Results for "Souterraine+|+127"

Le 20 juin, nous partons pour 1 mois aux E-U. 1re étape New-York pour une semaine où l'hôtel est réservé.

Ensuite, nous pensons aller à Washington - 2 ou 3 jours et Boston 2 ou 3 j où nous louerons une voiture pour aller jusqu'à Cape Cod et retour par l'intérieur vers Boston. - 1 semaine .

Puis, vol vers New Orleans où nous ferons un circuit en voiture pour retourner sur NY pour reprendre notre vol retour.

Mes questions : Où aller en 1er : Boston ou Washington ? En train ou en bus ? Avez-vous des conseils de choiss à voir sur la côte est ? et pendant le retour par l'intérieur ? Hôtels à recommander (pas trop chers... mais propres et si possible avec piscine

New-Orleans et la Louisiane : quoi voir ? circuit et hôtels ?

Avez-vous des expériences pour les voitures de location ? Déjà merci pour tous vos bons conseils !

Bonjour à tous,

J'ai une question qui va peut être paraitre bête mais je n'arrive pas à trouver la réponse sur les sites des compagnies aériennes. Je pars prochainement de Francfort jusqu'à Québec avec une escale à Montréal et un changement d'avion. La compagnie est Lufthansa mais les vols sont opérés par Air canada. A quelle compagnie dois-je me référer pour le poids des bagages? Est-ce-que je devrais récupérer mes bagages à Montréal et les réenregistrer? Si c'est le cas et que je prends un bagage supplémentaire est-ce-que je devrais payer deux fois le supplément bagage?

Pareil pour le retour, je pars de Québec jusqu'à Montréal avec Air Canada et le vol est opéré par Air Canada. Puis de Montréal à Francfort, c'est la compagnie Lufthansa mais opéré par Air Canada. Je ne sais pas si les bagages sont à récupérer à Montréal ou s'ils seront transférés directement à Francfort, et s'il faudra payer deux fois le supplément pour le bagage supplémentaire?

En fait j'ai besoin d'un bagage supplémentaire mais je sais pas si je devrais payer le bagage à chaque vol ou juste une fois lors de l'aller et une fois lors du retour?

J'espère avoir été claire.. Merci pour vos réponse!!

Cher Cycliste-couché, Afin de ne pas mourir (complètement) idiot, et avant d'acheter prochainement un vélo de voyage, je souhaiterais essayer un vélo couché non loin de chez moi (le Lot), si possible équipé en 26". Ce serait pour moi un baptême: je ne connais que le voyage à VTT. Qui accepterait de m'offrir ce bref essai et de me faire part de son expérience ? Merci par avance. J.L

Bonjour à tous!

J'ai eu ma valise en retard de 24h lors d'un vol avec Iberia. Et j'ai des amis pour qui ce fut la même chose.

Est-ce un truc commun à cette compagnie, des avis?

Bonne journée!

Fabrice

salut !

petit renseignement ,

il y a quoi a voir en centre ville de tuba city et a flagstaff ?? ( pas aux allentours ) je parle bien dans les villes meme .

centre ville ? jolie coin ?? car je passe par la si il y a qlq chose de sympa a voir merci de me le dire ! car je ne trouve pas grand chose sur le net !

Après avoir visité la Loire (7 chateaux), Paris 9 jours (Versailles, escapade vers les plages du débarquement en Normandie), Toulouse (tour de ville), Carcasonne et Peyrepertuse, Avignon, un peu la Provence (Roussillon, Gordes, Fontaine de Vaucluse), Nice... Quel serait la prochaine destination « de choix » que nous devrions prévilégié. Nous voulons faire un voyage de visite culturelle, d'histoire, de monuments (Amateur de châteaux, lieu d'histoire, Gallo-romain, architecture, églises Gothiques et romanes, Art pictural). Nous avions pensé passer un autre 4 jours à Paris... peut-être faire une escapde au Mont-StMichel mais après ??? Avez-vous des idées?? Nous avons 2 semaines. Merci de m'aider la dernière fois ce fut fort profitable.

