Results for "Saleh+|+99+>+68"

bonjour, je souhaite avoir une idée que le prix du taxis de l'aéroport salé rabat vers rabat agdal ??

si'il y a parmi vous quelqu'un qui est intéressé ( particulier ) par me rendre ce service pour le vendredi 5 novembre 2010 à 14H contre une rémunération , c'est possible aussi

c'est urgent , merci de me contacter plutot possible

Traverser en 4x4 la frontière entre la Lybie et l'Égypte

"salem 3alikoum, w.salat 3ala rassoul l lah."min El Djazair" Bonjour, Est ce qu’il est possible pour un Algerien de traverser avec 4x4 la frontière entre la Lybie / l'Égypte , l'Égypte / Jourdanie, Jourdanie / Arabie Saoudite mercie!

dabitude je fait ca avec ma vw gazoil je passe pas de problem.

bonjour

je voudrai re traverse le sahara en passant par gardhai in salah tamanrasset i geuzzam agadez te tahoua .niamey en voiture et sans avoir a passer par agence je l ai deja fait dans les annees 80 sans probleme . est ce possible encore aujourd hui? merci de me repondre

Alors même aux stations essences marocaines faut se méfier. On m'a fait un sale coup y'a pas longtemps, je sais pas si c'est une arnaque courante, mais ca en a tout l'air. (car avec le recul, on dirait une technique calculée d'avance)

vous arrivez a la station d'essence, vous demandez le plein, le mec a l'air d'avoir compris, met de l'essence , mais au bout de 100dh, revient a votre fenetre et vous demande : 100 dh c'est ça? vous vous repondez : non le plein !! il retourne mettre de l'essence et vous sort a la fin une note gonflée, sous pretxte qu'entre les 100dh qu'il a "crut" que vous lui demandiez et le plein qu'il a mis suite a votre remarque, la machine c'est reinitialisée, du coup 100 dh dans le vent a rajouter au compteur votre vraie note!! Et pour peu qu'on ai pâs pensé a jeté un coup d'oeil au compteur de la pompe au debut, vous ne pouvez pas prouver qu'il a reelement remis le compteur a zero!!

Je sais que dhabitude jen ai pour au max 250dh environ le plein, là je me suis retrouvé a 350dh le plein !!!C'est pas grand chose, mais c'est le principe !!!

j'espere vous aider ...

Bonjour,

Je sais que l'on peut faire laver son linge sale en thailande à peu près partout. Y a t'il un service de repassage aussi? Je demande cela car il est plus que probable que je vais rendre viste à des personnes appartenant à la même entreprise que moi, donc y aura dîner et tout le tralalala. Puis il est toujors préférable d'être présentable en toute circonstances.

Merci

bonjour, je pars au maroc cet été. J'atteris a l'aeroport de Salé et je dois me rendre dans le centre ville; dans le quartier de l'oued eddahab precisement. Je sais que je peux faire ce trajet en taxi mais j'aimerais avoir plus de precisions et savoir si je peux le faire en bus. Merci beaucoup, vos info m'aideront enormement.😉

Dernièrement il y a quelqu'un qui disait que les matelas étaient sales et inestés de bébites, moi je pars le 31 janvier 2008 pour Melia cayo guillermo, et j'aimerais savoir si le problème est résolu, et si le trajet de l'aéroport est très long? Et avec quel genre d'autobus on se rend a l'hotel. Merci beaucoup de l'information.😉

Bonjour ! je cherchee quelqu'un en partance de paris à rabat (sale) en aviion à partir du 1 septembre 2007;pour envoye un medicament avec ordonance à un frere en urgence, (une petite boite) (qu'il a du mal à trouvé au maroc).merci infiniment d'avance! jazakoum allah!

Bonjour,

J'ai lu qu'il y avait une piscine d'eau salée au Luperon. Est-ce vrai ? Si oui, est-ce que ce sont toutes les piscines qui sont avec de l'eau salée ?

