Results for "Cap+Sainte-Marie+|+122+>+63"

Ça y est ! On part le 12 mars YULCDGMRS; 3 semaines en Provence avec sûrement une pointe vers Monaco et son Musée océanographique. Nous serons "basés" à Bandol. Nous avons loué une Citroen Grand Picasso; pour 2 couples ça devrait être OK.

Nos amis seront avec nous pour les 2 premières semaines. Voilà en gros ce que nous prévoyons:

Bandol pour la farniente et la douceur de vivre, les calanques par la mer Bandol Cassis ?, Cassis La Ciotat ? La Ciotat Marseille ? La route des crêtes. Aubagne et le Petit monde de Pagnol, les sentiers du dit Académicien, Toulon (base navale ?), Brignoles, Sainte-Anastasie, les marchés, pointe à Monte-Carlo et Nice, repointe vers l'incontournable St-Tropez (eh oui, même en mars...il est des impératifs féminins qui ne souffrent pas la contradiction), St-Maximin, Marseille, Aix, Avignon (pour nos amis puisque nous y sommes déjà allés...et pour nous aussi puisque nous sommes ravis d'y retourner), encore les marchés... quelques villages du Luberon peut-être, quelques sentiers sûrement...

Même si nous sommes conscients de laisser de côté 99% des possibilités, je vous lance un "qu'en pensez-vous ?"

Nous sommes ouverts aux suggestions. Nous entendons passer la troisième semaine en douce sans trop nous éloigner de notre point d'attache. Merci d'avance, Willie

bonjour je serai debut janvier a tamatave avec ma famille. je voudrai savoir si on peut rejoindre fort dauphin sans passer par tana et sans avion. si oui j'aimerai savoir comment combien de temps pour nous y rendre et si vous avez des infos des noms ou des n° de telephone . je vous remercie d'avance.

Bonjour à tous

Retour à mada en octobre, qui semble etre une bonne saison, avec l’intention de découvrir la riviera gasy… Si j’ai bien compris tout ce que j’ai pu lire sur le sujet, Mananara nord peut etre l’objectif. Malheureusement, sur 4 semaines à mada, mon temps dédié à cette balade serait limité (je dirais 2 semaines et demie à partir de Tana, par voie terrestre, avec un peu de flexibilité)

Malgré toutes les infos que j’ai pu recueillir sur internet et sur VF, j’ai besoin de conseils d’experts. J’ai compris que jusqu’à Soanierana Ivongo c’est relativement facile par tb habituels mais que ça devient plutot difficile pour monter ensuite vers Mananara.

Questions :

- à votre avis, combien de temps pour faire Tamatave / Manara (sans tirer sur la bete, par étapes) ?

- moyens de transport expérimentés à partir de Soanierana Ivongo? (bon tuyaux sur 4x4 brousses)

- Moyen de faire tout avec le meme 4x4 brousse à partir de Tamatave ? Si oui, avez-vous des recommandations ?

- Hotels recommandés sur le trajet ?

- Si Mananara trop difficile à atteindre, quel est l’endroit le plus sympa entre Soanierana Ivongo et Mananara ?

Pour le retour, que pensez vous de ces options :

- voie terrestre pour Tamatave, avec l’expérience et les aléas de l’aller.

- Bateau de Mananara à Ste Marie ? (« lignes régulières » ? combien de temps ?) puis retour vers Tamatave

- Aller à Maroantsetra pour récupérer un avion le jour dit vers Tana ou Diégo (via Antalaha ou Sambava) ? Dans ce cas, bon plan pour Manara / Maroantsetra ?

Le sujet est vaste, mais questions sont nombreuses et je sais qu’il faut le faire mora mora et qu’il est difficile d’établir un planning mais tous vos conseils seront le bienvenus. Si planning trop serré, j’irai vers une autre région plus facile d’accès.