Bonjour à tous,

Pour être bref et direct, voilà prés de 15 ans que je rêve d'aller au Québec, j'ai a présent 37 ans, je suis sur le point de créer ma société et avant de "marner dur" dans mon futur taf, je pense partir seul pour une quinzaine de jours ... (certainement le mois prochain!) Je vais laisser ma p'tite famille qui se réjouit de la réalisation de l'un de mes rêves... Papa manquera certainement mais voilà, ns n'avons qu'une vie et faut savoir parfois faire les choses pour soi et uniquement pour soi!.. Je fais le malin mais c'est bien la premiere fois que je ne pense qu' a moi! :) Bref, mon probleme c'est que je ne veux partir pour un séjour plus court mais ds le même temps je me dis que 2 semaines c'est peut etre un peu long en étant seul.. Quelqu'un a t il une experience d'un voyage en solitaire? Merci d'avance pr vos réponses rassurantes ou pas!!!!

21/12/2011 – 20h00

Me voilà repartie pour de nouvelles aventures. Bah oui, en guise de cadeau de Noël, je pars avec mes enfants du 21 au 24 décembre prochain à Prague. Quelques jours en famille pour visiter cette charmante ville, parait-il.

Puis, à peine atterrie, à peine repartie... pour le Népal. Une semaine magnifique m'y attendra, j'en suis sure.

Allez, tout d'abord, Prague.

19/12/2011 – 20h00

Vaclav Havel est mort hier. Ce grand homme qui a sorti sont pays du communisme, cet écrivain fantastique n'est plus.

Un hommage au château de Prague sera donné vendredi. Un voyage touristique qui s'annonce particulier, dans une capitale en deuil. 21/12/2011 – 21h33

Première fin d'après-midi à Prague. Après avoir retrouvé ma fille Axelle à Prague, j'ai eu comme un moment difficile. Mon fils, Yanis était fatigué, capricieux et énervé. Ma fille et son petit ami se faisaient la gueule. Olala !!! je vais pas passer 3 jours avec des mouflets capricieux qui ne savent pas profiter.

Arrivée à l’hôtel, une péniche amarrée juste à coté de la vieille ville et du centre touristique. Un vraie bonheur pour moi. Petit tour en ville. Il fait nuit tôt, nous sommes arrivés vers 17h, et il faisait noir. Peu importe, la vieille ville est belle. Les immeubles sont remarquables. La place centrale et son marché de Noël sentent une bonne odeur de saucisses, sucreries et vins chauds. Nous avons goûté un vin chaud au miel. Un délice. Passage vers le Pont Charles, magnifique en effet. Les toits des monuments sont différents des toits parisiens : noir et or... un mélange qui donne un air majestueux aux bâtisses blanches. Les rues pavées sont aussi très jolies. Le dépaysement par contre me manque. On sent qu'on est dans une capitale européenne et que la culture est identique à la notre. Pause repas dans un restaurant recommandé par le guide du routard. Restaurant typique, décoration Praguoise, repas gargantuesque... petit prix. Le resto : U betlenské kaple adresse : Behemske mam 2 –Prague 1 tel : 222 221 639

Retour sous une semi-pluie neigeuse, pas le temps de s'attarder, au bateau hôtel Bonne nuit et à demain, pour la visite de la vieille ville et du quartier juif.

Bonjour à tous!

J'ai passé un magnifique voyage avec mon mari sur la côte ouest des USA à l'occasion de notre voyage de noce. Nous avons préparé ce voyage de façon très détaillée, grâce notamment, à ce forum !!!