Merci de votre aide.

me voila en fin de sejour bombay goa bombay bombay ville tres sales hotel insalubres et tres chere surtout ceux marque sur les guides juste pour exp un hotel a 15 euros en cette saison on touve l equivalent pour 3 euros au cambodge ou thailand je suis reste au causeway une nuit vite change puis ensuite antique hotel pour 50 usd sur cobala deux jours avant j etais au cambodge pour le meme type d hotel pour 11 usd pas trop de mendiants et on est pas trop accoste par les marchands en dehors de colaba comme pour les hotel les resto qui sont sur les guides en profite un max

goa beaucoup plus propre et moins chere en hotelerie en dehors des guides pas beaucoup de jeunes en dehors de vagator moyene d age 50 en dehors de vagator je ne m y attendais pas les plages sont quelqonque un peu plus belle sur vagator je se suis pas alle a palolem j avais lu que quelqu n avait classe les plage dans le top 5 la c n importe quoi c resmble a la palmyre en charente pas plus que ce soit sur bombay ou goa les gens sont tres differents du reste de l asie canmbodge lao thai indo viet ... il sont plus mediteraneen assez impulsif tres geulards au volant .... je suis personellement tres decus par la plupart des gens et leurs comportements j ai vue plus de bagarre et de dispute en inde meme meme si ca reste peu par rapport a chez nous.. qu en 5 ans sur le reste de l asie tout les sourrires sont pour des pourboires ...sinon ils sont tres moqueurs ...meme arrogants toujours tres interesses ..je sais ils sont pauvres mais j ai fais bien d autres pays pauvres mais je n ai fais que goa et bombay et ce n est que mon opinion

Je recherche des personnes de la famille Ait-kaci en France (grand-père Salem, d'un village de Tizi-Ouzou)

Il semble que la route menant de la Paz à Rurrenabaque soit dans un sale état, la plupart des gens rencontrés ici à La Paz nous ont tous dit de prendre l'avion... pb c'est pas donné. Est-ce que la route en bus est si terrible que ça pendant cette saison?

je cherche le email du Blau Colonial, celui que j'ai : colonial.sales@blau-colonial.co.cu ne fonctionne pas 🙁

Merci, Roxazul

There exists a rare land where life expresses itself, a land where everything is destroyed, patched up, where everything is dirty and faded, yet paradoxically, each passing day is synonymous with light and joy. Seen from the sea, magnified by its translucent waters, the island is splendid; seen from inland, ochre and green dress a landscape one would wish to be pristine. As you approach the coast with the tides, countless boat wrecks never finish dying; returning from a hike, you know you’re nearing the city by the increasingly obvious proliferation of all kinds of trash. Overflowing the towns, makeshift homes made of corrugated iron stand here and there, wherever the eye lands; from a height, looking toward the horizon, you find the calm blue of the ocean and the beauty of infinity.

But where does all this corrugated iron come from? Blue, gray, red, or black, you find it pretty much everywhere—except, of course, on the island’s heights, where the heat is such that all life seems impossible. Yet, a few kilometers from the capital, more than an hour’s walk away, the corrugated iron is very much there, omnipresent, guaranteeing a land registry as hypothetical for us Europeans as it is very real for those who live there, far from civilization and comfort. I keep climbing. I’m precisely looking to meet these people who live on very little, if not nothing.

- Jéjé Mogné (Hello, sir in Shimahorais)! Where do you get water here, in this place? How do you drink, irrigate your plants?

- I wait for the rain. We have tanks that fill up well with each rainfall. But right now, it’s not raining much.

At the top of the next hill, lost in the bushes, it’s easier for me to guess the distant city, Mamoudzou, than the rest of the path, a remnant of a magnificent GR called the Island Tour, abandoned for the most part, sometimes maintained between two lost hamlets. The city, the pulse, water. Below, the ocean, running water, drinking water—despite regular interruptions; here, up high, an hour and a half’s walk away, tanks, arbitrariness. On other slopes, however, during another hike, I saw the water supply network, made of sturdy pipes tangled in the earth, right there by the path. It seems there are places where water climbs. Others not. Each to their own karma. In 2025. In a French department.