Merci

Slts

Le Jour ou je suis arrivé, c'était le fameux samedi des émeutes sur TANA avec des morts à la clef.(28 personnes qu'ils passent en boucles à la télé avant de les inhumer)... J'ai passé une nuit de transit sur Tana aux alentours de l'aéroport à cause du décallage des vols dû au couvre feu. J'ai pris un avion pour Ste Marie le lendemain et tout s'est bien passé.

A première vue je dirai que l'on ne ressent pas vraiment la crise et les tensions tant que l'on ne met pas les pieds dans le centre de la capitale.Les malgaches en ont assez de ces histoires et tentent de s'en détacher le plus souvent pour garder le sourire et leur indéniable sympathie.En revanche les discours que l'on entend sont comme les infos d'un journaliste, à vérifier...On entend même que air MADA est au bord du dépot de bilan, alors que c'est un problème de direction apparememnt (directeur allemand qui se fait virer..) qu'ils vont licencier bref à verifier. Que corsair et air france ne dépose plus sur Tana mais direct sur nosy be et après verif c'est faux etc...

Ce qui est sur c'est que mon séjour sur Ste Marie a été magnifique même s'il est vrai que là, les effets de la crise se font ressentir. A la déscente de l'avion 10 touristes à tous casser et sur l'ile c'est désert.Je suis allé sur l'île aux nattes et tout est quasiment fermé (exepté le manigori et chez régine..) et je me suis retrouvé comme robinson sur une île déserte. Mes deux filles ont apprécié mais il est vrai que les malgaches de l'ile souffrent car quand il n'y a pas de touristes, il n'y a pas de pourboires, pas de courses en taxi, pas de loc de moto, pas de souvenirs achetés, pas de travail dans les hotels puisqu'ils ferment les uns après les autres faute d'affluence. C'est vrai que c'est la période la plus creuse (cyclones et pluie mais moi rien vu) mais pour avoir discuter avec plusieurs hoteliers, 2009 ne s'annonce pas bien. La crise mondiale appuyé à la crise locale va être désastreuse et plonger le tourisme comme en 2002. Apparement les locaux disent que c'est un cycle qui revient tous les 5 ans. C'est vraiment dommage car c'est un pays qui ne demande qu' a être visité, c'est magnifique et authentique et j'y retournerai. Le peuple quand à lui est généreux alors qu'il n'a rien, et toujours prêt à engager une conversation. Alors faites comme moi ne baissez pas les bras et allez y même si les infos donnent parfois des frissons, bravez les, et partez, vous n'en serez que gagnant. De toute façon, vu l'ambiance en France ça ne peut qu'être que mieux je vous l'assure, c'est le retour qui est dur.....Je suis partis avec femme et enfants (6 et 9 ans) et je n'ai ressenti que du bonheur....

Bonjour, nous sommes trois copines qui partont cet été (fin juillet à mi-aout) à Madagascar pour trois semaines. On a prévu de faire l'est et le nord de l'île sans avoir défini de destinations définies. Nous souhaiterions avoir des conseils de villes à ne pas rater, également visiter un parc national (mais lequel?), nous sommes preneuses de tous les bons plans. Nous ferons un arrêt à Antsirabe, avez-vous un hôtel ou autre (bon marché) à nous conseiller et aussi des sites àb visiter? En vous remerciant d'avance. kytel

Bonjour,

Je pars un mois et des poussières pour Madagascar (en octobre et retour début novembre), et je recherche actuellement toutes informations (temps de parcours, guide-randonneur, vie des villages, etc...) d'éventuels randonneurs qui auraient parcouru le trajet Anakao/Tolanaro (ou inversement) par la côte (ou au plus près de la côte), ceci en employant principalement la marche à pieds, la pirogue Vezo, la charrette à Zebu...

Merci d'avance pour vos remarques et suggestions,

Misaotra 🙂

Je tente ma chance. Je sais que la plupart des habitués du forum préfèrent Nosy Be, Anakoa, Isalo, etc.

