attempt the Sarek crossing again—and this time, tackle part of the Kungsleden too.

After much hesitation, my partner Jean Marie and I decided to start with the Kungsleden, which is, from what we’ve read, stunning but very busy (and it really is!!), and finish with the wilder option: SAREK! This park is known as Europe’s last true wilderness—sounds like a dream, right?! The downside of this plan is that there’s no way to resupply in Sarek, and the Kungsleden isn’t exactly set up for long-distance trekking either, so we’ll have to carry a lot of food for the first part of the trip with Sarek in mind. Oh well, we’re motivated!

Our plan is to start in Abisko (the classic route), head to Vakkotavare (also classic, but with some variations to avoid the official trail and the crowds), then continue the Kungsleden from Saltoluokta. Before reaching Aktse, we’ll set off on an east-to-west crossing of Sarek (weather-dependent, since aside from the Skarja hut in the center of the park, there’s no shelter if conditions turn bad). At least we’ll be on the right side of the park to climb Skierfe and enjoy the jaw-dropping view of Rappaladen if we have to bail on Sarek.

All in all, that’s 17 days of trekking, including 1 rest day and 1 buffer day for weather delays.

So if you’re interested, I invite you to follow our fully packed backpacks!

08/03 - Abisko – 5km before Abiskojaure Some info (guides we used for prep, SFT map, sending food to Saltoluokta) 08/04 – 5km before Abiskojaure - on the east shore of Lake Alisjavri 08/05 – East shore of Lake Alisjavri – just before Tjaktja 08/06 – Just before Tjaktja – above the Salka hut via Nallo 08/07 - Salka – just past Singi + side trip to Djalson Lake 08/08 - Singi – Teusajaure 08/09 - Teusajaure - Vakkotavare (end of the first section of the Kungsleden) 08/10 – rest day in Saltoluokta + round trip to the Sámi village of Pietjaure 08/11 – Saltoluokta – Sitojaure 08/12 - Sitojaure - Skierfe - Sarek or no Sarek? 08/13 – Skierfe – somewhere above Rapadalen 08/14 – Somewhere above Rapadalen – above the Skarki hut 08/15 – Above the Skarki hut - Skarja 08/16 – Camping at Skarja 08/17 – Ruohtesvagge 08/18 – Ruohtesvagge - Padjelantaleden 08/19 – Padjelantaleden - Ritsem – End of the trek 08/20–24 - End of the trip (Lullea - Stockholm) And of course, the recap

Day 1 – February 14

We all have two lives. And the second one kicks off the day you realize you only have one, with the determination to spend the time you have left on what truly adds sparkle to your life, Kevin! I like to elegantly introduce a trip with a philosophical quote. First, it gives you the illusion that I’m some kind of deep thinker, and second, it lets me fill up the first few lines of my blank page when I don’t know how to tell you I’m diving back into what really lights up my life: another adventure beyond the horizon! And nearly every other year, like a toxic relationship, my horizon tends to take shape in Uncle Sam’s backyard. And this, despite his cousin Donald calling the shots. Speaking of which, it was partly that impulsive guy who pushed us to be just as impulsive and snag our four flight tickets at a ridiculously low price—a direct result of foreign tourism taking a hit from BetaMax’s repeated antics... Four tickets? Who are the other lucky ones? In this case, our lucky ones are actually lucky ladies: My Flo, always up for exploring the world with me on foot, camelback, or scooter, is obviously in on the fun. The other two seats went to our daughters, Sasha and Luna, both thrilled to be part of this new American adventure...

But what’s the American West like in February?... A gamble. Let’s call it Russian roulette since we’re not landing during peak weather season. That’s why we encouraged our transportation and accommodation to get cozy and produce a little camper van, so we can stay ultra-flexible in the face of any weather tantrums. We’ll be roaming in Kara the van with the motto "Follow the sun!" Bad weather? We bolt. Snow? We speed up. Sunny? We act like it was the plan all along and soak it up.

"Okay, but why keep coming back to the same corner of the globe? After ten American adventures, you must be tired of seeing the same things, right?" But I’m not crazy, you know!... The American West is like making love to your gorgeous wife over and over, always enjoying it just as much. And contrary to what you might think, the American West isn’t just the Grand Canyon, Monument Valley, Las Vegas, and Bryce Canyon. Proof is, after ten trips to the U.S., my retinas are still untouched by three-quarters of the places I scribbled on a napkin for this adventure... Oh, and add to that my wife, who I’ve easily converted to my religion, and boom... relapse is even easier! Because yes, we’ve landed in Los Angeles after a sunny flight over Greenland, still under Danish flag for now. And we’re already heading east through the XXL traffic of L.A.’s eight-lane highways, eager to dive into our first discoveries. But first, night is taking over the sky, and second, we’ve been officially awake for 24 hours, so I suggest wrapping up this intro. I’ll tell you more tomorrow morning. Sound good?