A path of misfortune, lost and regained, thanks to a sign, an inscription, or the compass’s directions. No one walks here anymore, except those who live here or come to harvest their crops. I remember that breathtaking hike in 2013, when I connected Bandrélé to Mamoudzou, passing by the peaks of Bénara (660m) and Bépilipili (643m), barely pausing at Tsararano and Vahibé: 34 km of intense effort on a rollercoaster path, along a trail that was still discernible. Today, it’s as if everything had disappeared. By also destroying the paths and vegetation, Chido* broke the last momentum of these cautious hikers: insecurity has made its way across the archipelago, and Sunday strolls are no longer the norm. Me, I keep going. I will have walked here and there during these three weeks to get an idea of the places, the people, the landscapes, and the superhuman effort required to move forward in over 40°C. To tell the truth, during my last hike, I cut my plans short and let myself be carried by a group of young people heading back to the city. The path is now just an inextricable network of small trails, the specter of Providence** comes to mind. True wisdom is knowing when to give up. I leave.

* A cyclone named "desire" (in Shona), which ravaged the island of Mayotte on December 14, 2024. ** June 2023, a very poorly prepared hike on Providence Island (Caribbean) from which I miraculously escaped.

On Petite-Terre, Marie takes me to visit some locals, white people who have lived there for a long time and make a living from their art; jewelry for her, all kinds of objects for him. We love this little shop, this oasis amid the chaos that embodies Dostoevsky’s phrase: "Beauty will save the world." It’s clean and tidy, beautiful, well-kept. Invariably, the question of insecurity resurfaces in the middle of the conversation. The woman says:

- I know someone who slipped in their bathtub. Still, I keep taking baths…

So, is this insecurity a myth or reality? I hear stories that are often true but sometimes seemingly exaggerated through the lens of misunderstanding and one-upmanship. Like that of this midwife assaulted one evening (it gets dark early) on her way home from work. Sometimes she was attacked on the path, dragged by the hair for several meters, sometimes she made it home, but it was her roommate who let the two men in. One version talks about a snatched phone and gratuitous violence, another about violence outright. In short, one thing is certain: walking around at night flaunting your phone isn’t a good idea, no more in Mamoudzou than in the rough neighborhoods of Nantes. Also, I played it safe: nothing flashy, nothing bling-bling, and always something to give if needed. I was never approached. It’s not easy to get a sense of the realities, between the hazy reports from journalists sensationalizing everything and the real lives of real people. But I know I can’t rely on these few ideas I’ve formed: I’m nobody, and above all, I don’t live here. What I do know, however, is that since my last visit to the island in 2017, over 80,000 babies have been born, and tens of thousands of immigrants have reached the archipelago’s shores. What’s also obvious is that poverty, hunger, and—let’s say it—indignity foster delinquency and insecurity. So, without taking journalists’ alarmist speeches at face value, we’ll try to keep in mind that a young person rendered orphaned by circumstances (parents expelled), poor and often hungry, involved more or less against their will in village wars and fueled by synthetic drugs*, will readily turn to violence when they truly have nothing to lose. We can trace the origin of this despair to the fact that in Mayotte, those without legal existence have virtually no hope of accessing anything.

* "Chimique" is a series of synthetic cannabinoids

Meanwhile, in the evening, it’s good to go home before the time of stone-throwing. From time to time, along the roads, gangs throw stones at vehicles and school buses, but mostly at police cars—almost all the white Dusters on the island! In front of the Mamoudzou police station, all parked vehicles—mostly Dusters—bear the scars of these attacks. Maybe it’s only at night that gangs unleash and all the burglaries happen? I saw nothing, heard nothing. I lived three weeks in a sort of bunker with no real access to outside light, protected by a fake wooden door doubled with a real metal door, both locked at all times. You don’t tempt fate. You endure it differently.