J’aimerais voir Madagascar Nord-Est, plus spécifiquement le moyen d’aller en voiture de Tamatave à Mananara et de là en bateau vers Tampolo, puis descendre, toujours dans la baie d’Antongil en bateau vers Nosy Mangabe et Maroansetra. Y a ‘t il quelqu’un sur ce forum » Madagascar » qui peut me dire si c’est faisable ??? Je n’ai pas encore fait cette route et serais très reconnaissante a qui peut me dire « qu’y a-t-il de remarquable, ou faut-il s’arrêter ou bien regarder » sur ce trajet, même si on n’arrive pas de cette façon jusqu'à Maroansetra?

Bonjour,

J'ai deux questions:

1- Est-ce qu'y a quelqu'un qui connaît un dénommé Georges Montou qui réside à Diego Suarez (Antsiranana). C'est un historien amateur passionné par les pirates et par le mythe (ou l'histoire vraie) de Libertalia, l'État des forbans.

2- Toujours à Diego Suarez, quelqu'un connaîtrait le guide local BOB qui se tient à l'Hôtel des Arcades?

Merci à l'avance pour vos réponses! Éric

qui pourrai me renseigner sur les vols intérieurs ANTANARIVE- DIEGO sur les jours des vols et les prix ? de plus, je cherche un hotel sympa dans la région mais plus sur RAMENA. MERCI D AVANCE

Bonjour, 🙂

Je suis en train de préparer un voyage à Madagascar de 4 semaines au mois de novembre et j'aimerais faire ces 3 étapes:Cote Est, Tamatave, Ile Ste MarieTrain entre Fianarantsoa et ManakaraDescente de la Tsiribihina coté Ouest Je suis à la recherche de conseils sur la manière et les moyens de goupiller ces 3 étapes. Nous serons certainement obligés de prendre au moins une fois un ligne intérieure mais je ne sais pas comment organiser tout ca, quel temps il est conseillé de consacrer à ces étapes... etc alors merci pour tous vos précieux conseils!!!😉 D'autre part, je demande à tout hasard si il y aurait des personnes qui ont des boites de Malarone en rab, je suis preneuse. Au plaisir de vous lire, merci

Cherche à réunir séniors ou retraité(e)s style routard(e)s

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Je cherche à réunir des Séniors ou Retraité (e)s style Routard (e)s pour envisager de voyager ensemble ou simplement échanger des infos sur ce forum. Si comme moi vous n'aimez pas voyager seuls, mais par contre vous voulez prendre du bon temps et partager des super moments, on peut peut-être dans un premier temps communiquer pour voir si nos profils correspondent. Plusieurs fois j'ai eu la chance de voyager avec des gens extras et j'ai dans mon sac-à-dos pleins de souvenirs formidables. Nous sommes nombreux sur ce forum à correspondre depuis plusieurs années. J'avais posté un message similaire qui est devenu une véritable discussion et à permis des super rencontres et des voyages collectifs. Beaucoup se reconnaîtront (je ne vais pas les nommer, ils sont trop nombreux) et j'espère qu'ils vont à nouveau apporter leur contribution Cette nouvelle discussion s'adresse à celles et à ceux qui conçoivent le voyage en transports locaux (quelque fois taxis ou loc de 4x4), hébergements très simples (petits hôtels, aub. de jeunesse ou chez l'habitant), repas sur les marchés ou dans petites gargotes, maximum de contacts avec la population locale et convivialité et solidarité avec mes coéquipier (éres). Personnellement je n'attends que l'occasion se présente ! Enfin ma motivation pour poster ce message: j'ai la chance de partager ma vie avec une femme formidable, son seul défaut : elle déteste les voyages ! Et moi c'est ma passion (Je pense que beaucoup sont dans mon cas!) Alors si vous vous reconnaissez laissez un message, je suis sûr que nous allons être nombreux à souhaiter faire connaissance.