Comme je l'avais promis à un membre, voici le récit du tournage auquel nous avons pu assister à Los Angeles : la série Big Bang Theory ! Je vous préviens, c'est une tartine... Comme les photos sont interdites, j'ai essayé d'en trouver sur le net comme je pouvais! Bonne lecture :-D



Quelques précisions avant de commencer…

Comment assister au tournage ? Les tournages ont toujours lieu un mardi soir. Un site internet, TVTICKETS.COM, permet d’obtenir gratuitement des places pour les tournages. Mais ce n’est pas chose aisée… Il faut être au bon moment sur le site et remplir le formulaire très rapidement, sinon, plus de tickets ! Les tickets sont disponibles 4 semaines et 1 jour avant le tournage, à une heure donnée. Pour ma part, je m’étais postée plus d’une demi-heure avant l’heure annoncée sur mon ordinateur, j’avais programmé le remplissage automatique des champs du formulaire, et je rafraîchissait la page toutes les 5 secondes jusqu’au moment où j’ai enfin réussi à mettre la main sur deux tickets (il faut répéter la démarche pour chaque personne). Et même quand on a des tickets, ce n’est pas gagné ! Il y a des tickets garantis, très peu (c’était notre cas) où on est sûrs de rentrer… Et d’autres tickets (3 fois plus) pour lesquels il faut arriver le plus tôt possible aux studios Warner pour espérer entrer ! Voici une partie du ticket :

Où cela se passe-t-il ? Le tournage a lieu aux studios WARNER BROS à Burbank, c’est-à-dire dans l’agglomération de Los Angeles, et tout près d’Hollywood. Oui, ce sont bien les studios que vous reconnaissez sur cette photo :

Le récit! Nous sommes donc arrivés vers 16h30, bien à l’avance, aux studios Warner Bros. Nous venions directement de San Diego et nous avions prévu de la marge, étant donné la circulation réputée chaotique à Los Angeles. Nous découvrons les palmiers de LA…

Nous arrivons dans un parking souterrain où nous devons montrer nos tickets pour pouvoir rentrer et parquer la voiture. A l’intérieur même du parking souterrain se trouve un grand espace avec de très longs bancs… Il y a déjà une bonne cinquantaine de personnes assises sur les bancs. Les gens s’asseyent un par un, par ordre d’arrivée : il s’agit des personnes qui ont des billets non garantis.

Nous sommes placés sur un autre banc, pour les chanceux comme nous qui sont certains d’entrer. Vers 17 heures, on nous appelle par petits groupes de 20 personnes, et on nous fait traverser la rue car les studios sont en face ! Ca ressemble à ça (sauf que c’était de jour !)

Avant d’entrer à proprement dit dans le complexe de studios, on doit passer par une fouille de nos sacs : GSM, appareils photos, caméras sont strictement interdits. On avait prévu le coup et tout laissé dans la voiture. On avance en file indienne. Il fait très chaud, on dégouline de sueur. On nous fait attendre de longues minutes sous un soleil écrasant. On nous propose d’aller aux toilettes car nous n’aurons pas l’occasion avant notre sortie.

Nous longeons d’énormes hangars qui portent chacun un numéro.

Vue aérienne des lieux :

Comme c’est immense, on croise des employés sur des petites voiturettes comme dans les golfs ;)

Nous sommes presques arrivés au studio 25 où se déroulera le tournage… Juste en face, on voit le studio 24… Oh tient, c’est le studio de Friends !

Après encore de longues minutes, on nous fait entrer dans le studio 25. Une plaque est affichée à l’entrée avec le nom des films et séries qui ont été tournés là.

Une deuxième fouille de nos sacs et nous sommes à l’intérieur : surprenant, il fait assez frisquet ! On avait pris chacun un pull que nous mettons bien vite. Nous sommes guidés à travers le studio, qui est séparé en plusieurs espaces grâce à d’énormes tentures noires opaques. On arrive enfin aux gradins du public. Difficile à vous décrire à quoi ça ressemble, c’est très long (une cinquantaine de place) et pas très haut (5-6 rangées de haut). Soit +/- 300 places. Ce sont des bêtes chaises en plastique. Sur chaque chaise est posé un petit papier avec le nom de l’épisode, des acteurs. On nous indique à chacun où on doit s’installer. On ne voit pas encore les décors, ils sont cachés par des draps noirs. Mais on se rend compte qu’on est très très près (4-5 mètres) de l’action. Au-dessus de nous, de nombreux micros et des téléviseurs.