Today, extraordinarily, it’s raining. Yet, it’s the rainy season! But with my karma helping (what selfishness to want to walk dry when so many souls live off the rain) or is it climate change? The rain only falls once I’ve put on my horrible green pajamas. In front of the board outlining the program, I’m told that out of the six scheduled C-sections today (sic), they’ll probably only do two, maybe three. Because it’s raining. And when it rains, people don’t move around. Not for lack of will. Rather, for lack of means. And that ties into those sad days when the police patrol around the hospital: patients don’t come. They’ll come back tomorrow. To compensate, I’m happy at the thought of tackling the abscess program, but the sterilization unit is acting up and blocking the instrument trays. When it’s not the rain, it’s the unions. And when both finally quiet down, there’s always someone to find fault with the order of operations. You have to imagine an operating room where the question of urgency reigns supreme. Here, no surgery is scheduled more than 24 hours in advance—only emergencies, nothing but emergencies. So, following that reasonable adage that what’s done is no longer to be done, it’s sheer madness when the rain meets the interests of Force Ouvrière and the bad will of some combines with the laziness of others. To tell the truth, I’ve never seen so much energy expended to… do nothing. Hallucinating. But who am I, a small-time striver, an islander in my spare time, a temporary worker at the end of the world? I came, I saw, I was disappointed? Not really. Here again, I can’t judge a system in so little time. I can barely utter a few bitter words in front of obvious facts. But nothing will take away my joy of being here for three weeks. Here, they heal with somewhat outdated but still functional means. You do what you can with what you have, 8,000 km from the Métropole. Yes, the operating room doors hesitate, and the operating tables stutter, but in this blessed period, we lack neither medicines nor supplies. So we examine, anesthetize, and repair, far more undocumented people than French—if I may play with somewhat borderline statistics here; we deliver babies, dress wounds, and relieve pain in this hospital at the end of the world where neither white women nor Mahorais women would ever consider giving birth or getting treated.

What’s the solution? The obstetrician talks to the woman during a C-section under spinal anesthesia:

- Bouéni! (Madame, in Shimahorais) You need to think about tubal ligation. This is your fourth C-section. Your uterus is like tissue paper. Your next pregnancy will be very risky.

No answer. Culture. It’s all about culture. The funniest thing is that France also gets bogged down with the idea of other cultures’… cultures. The woman in question arrived illegally a few years ago to give birth to her first child. Since then, rejecting the very idea of contraception—her husband, for his part, will invoke God or Allah to refuse a vasectomy—she comes back every 12-14 months. And the obstetrician explains to me how his idea of making information about permanent contraception mandatory was deemed racist by associations. It’s always the same story. I suggest to the associations that they take charge of all these extra births, not only the medical costs but also the entire education, not just financial, of all these children doomed to live a life of misery on this forsaken archipelago. The probability that one of these offspring will emerge as a gifted, sensitive, and fiercely happy individual must truly be weighed against the degradation and abandonment that will invariably afflict the thousands of others living around him. In reality, simply mentioning a very real danger to the mother should be enough to impose sterilization. But we are a country whose greatness of soul is measured by the number of heads cut off to uphold the famous rights of man... Already a proponent at home of ending family allowances after the third child—you can’t subscribe to a certain idea of society and, at the same time, accept that tens of thousands of children are sacrificed on the altar of thoughtlessness and financial interest*—I will weakly advocate here for a controlled right to have children. Well, what will they say about me when I express the idea of imposing sterilization on women in irregular situations after the birth of their third child? National solidarity funds the noblest ideals? In Mayotte? Let’s be serious. It’s so much easier to hide behind the inalienable right of women to control their bodies than to acknowledge one’s own powerlessness to assume the consequences of such a policy. Because after 18 years of struggles as a second-class citizen, the young stateless person will have no choice but to live in hiding: faced with the impossibility of claiming birthright citizenship**, they will be deportable. In Mayotte, there aren’t enough schools, not enough housing, not enough projects for youth, not enough jobs, not enough money, not enough future… In Mayotte, an average of 5 children are born per woman. In reality, we never ask about the right of children to control their own lives.