Cordialement

Didier

Bonjour tout le monde, Ce n’est pas par ce que je suisse et neutre que je me heurte aux discussions sur ce forum sur la sécurité à Madagascar, mais par souci d’enfoncer encore plus ce pays qui n’a vraiment pas besoin de cela. Ce sont vraiment des discussions stériles ou chacun veut rester sur sa position. Excusé moi mais c’est typiquement français. On reste sur les acquis, sachant que dans la vie rien n’est acquis. Et c’est précisément la raison pour laquelle les français restent plantés dans leur boue. Alors Messieurs arrêté ce massacre et changer de sujet. Parler plutôt sur la beauté ce pays, sur la gentillesse de ce peuple. Si vous êtes tellement fort on théorie, allez donc sur place et donner un coup de main. Ne m’en voulez pas, mais c’est mon coup de gueule du jour. Amitié Willy

Bonjour je souhaiterai me rendre en septembre à Magacascar pour à peu près 17 jours je voudrais savoir le budget qu'il faut et quoi faire entre mer et montagne faune et flore .Merci de vos réponses

Salut a tous

Je vais essayer de faire le carnet de voyage de nos semaines aux Antilles. C'est la première fois que j'en fait un, je compte sur votre indulgence. J'en profiterai pour donner notre avis sur les prestataires(logeur, loueur, restau etc ....)

Allé hop, c'est parti.

Notre premier voyage en GWADA en décembre 2013 nous a tellement enchanté que nous avons décidé de repartir vers cette destination. Cette fois ci la Martinique sera de la partie ainsi que Marie Galante.

Le 12 Mai 2015 départ

Nous prenons le train a Lyon tôt le matin car nous avons un billet TGV AIR, arrivé a Massy nous attendons la navette. 30 mn plus tard on attend toujours, 1h plus tard pareil. L'angoisse commence a venir, car évidemment nous n'avons pas d'info. Un contrôleur viendra nous informer que les chauffeurs d'air caraibes ne sont pas venus travailler. Une compagnie est dépêchée en remplacement. Le bus pas du tout adapté aux bagages mais au moins nous arrivons a l’aéroport a temps. Heureusement nous avion 3h30 entre les deux transports, ce qui ne sera pas le cas au retour ! Le vol se passe très bien, les prestations mieux que sur le vol air France de 2013. Arrivée a Fort de France a 15h, pile a l'heure. Nous cherchons le loueur qui doit nous attendre a l’aéroport, et la , personne avec notre nom. J'appel pour me renseigner, plus de peur que de mal ils ont juste interverti le nom avec les personnes qui doivent arriver juste après nous. Le loueur LOKIZY voiture propre et pas cher pour deux semaines, la clio pour 320€ prise en charge rapide 10mn grand max. Nous partons direction Fond saint denis, environ une heure de voiture en passant par la cote. On remarque que la végétation est bien sec, la saison sèche continu bien que nous somme le 12 mai. A Saint Pierre on quite la cote pour monter sur le Morne des cadet. La vegetation change rzpidement , beaucoup plus verte et le route devient plus etroite avec beaucoup de virage. Nous arrivons vers 17h30 a notre hebergement Le Morne des Cadet ( chez tonton Leon). On trouve rapidement puisque il se situe juste en dessous de l'observatoire. Face a la montagne Pelé ( dans les nuage ) le paysage est beau et il y a un vent de fou, mais personne pour nous accueillir ( encore ! ) Apres plusieurs appels je tombe enfin sur tonton leon qui nous indique notre hébergement. Cela fait bizzard mais ce sera un peu comme ca toute la semaine. On prend possession de l’hébergement que nous trouvons bien mais un peu limite coté propreté. Nous tombons sur la personne qui fait les repas le soir ( pas trs claire non plus, on comprend pas trop qui s'occupe de quoi ) on s'inscrit donc pour le landemain soir. Ce soir ce sera pâte bolognese car on ne souhaite pas redescendre a Saint pierre ( trop fatigué) et on trouve une petite épicerie a fond saint denis. On se couche tot fatigué, la journée un peu en demie teinte.

Nous partons le 17 mai 2014 pour la croisière de 15 jours au départ de Marseille "Rose des Sables" sur le Zénith avec Croisières de France. Qui serait de ce voyage ?