Il est à peu près 17h30. Le chauffeur de salle arrive… Son rôle est de nous garder en forme et motivés toute la soirée (il faut savoir qu’un tournage peut durer 5-6 heures pour 20 minutes de produit fini). Il lance des petits jeux, des concours, il fait participer le public… A vrai dire, il est un peu lourdingue !

Vers 18h00, il nous annonce qu’on va voir, en avant-première l’épisode 2 de la saison 5. Il n’a pas encore été diffusé. Nous profitons de ce moment, le public rigole déjà à gorge déployée.

Après l’épisode, les draps sont retirés et on découvre les décors. En fait, ils sont tous les uns à côté des autres, en enfilade. Pour les connaisseurs de la série, on retrouve d’abord le porche de la maison d’Howard et sa chambre, puis l’appartement de Penny, la cage d’escalier et l’appartement de Sheldon et Leonard (éléments centraux de la série) puis un dernier décor qui change selon les épisodes (ici, c’était une scène de réception de mariage).

On nous présente les acteurs, qui viennent saluer chacun à leur tour le public. On applaudit chaleureusement ! C’est fou de les voir en vrai aussi près… Ils sont vraimet pareils en vrai ;-) L’acteur qui récolte le plus de ferveur est Jim Parsons qui joue Sheldon !

Avant la première scène, on voit les acteurs se détendre : « Raj » danse dans le salon, « Sheldon » répète ses lignes… Des maquilleuses font les dernières retouches.

Après ça le tournage commence à proprement dit. Notre épisode est le troisième de la cinquième saison. Avant chaque scène, le chauffeur de salle fait des jeux, des blagues (nulles), fait participer le public… Quand une scène est sur le point de commencer, il nous dit de rigoler bien fort, car nos rires sont enregistrés et ce sont nous que nous entendons dans l’épisode !

Une technicienne de salle vient faire le clap, en citant les noms des différentes caméras utilisées dans la scène. La scène est retransmise en direct sur les TV au-dessus de nous car nous ne sommes pas toujours en face du décor en question (pour notre part, on était en face de l’appartement de Penny, donc assez bien mis !) Et là c’est parti. Les acteurs sont très pros, très impressionnants ! Un vrai bonheur de voir ça en vrai…

Le public rit à gorge déployée, je trouve ça assez difficile car je ne rigole d’habitude pas aussi fort… On sent bien que le fait d’être entendus dans l’épisode en motive plus d’un ;-)

Les scènes sont généralement tournées 3 fois chacune, voire + …. Elles sont tournées dans l’ordre chronologique de l’épisode, pour permettre de bien comprendre l’histoire. Le chauffeur de salle nous rappelle avant chaque scène de faire comme si c’était la première fois qu’on la voyait…Je trouve ça parfois difficile de rigoler autant la deuxième, troisième ou quatrième fois ! Parfois, une réplique change ou évolue d’une prise à l’autre, ce qui peut nous faire réagir de plus belle.

Concernant les scènes qui se passent dans l’escalier, lorsqu’ils montent, c’est bien évidemment toujours le même décor qui est utilisé pour chaque étage, ils déplacent simplement quelques éléments.

Les scènes se succèdent… Il y en a plus ou moins une douzaine, et il faut attendre parfois de longues minutes entre deux prises car les acteurs se concertent avec le producteur de la série. Le chauffeur de salle est vraiment lourdingue…

Vers 21 heures on reçoit des morceaux de pizza et de l’eau, ce sera notre seul repas ce soir. (pas très copieux et pas très bon).

Le tournage se poursuit, on commence à avoir assez froid (j’ai lu depuis sur Internet qu’ils ne chauffent pas davantage la salle car les spots donnent déjà très chaud aux acteurs).