* Single parent with 4 children: RSA at 1937 € + family allowances… ** Law of May 12, 2025 aiming to strengthen the conditions for accessing French nationality in Mayotte.

I live in the city in a clean apartment where air conditioning eases my aches and sweat, and where water flows abundantly, thanks to huge tanks that fill up between water cuts. On the hills of Koungou, I was struck by this image: there, women (a matriarchal society?) do the dishes in a miserable stream. Upstream of the same stream, the same image as downstream: disgusting water with bits of foam floating on it. A little further, however, there are taps with running water that children play with. Strange. In any case, water is a question. They tell me it’s drinkable; I doubt it. A system that’s regularly cut doesn’t seem reliable to me. In any case, I can’t help but think of the Canary Islands and their chronic water shortage, especially in Lanzarote. Without entering the debate on desalination plants—I’m quite ignorant about environmental repercussions—I’ll just say that in the Canary Islands, you can buy 8 L jugs of purified water for less than 2 €. Here, in Mayotte, the price of water—as is the price of gasoline—is the same everywhere: 0.65 € for a bottle of Cristaline (1 €/L)*. While I was walking up there with a couple of farmers shuttling between two remote spots, I know I hit the mark by offering them one of my two bottles I’d brought for the occasion.

* At home, we find Cristaline at 1.14 € for a 9 L pack, i.e., 0.13 € per liter.

Outside, everything is broken, abandoned, old, worn, torn, faded, heavy, dirty, forsaken. But life goes on. And that’s fascinating. At home, at 5:45 PM, people close their shutters and watch cable TV, sometimes late into the night, emptying the streets of any salutary clamor, unwittingly extinguishing the necessary pulse of life. At home, we die of boredom. In Mamoudzou, between two dying trash cans, metal frames laid on the ground are covered by the elements of a broken garden set. A bare concrete staircase, without railings, provides access to the upper floor of a dwelling. On the steps, you can read: Private space - Please take your trash with you. Metal rods protrude from the said dwelling. On the ground, it’s a festival of screws and nails… A cat passes by. It doesn’t look great. A madwoman crosses the street dancing. A slightly hurried driver brakes. A six- or seven-year-old boy comes out in his underwear from his low house made of corrugated iron. He smiles. He’s having fun doing acrobatic figures over an old mattress on the sidewalk. Forward roll, backward roll. You wonder if he eats enough. Different culture. Different customs.

I will remember for a long time this blinding morning light, a raw, vital, striking light. I almost forgot where I came from, the grayness and boredom of that continental European country where nothing really happens anymore. Here, I could join Camus, contemplating these people placed halfway between misery and the sun, resigned for the most part and, for the other part, not too unhappy with their lot. But the Mahorais discourse is unanimous: "France really screwed us over!" Today, more than half of the island’s inhabitants are undocumented; a tremendous amount of energy is spent expelling 20,000 to 25,000 of them each year; colossal sums are swallowed up to care for all these people, and the island is drifting. I talk with some gendarmes. One of them tells me:

- They intercept one kwassa* out of three… Can you explain to me why they can’t catch everyone? It’s 2025! Can’t they put the necessary boats in place?

Clearly, and this is also my opinion, this whole mess serves interests beyond us. For who can believe for a second that this glaring incompetence isn’t orchestrated? Shared interests between secret France and the Union of the Comoros? A desire to bring insecurity to its peak, either by the Comoros to eventually take back control of Mayotte, or by our own government, in a deliberate effort to see all the white people leave the archipelago and let the Mahorais fend for themselves? At one point, I’m even told about an extraordinary deposit beneath Mayotte’s soil, a promise of infinite wealth**. Not to infringe on human rights, to do some cleaning from time to time, to calm things down to avoid implosion, while waiting to go after this providential bounty? Decidedly, Mayotte hasn’t said its last word!