Hi there,

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

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

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

Episode 1: Spain, from Avignon to Algeciras

Episode 2: Morocco, from Tangier to Tarfaya

Episode 3: Western Sahara, from Tarfaya to Guerguerat

Episode 4: Mauritania, from Guerguerat to Nouakchott

Episode 5: Senegal, from Rosso to Saloulou

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

Happy reading, and safe travels!

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



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



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

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

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

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

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



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

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

Hey fellow travelers!

So, a new year has begun. It’s time to reconnect with the VF buddies and wish you all my best for 2026—a year I hope is obviously full of travel, since, as I just made up: "If travel’s good, everything’s good" 😄.

To celebrate, I’m inviting you into my new "travel journal," the one from our latest trip in November 2025, a little two-week adventure.

This time, we headed to The Gambia, a tiny country tucked right in the middle of Senegal, before making our way to Casamance.

The Gambia is English-speaking, Senegal is French-speaking, but the locals? They couldn’t care less—because in this part of the world, they mostly speak Wolof, Fula, Jola, or Mandinka. Hence the title: Senegambia 😉.

As usual, I’m sharing the live updates I sent to friends and family—super casual, of course.

I know this isn’t the kind of destination that draws crowds, but if you love adventure, laughter, and emotion, it might just be your thing 😊.

Hugs 😘

Now that the curtain has fallen on the past year, it’s time to see what’s happening around here. It seems pretty quiet, but I’ll read more in detail later.

First, I need to tell you all an anecdote.

My eldest little girl, in her third year of law school, was really scared she wouldn’t pass the year. I told her: “Trust yourself, you’ve worked so hard, and worst case, if you fail, you’ll just redo the year.” “But I don’t think I’ll make it—they changed the rules, and if I mess up even one unit, I have to start all over.” I knew her grades weren’t exactly stellar, and with what I was about to say, I wasn’t taking much of a risk. “Here’s the deal, sweetheart: if you pass, I promise I’ll take you to India, just the two of us.” I have to admit, India is a country I’ve talked about so much to all my grandchildren that in their minds, it’s become a magical, mythical place (hmm).

July had barely begun when my phone rang, her name flashing on the screen. “Mamido, I did it!” My promise came rushing back—oh no, oh no, oh no! “Congratulations, sweetheart!” A little shyly, she said: “Is the India trip still on?”

And me, replying: “Of course it is!”

And that’s that—a promise is a promise, or you risk losing that precious trust that keeps hearts warm and at peace.

We’re leaving in February. Only 8 days—yikes, the carbon footprint! But we can’t miss her tutorials, or she’ll be kicked out. Personally, that works just fine for me.

Going to India has become a challenge for me. It’s far, it’s exhausting, I sweat, I hate mosquitoes, the spices bother my mouth when I used to love them. There’s noise all the time—at night, the dogs bark nonstop, and we almost get run over. I’ll get lost in the streets because my sense of direction has vanished. I don’t like rice anymore. All that chaos and those cultural differences that once enchanted me now just overwhelm me. But I promised.

The upside—and it’s a big one—Raman, the same driver I’ve had forever, will be at the airport with a sign with our names. We’ll stop at the same little shop for chai (or tea, plain and simple) with that aroma that intoxicates me, halfway through the trip.

It’ll be a tiny trip—staying with friends, I’ll show her a few places I love: Chidambaram, Mamallapuram, and the clinic where I worked. Then we’ll head back. My little girl will go home to her parents.

As for me, I’ll leave right away for our Scottish island with Homme for our chilly winter.

How can you love a country so much you want to live there, then suddenly reject it, no longer able to appreciate what once made it special? That’s the mystery of love, I guess.

Hi everyone,

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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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

After our amazing experience in the Lofoten Islands in summer 2023, I suggested to Jean Marie another trek I’d been wanting to do for a long time: the Skye Trail in Scotland.

A few photos of this stunning island and he was sold and ready to go.

The route is available on the excellent WalkHighlands site HERE (there’s also a Cicerone guide on the subject). And since I thought it was a shame it avoided the Black Cuillins, I added a 3-day detour in that area.