A un moment, une scène se déroule dans la voiture d’un protagoniste. Elle a été visiblement déjà tournée avant le tournage de ce soir, mais ils la jouent à nouveau assis sur des chaises, dans la cage d’escalier.

Vers 22h30, le tournage se termine (4 heures de tournage quand même !). Les acteurs viennent saluer le public, on les applaudit vraiment fort… Je me faufile rapidement près des balustrades qui nous séparent des décors, et je tends mon petit programme : Bingo, j’obtiens un autographe de Johnny Galecki (Leonard) et de Kunal Nayyar (Raj) qui prennent tous les deux le temps de papoter un peu avec les fans.

Ce seront les deux seuls acteurs qui feront ça ce soir-là, malheureusement !

Nous rentrons à l’hôtel fatigués mais émerveillés d’avoir pu vivre cette belle expérience. Pour info, notre épisode s’appelait « The pulled groin extrapolation » et a été diffusé un mois plus tard, le 29 septembre.

bjr a tous ,

je dois bientot me rendre a francfort hahn pour m envoler pour londre mais une question se pose : combien coute le parking pour 2 jour? ce qui me ramene a une seconde question : ou doit 'on les payé?

Je vous remercie par avance de votre aide et vous salut bien chaleuresement 😎

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.

Bonjour,

je dois me rendre prochainement à Paris où je devrai prendre la ligne de métro N° 4 depuis la gare de l'est jusqu'a montparnasse. je voudrai savoir ou se trouve la station de métro?? est ce qu'elle est dans la gare elle meme ou est ce qu'il faut que je sorte de la gare pour m'y rendre?? pourriez vous me dire exactement ou je dois aller? merci par avance

Bonjour à tous Savez vous si un des hotels du strip peut accueuillir un Rv en stationnement ?? Au milieu de 3 semaines de camping, j'aimerais me payer une chambre d'hotel sur le strip, mais il faut garer le Rv !! Si pas possible je pourrais toujours demander à Cruiseamerica LV si ils peuvent me le garder 2 jours mais bon ... Merci

Bonjour à tous,

est ce que des personnes sur place pourraient me donner des informations sur les inondations à BKK ? Nous devons arriver le 13/11 pour notre Voyage de Noces et nous hésitons à annuler ou tout reporter sur Phuket ... (désolée car cette question peut paraitre en même temps très égoïste vis à vis de tous les habitants qui vivent ce calvaire)

D'un côté il y a les média qui annoncent de terribles nouvelles (est ce valable pour le centre de BKK ?) et également de terribles images pour les habitants... Y a t il une chance d'amélioration d'ici 3 semaines ? Car le ministre annonce 4 à 6 semaines. De plus l'OMS annonce des risques forts d'épidémies ...

Nous aimerions vraiment bcp aller à BKK mais en étant sûrs de ne pas avoir 1m d'eau pour notre VDN on peut rêver mieux ... Merci pour vos retours, conseils, je souhaite bcp de courage à tous les habitants de Thaïlande touché par ces inondations. Tiffany

Bonsoir,

Je souhaite partir dans le nord de la France, à Calais exactement fin de ce mois, et j'aurai voulu quelques informations à propos des correspondances. En effet je n'ai jamais effectué un voyage avec un changement de gare à Paris, et j'aurai voulu avoir votre avis.

J'ai un changement à 8h du matin à Paris gare de lyon pour aller chercher le TGV à Paris Gare du Nord, et après avoir effectué quelques recherches sur le forum et sur internet, j'ai vu que tout le monde conseillé de prendre le RER D où j'ai vu qu'il fallait à peu près 10 minutes pour faire Gare de Lyon -> Gare du Nord. Par contre, j'avais quelques questions.

1/ Pour prendre le RER D, des panneaux dans la gare de Lyon indiquent-ils où le prendre (est-ce bien indiqué) ? 2/ Pour prendre le RER D, est-ce dans la gare ou il faut sortir de la gare ? 3/ J'ai cru comprendre qu'en prenant cette ligne, je n'avais aucun changement à effectué, j'arrive directement à la gare du nord ? 4/ Je n'ai qu'une heure pour effectuer la correspondance, sachant que je ne serai pas beaucoup chargé, mais je n'ai JAMAIS effectué de changement dans de si grandes gares, pensez-vous que cela est suffisant pour un débutant ?

