Results for "Trace+|+50+>+148"

Hi there, we’re planning a Munich to Venice bike trip at the end of June 2026. Getting back from Venice to Toulouse by train with 4 bikes isn’t straightforward. What return options have others who’ve done this trip chosen? Any tips or great deals would be much appreciated. Thanks a bunch! !

I got into music with the will To light up many hearths like Che could do, To circulate ideas, to advance utopia Alternating barricades, sharp thought, and poetry. Mc Solaar, Guérilla

Subscribing without a fight to the slightest line of my itinerary sometimes feels like an illusion. Because there are countries where, despite the fever and enthusiasm, despite the triumphant revolution, certain elements block my path. And if I had planned, for F. and me, a beautiful ascent up Tabouret Hill (Loma del Taburete, 453m), it was without accounting for vegetation as dense as it was thorny, which barred our way after just a few quarters of an hour of walking. Exhausted, I had to face the facts: we wouldn’t go any further. I needed to come up with some kind of Plan B.

But what is this country, an unwitting laboratory of the worst that white civilization has done during its reign? What is this magnificent place—yet another—entrusted to the care of oblivion, just 150 km from the land of freedom? According to Donald Trump, a country supporting terrorism; according to the locals, the vast battlefield of 20th-century ideologies; according to the average tourist, a hot country, a beautiful country, a country where the last illusions of a lost paradise are dying.

On the other side of Havana Bay, we love that statue of Christ blessing the city. There’s something gentle, soothing, in that patriarchal gesture. You’d almost be tempted to forget that at the dawn of the 16th century, those who claimed to represent the Church had no scruples about eradicating the Ciboney and Taíno populations. Worse, you’ll find magnificent this cathedral dedicated to the Virgin Mary, right in the heart of the old city. Under the guise of a civilizing necessity, Havana became, like so many other places, the gilded seat of European pretensions, at the expense of local populations doomed to extermination, then enslaved populations—more or less indigenous—who, you can imagine, didn’t often set foot in this holy place.

Lost in my thoughts, I try to push through this tangled vegetation. Nature reclaims its rights; nature abhors a vacuum. Yes, the well-trodden path of revolution couldn’t stay free of weeds! The road is buried. We give up and turn back, until that fork I’d noted before leaving, which would let us reach the top of the hill by skirting its northern slope.

So the white man arrives, settles, and gets rid of everything that bothers him. He has two unstoppable forces at his disposal: gunpowder and the spiritual certainty of being on the side of an all-powerful god. While the first gives him an unmatched material advantage over his new enemy, the second lets him use the first without feeling too guilty. That’s the magic of this supreme Church: it condemns all forms of pleasure—calling them impurity—while promoting plunder and crime under the cover of evangelization.

Walking through the city, you find a bit of Algiers, except that here, the decay is almost irreversible. You feel the splendor of the past, a disconcerting image of all vanity, from an era when men knew how to build beauty—especially if they didn’t have to share it. We’ll debate the benefits of colonialism for a long time, while glossing over the fact that those benefits often stopped at the city limits, limits all too obvious to the indigenous people. Havana isn’t just one or a few buildings; it’s an impressive collection of works of art built one after another, in what I think was a spirit of healthy competition. Yes, you find Algiers in this exuberance. As if these distant cities were the receptacle of everything that was best in the lands of origin. Atlantes and lintels, golds, blues, ogives, and monumental windows—exceptional architecture in an exceptional place.

Some streets are clean, swept with care; others are not, scattered here and there with potholes filled with water. A rather persistent smell of urine invades us regularly. We move on. And we look up: Havana is visited with your nose in the air. Because the beauty is truly up there, on those magnificent balconies and terracotta arches. Also because it’s not impossible that a piece of that balcony might suddenly detach, hurling our ends into an overseas tragedy we’d rather avoid. On the ground, here and there, rubble. Inexorably, this city is returning to dust.

My Plan B turns out to be no more successful than the first attempt. After a cheerful progression of a few hundred meters, same outcome, same struggle—the vegetation opposes any revolution: impossible to go around the hill! Once again, we have to turn back. We’ll try Plan C. I reassure myself by convincing myself to stay in the logic of this country: Cuba has been searching for itself for five centuries.

Coffee, tobacco, and sugarcane—the green gold of the colonies—so that money could flow and Europe could enjoy itself. Cuba’s history isn’t original. In reality, all the hot lands at these latitudes suffer the same fate: to serve the white man. While waiting for the awakening of consciences, UN Resolution 1514 and more or less affirmed revolutionary desires. Except that—and this reflection is just my own—if the awakening of consciences and the revolutionary will don’t play into what Resolution 1514 hides, there’s a good chance the said state will become a pariah. Those who don’t follow the American doctrine risk a lot; those who decide to follow Moscow risk everything. Independence was only the barely discreet instrument of American views. Patrice Lumumba will gladly enlighten us on the subject.

Turning back is good. Setting up Plan C is better. I won’t deviate from my goal: we will reach the top of Tabouret, whatever the cost! Near a small country road, I hesitate to change the program. Time is ticking—is it really reasonable to attempt the ascent? Then a tricycle taxi appears, a kind of tuk-tuk powered by an electric moped. I take it as a sign from fate, and we board for the starting point of Plan C.

In Cuba, even before Resolution 1514, independence was assured by a pawn of the United States, Fulgencio Batista. There’s no need to go over the whole history here; we’ll just remember that if you know how to give without counting to your former masters, you can enjoy a facade of freedom. Fidel Castro, on the other hand, didn’t know how to give. It never even occurred to him. That’s why the United States harbors such terrible hatred for this rebellious state, opposed to capitalist values and political prostitution. From there to slowly killing its people for nearly seventy years, one can legitimately cry injustice. But there are other priorities. Oh yes! Greenland...