Bonjour, nous sommes deux filles à arriver à nosy be le 2 novembre pour passer un séjour de 15 jours dans le nord de mada. À 15 jours du départ, tout le monde ici nous dissuade de partir...

Le lynchage est-ce un cas isole ou existe t il une réelle hostilité envers les français? Est ce vraiment risque ?

Nous ne savons que faire et commençons à angoisser pour ce voyage qui était un rêve il y a encore quelques temps...

Vous voyageurs merci de me dire ce que vous feriez à notre place Vous malgaches ou français sur place, merci de nous dire votre ressenti avec le plus d'objectivité possible.

Merci d'avance à vous tous de bien vouloir nous éclairer, surtout que la décision doit et prise très vite

EH BIEN VOILA

je cherche à savoir , le prix d 'un A/R en taxi brousse , au meilleur prix pour un malgache qui parle la langue , en 2012 !!

au départ de TANA vers FIANARANTSOA , LA SECONDE VILLE à 420 KM DE LA

est ce que le retour est possible par train ?? avec 20€ EST ce ASSEZ ??

et aussi ; est il possible de savoir , si , la formule d 'un colis en port dû , existe , de FIANARANTSOA vers ANTANARIVO

est on sûr de recevoir le colis , intact , je veux parler de la fauche , bien sûr !!!! existe t il un bureau de poste privé , donc plus sûr ??

je dois envoyer quelq'un pour me récupérer un colis de la seconde ville , comme les coupures d 'internet sont fréquentes

le dialogue est difficile merci pour votre aide , précieuse pour moi

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 viens à Madagascar pour le mois d'octobre et j'ai deux programme différents, je voulais connaître votre avis sur celui que vous pensez le plus plaisant. Merci.

1ére possibilité : Côte Nord-Est. 1er j : arriver Tana. 2éme j : Tana-Tamatave 3ème jour : Départ de Tamatave pour Soanierana Ivongo/Manomapana. 4 et 5 ème j : Manompana. 6éme j : Départ de Manompana pour Mananara. 7éme j : Départ de Mananara pour Maroentsetra. 8éme et 9éme jour :Préparation excursion avec Angap . 10éme j: Départ péninsule Cap Masoala. 11éme j au 18éme jour : Péninsule Cap Masoala et arriver à Vinanivao. 19éme j : départ de Vinanivao pour Antalaha. Voir si il y a des bateaux de Vinanivao pour Antalaha. 21éme j : Antalaha- Diego. 22 ème j : Diego ( Mer Emeraude, 3 Baies, Raméne..) 28ème j : Départ pour Tana.

Axe central : 1er j : Arriver Tana 2éme j : Tana Antsirabe . 3éme j :Antsirabe. 4éme j: Départ pour Tsiribine et Tsingy. 11éme j : Arriver Morondave. 12éme j :Morondave 13éme j : Mornodave-Fianarantsoa 14éme j : Fianarantsoa-manakara en train. 15éme j : Départ Ranomafana. 16 et 17 ème j : Parc Ranomafana. 18éme j : Départ Ranomafana-Tana. 19éme j : Tana-Diego. 20éme j : Arriver Diego. 21 ème j : Diego ( 3 baies, Ramene, Mer Emeraude..) 25ème j : Diego- Parc Ankarana 28ème j : Parc Ankarana-Tana

Ou

Axe central sans train et parc et monter directement à Diego après Morondave pour avoir plus de temps pour profiter du Nord.

Merci pour vos avis.