Merci d'avance :)

Manger et dormir au Japon, le titre est ambitieux, mon fil va l'être beaucoup moins, il s'agit juste de ccompléter mon CR (lisible ici) en détaillant mon gîte et mon couvert pendant 15 jours. L'hébergement va du simple au luxueux, mais la nourriture, elle, sera essentiellement accessible, les excès en ce domaine se payant (au sens propre) très cher.

Osaka Toyoko Inn Namba



La chambre est simple mais confortable. Internet par câble LAN gratuit. Frigo (comme dans tous les hôtels que j'ai fréquentés)

Prix de la nuit : 7500 ¥



Le petit-déjeuner (compris dans le prix !) se prend dans le hall. Au début, ça déroute, mais on s'y habitue, d'autant plus facilement qu'il y a du lait et du (bon) pain maison, ingrédients indispensables pour moi d'un petit-déjeuner réussi.



Il est situé à 5 minutes de Namba. Enfin, à 5 minutes si vous empruntez la sortie 5, sinon, ça peut aller jusqu'à une demi-heure (la première fois). Dotombori et Shinsaibashi sont accessibles à pied, situation idéale donc. Bon, d'un autre côté, je n'en ai pas testé d'autres (faut dire que le nombre de Toyoko Inn à Osaka est impressionnant, il doit y en avoir 17 !).



Depuis la chambre, on apercevait derrière l'hôtel ce temple. L'occasion rêvée de s'aventurer dans un Osaka tranquille et résidentiel.

😉Coucou,

Et oui c'est Capucine qui revient ! Cette fois ci pour une croisière. Bien sûre rien qu'à lire le titre et la rubrique vous l'aviez deviné !

"Les Grandes Civilisations Antiques" ! pour 10 jours avec un départ de Savone.

Le bateau ? Le Costa Atlantica. Le frère jumeau du Méditerrannéea que nous avons déjà "pratiqué".

Les dates et oui, il risque de faire un peu frisqué mais tant pis : 21 novembre au 1 décembre 2012 .

Dans 2 mois et bien nous serons presque sur le départ avec dans nos ...bagages deux gentilles dames 78 et 85 ans qui vont découvrir ce qu'est la croisière. Elles sont déjà toutes excitées.

Mon "boulet", vous le connaissez ?, Bernard et bien lui ni chaud ni froid ! Juste un petit coup d'oeil au trajet qui semble lui convenir et surtout pas un bateau trop "gros" . Il n'avait pas aimé du tout le Séréna.

86000 t! c'est bon ! Yes, un bon point !!!

Cabines côte à côte (pour avoir un oeil sur mes passagères!) pont 8 , avec balcon comme d'habitude, à tribord. Peut-être aurai-je la chance de voir les îles Eoliennes .... un de mes vieux rêves !!! et le Stromboli et si je ne le vois pas à l'aller, la chance sera au retour !!!!!

Les escales !

Départ Savone, on ne se casse pas la tête, parking Costa au port .

Naples : plusieurs fois visité la ville et les alentours dont Pompéî, Sorrente et Capri. Il faut que je trouve de quoi m'occuper !

Messine : en espérant que le temps soit au beau .... direction l'Etna !

Rhodes : connais pas mais voilà longtemps que j'ai envie de faire la découverte de l'île du .. colosse . Preneuse d'idées !

Limassol : connais pas

Marmaris : connais pas la ville escale mais les excursions proposées (Daylan et Kaunos : sites visités lors de mon voyage en autocar en Turquie)

Santorin : île magnifique escale lors de notre 1ère croisière sur le Tropicale en 2000 mais heureuse de revoir cet endroit.