*What’s paradoxical is that in the early 2010s, to revive traditional fishing activity, the UN financed in Anjouan the construction of a factory to produce these light boats, 7-10m long and 1m wide, which largely served the interests of smugglers. This skiff owes its name to a Congolese dance known for being as rhythmic as it is jerky, much like the navigation experience offered during a crossing to Mayotte. ** A 2025 study revealed the existence of a gigantic magmatic reservoir located 23km beneath the archipelago. If the Icelandic experiment succeeds (Project KMT, see here), Mayotte will then possess almost unlimited energy.

Hell on earth. Paradise at sea. The world’s largest lagoon offering spectacular marine depths, Mayotte’s coral reef suffers less from the abundance of tourists* than from tropical storms**. So, let’s admit that Mayotte is best appreciated when approached from the lagoon. The heights are for old hands like me. The sea spray is rather for the snobs who shun the sun god Ra, risking too much exposure and ending up on sick leave for sunstroke! But I’m not exclusive: I twice don my snob attire and head out to tackle the waves, the seabeds, and the elusive. Because yes, underwater, we leave our landlubber reflexes behind, and flying over corals and other magnificent drop-offs, it’s as if we’re soaring, keeping in memory only what our eyes can store. Multicolored, even phosphorescent fish, sharks, rays, the immensity of the blue, and then, there, dolphins, just a few meters from me, underwater. Incredible.

* 70,000 tourists annually, mostly affinity tourism (links with family or an expatriate). ** Present almost at the water’s surface, the reefs were largely destroyed by Chido.

Paradise at sea? When you think that Mayotte comes from the Arabic Jazirat al Mawet—literally, Island of Death—because of its double coral barrier where many skiffs have run aground and continue to do so… Paradise. Eldorado. The Comoros now face an unprecedented influx of immigrants from the African Great Lakes. And Mayotte, for its part, continues to attract relentlessly, thanks to the evolution of the law*. In reality, whether hidden interests exist or not, France remains bound hand and foot by international, European, and French rules: it can’t do much. Barely has it boarded a kwassa when the one who flees by swimming cries attempted murder; barely has one been sent back to the Comoros when an association will look into their detention conditions and find a loophole; barely has one told a bouéni how her next pregnancy could be fatal when so-called human voices cry scandal.

* Regarding the Métropole, the rights of squatters and other bad payers against the notion of private property, legally violated in favor of the right to housing… ** You can read about France being condemned for its illegal practices of expelling Comorian minors. Inhumane treatment, arbitrary detention, collective expulsion.

Everyone forms their own idea of justice, and no one can claim a monopoly on good thinking. So, as long as I treat without prejudice, as long as my hands are sincerely guided by the love I bear for our humanity, I’ll allow myself to think what I think, understanding that I’m rather open to dialogue and that my opinions evolve with time and events. Today, Mayotte represents for me the failure of a model, a European one in this case, where opulence quickly meets its limits. For it’s not wrong to think that our society can’t share more than it produces, nor is it wrong to think that every human being has a right to their share of the pie; in Mayotte, you’ll find the proven result of our civilization: it doesn’t work. Exclusively financed by the right, the ideas of the left jam in Mayotte more than anywhere else: national solidarity coupled with a sense of guilt creates chaos. Political courage, or true social justice, would be to offer a future to those who have no choice—the one who’s already here, the child to be born—not to offer a present to those who can choose or to whom one can give keys to understanding—the woman of childbearing age, the candidate for exile. Ultimately, the Comoros’ coup d’état over France comes at the cost of many innocent victims, starting with the children*.

* Tens of thousands of deaths by drowning between Anjouan and Mayotte, tens of thousands of children left to fend for themselves and doomed to a non-existent future.