Bonjour, ça fait un moment que je lis les messages sur les croisières msc armonia pour avoir un max de conseils mais la plupart datent de l'année dernière ou s'ils datent de cette année ne sont pas très précis( ou alors j'ai mal lu, je connais pas trop le site encore!). Avec mon mari nous fêtons nos 10 ans de mariage en faisant la croisière Grèce Italie Monténégro du 19 au 26 aout 2011 sur l'armonia. Pas évident de s'y retrouver, j'ai un peu "la tête à l'envers" entre les remarques positives et négatives(sur un autre site, j'ai lu des commentaires catastrophiques sur les croisières msc et ça n'encourage pas!!); j'ai failli arrêter d'aller sur le net en me disant qu'on se ferait notre propre opinion. Nous ne sommes pas des gens difficiles et n'aimons pas trop les "râleurs"!! Mais bon les conseils sont tjs bons à prendre surtout que nous sommes malheureusement serrés côté budget comme bcp!! je me pose des questions sur les forfaits boissons par exemple , est-ce que ça vaut vraiment le coup? Côté excursions je pense qu'on les fera seul, on préfère éviter "l'effet troupeau" le plus possible même si on sait qu'il y aura bcp de monde et puis le prix est dissuasif! Nous partons de Venise, nous y allons en voiture car nous habitons la haute-savoie et nous passons par la suisse. Si vous venez de faire une croisière msc (récemment )n'hésitez pas à nous donner des conseils qui vous sembleraient importants. A notre retour, nous ferons aussi profiter de notre expérience. Merci par avance

Bonjour , les Antilles n'étaient qu'un rêve lointain? (un reportage à la télé, un magazine de voyage etc.....) et puis non! On s'est décidé ! On case la tirelire et nous partons en juin 2011 pour la Martinique. Pourquoi juin ? 2 raisons à cela ;la première je devrai être rétabli de mon opération du début d'année et la seconde c'est moins cher pour partir . Nous voulons "fêter" nos 30 mariages par la même occasion .Notre point de chute est l'hôtel Diamond Rock .Nous avons loué une petite voiture , j'aurai aimé louer une moto , vieux motard oblige, mais l'agence ne pouvez nous le proposer. Bien voilà ma question , que celles ou ceux ayant séjourner ou qui séjournent sur l'île puissent m'écrire sur les conditions climatiques en juin sur l'île , les belles randonnées à faire et les sites à ne pas manquer. Tout message sera lu avec beaucoup d'attention et nous ne manquerons pas d'y répondre. On the road again

Bonjour, nous sommes en train de préparer notre voyage à Mada. Cette année nous voulons remonter la côte est de Tamatave à Vohemar en vélo. La seule inconnue qui nous reste concerne la traversée de la presqu'île de Masoala entre Maroantsetra et Antalaha : la piste passe-t-elle dans le parc ? Faut-il imperativement passer par l'ANGAP ?

en vous remerciant

Claude

dénichés au grès de ballades côtières.

L'Estonie avec ses 1400 îles, est bien fournie. Elle compte de beaux spécimens, en pierre ou en bois, actifs ou abandonnés. Voic quelques echantillons pris sur l'Ile de Hiiumaa.

1 à 3 : Kõpu, dans les terres et avec la vue depuis le haut. 4 et 5 : Ritsna 6 : Tahkuna 7 : en cours de route, une des inombrables îles

Ce post est bien sûr une invitation à découvrir les vôtres 🙂

Bonjour,

Afin de rassembler toutes les informations pouvant être utiles, à un instant T, à nos amies et amis de passage en Madinina, j'ouvre ce sujet. J'y mettrai, avec l'aide d'autres j'espère, les éléments variants pouvant interférer dans le bon vécu d'un voyage ou expliquant certaines situations ponctuelles. Lorsqu'il y aura des points communs avec la Guadeloupe, je le signalerai.

Bonne prochaine venue dans nos îles.

BONSOIR A TOUS!!!je pars en voyage de noces le 01 fevrier a la reunion et a maurice 7 jours dans chaque ile et j'aimerais savoir comment organiser ce voyage (qui je l'espere restera inoubliable) car notre budjet est plutot serré et j'aimerais me passer de guide pouvez vous m'aider merci d'avance

Bonjour!!!!!!!!