Do Cubans eat their fill? Does seeing overweight people mean opulence? Food grows, no doubt about it. The soil is fertile, the climate favorable. No, what shocks here is the absolute precarity, the feeling of a people living in survival mode, and the decay of both goods and hope. Where to go? What’s the point? The stubbornness of the United States in wanting to impose its views on the Cuban government is felt much more by an overwhelmed people than by those few elites—caricatures of communism—who instill their vision of happiness with a crowbar. The embargo imposed in 1960; the false-flag attacks—American planes flying the colors of the Cuban revolution during the Bay of Pigs invasion in 1961—the exasperation of placing Cuba on the list of countries supporting terrorism. More recently, Donald Trump decided to heavily tax countries supplying Cuba with fuel. The last time I saw such long lines near gas stations was during my first trip to Romania... in 1991. It’s not for me to judge whether Raúl and his clique are playing fair by thumbing their noses at the West. I don’t hold the ins and outs of this war of egos that keeps the world’s great powers awake. I only caught a glimpse of the poverty of an island in 2026, while we in Europe are buried under an avalanche of the useless and superficial.

At the start of the San Juan baths, we find the trailhead. It climbs steeply. But the weather is relatively mild, thanks to a cold wave hitting higher up in the United States. Dallas is under snow; we’re walking in 16°C, a stroke of luck. We climb over rocks, under fairly decent vegetation, sometimes low but passable. And we succeed in the ascent in an hour. Up there, the top of the hill is somewhat maintained, at a minimum, but maintained, as if to honor Che through an awful monument erected in his glory—a stubborn specimen from those years when good taste was inversely proportional to the delusional ideas of those being honored. Birds of prey (raptors?) circle overhead; the monument is dying, crumbling, falling into ruin. *Hasta siempre*—forever—will be for the words. Nature, erosion, life itself will have the last word over all revolutions.

Back at the foot of the hill, just before a memorable swim, we talk with a family living there in miserable shacks whose stability wasn’t unlike that of the Leaning Tower of Pisa. The grandmother holds an animal, a rodent, by its feet. The grandfather has just killed it; she’s plucking its fur. A few steps away, water boils in a pot. She plunges the beast into the container. Tonight, the family will eat ragondin stew. Further on, another shack where, in a disorder rivaling the filth, a mother breastfeeds while sitting on the edge of a bed. Then, on the way down, we’ll meet a middle-aged man carrying a large jerrycan of water on his shoulder. Are these people happy here, far from the cities and their stakes? Is it too much to ask that they at least have access to electricity, running water, and decent, safe housing?

Outside the old city, Havana reveals wide avenues serving imposing institutions here and there. But whether in the colorful alleys of the old town or on the majestic and austere Plaza de la Revolución, the same feeling moves me: sadness. Seeing that only chaos has come from ideas crushes me. We praise, we sing the revolution—above all, we impose it in people’s minds as a necessity, when it’s nothing of the sort. Revolution is just the fruit of a few tortured minds who, once in power, do nothing better than all those before them. Enjoy power. Impose their views. It’s just a matter of color. Fidel saw red and knew how to persuade—or silence forever—his many detractors. The West sees everything in white, through the prism of human rights, and also knows how to persuade and silence its slightest detractors forever.

Paradoxically, Cuba survives largely thanks to tourism, a key element—let’s not be afraid to say it—of capitalism. And when a few players pick up the crumbs from transactions, the lion’s share and the foreign currency go to the government. So we won’t go to Varadero, the high place of relaxation overrun by Canadians. Instead, we’ll limit ourselves to crossing the ocean 30 minutes from the capital, at Santa María del Mar, to get an idea of cheaper tourism and to splash around for a few minutes in turquoise water invaded by sargassum. At the heart of the tourist season, we’ll meet few people. Like Havana, and according to its inhabitants, the high season is rather dead. But we won’t have come for nothing: we particularly love this return where, feverish, the taxi driver pushes his Moskvitch 2140 to the max on the highway, singing karaoke versions of hits at the top of his lungs from an onboard DVD player. East/West, the culture clash with a hint of Latino.

It’s time to leave this country of resourcefulness where extremes are very present. We’re leaving a 5-star hotel in front of yet another crumbling building. We’ve known restaurants at 40,000 pesos while in the street people eat for 400. We’ve seen those countless cars from another era and another culture—Pontiac, Lada, Chevrolet, Moskvitch—being overtaken by gleaming Mercedes and other Porsche Cayennes, the prerogative—if it still needed to be demonstrated—of the newly rich in search of recognition. Boarding the plane, we also understand that we’re not just traveling with tourists: there’s undoubtedly a rich and prosperous diaspora, just as there are relatively wealthy Cubans—well, wealthy enough to travel comfortably in the front of the aircraft. Meanwhile, on all the country’s roads, other Cubans try hitchhiking, their wives and children perched on a suitcase by the roadside. The father holds out his arm and holds a few bills in his hand like a card game. Where are they going? Who will pick them up?

Behind me, the gold of the Capitol. I’m told this gold comes from Russia. Like Marx and Lenin’s smoky theories? Like Stalin’s subtle and delicate paternalism? Let’s bet that, like the other buildings crumbling around it, the Capitol will also collapse one day, to avenge the Indians who perished from the diseases and guns of the whites, to avenge the Africans who obliterated their lives so Europeans could enjoy themselves, finally, to avenge all this abandoned people, left to the arbitrariness of democratic or non-democratic elections.

A sign in the street: We understand history. This is the revolution! We understand history. That’s the revolution.

No comment.

Hi everyone,

We’re heading out in March for this trek. We’re used to hiking and long-distance treks, but this’ll be our first time in Nepal.

QUESTION: People from Nepal are telling us it’s MANDATORY to have guides! Is this true, or is it just agencies trying to get work for their staff?

The Lonely Planet says: "In April 2023, the government announced that every trekker would need to hire the services of a porter or a licensed guide to obtain the TIMS permit. The law isn’t enforced, and by 2025, there were no longer any obligations for teahouse treks."

What do you think? What’s your experience? Thanks for your feedback.