Katakolon/Olympie : 3 fois !!! A cette escale j'aurai une pensée particulière pour notre Bruno 😏😏 et Bernard ne descendra pas à terre , car les guepes greques ne l'aiment pas 😠😠😠.

Voilà avec retour à Savone !

Si certains d'entre vous ont quelques idées à me soumettre, je suis preneuse !

A plus

Capucine 18

Bonjour, Je voudrais avoir des renseignements sur l'éco-vignette pour l'accès aux grandes villes de l'Allemagne. Je planifie un voyage en Allemagne, République Tchèque et Belgique alors, je tente de prévoir les vignettes à acheter pour ne pas avoir de trouble sur la route. J'ai déjà les informations que j'avais besoin pour la vignette en République Tchèque. Je fais ma location de véhicule en France à Paris. J'aimerais savoir où puis-je me procurer la vignette pour l'Allemagne? Est-ce que c'est possible de l'acheter dans une station-service comme en République Tchèque où s'il faut absolument aller à un bureau d'immatriculation? Est-ce que vous avez une idée du coût de cette vignette? Est-ce qu'on peut en acheter une pour la durée d'un mois seulement?

Merci, J-F

Bonjour tout le monde! Nous comptons partir la 3ème semaine d'Octobre ma soeur, mon père(76 ans mais en pleine forme) et moi même pour un petit trip de 9 jours en famille. Comme mon père a toujours voulu voir le Canada, on a penché sur le Quebec, avec un petit tour aux chutes, peut être les baleines;;;bref, pas trop d'idées car c tout neuf et nous allons prendre nos billets nantes montréal (450 par personne A/R). Pourriez vous m'aider pour un itinéraire sympa (avec les guides genre Routard, j'ai du mal à me faire une idée pour si peu de temps) qui ne mettrait pas non plus mon père hors circuit mais qui permettrait de bien découvrir ce pays qui a l'air magnifique? Merci beaucoup pour votre aide!!!

Bonjour,

Je pars samedi pour la Crète (séjour pris à la dernière minute) avec mon fils de 5 ans et j'aurai besoin de vos conseils quant aux lieux à visiter. Je vais loger à Gouvès, pas très loin d'Héraklion

En feuilletant le LP, voici ce que j'aimerai faire (en sachant que je ne louerai pas de voiture et que je compte sur les bus locaux pour nous emmener) :

- Heraklion - Cnossos - CretAquarium - Phaistos - Rethymon - La Chanée - Malia (pour le palais)

En une semaine, je ne pourrais pas tout faire je m'en rends bien compte, en sachant qu'il faut que je fasse aussi en fonction de mon fils (je ne pense pas que des visites quotidiennes dans les sites archéologiques l'enthousiasme) et de la distance entre les villes ; je souhaiterai donc alterner visite/repos pour que ce séjour nous convienne à tous les 2.

Si vous avez d'autres suggestions, je suis preneuse Merci pour votre aide

Bonjour a tous,

je suis nouveau sur ce forum (nouveau membre de voyageforum). Je suis peu habitué a ce genre de medium.

Ma femme et moi partons au début octobre pour le Breezes Varadero. Nous avons deja visiter Punta Cana, Puerto Plata, Cancun, Tulum, la Jamaique et le Portugal.

Sans devoir nécessairement passé par le representant sur place a l'hotel Breezes, nous aimerions faire 1-2 activite hors du resort. Nous aimerions avoir vos suggestions.

De plus, nous aimerions savoir quoi faire exactement pour l'argent : faire changer a l'aeroport ?, a l'hotel ? , a notre banque ici avant de partir ?, bref, c'est quoi le mieux ! (taux+pratico)

De plus, si qqun a deja visiter cet hotel, des trucs, des references (gens a rencontrer pour des upgrades), ou autres.

merci a l'avance a tous de votre aide !

Richard

Bonjour!