Me voila de retour de mon trip à Madagascar et comme promis, je fais un petit topo de son déroulement.🙂

Après une arrivée le 20 avril à Tana et y passer deux jours durant une période houleuse car il y avait eu le lundi 20 avril encore des problèmes et surtout des morts!!!!!!!!🙁

Nous nous envolons le 22 avril pour la côte de la vanille et plus particulièrement à Sambava et nous prenons résidence à l'hôtel Las Palmas et de là nous avons visité la cocoteraie et aussi une usine de confection de vanille et durant le séjour, nous avons fait la connaissance d'une personne très intêréssante qui travaille à l'Alliance française et qui s'appelle Cerveau.

Pour aller à Andapa et faire le parc de la Marojejy nous optons pour louer les services d'un chauffeur de taxi avec une 4L et nous nous dirigeons vers Andapa où nous logeons chez Paho et le lendemain nous visitons le parc et couchons au deuxième campement et le lendemain redescente dans la vallée et de là; nous prenons une pirogue pour faire une partie de la descente de la rivière Lokoho.

Après être revenu à Sambava et y rester 2 jours, nous prenons le taxi brousse pour Antalaha et dès notre arrivons nous allons prendre comme hôtel Océan Momo qui est un très bon hôtel avec des bungalows et situé au bord de la mer et pas très loin du port.

Nous prenons aussi la demi pension dans cette ville au Cocotier tenu par une charmante personne qui se nomme Charlotte et qui nous prépare de succulents repas et surtout d'excellents rhums arrangés et je vous conseille si vous y faite une halte de les gouter.😉

Durant notre séjour d'une petite semaine à Antalaha, nous en avons profiter pour faire une excursion de 2 jours à Cap est mais là encore les ravages du cyclone ont coupés le pont et nous devons faire deux transbordements pour accéder à Cap est et surtout à la Résidence du Cap et surtout marcher deux fois 7 kms aller et retour mais que de bons souvenirs!!!!!!!! La plage est belle et nous pouvons aussi y déguster de la langouste et pour pas cher.🙂

Après un retour à Antalaha et y passer deux autres jours et oui car nous avons fait ce voyage vraiment mora mora comme cela doit être fait dans ce pays.😇

Donc , nous prenons l'avion de Antalaha à Maraontsetra et nous restons trois jours dans cette région pour en profiter bien sur et faire l'ile de Nosy Mangabé et prendre les services d'un guide piroguier qui nous permet de faire une très belle virée dans les bras de la rivière et de visiter plusieurs petits villages.

Après Maraontsetra nous voulions prendre le taxi brousse pour Mananara mais là, nous avons rencontré énormement de pbls pour en trouver un qui puisse partir car en effet les départs ne se font que tous les 4 à 5 jours en moyenne et donc nous n'avions eu que le choix de prendre un bateau gasy de marchandises plein à craquer de passagers et de marchandises et il a fallut naviger durant 13 heures et cela de 14 heures à 2 heure du matin. Que de souvenirs mémorables sur ce bateau mais aussi une grande peur.

Nous avons passé trois jours à Mananara en compagnie de Marie Louise, une guide qui connait très bien cette région et nous avons logé cher Roger qui est un personnage très agréable pour dialoguer. Il ne faut surtout pas rater l'Ile aux Aie aie car pour en voir ailleurs et bien c'est très dur.

Pour poursuivre notre périple, nous voulions aussi prendre le taxi brousse pour rejoindre Antanambé mais là encore ce ne fut pas chose simple et nous avions été obligé de prendre un chauffeur de 4X4 privé pour y parvenir avec un arrêt à Sahasoa qui fut le clou de ce périple car la plage de ce petit village est très belle et puis après y avoir séjourner, nous prenons le service un bateau rapide de l'ANGAP pour aller à l'ile Atafana.

Cette ile est très belle et ressemble à un véritable bijou dans son écrin couleur émeraude et nous pouvons passer d'une ile à l'autre à pied et ce que nous pouvons voir sur cette ile se sont les roussettes géantes.

Après avoir visiter cette ile, nous partons pour Antanambé chez Grondin avec un acceuil chaleureux de la part d'Eve la fille des propriétaires et de cet hôtel nous avons une superbe vue sur la baie.