Hi there, since there isn’t much recent info on how to get to MP, I’d love to know if there have been any improvements to the "route" to Hydroelectrica. Is it feasible to drive there in February? And is it still possible to walk all the way to Aguas Calientes? I think I read somewhere that it’s no longer allowed?? Do you think I can buy Machu Picchu entrance tickets last-minute at that time of year, given the weather?

Hi North America forum crew, Just a little post that might interest some of you: Travelers to the United States | Photo Now Mandatory Upon Entry and Exit | La Presse

Hi there, I’d like to spend a week in the Dolomites (4 days of trekking and a few day hikes). Unfortunately, it’ll be in August (no choice). My questions are: - For a first time in the Dolomites, which 4-day trek should I pick? I’d love the most spectacular and varied landscapes possible. Around 1,000m elevation gain per day. - Is it busier the first or last week of August? - Will it still feel "quiet" while hiking? Not like a conga line in August...?

Thanks so much for your help! !

My first trip to Iceland, in 1974.

Yes, you might be surprised: my first trip to Iceland dates back to July 1974. It’s been a little over 50 years since I first set foot on Icelandic soil. I was 23 years old. At the time, I was a geography student. I had just earned my bachelor’s degree and was finishing my master’s (what we’d now call a "master’s 2") in physical geography, with two specialties: glaciology and volcanology. In both fields, professors showed us slides of Iceland—glaciers and volcanoes—and in tutorials, we worked on maps and documents related to the physical geography of Iceland. So there you have it: ice and fire, in Icelandic « ís og eldur », I learned that year that it was Iceland’s national motto, and that’s what drew me there for my first big trip.

Iceland in 1974 was very different from today. It wasn’t a common destination. There were practically no tourists or tourist infrastructure. Some sites now famous and overcrowded were only accessible after hours of hiking on rough, unmarked trails. GPS didn’t exist, but I had managed to get local 1:100,000 maps that were pretty well done. I took my time to circle the entire island, camping in the wild. Most of my meager budget went toward the flight ticket and renting a Volkswagen "Beetle."

There were no paved roads in the country except in central Reykjavík and the main street of Akureyri. What’s now called Route 1 was everywhere dirt and gravel, pretty bumpy in places. According to my maps, this road didn’t allow for a full loop around Iceland: a section of about a hundred kilometers was missing on the south coast. But when I arrived in that area, I learned at a gas station that the last missing section had just been completed, finally allowing a full loop without backtracking. It was the section crossing the vast Skeiðarársandur, southwest of Vatnajökull. The new road was just a bulldozer track through this black ash desert. We crossed the multiple channels of the sandur on long single-lane wooden bridges. On these long pilings, the road was made of roughly nailed thick planks that made an awful racket when the car drove over them.

A nasty surprise: the cost of living. The difference with France seemed huge—everything was two to three times more expensive than back home. Prices were way beyond my tiny budget, and I wondered how I’d manage to get by.

The Icelanders back then were very different from today. From the start, I felt like a real outsider, ostracized, even outright rejected. Several times, when I asked for permission to pitch my small tent near a farm, the door would slam shut as soon as I asked (in English). Without a word… *Bam!*

So I struggled to feed myself, lacking money. I mostly bought loaves of sliced bread and corn flakes (unknown in France at the time), which I ate with cold, sugary milk. It was the cheapest and most filling thing I could find.

In Reykjavík, my only luxury was daring to enter a snack bar. There, I’d treat myself to a coffee or tea, having quickly learned that after paying for a cup once, you could go back to the counter and have it refilled as much as you wanted. I dreaded being asked if I wanted something to eat because I couldn’t afford it. Luckily, no one asked. So, alone in my corner, I’d pull out my loaf of sliced bread from my backpack and make sandwiches with the contents of the two plastic bottles on every table—one red, one yellow: ketchup and sweet mustard. I avoided the sideways glances from other customers. I’d eat my sandwiches and leave, both full and warmed up.

One time, near Selfoss, I saw a truck stop by the road and pick up two large aluminum cans left at the end of a farm track. A little further down the road, two more similar cans. I realized these cans were there to be collected by… well, I didn’t know who. No one in sight for miles. So, I’ll admit it: I stopped and opened one of those large cans, which contained a dairy product—a kind of very dense, compact white cheese (I later learned it was skyr). I scooped a nice layer from the top, smoothed the surface with my spoon, and carefully closed the can again. Yes, I know it wasn’t right, but that was over fifty years ago, and I can admit it now since the statute of limitations has surely passed, right? Another time, I boiled a piece of dried fish, hard as wood, for a long time on my camping stove—fish I’d taken from huge outdoor drying racks by the side of the road. On the road heading north from Reykjavík, the Akranes underwater tunnel didn’t exist yet. To get to Borgarnes and Snæfellsnes, you had to go around Hvalfjörður. Following the shore of this long fjord, I stumbled upon a whaling station in full operation. Intrigued by the plumes of steam and the sounds of machinery from the road, I stopped, and surprisingly, no one stopped me from entering the vast platform where workers were butchering a large whale. I’ll never forget the acrid smell of those huge piles of meat and bones, fat and guts, the screams of saws and winches, the steam from the boilers… A monstrous, hallucinatory sight that would shape a major interest for the rest of my life: whales.