On the evening of the 31st, I go for my usual run and notice near a roundabout a fool in rags pedaling the wrong way. A police car passes by: the guy gets stopped. A rather quick identity check. The guy is taken away. Would he still be among us if he had ridden the right way? In the evening, the line is long in front of the club near the dock. Me, I’m just passing by, greeting my friends of the season, much more inclined to savor rest than to exhaust myself on an overheated dance floor. There, a man, thirty or forty years old, clearly in a world of his own, is searching the trash for something to eat. He’s barefoot. I console myself by thinking that at least he won’t die of cold. Out of ten children born in Mayotte, I can reasonably think that only one will be able to afford an existence that minimally meets any of our criteria.

It’s time to go home. After sweating and thinking so much about this gem of the Mozambique Channel, I spend peaceful hours by the pool at a hotel next to the airport. We checked out at 8 AM, and the flight is at 7 PM. The perfect opportunity to slack off and chat a bit more. I’m happy to get to know one of the co-pilots of tonight’s flight, staying at this hotel, while one of my flight attendant friends from this airline had already recommended me to the crew. But it’s not the captain’s day, who’s in a rather gloomy mood. I’ll travel in the back, up to the vertical of Cairo. Midnight has just struck; it’s January 2nd, my name day. Concerned about solving an unsolvable problem with a passenger, the crew asks me to give up my exit row seat and takes me to the front for the last four hours of the flight. In the end, the captain gave in? I laugh to myself: if there’s one thing I mustn’t forget, it’s that God never abandons me!

RESTAURANTS . Aliga Des plats gastronomiques qui allient sucré et salé à la perfection dans un cadre ultra design Hôtel Grau Roig Restaurant cosy en bas des pistes avec une pépite à sa carte: le soufflé à la pistache Chef's Table Classique mais incontournable: le croque monsieur au jambon ibérique et à la truffe Orange Goat Cafe Serious crush pour l'omelette avocat & bacon dans la formule brunch Refugi del Llac des Pessons Une omelette au jambon ibérique, qui dit mieux ? Siam Shiki Super parenthèse asiatique avant d'aller se relaxer au Spa Caldea . . PRENDRE UN VERRE . Atelier Pas de carte, seulement le barman qui vous confectionne un cocktail selon vos goûts et envies Hermitage Hotel Un hôtel 5 étoiles boisé où il fait bon de prendre un verre et grignoter Le Théâtre du Vin Pour une séance raffinée de dégustation de vins 13.5° Un bar à vin chaleureux où découvrir une super sélection de tapas . . Toutes les adresses sur le blog

Bonjour J'ai eu plusieurs avis disant que les plages et la mer, notamment dans le sud de Bali, étaient sales (plastiques, déchets, ...). Est-ce vrai ? Cordialement.

Bonjour à tous! En prevision de la fin de notre trip à vélo au Chili (Valparaiso à +- Villa O'Higgins, donc +- 2500 km : robustes!), Valentine et moi cherchons à revendre nos deux vélos full équipés pour ce genre de trip! C'est avec un énorme pincement au coeur que nous nous séparons de nos jolis bébés 😭😉 Nous les aurions bien repris en avion mais nous en avons déjà en Belgique... Et on ne veut pas commencer une collection 😉 Vous pourrez les voir sur notre photo de profil (+ la photo ci-dessous) : - cadre acier - VTT Palomar modèle GT - taille standard (nous faisons 1,75m mais ca passe très bien avec 10 cm de plus ou de moins) - réhausseur de guidon pour le confort du dos - pneus VTT (idéal pour les nombreux chemins de rocaille) de 26 pouces - racks avant et arrière + 4 sacoches par vélo pour un total de +- 130 litres par vélo - achetés à Santiago de seconde main (donc prix de revente très accessible: 500€ par vélo (tout équipement compris)) et révisés par un mécano. - matos de réparation inclus. Les vélos devraient être disponibles à partir de fin février, début mars 2020 au sud de la carretera austral (normalement Villa O'Higgins). N'hésitez pas à me contacter ou à faire passer le message à vos amis motivés 😀 Pierre et Valentine

bonjour,

peut-on se déplacer complètement en train deTACHKEN BOUKHARA SAMARCANDE OURGENTCH selon les forums : les trains sont sales et surchargés sauf l afrosab

merci de votre réponse

Bonsoir, nous partons à deux pour 15 jours au Kenya et en Tanzanie. Voici notre parcours : Vol direction Dar El Salem visite reserve tarangue en Tanzanie avec 2 nuits Vol pour zanzibar pour quelques jours Volcan Ngorongoro Vol pour Nairobi location. Véhicule sur place Visite réserve Massai Mara 2 nuits Lac Nakuru Kilimanjaro Mombasa visite de la ville et des plages Manoir à girafes