Je dois embarquer demain pour Rome depuis Lyon sur le vol de 7h00 et n'ayant jamais voyager en avion j'ai pleins de questions!😄

- J'ai imprimé mes cartes d'embarquement (nous sommes deux) et nous n'avons qu'un bagage à main chacun devons nous nous diriger directement à la porte d'embarquement? - Combien de temps devons nous arriver à l'avance? J'entends parler de 2 heures mais cela est pour les gens qui doivent récupérer leurs cartes d'embarquement et enregistrer des bagages? - Avec des bagages à main pas besoin d'enregistrement? - J'y vais en Rhône express depuis la Part Dieu départ à 5h00 arrivée à 5h30 cela suffira?

Merci d'avance pour vos lumières!

bonjour, nous avons un changement de gare entre la gare montparnasse et la gare d'auterlitz un samedi soir vers 21h, nous sommes 2 adultes et 2 enfants, je recherche le moyen le plus simple pour nous rendre a la gare d'austerlitz en moins d'une heure. est il préférable de prendre un taxi, le metro, le bus ou il y a t'il une navette? merci a ceux qui m'aideront.

Bonjour à tous,

arrivant à l'aéroport via air asia, à 17h05, cela vous parait il jouable d'arriver à la gare avant 19h pour prendre le train de 19h35 pour chiang mai ? ou bien est ce trop la course, dans ce cas je prend le 22h ?

merci à tous !

bonjour

combien de temps pour visiter : - la cité interdite - le palais d'été - le temple du ciel ?

quel est le max qu'on peut retirer au distributeur avec cb ?

merci

Bonjour,

Je décolle pour la Thaïlande avec ma fille (10ans) dans 1 semaine (22/07/2011). Ca fait 1 mois que je tente de m'organiser mais tout ce que j'ai réussi à faire, c'est de ciblé 4 destinations avec un délai pour chaque. Trop de lecture, de recherche d'infos parfois diamétralement opposé et je ne compte pas les mise en gardes etc. En gros c'est la première fois que je m'organise un voyage et comme je l'avais promis à ma fille, je l'embarque avec moi pour 3 semaines.

J'arrive à Bangkok le Sam 23-13h. J'avais dans l'idée de visiter Old Sukhothai pendant 2 jours, puis Chan Mai 4 jours. Poursuivre par Ko Samui voir Ko Tao pour 8 jours (snorkling, cascades ...) et remonter sur Bangkok pour 4 jours. Reste 3 jours que je peux prendre pour relier les différents points.

Mon souci c'est qu'ici et là un coup on parle des vol de bagages dans le bus, après le train qui prend du temps, l'avion qui dépose à 30km et re-bus... sans compter les hôtel où une fois on indique qu'on trouve facilement sur place de bon hôtel pour une moyenne de 1500Bath puis sur d'autres site où on conseille de tout réserver partout avant... Il faut prendre une moto pour ce déplacer mais c'est super dangereux (jamais fais de moto en plus).

Bref trop de questions et toujours plein de choses qui j'avoue me font de plus en plus flipper... HEEEEELP...

Dans mon idée, je me disais que je pouvais m'organiser quasiment au jour le jour, voir arriver à un endroit et prévoir le jour d'arriver pour le prochain trajet (ce qui me laisse du temps)... visiblement ce n'est pas possible :(

Si un habitué des voyages en Thaïlande peu me rassurer et me donner juste un ou deux bons conseille :) ca serait gentil :)

Merci d'avance.

Bonjour, Je cherche un hôtel à barcelone avec navette gratuite (aeroport el prat)? Départ mi-septembre, budjet hôtel - 60 Euros

Bonjour à tous,

Je fais un circuit en septembre dans l'Ouest Américain. Mon budget est serré (budget de jeune) et je l'ai déjà un peu explosé 😎

Mettre 150$ pour le pret d'un GPS (cf agence de location voiture) est un peu chaud pour moi Est ce que quelqu'un qui habite dans le nord de la France (Lille et alentours) aurait un GPS à me preter?

Peut etre que je n'aurais aucune question, mais au cas ou 😛

Merci à tous.

Adrien