At the end of my journey, I spent three days in the Westman Islands. The famous eruption of the Eldfell volcano had happened just months earlier, in 1973, and was barely over. Visiting Heimaey was one of the goals of my trip to Iceland, given my volcanology studies. Part of the fishing port was filled in by lava flows, and the entrance channel was reduced to just a few meters wide. Most of the village was covered by a layer of black, hot ash eight to ten meters thick. I walked on the roofs of houses—every now and then, a chimney or skylight would stick out. In the rain, this hot ash released intense steam; you couldn’t see twenty meters ahead. It felt like being in a giant outdoor sauna. The entire population had been evacuated during the eruption, but some residents were starting to return. Bulldozers and excavators were gradually clearing this gigantic mass of ash, street by street, layer by layer, avoiding demolishing the buried houses. A constant stream of trucks dumped these millions of tons of ash into the sea from a cliff. To finish clearing the houses, it was done with shovels and wheelbarrows, and this task was left to the homeowners. One day, I had the chance to lend a hand (or rather, a shovel) to a couple finishing clearing their house. They offered to let me pitch my tent near their place, on a thick layer of warm ash (I’d never experienced such comfort through my sleeping mat), and I’ll never forget that they gave me a big bowl of delicious soup they’d just made. The best meal I had during that trip. The next day, climbing the volcano, which was still smoking and spewing furiously, I nearly suffocated from sulfur dioxide and almost melted the soles of my shoes. So it was during this initiatory trip, 50 years ago, that my addiction to Iceland was born. The following year in Paris, by sheer chance—and perhaps helped by the magic of my amazing Kodachrome slides—I met a young woman who would become my wife. Very quickly, she became as hooked as I was on "the island of the world’s creation" (as I called it back then), and later, it was often her who’d say, "So… how about going back to Iceland this year?" We went back many times, in every season, summer and winter, and in every region of the country. And every time, when the plane starts its descent toward Keflavík Airport, we look at each other like kids invited to a birthday party, discovering the cake buffet… "Here we are… we’re back!"

Our travel conditions changed a lot afterward. With a better budget but still traveling independently, renting well-equipped 4x4s that let us go almost anywhere, at our own pace, including the highlands of the country’s interior. But always taking our time, dedicating each trip to fully exploring one region rather than rushing through kilometers. And leaving time for beautiful hikes or simply doing nothing—sitting at a viewpoint and just watching, observing the wild nature, in contemplative mode… Always staying with locals in the countryside, preferably on real farms with animals, thanks to an association of farmers offering accommodations. We speak fluent English and have learned a few common Icelandic phrases and expressions over time. With a bit of experience, we developed our little techniques for starting interesting conversations with Icelanders… who, thankfully, are no longer as distant as they were in 1974! We even made friends there.

We particularly loved the rugged, wild Iceland—not necessarily the desolate highlands of the interior, but rather the isolated regions where a few very old families still cling to their land and roots. With a soft spot for the Snæfellsnes Peninsula and especially the Westfjords, the "Vestfirðir," as the Icelanders call them. But we also love the Northeast, and even the far Northeast, so remote and where almost no one goes. Over time, we’ve done a lot of reading. We’ve learned a great deal about Iceland—its painful history, its tormented geography, its economy, its incredible medieval literature (the Sagas), and some quirks of its culture. And we greatly appreciate its contemporary authors, whose books fill several shelves in our library.

In 2008, on a return trip to Iceland, we went to the Westman Islands, to Heimaey. I hadn’t been back since my first trip in 1974, right after the Eldfell eruption. It was a pilgrimage for me, so many years later! An emotional moment seeing the huge frozen lava flow again. On the trails now set up to explore this vast chaos, people have put up signs indicating the names of the streets buried under the lava and the nature of the crushed buildings fifteen meters below. Plaques mark the locations of public buildings—here was the school, down there was the hospital… The part of the town that was under ash has been cleared, but not entirely—two streets were left partially buried, probably to show tourists. The volcano is still hot at the top. We climbed it, but this time I didn’t melt my soles.

We often talk about Iceland. We still call it "the island of the world’s creation" and tell our traveler friends how much this country fascinated and enchanted us. Those who’ve never been find it a bit odd, but everyone who’s been there understands.

You may have noticed I’m talking about it in the past tense… Indeed, I’ll admit that for several years now, we haven’t been back to Iceland, and I don’t think we’ll return. What we see on social media and in the news puts us off a bit. Mass tourism has arrived, and many developments have been made—not always for the best. Now, with two and a half million visitors a year, Iceland welcomes nearly six times its population. Tourism has become a key source of income for Icelanders. Good for them, maybe, but we don’t like it at all. We’re a bit wild, perhaps. And besides… the world is vast… We loved Iceland passionately, but we’ve always been inveterate travelers in general. So over the past fifty years, we’ve certainly explored all of Iceland’s regions, but also in the North Atlantic—the beautiful Norway, the stunning Lofoten Islands, the Shetland archipelago, the rugged and grand Faroe Islands, and then further north in the Arctic—the icy Greenland, Svalbard at the edge of the world, and even the Sjuøyane, the last islands before the North Pole, with small groups of enthusiasts and scientists on expedition ships. And many other regions of the world, but always with a taste for slightly offbeat places, both in terms of landscapes and nature and ways of life. Central Asia, the Azores, Peru, Bolivia, the Andes, Chile, Argentina, the vast Patagonia, Tierra del Fuego… and other little secret gems we won’t reveal. Not even on Voyage Forum.

But everywhere—yes, I mean everywhere—wherever you are, wherever you go, there’s always a moment when you think of Iceland…

Chris 51 - November 2025.

Hi everyone,

I’m planning a cycling trip in Algeria and looking for concrete firsthand accounts from cyclists who’ve recently traveled there (or residents who know the terrain well). My goal is to map out a realistic 2–4 week itinerary that prioritizes discovery, safety, and solid water/bivouac management.

My profile and gear

Semi-bivouac autonomous cyclist (light tent + sleeping bag + stove), with the option of simple accommodations in towns.

All-road/gravel bike with a rear rack, 40–45 mm tires (I can go up to 47–50 mm if needed).

Compact drivetrain with a small gear range for climbing while loaded.

Modular water capacity of 4–7 liters (soft flasks + bottles), plus a filter and purification tablets as backup.

Navigation via offline maps + GPS, GPX tracks if available.

Planned period

Late winter/early spring (timing to be refined based on your feedback about weather, wind, and day/night temperature swings). I’d love a seasonal breakdown: which areas are more pleasant/rideable during this time? Are there zones to avoid while others become ideal?

Preferred itinerary style

High plateaus and accessible Saharan fringes for a loaded bike, alternating between secondary roads and rideable tracks.

Moderate pace (60–90 km/day depending on terrain and wind), with stops in resource towns to restock, shower, and rest.