En Tanzanie Y aurait il des choses à ne pas manquer ? Pour les déplacements en Tanzanie est il préférable de louer un véhicule ? Pour aller à Zanzibar il y a til d'autres moyens de transport à moindre coûts que les vols ? Peut on réaliser ce circuit sans guide ?

Merci de vos réponses.

Ici il n'y a que du beau linge. On lave plus blanc. On peut aussi laver son linge sale...

♪ ♫ Est-ce qu'on peut ravoir à la machine ♫... la blancheur qu'on croyait éternelle... ♪♪♫

Nous devrions loger à circumvesuviana en mars 2018 . Le quartier est il simplemement populaire et peut être sale où est il dangereux de se balader après la tombée de la nuit. J'attends svp vos réponses .j'ai prévu de réserver ce we. Merci d'avance

Il y avait des poissons frits (Maquereaux courts) à la sauce pimentée et Brocoli Chinois sauté au poisson salé.

Bonjour, je voudrais savoir si on peut rouler pied au plancher sur le lac salé de la Death valley sachant que les records du monde de vitesse y sont souvent battus. Ou bien même là y-a-t-il des flics avec des radars ?? Bien entendu je précise que c'est pour un road trip en hiver car en été je me doute bien que par 50° les moteurs doivent rendre l'âme...

Bonjour,

Le départ approche🙂, nous allons passé 2 jours à Ao NAng, quelles plages me conseillez vous ?

Railay (bruyante et sale à ce que l'on dit??)? Poda ? Chicken Island ? etc... Une autre ? Peut-on y trouver un peu d'ombre ?

Comment s'y rendre : J'ai cru comprendre que le moyen le moins cher et le plus simple est de prendre un long tail boat sans passer par les agences.

Bref, je suis preneur de vos conseils et ...merci d'avance.

Bonsoir,

Je suis en train de chercher un hôtel sur San Francisco .. Entre ceux hors de prix, ceux moins cher mais sales et ceux dans des quartiers craignos (cf. Tripadvis**) j'ai du mal ..

Ou alors loger plus loin que San Francisco ?

Voili je cherche un bon plan ...

bonjour connaissant tres bien paros naxos Santorin souhaitons aller cette année a tinos en septembre mais certains guides donnent les plages sales ! est ce vrai ? trouve t on des hébergements au bord des plages ( nous louons une voiture a chaque fois) merci de vos avis eclairés

Bonjour, je pars très bientôt pour la RD.

Chaque fois, surtout pour des séjours de plus d'une semaine, mon linge sale ce cumule vite :) donc je ne lave quà mon retour en France.

Je pense que c'est un problème très répandu parmi les touristes. 😛 - et on n'aimerait pas retourner en France avec une valise qui pue.

Les services de lavage dans les Hotels sont prohibitives (3 $US la chaussette..!). Je n'ai jamais vu des services de lavage en libre service (type Lavomatic) ou avec quelqu'un à payer dans les zones touristiques.

Pour info je serais à Puerto Plata.

Quelqu'un peut me renseigner? Merci

Bonjour, nous souhaitons avec mon mari partir en tanzanie en février 2014 atterir à Dar es Salem et faire un safari de 3 jours pas trop chère si possible puis repartir sur zanzibar pour de la détente! je suis en demande de conseils pour agence safari hotel... pour préparer mon voyage svp merci d'avance pour votre aide précieuse