Le lendemain, nous repartons pour Manompana et nous y resterons deux jours chez Wen Kui c'est un hôtel très correct et les repas sont excellents et le personnel gasy très souriant et très serviable. Ce petit village de Manonpana est un exemple concernant ce que certaines personnes font pour que les gasy puissent travailler et surtout améliorer leur quotidien et je citerai Pascal dans la péninsule de Mahela.

Après ce séjour dans ce petit coin de paradis nous utilsons les services d'un chauffeur de 4X4 qui sert de taxi brousse pour nous amener à Soanierana ivongo et de là pouvoir enfin prendre un taxi brousse pour Mahambo.

Dans ce village de bord de mer qu'est Mahambo, nous avions décidé de loger à l'hôtel Récif qui malheureusement fut fermé et donc nous choisissons un hôtel très confortable mais assez cher et heureusement que nous avions négocié une réduction de 20% due à la crise politique mais nous n'avons pas été déçu du bungalow.Pour les personnes qui voudraient aller dans un hôtel moins cher dans cette station balnéaire, je leur conseille d'aller au Ylang Ylang rapport qualité prix c'est excellent.

Puis nous restons trois jours à Mahambo pour nous rendre à Foulpointe qui pour moi est le meilleur endroit pour se baigner dans la région de Tamatave et là comme d'habitude nous prenons pension au Gentil Pêcheur qui lui aussi est d'un bon rapport qualité prix.Il ne faut surtout pas rater, de déguster sur cette plage la langouste qui ne coute vraiment pas cher.

Enfin, de Foulpointe, nous nous sommes rendus dans la famille et avons logé dans un hôtel de catégorie moyenne au Victoria et nous voulions faire en train le trajet de T/VE à Moramanga mais le train avait eu des pbls et surtout subit un déraillement avant de revenir sur T/VE. Donc nous avons pris le taxi brousse pour aller à Mantasoa qui mérite aussi d'y faire une petite virée pour une journée ou deux pour se reposer d'un parcours assez difficile et là nous avons logé au Domaine de l'Hermitage qui est un très bon hôtel mais fort cher bien sur!!!🙁

Enfin après ces 6 semaines de trip nous retrouvons Tana🙁 et la famille😎 ;mais j'aime aussi cette capitale mais qui est très polluée quand même!!!!😕

Voila, le récit de mon voyage à Madagascar!!!!!!! Je voulais faire court mais je n'ai pas réussi et je m'excuse de cela.

Pour ceux qui hésitent encore de connaitre ce pays et bien surtout il faut s'y rendre car c'est un pays surprenant et surtout attachant.

Amicalement et vivement 2010 pour y retourner et revoir ma moitié😎😉

Bonjour,

Je compte partir un mois à madagascar cet été (fin juillet à mi-aout), pour allé dans une association. Je pars seule... Cela me fait un peu peur. Si quelqu'un a des infos, des conseils ou même si quelqu'un y va à cette période ...

Merci de m'aidé a préparer tous ça...

Bonjour, Je viens d'arriver à Tana ce matin à 7 heures à Ivato. Nous avons fait une petite découverte de Tana en voiture, puis quelques ruelles à pied.. ce matin de 10 h à midi. On croise quelques hommes armés, tout semble calme, les gens sont charmants sous la douceur de la température matinale.. Mercredi nous prenons la route direction Antsirabe.. Que du bonheur !!

et voici la photo promise : c'est une plage...

mais où ?

😇

Bonjour à tous!

Une petite question que je me pose: vu l'état des routes entre Maroantsetra et Mananara nord, serait-il envisageable de faire cette route à pieds, ou complétement idiot? (en sachant que nous emportons notre matériel de camping et tout le nécessaire qui va avec). Si cela s'avère possible, savez-vous combien de kilomètres séparent ces deux villes, et combien de temps cela nous prendrait? (temps que je multiplierais par 4 vu que nous passons 3h à photographier chaque petite bête!😉)

Merci beaucoup!