Safety and logistics (water/supplies) take priority over pure athletic performance.

My specific questions for those who’ve cycled in Algeria 1) Routes and areas

Which roads/tracks did you enjoy for their scenery and interest without being too rough for a loaded gravel bike?

If you’ve ridden the high plateaus: which connections do you recommend to avoid traffic and stick to small roads?

Saharan fringes: which sections are realistic for partial autonomy (reasonably spaced water points, rideable tracks, not too much soft sand)?

Areas to avoid by bike (recently) due to security, road conditions, katabatic winds, construction, etc.?

2) Water and supplies

How frequent were water points on your routes: reliable wells? taps? sources in towns/villages?

In “desert” sections, how many liters did you carry between secure points? Does a 6–7 L capacity seem comfortable, or should I aim for more on certain stretches?

Food: small shops, markets, availability of basics (semolina, sardines, dates, biscuits, powdered milk, etc.) — how often can you reasonably restock?

Filtration: did a filter + tablets suffice? Are there areas where you’d advise against filtering from unprotected wells?

3) Bivouacking and accommodations

Tolerance for discreet bivouacking (far from dwellings, leave-no-trace): recent experiences?

Simple alternatives: guesthouses, small hotels/hostels, campgrounds (if any), municipal lodgings?

Practical stopover towns for restocking, resting, and securing your bike overnight: reliable spots or neighborhoods to prioritize/avoid?

4) Roads, tracks, and weather

Road surface quality on secondary routes: generally decent or highly variable?

Tracks: rideable (compact gravel, laterite) or sometimes sand/washboard? At what tire width would you recommend switching (45 vs. 50 mm)?

Prevailing winds this season: direction, strength, most exposed hours; do you adjust your departures to ride “before the wind” in the morning?

Temperatures: day/night range; sun protection (long gloves, buff, sunscreen, sunglasses), managing nighttime cold at altitude or in the open desert.

5) Safety, formalities, and connectivity

Recently discouraged zones (please note the date if possible).

Roadside checks: which documents to keep handy; are there specific registrations or declarations required upon arrival or when moving between wilayas?

Local SIM/data: which operators work well on the routes you took; tips for recharging/buying credit.

Useful apps/maps on the ground (and reliable offline maps) for locating water, grocery stores, garages, accommodations, rideable segments, etc.

Bike security: how did you handle anti-theft and parking during errands/overnight stays?

6) Gear and adjustments

Recommended minimum gearing for loaded climbs on local roads/tracks.

Ideal tire width and casing (puncture resistance on gravel and rocks).

“Sweet spot” water capacity based on your experience (and tips: frame bags, extra bottles on the fork, bladders in frame bags, etc.).

Maintenance: dust/sand — greases/seals, drivetrain cleaning frequency, breathable filters, protective socks for zipped panniers.

Sample itinerary outline (to validate with your feedback)

Week 1: Arrival, adjustments, high plateaus, linking resource towns to get into the rhythm, test supplies and water.

Week 2: Accessible Saharan fringes, alternating road/track, nights in discreet bivouac when possible + simple accommodations every 3–4 days.

Week 3–4 (optional): Extend toward a second Saharan area or head back to a more temperate zone depending on weather/wind, prioritizing routes known to cyclists.

If you have GPX tracks (even partial), waypoints (water, grocery stores, accommodations), or a travel journal with dates, I’d love to see them. Dated info (year/month) will help me weigh what may have changed recently.

What I can share in return

After the trip, I’ll publish a detailed report with:

Final itinerary + cleaned GPX tracks,

List of confirmed water points and open supply spots,

Gear review (tires, gearing, water capacity),

Notes on bivouacking/accommodations and safety,

Budget and daily distances, to help future travelers.

Thanks in advance for your tips, warnings, good addresses, and updated feedback. Your experience is invaluable for planning a safe, smooth, and enjoyable cycling route in Algeria. Happy trails! 🚴

Hello! We’re heading to Cambodia for a month in March. We’re planning to visit Phnom Penh, Battambang, Siem Reap, the Angkor temples, Kompong Luong, then head down to Kampot, Kep, and finish our trip on the islands of Koh Rong. Has anyone done this trip recently? Any great spots to recommend? Neighborhoods to stay in Phnom Penh (lively but not too touristy)? Tips for getting around between the major cities—bus, train, boat, motorbike? Thanks for all the advice! Fabienne

Hey everyone,

I’m planning a road trip through Southeast Asia with my girlfriend starting in mid-January 2026, and I’m torn between two possible itineraries.

The goal of the trip is to explore the region before catching a flight to Tokyo at the end. The main difference between my two options is the order in which I’d visit Thailand, Malaysia, Cambodia, Vietnam, and Laos.

👉 Itinerary A: Paris > Thailand (Chiang Mai) > Southern Thailand > Malaysia > Flight from Kuala Lumpur to Siem Reap in Cambodia > Cambodia > Southern to Northern Vietnam > Flight to Tokyo



👉 Itinerary B: Paris > Malaysia (Kuala Lumpur) > Southern Thailand and Bangkok > Cambodia > Southern to Northern Vietnam > Flight from Hanoi to Vientiane (Laos) > Laos > Northern Thailand > Flight from Bangkok to Tokyo



Initially, I thought about doing Malaysia > Thailand > Laos > Vietnam > Cambodia, but after looking into it, it’s tricky to get to Tokyo from Cambodia—there’s no direct flight.

My questions: - Which of these itineraries seems the most logical/smooth in terms of transportation? - Which one do you think offers the best overall experience? - Do you have any other route suggestions or visit orders?

Thanks in advance for your feedback! 🙏

Hi there, what do you think of this itinerary, please? Do you think it’s doable? We’re two adults—it’s our honeymoon trip! 🙂 Our main interests lean more toward nature and landscapes than cultural visits (though we won’t rule out one or two temple visits).