We took advantage of the May bank holidays in 2024, partly to avoid the peak tourist season and also the midge period—because for some reason, mosquitoes love me 😠!!

27/04 – Day 1 – Transfer to Skye and start of the trek: Rubha Hunish - Flodigarry 28/04 – Day 2 – Flodigarry – just before the Old Man of Storr 29/04 – Day 3 – Old Man of Storr – Portree, then bus to Sligachan 30/04 - Day 4 - Sligachan - Glenbrittle campsite via the Fairy Pools 01/05 – Day 5 – Round trip to Sgùrr na Banachdich from Glenbrittle campsite 02/05 – Day 6 – Round trip to Coire Lagan and walk on the Rubh an Dùnain peninsula 03/05 – Day 7 – Return (hitchhiking) to Sligachan campsite and hike in the Red Cuillins 04/05 – Day 8 – Resuming the Skye Trail – Sligachan – Elgol 05/05 – Day 9 – Elgol – Somewhere on the climb to Bla Bheinn 06/05 – Day 10 – Somewhere on the climb to Bla Bheinn - Broadford 07/05 – Day 11 – Visit to the Armadale Castle and park 08 & 09/05 – Return to Glasgow, visit the city, and return flight And here’s the summary

Hi everyone!

That was about all the Spanish I could speak before we left... Luckily, Tom, 15 and in high school, gets by just fine! And Caroline did a year of Duolingo before we took off... Anyway, after 55 days in the American West three years ago, it’s Mexico’s turn for this second long adventure.

A quick intro to the crew:





- Oscar, 10, a sporty and lively little boy who loves swimming and basketball, - Tom, 15, a high schooler, sporty and tall, who loves swimming and American football, - Caroline, 47, a PE teacher, sporty , loves hiking and snorkeling, - and me, Sylvain, 50, a science teacher, sporty, loves traveling and always has a possible next trip in mind

We mostly travel by swapping our house to discover beautiful France and the world: 135 swaps over the last 13 years.....

Our itinerary is pretty classic since it’s our first time in the Yucatán, and we’ll make a little 10-day detour to Belize...

See you soon...

We did the Langtang trek (hike) from September 10th to 17th, with the first and last days being the trip from Kathmandu and back—so 6 days of actual walking. It’s a fairly well-known trek but certainly not as famous or crowded as those in the Annapurna or Everest regions, which is why we chose it.

In theory, it’s mandatory to have a guide for this trek. In reality, it seems there are ways to bypass the regulations: we met at least two people hiking without a guide—a South Korean, a New Zealander, and possibly also a couple of English women and an American couple, though we’re not sure if they had a guide.

The agency we booked with had told us it was an affordable trek for relatively older people in good shape—which is our case (I’m 72 myself). I have to say upfront that we found it quite challenging, maybe because we didn’t have good weather—it was the end of the monsoon season. To be clear, no matter your fitness level, I’d say doing this trek in the middle of the monsoon season would be suicidal.

Day 1 – Journey from Kathmandu to Syapru Besi

On Monday, September 8th, there had been violent protests in Kathmandu against the government, which had, among other things, blocked access to social media and been accused of nepotism and corruption. There were 19 deaths. The situation was very tense on the day of our departure, Wednesday the 10th. The agency warned us that public transport was very unreliable. So, we decided to take a jeep, at an additional cost of $100 ($160 minus what was already budgeted for the bus).

We left a little before 7 a.m. and it took us a good hour just to reach the outskirts of Kathmandu. Along the way, we saw several houses and vehicles set on fire by protesters.

The road to Syapru Besi is only 120 km, but it’s frankly awful. It’s always narrow, winds through endless mountains, and the shoulders range from bad to confusing to nonexistent. Several sections are just dirt tracks. We didn’t regret opting for the jeep, as we could stop several times at our convenience—if only to let Y (my Thai partner) throw up everything she had. She’d taken her usual motion sickness medication, but the constant turns, accelerations, and braking eventually made her terribly carsick.

In Nuwakot, we stopped for breakfast at a nice little restaurant, Jimbu. It was around 8:30 a.m., and we’d barely covered 60 km. The restaurant has a lovely garden overlooking the Trishuli Ganga, the river flowing down from Syapru Besi. First photo: the river in the bottom right corner, mist and clouds over the mountain on the other side.

An hour later, my second photo: the hills along the Trishuli Ganga. You can see the different crops—lush green rice paddies in the lower right and corn, already yellowed and likely harvested, in the foreground on the left. And of course, the mist and clouds through which you can glimpse the mountain on the other side of the river.