01/10/2025 W 10:30 AM – Departure from CDG (overnight flight) 02/10/2025 Th 11:25 AM – Arrival in Denpasar -> Ubud (south of the city) – overnight in Ubud 03/10/2025 F – Excursions around Ubud – overnight in Ubud 04/10/2025 Sa – Excursions around Ubud (Jatiluwih) – overnight in Ubud 05/10/2025 Su – Excursions around Ubud – overnight in Ubud 06/10/2025 M – Ubud -> Amed – overnight in Amed 07/10/2025 Tu – Amed – overnight in Amed 08/10/2025 W – Amed -> Padangbai – overnight in Padangbai 09/10/2025 Th – Padangbai -> Gili Air (first morning boat) – overnight on Gili Air 10/10/2025 F – Gili Air – overnight on Gili Air 11/10/2025 Sa – Gili Air – overnight on Gili Air 12/10/2025 Su – Gili Air -> Nusa Lembongan – overnight on Nusa Lembongan 13/10/2025 M – Nusa Lembongan – overnight on Nusa Lembongan 14/10/2025 Tu – Nusa Lembongan – overnight on Nusa Lembongan 15/10/2025 W – Nusa Lembongan – overnight on Nusa Lembongan (or return to Bali depending on sea conditions) 16/10/2025 Th – Jimbaran or Seminyak – overnight in Jimbaran or Seminyak 17/10/2025 F – Jimbaran -> Denpasar – departure at 6:45 PM (overnight flight) 18/10/2025 Sa 8:00 AM – Arrival at CDG – overnight at home

Thanks in advance for your feedback! [;]

Hey everyone, hope you're doing well! :) I’m planning to go back to Thailand at the start of next year—once just wasn’t enough 😅 I’ve seen that nothing’s official yet, but they’re considering reducing the visa-free stay from 60 to 30 days. If I book for 58 days like last time and they change the rules last minute, what happens? It takes forever to get a visa—I saw you have to prove you have enough funds to cover your stay. How much money do you need in your account? Thanks!

Hi, I’d love to know if there’s a website that gives a rough idea of how much time you should spend visiting a particular city or country. I know my question is super general, but it’d be really great if such a site existed.

Thanks in advance for your help. Take care and happy travels.

Régine

Hi there, we’re planning our trip to the North Cape this summer. We bought a new vehicle for it. Unfortunately, the registration document is still being processed, and the delay seems long—I don’t think I’ll have it in time for our departure... I have the transfer documents, insurance in my name, and all the supporting paperwork, but not the registration document. So my question is: does the ferry company require the registration document *mandatorily* when boarding in Denmark or not? Thanks for any insights...

Hi everyone, we’re heading to Java in August, specifically to KAWAH IJEN. I’ve seen that there are new requirements like a medical certificate since 2024—is this still the case? Can our 6-year-old daughter do the ascent? Can she go down to see the blue flames at night with gas masks? If not, is it better during the day? Thanks for your feedback!

Hi, I’m traveling with my 6-year-old daughter this summer, and since her father hasn’t seen her in 3 months, he won’t be able to sign a travel consent form for me. He’s been completely out of touch since early March, and I have no idea where he is. We’re heading to Montreal for 2 weeks in early July—I have both the outbound and return tickets. Am I required to provide a signed consent letter from the father, even though she’s traveling with a parent who has legal custody? If I don’t have one but can prove my good faith—explaining that he’s completely unreachable—will that be enough? Thanks for your help!

Hi there, I’m planning a 6-day trip from Orléans to Tours. There are very few detailed maps to figure out the main stages and what you’ll find along the way. Even though I’ve downloaded the Miam Miam Dodo app, it’s pretty tedious (everything is split into small map sections). I’ve settled on the first leg: Orléans to Meung-sur-Loire, about 18 km. For the next one, I’m hesitating because I’d like to do around 20–25 km, but I see Beaugency is only about 10 km away, and Mer is almost 30 km. So, I’m stuck. On top of that, I’m torn between taking the GR 3 route or the GR 655 (south). If any of you know the area or have already done this hike/pilgrimage, I’d love to hear your tips for this section that goes through Blois and ends in Tours. For the last legs, I’ve planned Blois -> ? Chaumont (no accommodations) -> Amboise -> Tours, knowing the final stage is about 30 km.

Thanks in advance for your help! 😉

Every day, I look back at my 2022 trip to Wyoming. And every day, I tell myself I need to start getting ready to go back. Don’t agree? 😎

Hi there, here’s the first draft of the itinerary I’m considering for Africa, leaving in late/mid-October 2025 for a duration of 5 months.

The idea is to cross Africa from the Atlantic to the Indian Ocean. Just to clarify, I don’t have a driver’s license, but I’m used to traveling by hitchhiking, carpooling, or any other type of transport. My must-sees, which I really want to visit, are the Namib and Kalahari deserts, the Okavango Delta, Victoria Falls, and the sandbanks of Vilankulos.

So if anyone has already done this route, more or less, I’d love to hear all your practical tips, especially for getting around within these areas.

Travel style: no problem with big contrasts—whether it’s sleeping in a tent/hammock or a fancy hotel. Budget: flexible (I think).

My train to Mathura is at 2 PM, and we’ll arrive an hour late—all good. I booked a hotel on booking, but unfortunately, it’s really far from the ghats. Walking there is out of the question—what a shame. The hotel itself is fine, and there are several restaurants right across the street, which will be handy for dinner. This won’t be an exception, though—starting at 10 PM, they must wake up because I can hear them talking loudly, and music is playing along. My room faces the entrance, so it’s going to be tough. At midnight, I ask them to lower the volume, but they don’t listen. By 1 AM, I lose my temper, and this time, everything stops. Finally, I can get some sleep—until 4 AM, when they start up again for a little while before quiet returns until 6 AM. But when do they sleep? The noise never seems to bother them—it’s unbelievable, and I’m finding it harder and harder to tolerate. It makes a huge difference. The next morning, as I leave, they tell me they’ll give me another room for the following night. Oh, two nights like that wouldn’t be possible—I’m exhausted. I head out to explore the ghats and take a rickshaw, which I share with a family, to Vrindavan, a city of temples dedicated to Krishna. I visit several while wandering through the lively streets, surrounded by a crowd of devotees. By 1 PM, I’m near the Bankey Bihari Temple, but I can’t go in—it just closed. Nearby, there are restaurants, so I take the opportunity to grab my usual aloo paratha with a lassi.





The work women do here is incredibly hard, and their pay must be miserable.



I want to leave Vrindavan for Govardhan. Two young guys on a motorcycle in front of the temple approach me, and the driver offers to take me part of the way. I’m pretty skeptical, but he insists, and I eventually agree. I didn’t fully understand what was happening. Once on the bike, his friend hops on too, and suddenly I’m sandwiched between them for a multi-kilometer ride—*travel Indian-style*. We quickly drop off the friend, and I breathe easier for the rest of the trip. At an intersection, he stops—Govardhan is straight ahead, but to get to his village, he needs to turn right. We wait for the bus for a few minutes, and he flags it down so I can hop on and continue my journey. What an adventure.





the neighbor with its beautiful dome.

Hello everyone, and a big THANK YOU to all the travelers who took the time to reply to my last post and tell me that doing South India in 28 days was a sweet utopia. My dear friends, you were absolutely right. After 4 days in Goa, I settled for exploring all of Karnataka and its beautiful UNESCO-listed temples, and I loved it. Kerala and Tamil Nadu will have to wait until next year when I can take 6 weeks off.

But the purpose of this post is to ask you which guide or website would be best to prepare for the BLUES TRAIL I’d like to do in September or October 2025 over a month: 3 weeks to travel the route, enjoy Nashville a bit too, and the last week to explore Louisiana. I saw that *Le Routard* has a guide on Louisiana. Where else can I find more info?

Thanks so much for your help. Take care of yourselves and happy travels. Régine

Hi there, Is the road connecting Imi n’Ifri (near Demnate) to Agouti (Aït Bougmez) paved and therefore in good enough condition for a rental car? Thanks!

Same question for the road descending the Tessaout Valley from Amezri. Thanks!

Reunion Island, a French island located in the Indian Ocean, is characterized by remarkable geographical and cultural diversity. This island offers an immersive experience that harmoniously blends wild nature and human heritage, between active volcanoes, mountainous cirques, impressive waterfalls, and charming villages. This report explores the must-see spots, from the lunar landscapes of Piton de la Fournaise to the mountainous trails of the Mafate cirque, not forgetting the natural pools and tropical gardens. Each section highlights a distinct aspect of this vibrant island, supported by geological and historical information, as well as accounts from those who have visited.

Piton de la Fournaise, which reaches a height of 2,632 meters, is one of the most active volcanoes on our planet. Its frequent eruptions constantly shape the landscape, offering a natural spectacle where burning lava meets the ocean. The trail leading to the Dolomieu crater, though difficult to access, is open to hikers and rewards them with a panorama of vast expanses of solidified lava and volcanic gas emissions. It’s usually best to visit at this time of day to avoid clouds and enjoy the low light that enhances the lunar reliefs.

Volcanic activity has also given rise to unique structures, such as the lava tunnels of Grand Brûlé, where tourists can walk along cooled lava flows. For geology enthusiasts, the site of Cassé de la Rivière de l'Est reveals incredible basaltic organ pipes, testifying to ancient eruptions.

Despite its inactivity, Piton des Neiges (3,071 m) remains the island’s highest peak. Its ascent, via the GR R2 trail, passes through virgin forests before reaching rocky landscapes where sunrise offers a 360° panoramic view of the three cirques. This extinct volcano symbolizes Reunion Island’s geological history, characterized by successive collapses that gave birth to the surrounding cirques.

A UNESCO World Heritage site, the Salazie cirque charms with its lush greenery and hamlets clinging to cliffs. Hell-Bourg, listed among France’s most beautiful villages, delights with its brightly colored Creole houses and picturesque cobblestone streets. The trek to Voile de la Mariée, a famous waterfall, winds through bamboo groves and natural pools perfect for a swim.

Mafate, a preserved haven of tranquility, is accessible only on foot or by helicopter. Places like La Nouvelle or Marla, small villages called "îlets," offer a glimpse into traditional life on Reunion Island. The GR R1 trail, which circles Piton des Neiges, immerses hikers in breathtaking landscapes, alternating between rocky ridges and narrow valleys.

Known for its lentils and wines, Cilaos combines culinary delights with stunning scenery. The healing properties of the thermal springs at Bras-Rouge are highlighted by the trails leading to them, which also offer panoramas like the Col du Taïbit, a privileged access point to Mafate.

This unique spot features pebble beaches, waterfalls by the sea, and a palm forest. Picnickers enjoy its peaceful atmosphere, while local fishermen maintain ancient traditions. Nearby, the Garden of Perfumes and Spices cultivates vanilla, cloves, and turmeric, offering an olfactory experience at the heart of Reunionese agriculture.

Bassin Boeuf, famous for its turquoise waters, is a popular swimming spot, framed by volcanic formations. Further south, the Langevin River creates a series of waterfalls and natural pools, including the famous Trou de Fer, a 300-meter-deep canyon where water cascades in a shimmering curtain.

The island’s capital blends colonial heritage with modernity. The Léon Dierx Museum showcases modern art, while the Grand Marché draws visitors with its spices and local crafts. The Barachois promenade, along the sea, evokes the city’s maritime past with its 18th-century cannons.

The Domaine de Villèle, once a colonial plantation, now houses a museum dedicated to the history of slavery and a geranium distillery. The Chapelle Pointue, with its neo-Gothic style, offers a striking contrast to the brightly colored Tamil temples surrounding it.

The GR R1 and R2 trails are popular with experienced hikers, but more accessible routes like the Piton Maido (2,200 m) are suitable for beginners. The latter offers an unparalleled view of the Mafate cirque at dawn.

The coast of Saint-Gilles offers activities like diving, surfing, and paddleboarding, while ULM flights provide an impressive aerial view of Piton de la Fournaise.

Reunion Island presents itself as a microcosm where every landscape tells a story—geological, cultural, or human. Between the fury of volcanoes and the calm of cirques, between the bustle of markets and the tranquility of natural pools, this destination offers a diverse experience. Travelers are encouraged to mix their activities: morning hikes, cultural visits during the day, and moments of relaxation at dusk. Preserving these wonders relies on responsible tourism, respectful of fragile ecosystems and local communities.

Time to hit the road again!

Summer seems to be the best time weather-wise for Bali. And since summer’s when we can take a long trip, let’s go for Bali... even though we know it’ll be *packed* with people! So we’ll steer clear of the island’s south...

Our current plan (19 days on the ground, 7 stops): - 4 Nights (3 days) in Ubud 2 days for rice terraces / activities (Tegallalang, Campuhan Ridge, Monkey Forest, Bird Park, coffee plantation, market (?), dance "pestacle," cooking class and/or spa) 1 day with a driver for the Temples (Pura Gunung Kawi, Tirta Empul Spring, Pura Mengening, Goa Gajah...) - 2 nights in Sidemen (1 day for Pura Kehen + Batur Caldera + Pura Besakih and 1 day to relax in the rice terraces) - 3 nights on Gili Meno (Rest and beaches) from Padangbai - 2 nights in Amed (1 day from Padangbai with the Abang rice terrace and Tirta Gangga baths, and the next day a boat tour in Amed) - 4 nights in Pemuteran (1 day for transfer and rest, 1 day to visit Kawah Ijen, and 2 days of snorkeling at Menjangan Island) - 2 nights in Munduk (1 day with the Dayang rice terrace and the 3-waterfall hike, 1 day at Pura Ulun Danu Bratan) - 2 nights in Jatiluwih (1 day in the rice terraces, and on the last day, we’ll stop by Pura Taman Ayun in Mengwi and Pura Tanah Lot before catching our red-eye flight).

Accommodations in homestays or hotels. Transportation to be arranged on-site with the lodgings (?) Boat to Gili Meno to book in advance (?) Kawah Ijen excursion to plan ahead (?)—check with the homestay (?)

Thanks for your thoughts/comments to help us explore this destination...

Hi there!

I’m heading to Kazakhstan—a country I don’t know at all—at the start of October 2025, and I’d love to see all the different biomes it has to offer!

There’ll be three of us flying from Paris to Almaty, and we’re planning to do a road trip by either renting a car or hiring a guide to get to Astana and then return to Almaty, seeing as much as possible along the way!

If anyone knows a good route or has any tips, I’d love to hear them!

"The Most Refreshing Way to Travel Around Belgium" This is the title of the guide published by Pierre Pauquay at Éditions HELVETIQ Sàrl, Lausanne, Switzerland, 2023. I set off for Belgium with my camper van and my electric-assist bike, eager to deepen both my theoretical and practical knowledge of this country’s emblematic beverage while exploring the land. This guide became my trusted companion throughout the journey, which took place from June 4 to July 4, 2024. Out of the 40 routes presented, I chose 21, covering a broad swath of Belgium—both Wallonia (14 routes) and Flanders (6 routes), plus one route around the Brussels-Capital region with a visit to the famous Grimbergen brewery. Every route included a stop at a brewery, whether lesser-known or famous, artisanal or industrial, family-run or Trappist. In total, I logged 1,111.2 km of biking over 58 hours and 42 minutes of pedaling, averaging 3 hours of cycling per ride of 55.6 km. I visited 21 breweries, toured a few, and had just one flat tire (I didn’t count the number of beers, but I tasted them all...). I wasn’t always able to park my camper van near the brewery planned for that day’s route, but I made sure to enjoy the famous nectar only after completing the physical exercise required by the loops. Traveling by camper van, I needed routes that formed a loop, starting and ending in the same place. Except in Brussels, I never had to rely on campsites for a safe night’s stay. I always found a welcoming public or private parking spot, secure enough to prepare for the next day’s ride. I discovered Belgium from top to bottom, through hills (not very high) and valleys (very flat and often windy), at my own pace. I stopped whenever a photo caught my eye, grabbed a bite or a drink in the villages I passed through, and often felt like I was truly part of the landscape, in sync with the country’s rhythm and curious to see how people lived... More to come, with photos in a future post... Thanks for reading...

Hi everyone, my partner is Malian and I’d love to be able to say sweet things to him in Bambara, as well as learn some polite phrases. Thanks for your help! 😊

Here are a few examples: I love you My love My heart My life You’re the man of my life I care about you I want to live with you Kiss me I miss you Thank you Please Hello See you soon

Hi everyone, could someone give me info on the track that starts from Tafraout toward M’harch Pass and then continues to Mcissi to join the national road heading west to Alnif? I’m planning to go in April 2025 by gravel bike/MTB. Is it doable? Is there a lot of soft sand??? How many km???? Thanks for any tips, and happy end of the year to all! Best, Rv.

Hi everyone,

I bought tickets for Martinique in April 2025 for 15 days, without really looking into what there was to do, and with the idea in my head that we could: hike, do water activities, swim, visit rum distilleries...

But... I’m worried I’ll get bored over 15 days and I’m considering maybe spending 1 week in Guadeloupe and 1 week in Martinique. For example, I don’t know how to spend a whole afternoon at the beach. 2 hours, max.

I know it’s a personal question and depends on how you travel, but I’d love to hear your thoughts if you’ve done it: - Did you feel too rushed? - Is it reasonable to do? - How much time would you spend on each island?

I’m open to all your comments.

Thanks so much.

Have a lovely afternoon! :)

Hi, does anyone know the current condition of the track/road P1800 that goes from R111 just past Allougoum to Akka Ighane on P1743? Google Maps says it's doable, but all the info I’ve gotten advises against it. From Akka Ighane, at the junction with the road to Auguinane, it was even paved for the 10 km I covered two years ago. But in Morocco, paved roads can suddenly end without warning 😏.